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Three Camels and a Shiv
Act One
Jensen sat on the least questionable section of the grimy holding cell bench with his head in his hands. He couldn't believe what had started out as your typical holiday across the border had ended with him and his boyfriend Tom both in jail on charges of drug trafficking. Not that the actual vacation had been that great either. He and Tom (well, mostly him) had taken it in the hopes of recharging a relationship that had felt faded and lackluster of late. They had plenty of sex, sure, but Tom had spent the rest of the vacation sucking down screwdrivers at the bar or disappearing for much of the day, leaving Jensen to kick around the beach and scowl at all the other couples.
And how in the hell had ten kilos of cocaine ended up embedded in the sides of his car doors anyway? Tom said their vehicle must have been worked over by a cartel while they were staying at the resort in Cancún, said it “happens all the time, and in a few days the cops will sort it out and we'll be cleared of all charges, no need to worry, babe.” What bullshit, Jensen thought. Drug runners didn't use mules they didn't know. I know I have bad taste in men, but God, when did I start dating criminals?
Two guards, one pinch-faced and surly, the other built like a truck, came up to his cell. “Stand up, Ackles, hands front.” The surly one clapped a pair of handcuffs around Jensen's wrists before instructing him to follow, as the beefy guard shadowed his footsteps. They marched him down grey cement hallways into an equally grey interrogation room, which nonetheless seemed a thousand times brighter because inside was his lawyer, thank god. Now he just had to get this mess cleared up, explain that he had no idea his soon to be ex-boyfriend was a shady criminal type as well as an emotionally stunted douchebag.
“What do you mean, I can't get bail?!”
“Jensen, I'm fully confident that we will prove your innocence,” Mr. Redding said perfunctorily, not glancing up from his pile of case papers. Jensen really wished he knew, well, anybody in the legal profession, so he could have done a better job of choosing a lawyer than picking a name from the phone book at random. “The problem is that Mr. 'Tom Sawyer,' legal name Thomas Patrick Welling, has a whole list of priors, and you've had joint checking for the past year. We can use alibis and credit records, that kind of thing, to prove you had no knowledge of Tom's activities, but it's going to take time. Right now, you look like the devoted boyfriend, and especially since a couple of Tom's previous lovers did help him with his 'side jobs,' I just can't convince the judge to allow bail.”
“So what the hell am I supposed to do?”
Mr. Redding finally looked up and flashed Jensen a brief, insipid smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. “Just hang in there, Jensen. For the time being you and Tom will both be moved to general population while the investigation is ongoing.”
Jensen's jaw dropped open in disbelief. “Excuse me? Since when do they put people in general population before they've been convicted?”
The lawyer fidgeted with his shabby red and blue striped tie and shifted uncomfortably. “Normally, they don't, but the political climate regarding drug trafficking across the Texas border is particularly harsh right now, and the DA here is looking to make some examples, demonstrate a zero-tolerance policy.”
“But I'm innocent!” Jensen shouted. “He can demonstrate on someone who's actually done something!”
“Of course you are,” the lawyer soothed. “And I will get you out of general population as soon as I can, but for the moment you and Tom will both be housed there. Ah, speaking of your boyfriend...I'm sure you're unhappy with him right now-”
“That's the fucking understatement of the year,” Jensen interrupted acidly.
His lawyer ignored the sarcasm, giving Jensen a very sober look. “For your own safety, Jensen, I wouldn't rock the boat until you're out of here. Tom understands this world; you don't.”
“What are you saying, exactly?”
“I'm saying that prison is not a nice place, and it's a bad idea to alienate your only ally on the inside.”
It would have actually been pretty good advice, except that he had the shitty luck to be housed in the one prison where one of the inmates had a grudge against Tom for something “that completely wasn't my fault, baby, the guy has blame issues.” Jensen nervously padded into his assigned cell and prayed he wasn't about to be ganked his first night in Fort Worth Correctional. His new cellmate was lying down on the bottom bunk, hands resting under his head. As Jensen entered, the man pivoted his legs off the bed and slowly stood up. Jesus. Jensen was pretty tall, but this guy had almost a hand on him, and was built, bulging pecs and biceps that made Jensen want to – walk right up and squeeze to check if they're as hard as they look– Wait, did I really just think that? Get a grip; you're in prison, you idiot!
“Well, well. You're quite a step up from my last tenant,” the man drawled in a sexy baritone. “Please, let me introduce myself. Jared Padalecki.”
“Jensen Ackles. Nice to meet you,” he replied, reaching out to shake Jared's offered hand.
“Trust me, the pleasure's all mine.” Jensen flushed and tried to pull his hand away without seeming too eager to get out of Jared's grasp. Jared held on for a slow moment before letting him go with a smirk that sent sparks racing through Jensen's body, like a teasing preview of orgasm. Criminal, Jensen. Cri-mi-nal. Criminal equals bad, remember? Jensen frantically repeated the mantra until he felt like he could reply without sounding like a phone sex operator.
“Well...uh, I think I'll go to bed now,” Jensen finally managed to get out. “Long day and all.” He edged sideways past Jared and rushed up the ladder to the top bunk, laying down with his face to the wall.
“Suit yourself, baby,” that sinful voice floated up through the mattress.
Jensen didn't fall asleep until well past lights out. He told himself it was fear, and ignored the throbbing erection that argued otherwise.
Tom came up to him at breakfast the next morning, and almost grabbed his ass when they were walking back to the tables. Jensen swung out of the way just in time. As it was, he saw his new cellmate narrow his eyes and shoot him and Tom a considering look from where he was seated a couple tables over. Not that I was looking for him or anything.
“Are you crazy?” Jensen hissed. “I already had my roommate leering at me the second I walked in! You start necking me in front of everyone, and I might as well wear a sign saying 'prison bitch.'”
Tom huffed petulantly. “Well, if you hadn't insisted on crossing back into the States at fuckin' middle of the night, the damn border inspection might not have been so suspicious and we wouldn't even be here.”
“So now this is my fault?!” Jensen couldn't believe his – his gall. Tom was a cocaine runner with a rap sheet that was probably longer than Jensen's undergrad thesis, who had lied to Jensen about everything, including his name. God, Tom fucking Sawyer. How much more obvious could an alias get?
Jensen took a deep breath or three and reminded himself that, assuming the inmate with a grudge could be handled, he still needed Tom's support to make it through this without getting butt-raped by half the inmates. By the time he'd finished his gelatinous oatmeal with a side of equally questionable scrambled eggs, he'd calmed down enough to ask Tom what their next move should be. Until I get dropped as a suspect, and then I swear to God, for once I am going to think with my upstairs brain and dump your ass. And on that note, I'm totally taking the flatscreen.
“Just keep your head down during work shift and lunch, try not to talk too much or piss anyone off. But not too down,” Tom added, “or they'll think you're easy pickings. You gotta give off a vibe that says 'I'm not making trouble – but I could be.'”
“But I can't fight worth shit, Tom!” Jensen hissed worriedly. “What if someone actually fights me?”
“Then you didn't get the vibe right.”
And my face is smashed in. Great advice, Tom.
“It's all in the balance,” Tom continued sagely. “You gotta act like you can – but not too much...er, anyway, you only gotta make it through today. Exercise yard this afternoon, that's where I'll find out who the big dog is, see about clearing up this misunderstanding between me and my old pal Mikey.” Tom grinned fatuously from across the table. “Don't worry, babe. We'll get through this – after we spring out, I'll take you someplace real nice to celebrate, yeah?”
Jensen palmed over his face. Now he offers to take me to dinner. I can just see that self-help book. How Getting Arrested Saved My Marriage, and 101 other weird tips to strengthen your relationship.
There were far too many leers and threatening glares during Jensen's nerve-wracking first work detail, but through some providence no one actually approached him, and he made it to the afternoon exercise hour unscathed. Unless I count the eyefucks. Jensen huddled next to Tom as he addressed another inmate, and prayed that for once Tom knew what he was doing.
“Top dog? Yeah, sure, that'd be JT. Left far corner, by the fence. Can't miss 'im.” The shriveled old Latino turned his attention back to sucking in a long drag of his cigarette.
As they approached, Jensen spotted a familiar set of broad shoulders with a sinking sense of foreboding. His fears were confirmed when Jared turned around at Tom's blustering announcement.
“I wanna talk to JT.”
“Yeah?” A paunchy guy to Jared's right, who looked like a goat with his overbite and scraggly goatee, sneered menacingly at Tom. “Well, maybe he don't wanna talk to you, fish.”
Jared stopped Goat-guy with a small gesture, zeroing right in on Jensen. He gave out a slow smile that wasn't remotely reassuring, before turning his attention to Tom.
“I'm JT. What brings you to my corner of our fine establishment?”
“I hear you're the guy in charge,” Tom blurted out. He always has been as subtle as a train wreck. Why are we together again? Oh, right, because he's hung. God, I really need to stop thinking with my dick.
“And...”
“Well, see the thing is, I've got an old friend in here, and we had this misunderstanding the last time we saw each other. Now Mikey's got a bit of a temper – I'm sure I can work things out with him once he cools down, but in the meantime he's not real happy with me.”
