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Part II: Submission
'Do you have any idea how much this cost?'' Dad asks in his calm voice, the one he uses when he's everything but. They're crowded in front of the broken vase, scattered in pieces across the grey carpet. They had been playing tag. It had been an accident. ''Which one of you did it?'' He continues, tightening his grip around the cane.
''I did,'' Martyn lies before Phil even gets the chance to open his mouth, taking the blame and the punishment. Phil looks to his older brother, tries to catch his gaze but to no avail. He had barely brushed it. Dad doesn't care for accidents.
''She should have taken you bastards with her.'' Mom had left a few weeks ago. She hadn't even said goodbye. ''Hands on the wall.'' Martyn obeys, placing his palms flat against the wall, looking down. Dad lifts the cane. There's no one to shelter Phil's eyes this time.
-x-x-x-
Dan doesn't know how long he spends at the prison's infirmary, slipping in and out of conciousness; hours, days, maybe even weeks. The morphine makes the pain feel like velvet, makes his hazy mind question if the assault ever even happened. During brief moments of clarity he's made aware that it did, the gauze and stitches proving so. He has three broken ribs, two black eyes, one split lip and zero pride.
Another thing that proves the assault did in fact happen is the day Dan awakes from his morphine slumber to find Kendall in the bed next to him. He almost doesn't recognize the man at first, his face beaten to a bloody pulp, swollen in a mixture of blue and purple. He's awake, Dan can see that, yet he looks anything but alive.
''What happened to you?'' Dan asks, leaning a bit forward in his bed, trying to get a closer look at Kendall's injuries. He feels the satisfaction bloom inside of him, either the excitement or the opiates making his skin tingle and his cells burn. Kendall slowly turns his face, one eye socket incredibly swollen but the other nearly inflated. The eyeball is missing.
''Retaliation,'' The man barely manages to croak out, revealing a set of toothless, bloody gums. Dan can't help but let out a deep snort at the irony of it all, thinking of the old saying; 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth'. He doesn't feel guilty about his joyful emotions. Kendall took his pride. Kendall took everything.
''Who did this?'' He asks, leaning back in his bed again, burrowing his teeth in his lower lip as he waits for the name to leave Kendall's mouth, for the shivers to run down his own spine. He knows it already. He just needs to hear it.
''Lester.''
-x-x-x-
Dan is released back into general population during lunch the following week, walks from the infirmary to the dining hall with his chin lowered and eyes fixated on the concrete floor. The inmates he passes on the way all stare at him, but no longer with calculating and cautious eyes; he's accepted his defeat, is now part of the hierarchy he doesn't yet know his rank in. Lester sits alone at his usual table, but instead of a single food tray in front of him there's two. He's been awaiting him.
''I thought you'd rather die?'' Lester asks as Dan takes place beside him, the tight, amused smile reappearing on his lips as Dan furrows his eyebrows in pain, a small wince escaping him. He's not healed yet. Lester slides one of the food trays to him, long fingers twitching, desperate to reach out and touch. Dan doesn't pull away when he does, rough fingertips tracing the dark bruises on his face; not because he doesn't want to, but because he's no longer in position to.
''I almost did,'' He responds, studying Lester's hand as the man places it firmly on Dan's thigh instead. The lunatic's knuckles are all bruised, the purple skin teared a few places, still soiled with Dan's retaliation, bloody. He can feel the warmth of the hand through the fabric of his pants, his skin burning underneath it.
''Told you,'' Lester lectures, leaning closer, grip tightening. Dan looks into the wide eyes, can feel the warm huffs of air against his lips. He tries to imagine how Lester had looked defending what was his all along, how that glossy mixture of grey and blue had flared with the fire of madness. ''Pride can be taken.''
''Submission can't,'' Dan finishes the quote, earning an unsettling smile from Lester. Dan hopes Kendall will never forget that smile, that it will forever be engraved in the back of his mind, appearing every time he closes his eyes to sleep. Dan can see the man's followers in the corners of his eyes, watching with concealed fear. Most of them are beaten black and blue, eyes swollen and lips split. They will never think of touching him again.
''They're staring.''
''Let's give them something to stare at, then,'' Lester responds and lets go of Dan's thigh, grabbing him by the collar instead, pulling him closer. He captures Dan's lips in a greedy, messy kiss, tongues fighting for the dominance Dan knows now belongs to Lester. The lunatic burrows his teeth in Dan's lower lip, drawing blood.
-x-x-x-
''Howell, man,'' Liguori exclaims as Dan appears in the entrance to their shared cell, Lester standing with crossed arms behind him. The man had been sitting peacefully in his bed, but their arrival makes him jump up, hands stretched out defensively in front of him; the same way you'd behave while trying to calm down a wild carnivore, ready to attack any moment. There's no bruises across his face. ''Look, I'm sorry.'' He guesses Lester has saved him for last, wanting Dan to watch.
''Do you want me to hurt him?'' Lester asks and places his head on Dan's shoulder, lips grazing the sensitive skin on his neck. ''Make him regret what he did?'' His voice is soft and gentle despite the macabre words, makes Liguori shake his head desperately. Dan enters the cell, begins packing his few belongings. He's transferring to Lester's cell, it's part of the arrangement, part of the submission.
''Please don't,'' Liguori pleads as Lester enters too, cracking his knuckles while smiling. He grabs him by the collar, looks to Dan with a tilted head, prompting him to make a decision. Dan takes place in front of them, crosses his arms over his chest, contemplating. The man had just watched while Kendall stripped him from his pride, had just stood there. ''I had no choice.''
