Bert McCracken prison AU.
His words are calm, and spoken barely above a broken whisper, barely above the breath you’re almost too afraid to release. The simple statement holds all the necessary authority, anyway. The depth of it clearer than your conscience – not that that’s saying much. It’s not a question, barely even an accusation. Not yet. He’s working up to it. Your response isn’t required yet, however. On the contrary, you are to keep your mouth firmly shut.
“I bet you enjoyed him touching you.”
He’s only taunting you, trying to coax some kind of reaction out of you. You do still suppress a violent shudder at his words, and their dark implication, though. He’s only getting started on his little ‘disciplining’ session, after all. This is nothing you’re not painfully used to, even.
“Did you want him touching you?”
You don’t meet his eyes. Not yet. Here is where you need to shake your head in denial, though. You always do, at first. You play your part in this little game of his well enough.
The barest sideways movement of your head is all he needs, though.
The smirk is evident in his voice, even though you have yet to set your gaze on his face. The time for that will make itself known. Everything at its time. This is a game you both enjoy, after all. Being locked together in a cell for the past five years already, you’ve gotten pretty good at it, too.
You slowly shake your head again, this time slightly more firmly.
“I think you’re lying.”
You already begin to feel the signs of arousal at his words. At knowing what’s coming.
“I think you like others touching you.”
You fight every urge in you to surge forward and embrace him, allow him to ravish you as he pleases. Every urge to palm your hardening manhood through the ugly orange coveralls that he’ll have you out of soon enough.
“I think you’re a little whore.”
You swallow the moan that threatens to spill from your lips at is harsh words, feeling the need for him to speed things up a bit. Desperate for his touch.
“I think you like when I find out. I think you like when I get jealous. I think you like when I punish you. Is that it?”
You nod, swallowing, fully aroused by this point.
“Is that it?”
He hisses the words with more force. More insistence. More authority. More hunger. You know to verbally answer his question this time.
Your voice sounds small, filled with nerves.
You jump a few steps, adding the small plea, but you can’t take it much longer.
He growls from deep within his throat, indicating that he is effected by you (and your little game) as much as he is. With one sharp tug that stings your scalp, he pulls you up from your kneeling position. Long hair has its benefits in situations like these, and you groan shamelessly – appreciative of the sudden burn.
You repeat the word, and you can see the hunger in his eyes this time.
As you are bodily pulled and shoved, pressed against the cold wall; as you are bitten and cursed at; as you are disrobed and fucked mercilessly; you are, not for the first, or even the thousandth, time, exceptionally grateful that Bert McCracken is your cellmate. Grateful that other men are ordered to touch you at random times, in order to keep this little game alive.
However, as you both collapse onto the same bunk afterwards, breathing raggedly as one, no words spoken in the aftermath – that’s when you’re truly grateful, because you’ll always be safe. You’ll always be his.