Jared listened to Tom's oily spiel with crossed arms and bored, hooded eyes. When he finished, Jared let the silence draw out until Tom's confident smile faltered and his eyes nervously darted to Jared's muscle.
“So basically, newbie, you're fishing for protection. That I can do,” he drawled, casually examing his nails. “The question is, what's in it for me? I'm not really a charity kinda guy.”
“Uh...” Tom uttered. Apparently he hadn't thought that far ahead in his plan to make friends and influence people.
“Nothing to offer? Sorry to hear that. Well,” Jared moved forward briskly, clapped Tom on the shoulder hard enough to make him flinch. “I'm sure Mike'll be real forgiving. I hear Pete Kazins can even chew food again, although he's still got a piss tube up his dick. Say,” he continued, letting Tom see his eyes rake over Jensen appreciatively, “you friendly with Jensen over here?”
“How do you know-”
“Oh, didn't he tell you? We're bunking together. He didn't seem too enthusiastic, though. A shame, really, 'cause I like him just fine.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Even Tom hadn't missed that innuendo. But Tom wouldn't sell his own boyfriend...Would he?
“Hey now, wait up a minute,” Tom said in a rush. “Uh, if that's what you want, I'm sure Jensen can be real friendly – but he don't come cheap.”
Oh my god, he DID. “Tom!” Jensen hissed in outrage.
“Well, providing bodyguards is a pretty expensive service, you ask me.”
“Oh sure, sure,” Tom wheedled. “But I'd rather not have to completely rely on your guys, no offense. A man's gotta be able to defend himself, buy his own resources, you know?”
“Hello, people! I am not a fucking bartering chip!” Jensen interjected, only to have both men continue to ignore him.
Jared's eyes narrowed in thought. “All right. My personal guarantee that Mikey Rosenbaum – that is the Mikey you're talking about, right, crazy bald fucker?”
“Yep,” Tom nodded brightly. “That's the one.”
“Ok. My guarantee that you won't be killed or maimed by Mikey, a decent shiv, and three camels-”
“Camels?” Jensen squeaked, which finally got Jared to look at him.
“I'm more a Marlboro guy, myself,” he shrugged, “but it's what our supplier can get this month. It's prison, not Ebay.”
“Five packs,” Tom shot out, trying to sound tough.
“Three,” Jared replied, so coldly that Tom blanched. “Don't get greedy, you little shit.”
“Three sounds great,” he quickly replied.
Jensen watched in disbelief as Goat-guy handed over three packs of camels (natural flavor, no filter) and a roughly sharpened piece of scrap metal with a handle of electrical tape. He found his voice again when Tom started walking away with a disgustingly chipper “nice doing business with you.”
“Tom, you bastard, get back here! I'll show you a shiv – I'm going to rip your balls off with my bare hands!”
“Here now, can't let you do that, sweetheart.” Jared stopped Jensen by virtue of grabbing the back of his shirt and jerking him so he stumbled backwards into Jared's broad chest. “Deal's a deal, after all.”
“Like Hell it is! I don't care how many smokes Tom jips you out of, I did not sign up to be your cellmate with benefits.” Jensen tried to pull away, and Jared let him for a moment, only to yank him back so they were face to face. Jared leaned closer, so close that they were almost kissing. His breath smells like mint and tobacco, Jensen noticed, licking his lips unconsciously.
Suddenly, Jared just backed off, leaving Jensen swaying a little on his feet before he got a hold of himself. “Hear that, Gainer?” Jared tossed out to Goat-guy in a reproving voice. “I guess Tommy-boy promised something he couldn't deliver.”
“At least it won't be a total loss, JT. I heard Mikey talkin' about how he's gonna carve Tom up nicer than a Christmas ham. Now that's entertainment.” Goat-guy, that is Gainer, favored Jensen with a toothy smile.
Great, now Jensen felt guilty for sealing Tom's messy demise. Jared saw the hesitation on his face and went in for the kill.
“Tell you what, baby,” he said sweetly, like a football jock trying to talk his prom date into a hickey, “I'll make you a wager. I bet in two weeks I can convince you to be my girl.”
Jensen scoffed. “Yeah, sure, with your fist, or your damn goons threatening me every time I take a piss.”
“Nope. No hits, no threats, just good old fashioned seduction. I convince you, we serve out our time in happily convicted bliss. I don't, and I'll leave you alone, and your good friend Tommy stays protected, my word on it.”
Jensen felt in his gut that any bet with Jared was a bad plan. But really, what other choice do you have?
“Fine.”
“I knew you'd see it my way. Let's shake on it.”
Jared's grip was hot and firm, like...no, he wasn't going there. Two weeks of ignoring cheesy come-on lines. Easy, right? And it wasn't like Jensen was even single – he was still involved with Tom, sort of. Does pimping out your significant other for camels count as breaking up with them, or is it more like open dating? Nevermind – stay focused Jensen. You can do this.
Tom met back up with Jensen as they were lining up the inmates to come inside for dinner. Jensen glared at him as he sauntered into line in front of him, like nothing was wrong.
“I can't believe you, Tom. How could you just...sell me off to the highest damn bidder!” he hissed. “God, did I ever mean anything to you, or was I just some convenient mark with a bank account and a set of wheels?” Jensen sniffed. He was not going to cry.
“Babe, come on,” Tom cajoled. “You know I care about you. I do!” he exclaimed when Jensen shot him a withering glare. “I just, uh...I just didn't know how to tell you about this, about my past.” Tom wrinkled his forehead, attempting a look of what Jensen guessed was supposed to be remorse – it came out more like being stumped on a Jeopardy question.
“There are some things I've done that I'm not proud of-”
“Like trying to smuggle drugs in your boyfriend's car?”
“Like –” Tom's eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. “Like not being honest with you.” Tom moved closer, his eyes wide and softly entreating. Jensen had always liked Tom's eyes. “I wish I didn't have to put you in this position, more than anything I wish that. But I knew I could count on you to be there for me, baby. You're my rock, Jen.” Tom gently pulled Jensen's hand over his heart. “I need you. Promise me we'll be okay?”
Jensen felt himself softening despite his better judgment. He chewed his lip fretfully. Okay, he still really should have told me the plan...and come up with a better plan than pimping me out...but his life was in danger. And he seems so sincere...
“You're breakin' my damn heart, Romeo. Now will you shut the fuck up and follow the line?”
Tom pouted at being interrupted, but started walking. As he followed, Jensen heard a muttered “idiots” from the grizzled older man who had interrupted them. After a couple of right turns, Jensen saw they were being led to a large cafeteria that looked eerily like the exact same one from his middle school, except instead of overly permed lunch ladies the food was served by hulking guys with tattoo sleeves. Although, come to think of it, there had been that one woman in seventh grade, Ms. Robinson, who always wore heavy eyeliner and flaming skull earrings. Rumor had it one kid who pissed her off just disappeared, and the next day someone found a shoelace in their meatloaf. Jensen shuddered at the memory, then squeaked and jumped a little as a heavy hand touched down on his shoulder.
“Jesus kid, don't be so jumpy, it's like sprinkling blood in the water in this place. Look, it probably ain't any of my business,” the guy continued, “but I know your friend's type. He'll promise you a bag of diamonds, and leave you holding the crowbar when the cops come.”
Jensen sighed. “No, I know. You're right. I just – I want to believe the best of people.” And by people I mean hot guys with hazel brown puppy dog eyes. Wait, brown? Green, I meant green. “I guess this isn't really a good place for that kind of outlook, huh?”
“You think?” the other man groused, but with an undertone of kindness in his voice.
Jensen smiled, enjoying the dry sarcasm. “Well, thanks for the advice...can I get your name?”
“Jim Beaver.”
“And I'm Jensen. Jensen Ackles. Um, you want to join me for dinner, or – I mean, not if you've got a regular spot or something, or if you don't want to be seen with me – and wow, now I really feel like I'm back in high school.”
Jim looked more amused than annoyed at Jensen's verbal fumbling. “And sound like it, too. Think I'll pass on listening to your boyfriend for the next hour, but you wanna talk sometime, you can find me during rec time. See you around, kid.”
“Bye. And thanks again!” he called after Jim's retreating back. Jim is right. I need to stay strong, stick to my guns with Tom, and with Jared. I am strong. Like steel. Like hard, unyielding, pounding – shit! Okay, scratch the steel mantra. I am cold, cold like ice...
Jensen somehow managed to not smack into anyone as he continued his mental pep talk on the way to join Tom at one of the unnoccupied tables, barely pausing to sneer at Jared's drawled out “Hey, baby, there's a spot free next to me anytime you want it.” He didn't see the glare Jared leveled at Tom's back after Jensen had passed by. Tom absently greeted him as Jensen sat down, then went back to eating the half-baked lasagna. Jensen applied himself to eating his own lunch, not bothering to break the silence. Listening to Tom was what got me into trouble to begin with. They were both mostly finished when a shadow fell across Jensen's tray. He saw Tom look up and pale instantly, his fork clattering to the floor. Jensen turned, and jerked back from the bald guy standing right next to him with a grin that gave pirahnas a run for their money.
