insults under the table

T-Bag entered the mess hall with his usual swagger, carrying a tray of what the prison insisted was food. Seth trotted alongside, holding his own tray in one hand, T-Bag’s pocket in the other.

T-Bag gave the room a quick once-over, his eyes coming to rest on the form of Michael Scofield. Surprisingly, the pretty fish was sitting alone. That greasy haired mobster and the yappy little Spaniard were nowhere to be seen.

“Seth, why don’t you hop on over there and keep a seat warm for me?” T-Bag suggested.

Seth said nothing as he did as he was told. T-Bag tried not to sigh in disappointment. After just a couple of days, the younger man was boring. He had no spunk, no fire. Nothing to keep T-Bag’s short attention span focused on him.

Ah, it’s just as well, T-Bag thought as he made his way over towards Michael. There’s only one man in this joint I really want anyway.

T-Bag took a moment to admire Michael from the back, at the strong curve of his back, and that pretty neck that just ached to be kissed or nipped at. Dropping his tray beside Michael’s on the table, T-Bag swung his legs over the bench seat and sat down, deliberately bumping Michael’s hip with his own.

“You look awful lonely sittin’ here all by yourself,” T-Bag said.

“I’m just fine,” Michael said, his voice stony as he slid away a few inches.

But T-bag simply followed. He bit his tongue to keep the smirk off his face as Michael’s jaw clenched.

“You keep movin’ away, people are gonna think you don’t like me,” he drawled.

“I don’t like you.”

“But we’re partners in crime, Pretty. Buddies, cohorts, accomplices, allies. Hell, we may even be friends someday.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Well, now you’ve offended me,” T-Bag said, shaking his head. “I want to be your friend. Really, I do. And as a friend, I would tell you that you’re lookin’ mighty tense these days.”

Michael frowned, and T-Bag nodded and smiled.

“You’re all knotted up, I can tell. So much stress, this escapin’ business. Now, I know a way you could take care of that.”

Michael said nothing. He just stared at his tray of half-eaten food and did his best to ignore the man sitting beside him.

T-Bag threw a quick glance around the room to see if anyone was watching. With the coast clear, he dropped his right hand below the table and placed it on Michael’s thigh. He felt Michael jerk under his touch and grinned, licking his lips.

“Get your hand off of me,” Michael hissed.

“I’m just trying to be helpful.”

Michael made a move to stand, and T-Bag dug his fingers into Michael’s flesh, hard enough to bruise.

“You get up, and I’m gonna hop up on this table and let everyone know about that little hole you got in your cell.” Michael locked eyes with T-Bag, and T-Bag almost gave a giggle of glee at having that intense gaze aimed at him.

After a moment, Michael turned his attention back to his food. He stayed seated, and T-Bag smirked. Very slowly, he moved his hand from Michael’s thigh towards his crotch. He was so excited, and his heart was beating so fast, he thought it would explode.

“Just sit still, Pretty. T-Bag’s gonna take good care of you,” he whispered, and Michael shivered.

T-Bag was an expert at covert hand jobs. All right, so he’d mostly done it to himself, but there had been a few times when he’d had the opportunity to enjoy giving pleasure to others. But no one came close to Michael. Michael was like some kind of treasure. He carried himself with confidence, with poise. But T-Bag knew even the most stoic man could still cry out at the moment of climax. He wanted to know what Michael sounded like.

He watched Michael’s expression carefully, saw his eyes squeeze shut as T-Bag’s hand gripped him and stroked through the thick material of his pants. T-Bag saw the way he clenched his hands into fists, so hard the knuckles were turning white. This only encouraged T-Bag, and he began to pump faster.

“That’s it, Pretty. Just go with it,” he whispered, leaning in close and daring to dart his tongue along Michael’s jaw.

“See, you like this. I can tell. I bet you’re a screamer, aren’t you? Aww, no, wait. I bet you’re real quiet. Probably bite your lip to keep from makin’ too much noise. Which is it? Are you a screamer or not?”

Michael sucked in a mouthful of air and shivered.

“I bet you’re real good at takin’ care of the ladies,” T-Bag said. “But tell me, who takes care of you? T-Bag, that’s who. Just remember, T-Bag made you feel this way.”

Michael made a noise low in his throat, a guttural animal noise, so deep that T-Bag got goosebumps. And an instant erection, but that was to be expected.

T-Bag exhaled softly as he felt Michael reaching the precipice. Michael let out a groan, and slumped forward a little as he came. His shoulders slumped and he put his trembling hands over his face. T-Bag let go and patted Michael gently on the back.

“There now, don’t you feel better?” He leaned in close and whispered, “But if I were you, I’d keep my shirt untucked. Don’t want anyone to see how relaxed you are, now do we?”

Picking up his tray, T-Bag stood up and went over to join Seth. Ten minutes later, Michael was still sitting where T-Bag had left him, a fist against his mouth as he glared at the table.

“What’d you do to him?” Seth asked.

T-Bag raised a brow and smiled around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“I just showed him how much of a friend I could be,” he said. “That’s all.”

~end