Pirahna Guy cracked his knuckles, one at a time. After letting the punctuated silence stretch out long enough for Jensen's frozen muscles to start cramping, he spoke, in that kind of light, controlled tone that practically sizzles with underlying threat.
“Hi there, Tommy. Long time no see. You remember what I told you the last time I saw you?”
Tom leaned away and smiled weakly. “Uh...look now, Mikey, see the thing is-”
“I said,” Mikey growled, lunging forward and slamming both palms onto the table, “that I was going to slice you up and make you eat the pieces, you two-timing little fucktard. And guess what?” The look in Mikey's eyes was almost demonic. “It's fuckin' carving time, Tommy.”
Jensen sent a silent curse Jared's way for lying through his shiny white teeth and tried to prepare himself for death. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to know what came next.
“Hey, Mikey, what's going on? You look a little tense.” Oh, thank god. Jensen opened his eyes to see Jared squared off against Mikey, looming as only a truly large and well muscled guy can. Mikey snarled, but made no move to approach him. “Not that it's any of your fucking business, JT, but I've got a score to settle with my old pal Tommy.”
“I'm sure you do,” Jared agreed with false pleasantry, “but there's a little snag in your plan. Tom here bought a certain amount of protection from me, and I honor my deals.”
“I don't care if he gave you the safe codes for fuckin' Fort Knox,” Mikey snarled. “The little shit is gonna die today!”
Jared stepped forward and it was like all the air got sucked out of the room, leaving only silence and his icy stare. “Let me tell you why that's a bad idea, Mikey.” Jesus. And I thought Mikey sounded threatening. Jensen was impressed and disturbingly turned on, given that he'd never been one for violence. “First, if you do manage to get past me or my guys, every cut you put on my client, I'll put on you.”
“You think I fucking care?” Mikey spat defiantly. “I'm getting my revenge, come hell or high water.”
“Oh, I know you don't care, Mikey. It's part of your own special brand of crazy.” Jared smirked in cold amusement. “That's why I won't carve you up enough to kill you. Just enough to make you wish I'd finished the job. But you'll live, and you'll heal. And after you're healed up, I'll get you transferred to Supermax.” Mikey's snarling mask faltered, skin paling. Jared leaned in towards his right ear, speaking so quietly Jensen barely caught it. “I know what you're asking yourself – and yeah, I do have the connections. I'll get you a life sentence there. You wanna know what life in the 'max is like? You're lying on a cement slab 24/7, with nothing but a window slit angled towards the sky for a view. No company, no entertainment, no...anything. Kind of like being back in the womb, I guess, if your mom was a corpse.” Jensen shivered at both the imagery and the sound of Jared's voice, equal parts horrific and mesmerizing.
“You know they don't let you commit suicide there?” Jared continued. “You try to starve yourself, they just strap you down and stuff a tube down your throat. You're what, thirty, thirty-five? So only fifty or so years to go before you're finally out of your misery.” Jared shifted so his eyes were right in front of Mikey's, boring into him. He said nothing for one heartbeat, two, three.
Mikey shuddered and looked down.
His point made, Jared relaxed back, pleasant smile on his face, and said, “Well! I'm glad we got that settled.”
Mikey cleared his throat and tried to settle back into his earlier 'crazy fucker' posture. “So, uh, just to be clear, Tom's got full protection?”
Jared's eyes shifted for a blink of a moment; Jensen would have missed it if he hadn't been looking straight at him. “No killing or maiming, in exchange for three squares of smokes and Gainer's best shiv...and a little arrangement between me and Jensen here. We're still hammering out the details.”
Jensen didn't understand why Jared's statement made him uneasy; it was exactly what he'd offered Tom in the exercise yard. But Mikey's eyes suddenly lit up again. Call me paranoid, but a cheered up psycho can't be a good sign.
Mikey grinned jauntily back at Jared. “Got it, JT. No killing or maiming, my word on it.” He pivoted and walked back the way he'd come with a little salute in Jared's direction.
After dinner all the new inmates were directed to Rec Room C and ferried in by two guards who looked like they couldn't wait for their shift to be over.
“All right, newbies, listen up. This is your recreational time. You have one hour, during which you can attend religious services, use the library, or write emails, for those of you that earn computer priveleges. The commissary is also open during this time, for those of you that earn monetary priveleges. The following new inmates are required to attend the Narcotics Anonymous session, and will line up to be escorted to Meeting Room 18A. Anderson, Duchovny, Rodriguez, and Mitchell.
“Hey, what the hell happened to the 'anonymous' part?” Duchovny whined.
The guard reading off the list snorted. “You're in here for possession and dealing, Duchovny. That ship has long since sailed. The following new inmates are required to attend Anger Management. Costa, Green, Guiterez, Haskin, O'Brian, and Wisneski. Follow me, people.”
Jensen watched the called inmates file out, trying to memorize the faces of the anger management group. At least then I'll know which of the new people are likely to stab me for taking the last cookie in the commissary. That only left, oh, a few hundred other inmates to sort into psychotically dangerous — versus merely your garden variety criminal offender. I am so screwed. Jensen wasn't about to count on Jared's so-called protection to save his skin if someone really had it out for him; the guy had barely made it in time to circumvent Mikey's would-be dinner show.
After a few minutes of milling about, talking or decidedly not talking depending on the person, the gathered inmates slowly trickled out of the room. Among the few remaining, Jensen noticed one guy with a salt-and-pepper beard and a scraggly pony tail sidling closer to him and smiling creepily.
All right, time to explore. Jensen walked out of the room hastily, hugging the wall opposite Creepy Smile Guy. The recreational rooms were all grouped down the single wing of the prison, making it easy for Jensen to poke his head into rooms as he walked down the hall. Some had signs on them indicating some of the groups the guards had mentioned: “Alcoholics Anonymous,” “Kleptomaniacs Anonymous,” “Pyromaniacs Anonymous” - Jensen really didn't want to piss off any arsonists. He poked his head into one dimly lit room curiously, wondering if he could just hide in it until lights out and thereby avoid digging himself any deeper. As his senses adjusted to the relative quiet, he heard some odd squelching noises and a dim, lumpy outline started to resolve itself.
“Do you mind, bitch?” A snotty voice called out from the lumpy shape. Which suddenly was very clearly one inmate fucking another sitting on his lap.
Jensen squeaked. “Sorry! Sorry!” Okay, so clearly dark corners are out. Guess Jared's not the only one who's willing to go gay on the inside. Although I guess if the top dog does it, that would kind of set a precedent.
After hastily passing two other darkened rooms, Jensen found what he guessed was a game room. There was a scruffed up foozball table off to one wall. The other wall had some low shelves with board games and a chessboard, but the two tables of inmates had apparently ignored them in favor of setting up poker games. Jensen wasn't a great poker player, but he did like watching the Vegas tournaments on TV sometimes. There were even a couple of inmates already gathered around the action, so he wouldn't be doing anything unusual. He rejected watching the table that was playing for smokes on principle, settling on a tabletop next to the other group, who appeared to be betting some kind of homemade poker chips.
Three players had already folded their hands for the round, and the current standoff was between a mustached smallish guy and a black guy with startling blue eyes and an ornate tattoo of a skull with dice in its eye sockets on the back of his neck. Blue Eyes and Mustache stared at each other as the seconds ticked by, both faces expressionless. The only sounds were quiet breathing and the alternating buzz and tap as the dealer at the other table shuffled the deck, bridge style. Blue eyes looked down at his cards, then back up. Mustache briefly chewed his upper lip, stopping almost as soon as he started, but Jensen was sure Blue Eyes caught the potential tell. Blue Eyes smiled slightly, and pushed forward a high stack of the odd makeshift chips.
“Raise by one-fifty.”
Mustache's left eye twitched slightly. One of the other guys let out a low whistle, cutting it off when the dealer glared at him. Blue Eyes leaned back, keeping eye contact with Mustache all the while. Jensen breathed in and started to hold it without realizing it.
Mustache suddenly threw down his cards with a disgusted sound. “Fold.”
Blue Eyes chuckled and gathered up the pot. “Better luck next time, Mitchell.” The dealer turned to one of the other players. “You're tapped out, Wilson. Got anything else to ante, or you out?”
“Nah,” the other man replied with a sigh. “I'm out for the night. Have fun, guys.”
Ooh! There's a spot open. Maybe I can actually have some fun in this place for five minutes.
Jensen walked over to the now vacant chair. “Can I get dealt in?”
Mustache stopped him pulling out the chair by hooking a foot against one of the legs. He scowled over at Jensen. “Fuck no. This is tournament night. No bitches allowed.”
It felt like all the blood had drained from his face. “Excuse me?” he rasped.
The dealer smacked Mitchell across the back of his head. “Fuckin' reprobate. Watch your mouth. But he's right,” the man addressed Jensen. “No ladies allowed, 'cept to watch.”
“Tell you what, sweetheart,” Blue Eyes spoke up. “You can come sit by me. For luck,” he added, winking suggestively.
“You fuckin' nuts?” Mitchell goggled at him. “JT's workin' this one – he'll eat you alive if you make a move before him.”
“If I make a move, sure,” Blue Eyes drawled back. “But if he wants to move on me, well, that's lady's choice. What's-his-name, Tommy, said his girl was kind of slutty anyway, 'swhy he loaned him out.”
“He WHAT?!” Jensen shouted. Okay, calm down. It's been one day. He probably just told the guy before I talked to him at breakfast. Just one guy, right?
“Keep it down,” the dealer admonished sternly. One of the inmates that had been watching alongside Jensen sidled over. Jensen realized with dawning horror that he and the other guys watching all had eyeliner and vaseline smeared lips. “Oh, yes,” the painted up inmate purred over Blue Eyes' shoulder. “Tommy told everyone about you. What do you say to a little double-teaming?”
“I – I – ” Jensen stumbled out of the room without answering. He jerked down the hallway some distance, then braced his head against the wall, breathing heavily. “Trust Tommy, he said. You need someone on the inside, he said. That is the last time I take a lawyer's advice in my FUCKING LIFE!” he screamed at the empty hallway. “Christ!” he ranted frantically. “Even if JT keeps that fucking promise, every other goddamn inmate is gonna be looking to gangbang me! What the hell was he – why would he even - ” That is IT! No more pity, no more second chances, I am breaking up with his sorry ass RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.
Jensen stormed down the hallway, trying to track down Tom. The problem was, he couldn't fucking find him anywhere. Even after searching through every single general rec room, including the fucking game room, where Blue Eyes winked at him again. Even after poking his head into the worship group, and boy was that one a long shot. Jensen was ready to give up Tom for dead. I can hope, anyway. Then he heard a creak from a bathroom door at the other end of the hall. Sure enough, out walked Tom and – Mikey?
What the hell? No, no pity! Be cold, be stone cold, be a fucking immovable mountain -
“Tom? Are – are you okay?” Jensen nervously called down the hall. Damn it. Tom jerked his head up at the sound of Jensen's voice, and walked towards him without a word towards Mikey. For his part, Mikey smirked wickedly at Jensen before stalking off around the corner.
“H-hey baby. Enjoying your free time?”
Up close, Tom looked pale and sickly, more than could be accounted for by the cheap flourescent lights overhead. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
“What the hell was that?” Jensen demanded, looking anxiously for signs of injury. “Did he hurt you? I mean, that was the point of this stupid deal in the first place. Please tell me I'm not peddling my ass for nothing.” He ground his teeth at his stupid, stupid inability to stop caring.
Tom smiled weakly. “No, of course not. Just...talking things out.” Jensen didn't buy it, but Tom continued before he could question it.
“Uh, baby...speaking of that whole deal business, and what you said earlier about keeping the PDAs low key in here...”
“...yeah?” Jensen gestured impatiently for Tom to continue.
“I got to thinking, and I think you're right.”
“About not pimping me out like your personal crackwhore?”
“No, not that.” Jensen scowled, and Tom hastily tried to backpeddle. “I mean, not that I want you screwing around with other guys, of course not – although that could be pretty hot if I were watching...”
“And I'm sure by 'screwing around' you meant forced into it by your actions,” Jensen remarked acidly.
“Of course,” Tom agreed quickly. “Seriously, though, Jen – without JT's protection, Mikey really will kill me.” Jensen's annoyance gave way to resigned acceptance. Whatever his other lies, Tom was telling the truth about his life being on the line. He just wasn't a good enough actor to fake that shudder of fear. “Anyway,” Tom pressed on, “I meant you're right about cooling our relationship while we're in here. We can just act like we've broken it off, like we're just friends now, yeah?”
Suddenly, Jensen felt oddly short of breath. “Uh, sure. Yeah. Glad you agree,” he managed to push out.
“Awesome!” Tom attempted another nervous not-grin. He automatically moved his arm like he was going to pull Jen into his side, before managing to change it into an awkward clap on the shoulder.
“Right.” Jensen took a deep breath. “So, you want to go watch TV or something?”
Tom flinched, and twitched his head back down the hall Mikey had walked down earlier.
“Maybe later...I should do something, uh, yeah, that thing I need to do...” he snapped his fingers and trailed off.
Like that clicking will somehow regenerate your nonexistent brain cells. God, you could have just said “No,” asshole.
“Fine, go do that thing that's so important you can't remember it,” Jensen snapped. “See you later.”
“Yep! Later, ba – Jen.” Tom hauled ass back towards the rec rooms. Jen stood there, trying to process what the hell just happened.
Right, okay. You were going to dump his loudmouth, reputation destroying ass anyway. Jensen sniffed and felt his eyes prickling. He swiped at them angrily. Stop it! It was your idea, you moron. This is good, right?
Right or not, Jensen felt depressingly unloved, like the bereft girl who gets dumped right before prom. He considered asking Jim if he'd like to play cards (since he still hadn't satisfied his poker craving, damn it), but decided he couldn't take it if he got shot down twice that night. He spent the rest of his rec time brooding in the back corner of the library room, where thankfully no one approached him.
Jensen sighed in relief as the call came in for lights out. When he and Jared had entered their cell for the night, he'd been sure it would be a constant stream of lewd come ons, but Jared had just settled down on his bunk with a book on international economics, of all things. Jensen had waited nervously for about thirty minutes before finally cracking and bursting out, “Would you just start hitting on me already? Don't you have some elaborate seduction speech to give to me?”
To which Jared just shrugged, like he hadn't been all over Jensen in the yard earlier, and drawled, “Nope. Just want to finish my book.” Jensen had given up trying to figure him out, and had actually managed to relax for the next couple of hours, reading an old Michael Crichton he'd picked out of the prison library.
The lights shut off five minutes after the warning call, leaving darkness save for two dim squares of illumination from the wall and door windows. Jensen curled up on his side and fluffed his pillow, although it was a bit of a lost cause. Stupid Tom and his stupid drugs – I could have been home with my damn memory foam mattress right now. A rustling noise from Jared's bunk caught his attention. It sounded like Jared was sliding his sheets around or something. At least, that was Jensen thought at first, until it was followed by a long, filthy-sounding moan that went straight to Jensen's cock.
It didn't matter that the cell was dark. Jensen's mind was suddenly making up x-rated choreography for every small sound in lurid technicolor. The snick of a bottle cap: Jared's fingers, glistening with lube, slathering all over the fat head of his cock, squeezing down the shaft, thumb tracing the sensitive underside. A low hitched breath: Jared's other hand palming his balls, rolling them slowly inside the sac. Jensen grabbed desperately at the bedsheets as he forced himself to ignore his own now-raging hard on.
“Hey Jensen, you awake, baby?”
Jensen froze. Fuck. Of course the fucker knew you were awake. Fucking shameless bastard. Fucking. Oh, God.
Jensen bit his lip viciously, trying not to groan.
“You know – ah – you can – oh yeah – take some lube if you want. I don't mind.”
“You'd just love that, wouldn't you!” Jensen hissed over the edge of the mattress. Of course once he was looking, his traitorous eyes zeroed right in on Jared's – Holy shit! – monster cock, jutting up from miles of hard, hard body. He squeaked and rolled back out of ogling range.
“I refuse to jerk off in the same room with you, you – you – felon!”
“Ouch. That hurts, baby. I'll have you know I'm only in for a misdemeanor this time around.”
“Like that makes it better?! You're a damn crime boss. A prison yard bully, and a racketeer, and God knows what else!”
“Yeah, that's it, baby – tell me what a bad man I am. Uh – uh – fuuaaAH!”
After a silence that stretched out as tightly as a tripwire, Jensen finally heard Jared let out a long, slow breath.
“...Oh, fuck yeah.”
“...Oh my God. Did you...did you just jerk off to me yelling at you?” Jensen whispered in horror.
“Couldn't help myself. You sound hot when you're mad.” Jared let out a loud yawn of smug satisfaction. “So – you're sure you don't want the lube?”
“No.”
“Okay, then. 'Night, babe.”
Jensen spent the next hour willing his hard on away, and only partly succeeding before falling into a fitful sleep.
Five Days Later:
Jensen sat in the library with one leg tapping the ground in a frantic staccato, words on the page blurring into meaningless babble in front of his eyes. After another minute, he gave up and threw down the book with a loud smack.
I can't take this anymore.
It hadn't even been a week since he'd made that damn bet, and Jared was well on his way to driving him insane, one exhibitionist act at a time. The jerking off was bad enough; eleven times in the past five days, and yes, goddamnit, he was keeping count. Ten times in the cell, divided pretty evenly between mornings and evenings, and then one time in the shower when Jensen hadn't noticed until far too late that it was just the two of them. And of course he looks even better wet. Water streaming down the crack of his ass, clenching again and again with each lazy thrust – Augh! Maybe if he pressed hard enough on his retinas he could erase the images seared there. Yeah, not likely.
Five days down out of fourteen, and Jensen had pretty much figured out Jared's master plan. Not that it did him any fucking good, 'cause so far Jensen knowing said plan hadn't stopped it from working diabolocally well. Jensen banged his head against the table in frustration. God, I'm so fucking strung out on arousal at this point I'd be willing to auction off a kidney for the chance to get off without Jared around.
But it seemed no matter how hard he tried, looking for empty corriders, going to bathroom breaks at completely random times, Jared was somehow always there. He'd be leaning against a wall, or waltzing down a corrider, flashing that stupid sexy grin Jensen's way. One night, Jensen had even tried waiting until well after Jared had fallen asleep. Finally, after hours of obsessively listening for and analyzing Jared's quiet snores, he'd been sure the bastard was dead to the world. Not thirty seconds after he'd started pumping himself, Jared whispered, “Having fun, baby?”
Jensen had honest-to-god screamed at him. “What are you, a goddamn vampire?!” It had earned him a surly “shut the fuck up, guido!” from the neighboring cell, and a fucking infuriating chuckle out of Jared. Even now, Jensen's hands curled into fists just thinking about it.
As if Jared's campaign of sexual deprivation wasn't enough, there was the other guy. He started showing up the day after Jared's proposal. The man never got close, but Jensen kept catching him staring silently, for minutes on end. Lunch at the chow hall, he was five tables over, staring. Afternoon exercise in the yard, leaning against one of the stadium benches. Staring. It was getting to the point where a glimpse of any pair of too bright blue eyes made Jensen twitch. Today at lunch he had finally worked up the nerve to ask Jim just who the guy was.
“Him? Name's Misha, although he tacks on 'Knight-Defender of the Mustelids' to the end. Guy's some kind of animal rights nut on the outside, got a dime for blowing up the headquarters of some mink farming operation. He's also the de facto leader of the 'girl's club' around here. Although you might shake that up, I hear.” Jim had eyed him knowingly as Jensen paled.
“Uh, I really hope not. Thanks for the info,” Jensen had added, managing to force a brief smile onto his face.
“Sure thing, kid. Not much to do in here besides talk, anyway.” Jensen had just nodded agreement as he got up from the table and deposited his half-finished lunch in the trash.
Great, so he was being driven out of his mind with lust and sized up by the competition at the same time. This Mischa was probably deciding the best way to take him out and make it look like an accident. Tom, true to his word – for once – had also continued to be scarce the past few days. Jensen still felt rejected, and annoyed at himself for feeling said rejection, but he had enough to worry about with Jared's campaign of unrelenting sexual frustration. An absent Tom just meant Jensen was less likely to make yet another stupid decision with his dick. I have really got to stop confusing lust with love. Jensen sighed morosely into his paperback.
“Kid, you look like you just got rejected for parole. What's got you so twisted up?”
“Hey, Jim.” He watched Jim pull a chair catty-corner to his and sit down, leaning into Jensen's space. Jim had been the only good thing to come out of the past few days. Jensen had taken him up on his offer to talk, pretty much every day since Tom had dropped off the radar. Jim had a dry wit and was better read than Jensen had expected from a convicted murderer. Yeah, he hadn't seen that one coming. Jensen looked over Jim's features: weathered skin on a square, solid face, a trucker's beard and haircut, unassuming brownish eyes surrounded by laugh lines. He just seems too laid back, and well...nice, to be a killer. Shows what a good judge of character I am. Jensen also discovered to his chagrin (and the loss of most of his commissary credit) that Jim was a mean poker player.
“That's not an answer.”
Jensen shrugged. “Doesn't matter.”
“Sure it doesn't. Look,” Jim sighed, running a hand over his beard, “I'm finishing up a twenty year stint, so believe me when I tell you, serving time is hard. Start stewing, holding shit in, and it goes from hard to smothering.”
Jensen hesitated. Jim seemed pretty nice, especially for a prison inmate, but he might still be on the take for Jared. Then again, what does Jared even need the confirmation for, with you practically humping the walls in desperation?
“Jared – JT. The guy is driving me out of my mind. I mean, he's been basically acting out porn scenes in front of me left, right, and center. And he won't give me a moment alone, so the only way I'm gonna get to jerk off is if I give him a free show. It's like – like trying to swear off chocolate while living in the Hershey factory,” Jensen finished, trying not to segue into a mental image of Jared covered in chocolate...and completely failing.
“Yeah, I can see how that would grate,” Jim replied without mockery, for which Jensen was incredibly grateful. “But I thought you only had to last two weeks to win this bet of yours? That's not exactly what I'd call a marathon run of abstinence. Are you really that sex starved?” Jim eyed him sardonically.
“No!” Maybe. “I mean,” Jensen continued, trying to ignore the fact that he was blushing, “I try telling myself the same thing. It just another nine days, right? But I'm at the point where I can't think of anything else. I hate to admit it, but he's just that good at being irresistably sexy.”
“Maybe. Or maybe,” Jim replied, arching an eyebrow, “you don't really want to win.”
“What?!” Jensen spluttered. “That's – that's ridiculous! I mean, he's a criminal – uh, no offense.”
“None taken,” Jim responded equably.
“Anyway,” Jensen continued in a more subdued voice, “I don't – okay, maybe I do find him somewhat attractive – in a purely physical way. But thinking with my downstairs brain is what got me in here in the first place. Indulging in...stuff...with Jare – I mean JT – would just dig the hole even deeper – wouldn't it?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Are you going to answer every question I ask with 'maybe?'” Jensen huffed.
“You want an easy yes or no, go pick some damn flower petals.” Jim leaned back a little, drumming his fingers against the card table. “I don't run with JT's inner circle – not because I have a score with him, I'm just not much of a team player. But from what I've seen of him, he's ruthless, but fair. As long as you don't screw him over or rat him out, I don't think he'd make problems for you. Look at it this way – if he wanted to force you, he would've done it already.”
“Hey! I'm not that easy to take down.”
Jim just gave him a look, like he was the youngest, greenest rookie that had ever stepped up to the pitch.
“Sure, kid.”
Jensen sighed and let it go. “Besides, I'm still sort of involved with Tom.” Yeah, sure you are. 'Cause he's been so anxious to spend time with you the past few days.
“Right. The guy who got you stuck in here. And sold you out to save his own skin.”
“Fine! So I'm grasping at straws – sue me!”
Jim shrugged. “I think you're making it more complicated than it really is. It's not like you have anything to lose either way. Once you get cleared and get out of here, you'll probably never see Jared or Tom again. Unless you plan on pulling the 'steadfast wife' act with Tom?” Jensen grimaced and shook his head emphatically. “Right. So in the meantime, if it was me and I had an itch? I'd scratch it. Now enough caring and sharing. Let's play some Texas hold'em.”
Jensen picked up the cards to shuffle, then paused. “Jim, why is Jar – JT the top dog in here anway? I know he's in on a theft conviction, but surely that's not enough to make someone the head criminal in a prison. I mean, you're in for murder and people leave you alone, but you said you're not a power player, either. So why JT?” He chewed his lip fretfully. Is it murder? Oh god, it's probably murder. God, it's probably worse than Mikey, and Mikey is like the poster child for homicidal maniac. Maybe he's a serial killer. Oh God, I'm being wooed by a damn serial killer psycho homicidal maniac–
“JT is the head of knock-off operations for pretty much the entire Southwest region.”
“...knock-offs. Like, bags and sunglasses? Jared's the Kingpin of freakin' Prado and Rolecks??”
Jim frowned, looking deadly serious. “Look, kid, it wouldn't matter if JT smuggled lace doilies. The man is smart, connected, and ruthless if you cross him.”
“Okay, okay, I believe you,” Jensen replied. He couldn't stop another giggle or two from escaping, though. Jim rolled his eyes.
“Just deal the damn cards, Beatrice.”
Huh?
It was another restless night. Jared refrained from the usual torture session and went straight to sleep, which left Jensen bizarrely disappointed and kind of pissed about feeling said disappointment. Emotional paradoxes seem to be my specialty lately. He rolled Jim's advice in his head over and over, but hadn't decided anything by the time he finally drifted off. The next morning he didn't have time to think it over further, as Jensen found himself forced to rush to down the hall to the showers. He and five other inmates had been held up halfway through pre-breakfast hour in a random drug test, so now Jensen was going to have to cut into his breakfast time if he wanted to shower – and after another night tossing and turning, he really did. Because Jensen was in a hurry, he didn't really notice how none of the other guys who got searched were heading for the showers. He dashed through the entrance, blindly stripped off his stripes, and marched into the stall area. Where he jerked to a halt at the sight of Jared standing there with a smirk plastered on his face. Other than the lone guard assigned to supervise, it was just the two of them. Oh, shit. Walked right into that one, didn't you? Jensen mentally scolded himself.
Jared turned to the guard standing watch at the shower entrance. “Take thirty, Hanscomb – I'll give you the usual.”
Hanscomb let out a leer. “Have fun Jared – he looks like a wildcat.” He gave a jaunty wave with his baton as he strolled out.
“Jesus Christ, even the guards want to pimp me out?!”
“No, baby, even the guards want to fuck you. You're the hottest piece of ass this place has seen since the walls went up.”
“Great, I'm the prison bitch equivalent of Marilyn Monroe.” Jensen rolled his eyes.
“Nah...Marilyn's got nothing on you.”
Oh. Well. That's just...I mean...
“Really?” Jensen found his mouth blurting out without any higher brain functions involved.
“Hell yeah. I'll take you over her any day – you coming up to me in a floaty white dress and heels, singin' me my birthday song?” He made a very appreciative sound, and palmed his cock for emphasis. Oh god. Cock.
Jensen tried to think of a scathing retort, but it felt like the leftover steam blanketed any remaining shreds of rational thought in a fog of lust. He blinked slowly and shook himself, realizing that he was staring. Jensen ripped his eyes away and turned the water to cold, but far from providing a wake up, that first icy fall seemed to ratchet up his temperature even higher.
“How's it feel, baby?”
Jared's voice echoed off the tiles, a slinky base note chased by reverb.
“Cold. Slick.” Jensen looked back at Jared again. Just to make sure he's not sneaking up on me. Yeah. Sneaking right up behind me with that gorgeous cock and – I'm staring. Stop staring, you idiot. Stop it!
Jared stared back, eyes hooded, from where he leaned one shoulder against the wall. He traced a bar of soap down his body, starting at the back of his neck and slithering in a diagonal down to the opposite hip. Jensen whimpered in disappointment when he skirted by his dick without touching.
Abruptly he popped away from the wall, striding up to Jensen's side.
“Wait – what are you – I don't think you should – I – ” One large hand stretched forward – and cranked up the temperature controls. Jared licked already wet lips and leaned in.
“Better?”
Jensen dragged in a breath harshly, like it was cigarette smoke instead of steam. Jared smirked.
“Good.” He pivoted back towards the stall he'd just left. Jensen's upper body followed him, and he almost fell over, catching himself just in time with a loud slap of his hand on the tiles. Having reached the neighboring shower, Jared bent down, flashing his ass in Jensen's face. God, he looks like a gladiator with those thighs. I bet he can go all night.
Jared chuckled throatily. “I guarantee it, baby.”
Fuck, I said that out loud? “Not that I want to – go all night that...is...” Jensen lost his train of thought as Jared stood up and turned to face him again, his heavily engorged cock slapping up against his belly. Oh, I am such a liar. Liar, liar, nerves on fire. Who was he kidding? He wanted to go all of several nights, ride that monster cock until his ass was sloppy and sore.
Before he had finished the thought, Jared was standing up again, the dropped bar of soap in his hand. He held it out across the dividing wall; it took Jensen a few moments to realize he was supposed to grab it. The tips of his fingers tingled as they brushed across Jared's palm. He knew, as he took the slippery bar, that Jared was going to ask him to do something. Jensen tried dazedly to remember why that was bad.
“Better wash yourself, or you'll run out of hot water.”
“Huh? Oh – right.” Jensen hastily started scrubbing the bar across his chest.
“Stop.” One corner of Jared's mouth quirked up wickedly. “Slow it down. Yeah, just like that.”
Did someone cut peppers into the soap? It was the only explanation Jensen could think for how each swipe across his skin left a trail of fire in its wake. Or maybe it was the intensity of Jared's stare that was setting him ablaze.
“Jensen.”
“Y-yeah?”
“There something you wanna do right now?”
Jensen's forehead scrunched up in confusion. Jared lazily shifted his gaze down and back up again. Oh. In all honesty, Jensen hadn't even noticed he was hard. Or harder, really – he'd been hard and wanting so much the past few days, it was all starting to blur together. Before he consciously made a decision, his hand drifted down, fingers just grazing the shaft. He shuddered. God, feels so...
“Grip it. Hand tight. Tighter.”
“Oh fuck,” Jensen whimpered. Just a little touching. I'm not giving in. I'm just – showing him what he's not gonna get. Yeah, showing...show...oh hell...
“That's it. Now pump it – slow.” Jensen couldn't decide how he felt. He was strung tight. He was loose enough to fall. He was flying. He was drowning. Most of all, he couldn't tear his eyes off of Jared. Which was fantastic, because otherwise he might have missed Jared leaning back and grabbing his own flushed cock, following Jensen's pace. Jared started grinding his hips up into his hand. Jensen mimiced him with a low whine, loving the drag and thrust of his palm down to his balls and back up to the head. Jared grinned and struck two fingers into his mouth, sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks, and that was it. Jensen's eyes blew wide as he came, milking himself frantically as cum arced into the air. With a groan Jared came too, staring at Jensen the whole damn time.
Jensen found just enough strength in his legs to turn their collapse into a slow slide onto his ass, limbs sprawled out in all directions. Water streamed onto his face as he slowly caught his breath. Wow. He didn't even touch me. Jesus, I am in so much trouble. Finally his eyes starting focusing again, and he noticed Jared leaning forward on the partition, grinning cockily at him.
Jensen scowled. “This does not mean I've agreed to be your 'girl,'” he panted out. “I just...scratched an itch, and you happened to be in the same room.” Jensen expected him to get pissed, but Jared just threw back his head and laughed brightly.
“God, you're fucking adorable,” he replied.
“Am not.” Oh yeah, great retort.
Jared walked over to the stacked towels, still chuckling, and snagged two before heading back to Jensen. He shut off the water as Jensen hastily scrabbled onto his feet, then tossed him one of the towels. “Better hurry up,” he said as he dried himself and slipped on his stripes. “Lineup for morning work detail is in ten minutes, give or take.” Jared paused at the exit and called out, “Hey, Jen?”
“Yeah?” Jen replied warily.
“Thanks for the show.” He grinned widely, dimples flashing, and waltzed out. God, that smile should be illegal. Jensen managed to shake off the post-orgasm lethargy enough to pull on his clothes and walk into the hallway, where he promptly slammed into another inmate.
“Oof! Whoa, sorry, didn't see you...there...”
It was him. Creepy stalker guy with the disturbingly blue eyes, what had Jim called him? Misha. Perfect name for a former KGB assassin. He didn't respond to Jensen's half finished apology, just stood there motionless and staring. The silence drew out as Jensen stared back, transfixed. Oh fuck, oh fuck, this is it. He's gonna kill me right here, in the middle of the goddamn hallway. Oh god, oh god ohgodoh–
“Upon chasing and failing to catch his third snake, the hungry marten entreated Chitra to help him. The benevolent Chitra instructed the marten to startle the snake by hitting the grass around it. Thus, the snake would not be able to guess the marten's intentions. The marten caught the next snake he hunted, and offered the meat to Chitra in thanks.”
“-oh god oh god...what?”
Misha narrowed his eyes slightly. Jensen flinched back in response.
“Has the one called 'JT' made you his girl?” The question was stated flatly, without emotion.
“No! No, I swear, he hasn't – I mean, there was, in the shower – but not really, it didn't mean any – I mean no, absolutely not!”
Misha narrowed his eyes even further. He leaned forward.
Don't breathe. Don't look away. If you look away, he'll think you're weak. Or is that only true with dogs? Damn it, I'm gonna die just because I didn't watch enough episodes of Criminal Minds.
Finally, just as Jensen was getting faint from the lack of oxygen, Misha nodded once and stepped back.
“Very well. I will be watching.” Without another word he turned and walked away.
Jensen was still twitching with leftover adrenaline as he started his laundry detail. There were two main sections that the laundry jobs got divided into: soiled and clean. Jensen was assigned to folding the clean section, making endless stacks of uniform sets and bed linens. Thankfully, prisoners had labeled mesh bags that kept their personal issue together. Jensen had gone a little green at the thought of perpetually swapping underwear with hundreds of other men – especially after he'd smelled a few of the guys, dubbed 'nasty' by fellow prisoners, that avoided showers like a Mormon avoids liquor.
He hummed under his breath as he lined up the corners of a bedsheet. Jensen actually found folding laundry to be a soothing activity; it reminded him of childhood summers with his grandmother, helping her with her sewing projects while watching episodes of Murder She Wrote.
Jessica Fletcher – now there was a lady with class. His hands flew as he mused, finishing one perfect square of cloth and moving on to the next. Just as he lined up the corners, a hard knock to his shoulder jarred his arms out of alignment. A square, pug-nosed inmate crowded into Jensen's counter space, flipping his sheet out aggressively so it was half draped over Jensen's pile.
Jensen gritted his teeth in irritation, but reached out to move his finished piles somewhere else, not wanting to antagonize the guy further.
“The fuck you think you're taking my pile, bitch?”
What the hell? He didn't want to confront the guy, but Jensen needed that pile for his end-of-shift tally, or he'd get in trouble for shirking. He tried for what he hoped was a firm yet placating tone of voice.
“But that's my pile. Your's is right there, see?” Jensen pointed to a row of sloppily folded items.
Predictably, Pug-Nose did not agree. “You lookin' to swipe my goods, punk?” he snarled, bumping his chest against Jensen, so that he was forced back a step. “I say they're both mine. Ain't no fuckin' freshie punk gonna swipe my goods.”
Jensen froze, eyes wide. Shit. Stay cool, stay cool. Why can't I remember number two from that conflict resolution list?! Before he could decide his next best tactic for avoiding a fight that inevitably ended with his greusome demise, another inmate walked up and shoved Pug-Nose away from Jensen. Jensen recognized him as Gainer, JT's right hand man.
“Stuff it, Finnegan. He's off limits.”
“That's fuckin' bullshit Gainer. Punk's not even here a week and he gets a cake job in laundry? It took me five years to swing this job. I had to bribe the job assigments guard with my mint condition Critters plushie! Do you have any idea how rare those are?”
“Cry me a fuckin' river,” Gainer drawled, although he did look slightly impressed. “In case you haven't heard, JT's lookin' to be his bone.”
Finnegan made a disgusted sound. “Yeah, I heard. I also heard he ain't acting like a proper bitch anyhow. That's fuckin' desrespect to JT right there,” he finished sanctimoniously.
Gainer sneered, making him look more goatlike than ever. Well, a homicidal goat anyway, Jensen thought inanely.
“That's JT's call, not yours. I hear you're making trouble again, I'll poke you so full of holes you'll think you're a cheese grater.”
“D'oh! Checked, dawg,” a guy watching the action called out. Finnegan glared at him and Gainer, but sullenly slid his laundry back over to his previous spot. Jensen was flushed red, a mix of anger and embarrassment churning in his gut. “I'm not his bitch, and I don't need your help, thank you very much!”
“Sure you don't,” Gainer snorted. “When's the last time you shivved a guy?”
Jensen looked at him, aghast. “What? I never – violence is not the answer to – resolving..confli...” He trailed off at the disparaging looks Gainer and Finnegan were both shooting his way.
Gainer laughed meanly. “Yeah, you a bitch alright. Want my advice, JT's the best deal you're gonna get. Better take it before he gets bored and someone else bones your sweet ass.”
Jensen finished up his laundry shift mentally bitching to himself about condescending, violent, interfering criminal masterminds and their condescending, violent, interfering criminal underlings.
Back in the media room for rec time, Jensen decided to follow some advice he'd read in a psych magazine and write out a list so he could “verbalize the obstacles” in his completely screwed up life.
Why My Life is Crap Bullshit FUBAR
1. I'm in prison
2. I'm in PRISON
3. The top dog Jared, aka “JT” wants to make me his bitch
4. According to Goat Guy – and Blue Eyes – and that vaseline smeared tramp – so does everyone else
5. Except for Misha, who wants to kill me...or something. What the hell is a 'Chitra' anyway?
6. And Tom, my backstabbing pimp/boyfriend who dumped me
7. WTF?! He couldn't wait one goddamn hour so I could dump him??
8. Asshole. Jared too
9. Ass. Hole. Mmmm. Because I'm a sex starved moron, I kind of want to be Jared's bitch girl cellmate with benefits
10. Did I mention prison?
Jensen manfully resisted the urge to stab the pencil in his eye. No need to do Misha's job for him, Jensen thought grumpily. Okay, so all he had to deal with was potential rape, murder, being falsely convicted of drug dealing, and coercion from a criminal mastermind. Yeah.
Who am I kidding? I'm gonna get convicted because the judge is a hardass or Tom lies through his stupid backstabbing teeth, and then I'm gonna refuse Jared and he's gonna stop protecting me and I'll get raped by a dozen guys and then knifed to death. Or I'll hook up with Jared and he'll get what he wants and then get tired of me and pass me off to the other inmates and I'll get raped and then knifed to death. Or Misha will get to me first and I'll just get knifed to death – please GOD, if you're listening, I know they all say this – but I'm too young to die!
Jensen couldn't wait until rec time was over, so he could curl up in his bunk and fear for his life in relative privacy.
“Hey baby, you feeling all right?”
“Huh?” Jensen sniffed and quickly wiped his eyes. “Oh, fine.”
Jared raised his eyebrows skeptically from where he'd been reading at the desk tucked in the corner of their unusually well outfitted cell. (Jensen had yet to spot another cell with a personal desk, portable dvd player, and a minibar stocked with a rainbow of liquors in those little four ounce bottles.)
“Yeah, I can tell from the way you've been curled up looking like the world's ending for the past hour.”
“Why do you care anyway?” Jensen bit out, suddenly furious. “I'm just a guy you want to fuck.”
“Hey! I may be vicious criminal mastermind who'd stab a guy as soon as look at him...but that doesn't mean I'm heartless.” Jared walked over and placed his hand over Jensen hand curled limply on his pillow, and squeezed it. “It'll get better, I promise, whatever it is.”
The corners of Jensen's mouth twitched upward. “What makes you think it's not you?”
Jared grinned back winningly. “Baby, I plan to make you feel many things, but scared ain't one of them. I think you know that,” he added, “or you wouldn't be trying to hide that gorgeous smile. So tell Mr. Big Bad Criminal what's got you down.”
Jensen couldn't resist the warm concern Jared was projecting. He snuggled a little closer to Jared's hand and started telling him – some of it, at least. “I just...I'm so out of my depth here. Between you, and Tom, and being here when I didn't do anything -”
“Same here.”
“No, actually didn't do anything.”
“Wow, really?” Jared looked at him in startled amazement, like he'd just turned into a unicorn or something. “I mean, you kind of scream small-timer naiive, but honest to god innocent...”
“Don't you dare say girl,” Jensen snapped. “And that's another thing, apparently even if I win my bet with you, I have to be somebody's bitch -”
“Who told you that?” Jared growled.
“Uh,” Jensen drew back, alarmed by the sudden aggression. “He didn't phrase it exactly like that, but Gainer said I should take your offer before you lost interest and someone else, uh, 'bones' me? I'm guessing that means what I think it means.”
Jared muttered something that sounded like “fucking middle management.” Then he shifted his hand to cup Jensen's cheek, and the world seemed to contract down to nothing but Jared, Jared, Jared.
“Don't get me wrong, baby, I want you like Hell on fire. But no one is gonna touch you unless you want them to, my word on it.”
Jensen sucked in a deep breath and wondered why his vision had gone so blurry. Somehow the protection that had felt so demeaning coming from Gainer now felt...nice.
“You know, for a hardened criminal you can be suprisingly sweet.” Jensen smiled shyly.
Jared winced. “Thanks baby – but why don't we replace the 'sweet' thing with honorable or something? I got a rep to maintain.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Jensen deflated a little.
“Hey, hey, nevermind. Sweet is - ” he coughed briefly. “Sweet is great. Any compliment from you is perfect. And if anyone gives me shit, I haven't made an example in over two weeks anyway.” Jared said the last bit more to himself.
“So!” Jared's smile went from fond to sly, and he sauntered over to the minibar, pulling out two bottles of Malibu rum. “Nothing like a little carribbean sunshine to chase the last of those blues away. What do you say?”
How did he know rum is my favorite? Lucky guess? Still buoyed by warm fuzzy feelings from Jared's unexpected chivalry, Jensen gave a mental shrug. What could a drink or two hurt?
Four and a half bottles later, Jensen and Jared sat on the bottom bunk with their shoulders touching as Jensen giggled tipsily.
“You really got treed by a tiger?”
“Yep. The new recruit didn't properly secure the cage door, and when we stopped to unload him at the dropoff, out bursts Tigger, pissed off and looking at me like I'm a juicy slab of beef. I never climbed anything so fast in my damn life. After that I swore off dealing in live goods. Didn't want to end up missing a hand like that guy in Happy Gilmore.”
“Well...I think you shtill look great, hand or no hand.” Jensen propped his chin on Jared's shoulder and enjoyed the smell of rum and aftershave as Jared turned to look at him.
“Glad you think so, baby. I'd hate to think you find me ugly.” Jared delivered this last statement with a somber expression, almost a frown. No, no, no – no sad Jared. Jared should be shmiling! Smiling Jared.
“No. Nope, nu-uh, definitely go-rgeous. God, when I first sawed you – sawed, hah! – when'I f'rst saaw you, I just wanted to touch you and never stop – chest, arms, hair, face-”
“Lips?” Jared interjected.
“Oh, yeah,” Jensen eagerly agreed, tracing Jared's lovingly with a finger. They felt dry, soft, and then there was a sudden flick of wetness – Jared licked his finger. Jensen shivered and ground his hips down on Jared's thighs. Whoa, how did I end up in his lap? he thought fuzzily. The question drifted away as his focus was drawn to the firm slide of Jared's hands up his back, pushing him into -
Lips. Oh, hell yeah. And maybe Jensen was no judge, being drunk and horny, but Jared's mouth on his seemed like the most perfect thing ever: plump, yielding, and sweet as sugarcane. His lips were buzzing with jolts of sensation as Jared traced his tongue along the inside ridge of Jensen's teeth. When he retreated Jensen whined desperately and tried to suck him back inside.
Jared pulled them apart so that Jensen couldn't reach, gently but implacably.
“Wha- what?” Jensen panted. “Why'dya stop?” he groused, sticking out his lip petulantly.
“Jensen, baby, you know how much I want you, but...are you sure you really want this?” He ran his thumb maddeningly back and forth along Jensen's collarbone. “Maybe we should wait – ”
Oh, HELLS no. “You've got to be kidding me.” Jensen was ready to scream in frustration. “Five days of foreplay an' now you want to wait?! Fuck that!” Jensen flailed his arms for emphasis, narrowly missing the underside of the top bunk. “Dammit – 'smy decision, and my decision is I'm gonna get laid right the fuck now.”
“So...you wanna be my girl?” Jared asked, as he moved on to tracing Jensen's throat.
“Yes, whatever, ab-sholutely,” Jensen moaned. “Just stop goddamn teasing already!”
Jared's lips against his skin stretched into what felt suspiciously like a smirk, but Jensen was too worked up to call him on it. He tugged Jared's hair insistently, and finally Jared moved his mouth back into attack range. Jensen dove for his target sloppily, clacking their teeth together a little. He moaned and ground down on Jared's lap, despising his prison uniform at that moment for the barrier it presented.
“Clothes – off – ” he gasped disjointedly.
“Mmm, so eager for me, baby. I love it. Well, I suppose I can unwrap my pretty package. If you insist.” He manhandled Jensen from his lap to the bunk with easy strength, spreading him out on his back before nibbling and sucking his way down Jensen's chest. Buttons popped open one by one, sounding as loud as gunshots to Jensen's ears. Jensen whined and writhed feverishly. I won't beg, I won't beg, no begging, begging, oh god I'm begging you please please please -
“Pleaseplease, Jared, I need, I want you, need you t'put it in me, ride me like a stallion, I – oh!”
His shock managed to penetrate even through the potent combination of drunken and sexual stupor. Jared – King of the prison yard, number-one-alpha-male Jared – had just licked a long stripe up the underside of Jensen's dick.
“Oh my God – you're going to - really?” Jensen squeaked in surprise. “I thought...isn't it only the, uh, bottom guy who gives head in prison?”
Jared sniffed disdainfully.
“Maybe some of the cretins in here. But me – I may be a criminal, but I know how to treat a lady right.”
Lady? Oh fuck, tongue! Jensen magnanimously chose to let the “lady” thing slide in favor of getting his brians sucked out through his dick. Jared fluttered his tongue over the weeping head while he held down Jensen's hips easily with one hand. His other hand palmed Jensen's balls, rolling them gently for a few moments, before sneaking down to rub at the sensitive skin behind them. Jensen desperately tried to hold on, wanting to make it to the main event. Then Jared sucked his cock down hard while his fingers pressed up and Jensen's dick shot off like a fire hydrant in midsummer, sweet gushing relief.
“Oh my GOD!” he shouted, practically jackknifing off the bed. Jared licked him through the aftershocks, then pulled off with a slight pop. He grinned at Jensen's slackjawed face and licked his lips.
After a few more moments, Jensen finally came down to earth enough for his eyes to uncross. He pouted at Jared.
“But I wanted you to fuck me,” Jensen said sulkily.
“Don't worry baby.” Jared leered wickedly. “You're definitely getting fucked. Just taking the edge off for you.”
Jensen scowled at the oblique reminder that unlike him, Jared had gotten plenty of release in the last week.
“Aaw now, baby, don't be like that,” Jared chuckled, seemingly reading his thoughts. “I promise I'll make it up to you.” He pulled Jensen's pants off the rest of the way, before urging him onto his stomach. “You'd better,” Jensen grumbled as he turned over. Jared stroked his palms leisurely along Jensen's back and down the swell of his ass.
“Damn, baby, your skin is so soft and silky – like a pampered princess.”
“It is not–” Jensen spluttered, feeling like it was high time he put his foot down about all the 'girl' comments. “I am not your princess.”
“Don't like that one? Okay, then. How about filthy cumslut?”
“...princess is fine. So are you gonna actually start shomething, Mr. Smug Cock Tease, or just keeping sitting there and doing nothi – Ooh!”
Jensen's eyes widened as Jared pulled his shirt off, pecs flexing when his arms came back down to shimmy off his pants. Seriously, why would anyone want a flopping pair of sad, saggy breasts when they could have twin slabs of gleaming, chiseled muscle to bite and lick and squeeze...
“Jensen? Jensen!”
Jensen snapped his eyes up to Jared's face, now wearing an amused expression, and realized he was actually drooling. He flushed hot with embarrassment. “What?” he feigned ignorance, before turning away and trying to wipe his mouth serruptitiously. Then he promptly forgot his discomfort when Jared spread his cheeks apart and blew a gust of air right at his puckered hole.
Jared followed up on his tease immediately with a swift stab of hot, wet tongue. He set up a slick, maddening rhythm, thrusting again and again until Jensen felt spit running down to his balls, and what had he been so embarrassed about anyway? Spit was fantastic. Jensen whined and fucked himself back onto Jared's face, completely hard again. Now Jared was thrusting a finger in as well, rimming the inner wall and scratching lightly against the little bump of his prostate. His tongue withdrew, leaving Jensen momentarily bereft, but Jared quickly replaced it with two more fingers slathered in lube.
“Yeah, yeah!” Jensen sobbed, loving the sudden stretch.
“God, you look amazing baby,” Jared murmured into his ear. “Such a pretty little cockslut.”
“Wish you'd stop – ah – being such a fucking cock tease,” Jensen gasped out.
“Can't wait to get some of this, can you, princess?” Jared teased, pumping his swollen cock in a lewd display. Jensen had to remind himself that whimpering and grinding down on Jared's fingers was not the right response to being called a princess.
Maybe it was that whimpering, slutty response that finally cracked Jared's cool, because he yanked his fingers out, flipped Jensen flat on his back with a growl, and pushed his thick cock right in.
“Fuck YES!”
Jensen honest-to-god screamed in pleasure, as Jared immediately started pounding into him like a jackhammer. Jensen mewled and cried out wantonly, grinding back against every single thrust. “Oh my God oh my God, Jared, your cock – ” Feels so huge so hard oh god oh yeah fuck me fuck me good fuck fuck oh FUCK!
“Yeah, take it, Jesus Christ, you got the sweetest fucking hole – ” Jared gasped out. He wrapped lube-slick fingers around Jensen's cock and started pulling jerkily, and it was like Jensen hadn't come at all. He could feel his orgasm cresting like a tidal wave, higher and higher and higher – until one last stab of Jared's goddamn perfect cock sent it all crashing down through him, mind wiped blank under a white tide of ecstasy. He vaguely felt the pulse of come in his ass as Jared followed in his wake with a heavy groan. Awareness trickled back slowly as he lay underneath Jared, shivering every so often with aftershocks of sensation.
Eventually Jared pulled out and flopped onto his back, tugging Jensen with him so that he was cradled on top of Jared's sweat slicked torso. Jensen sighed happily and snuggled in, eyes drifting shut. Jared's voice drifted through his fading senses.
“Don't get too comfy, princess – it's almost time for round two.”
Jensen rolled his eyes, but refrained from commenting when Jared carried his breakfast tray to the table for him. Inmates at all the tables let out cheers and catcalls as the two of them sat down.
“Whoo, JT is da man!”
“Knew you'd rope that filly!”
“Top dog is in the house!”
Jensen flushed crimson in embarassment. He glared at Jared, who was just sitting there and smirking widely beside him, taking in the praise. Jared noticed Jensen glaring and laughed, throwing an arm around him.
“Aw, don't sweat it, princess. They just know a great catch when they see him. Settle down, boys,” he called out to the crowd. The whistles and remarks faded back down to the normal low garble of chow hall conversations. With most of the attention back off him, Jensen was able to relax a little, and began nibbling on his oatmeal.
“Better eat the eggs, too,” Jared whispered into his ear. “You need to refuel after last night.”
Jensen blushed all over again. Oh man. What have I gotten myself into?
“Hill, Thorton. Give me an update.”
Dale Thorton swallowed nervously, trying not to fidget under Detective Morgan's intimidating stare.
“This time it's for real. JT's definitely made Jensen his official girl, Sir.”
“I trust this is not another false alarm, like the shower incident?”
Dale straightened up even further. A muscle in his back twinged in protest.
“No, Sir. In addition to the night guard's testimony, I saw them myself in the chow hall. JT even called him his princess. Jensen seemed embarassed, but didn't dispute it. And damn, that kiss Jared laid on him...” Dale whistled appreciatively.
Officer Hill looked at him askance. “You realize it was two guys kissing, right?”
“So? I can appreciate great technique when I see it.”
“Enough!” Morgan growled. Dale snapped back to attention, embarassed to have been distracted enough to forget himself in front of a superior. Really, it was all Officer Hill's fault.
Dale stood in silence while Morgan turned away and stared thoughtfully at the security monitors showing the hallway JT was housed in, determined not to make any further slip ups in front of such a distinguished member of the force. Finally, Morgan narrowed his eyes, then nodded sharply.
“All right. Continue to monitor their interaction for now.”
Officer Hill piped up before Dale could stop him. “To what end, Sir?”
“Sorry, Sir,” Dale threw out quickly, in an attempt to save his fellow officer's hide. Hill was irritating, but if Detective Morgan got rid of him Dale would have to start over from scratch, breaking in another one. “He's a new transfer from L.A.”
Fortunately Morgan's mood seemed to have lightened, and he just smiled enigmatically at Officer Hill. “Why do we observe any criminal, Officer? To find out what they're up to, and stop them. Sometimes that requires getting...creative.”
END ACT ONE