''Let him go,'' Dan responds, Lester frowning as he reluctantly does. Liguori looks relieved for a brief moment, lips parting to express his gratitude. Dan smashes his fist into the man's face before he gets to say anything, feels the bone of his nose crack underneath his knuckles, blood instantly oozing out from his nostrils. Liguori screams in pain, Lester laughs in amusement. ''I'm not your friend,'' Dan mimics as he turns to leave.
-x-x-x-
''You look like shit,'' Adrian states as Dan enters the visitation area, a small, claustrophobic room scattered with inmates trying to get their weekly dose of reality, to converse with the people they've left behind, the ones that can still prove there's a world behind the prison's fence, that life goes on even if it feels like the earth has stopped rotating. He's allowed one hug upon entering, which he savours deeply as he wraps his sore arms around the fragile shell of his brother, keeps him close until the guards tells him to let go.
''So do you,'' Dan finally responds as they retreat, sitting down on their chairs. Silence briefly dwells between them, Dan taking his time to study every crook of Adrian's face for any changes. Last time he saw him was in court during the trial, which must be months ago now; back then he had still had a full head of hair, but now only a few patches is left across his nearly bald scalp. Even though they're only separated by a small steel table he feels as if they're more than worlds apart right now.
''What the hell happened to you?'' Adrian asks, reaching out to touch the bruises scattered across Dan's face. Dan can see that he's lost weight, the bones in his wrist sticking out, prominent through the nearly transparent skin. He grabs the cold hand, warms it between his own. When they were younger people used to tell them they looked like twins. Not anymore.
''I got jumped.'' Adrian chuckles lightly at the revelation, making the skin where his eyebrows used to be wrinkle, but Dan can still see the guilt flaring in his dull eyes. Dan wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. At night when he lies awake in Lester's bed, the man asleep behind him, plastered possessively to his back, he tries to imagine how his life would've played out hadn't Adrian existed. The image that appears behind his eyelids each time is black; Adrian is the very reason he breathes. ''And you?'' He asks, a dumb question he already knows the answer to; leukemia.
''We're going for the last round of chemo,'' Adrian responds, combing his hand through the remainders of his hair as he leans back in the chair. Chemo won't help, they've tried it before, merely buys them some time before they have to face the inevitable. A stem cell transplant probably would, but those are expensive and Dan had fucked up just a few hundred pounds short.
''Don't say that,'' Dan says, rubbing the palm of his hand against his forehead in frustration, trying to get the image of Adrian's small body confined in a coffin out of his head. It could be months, even years from now, but not the amount of time Dan's facing. ''You'll be fine, yeah?''
-x-x-x-
''Look who's back from the dead!'' Padilla exclaims as Dan enters the laundry room, dropping the clothing in his hands to properly greet him. The man throws both his arms around Dan, only letting him go once the pressure on his broken ribs makes him groan. Dan pats his shoulders affectionately, grateful to be back in the comfortable atmosphere Padilla and the damp room offers. Down here he gets a few hours under Lester's radar, safe from his unnerving, never leaving gaze. He's almost grown accustomed to the possessive arm thrown around his shoulders, the weight now missing. ''I've missed you man, been lonely down here,'' Padilla continues and resumes his position at the steel table.
''Never thought I'd be so happy to fold laundry again,'' Dan responds as he takes place on the other side, earning a humoured chuckle from Padilla. He grabs a bundle of clean shirts, begins folding them and stacking them according to size, quickly finding a rhythm. Silence dwells between the pair for a bit, the soft humming of the washing machines and dryers filling the room. Dan can see Padilla smirking coyly in the corners of his eyes, desperate to interrogate. Dan sighs, looking up from the shirt in his hand. ''What is it?''
''So,'' Padilla starts out, resting his elbows on the table. Dan can see him struggle to find the words to his next sentence, careful not to offend him. He tilts his head, prompting him to go on. The rules of the game doesn't apply to Padilla, they can be brutally honest with each other. He needs an authentic acquaintance in here, one that doesn't betray him; otherwise he'd just have to rely on his relationship with Lester, and Dan thinks that's a scary thought. ''You're Lester's bitch now?''
''Please,'' Dan pleads with furrowed eyebrows, throwing the shirt in his hand at Padilla. The man grabs it while laughing, folds it and stacks it. Lester hasn't touched him yet. He just wishes he would get it over with, but knows the man will take his time.
''I don't judge,'' Padilla says, throwing his hands up defensively. ''We all got our way of surviving in here.''
-x-x-x-
''I didn't know,'' Lester says as Dan places his clothes on the bench in the shower room, eyes taking in his naked form. The gaze isn't hungry like Dan had expected, instead laced with a sense of pity and condolence. Dan would be furious if he wasn't so surprised the lunatic is capable of expressing such humane, empathic emotions. He shrugs as he turns his back to him, taking place underneath one of the rusty faucets.
''It doesn't matter,'' Dan responds as he turns on the faucet, the luke warm water not hot enough to boil away the sensation of filth lingering on his soiled skin. The fingerprints on his hips and the back of his thighs have faded from a dark purple to a soft, transparent blue. He can hear Lester undressing behind him, the sound of nearly careful steps on linoleum tiles approaching him.
''I'm not him,'' He reminds Dan as he takes place behind him, one hand finding rest at the younger's bruised hip, gently yet firmly bringing their naked bodies together. Every muscle in Dan's body tenses up involuntarily, cells burning with caution as Lester's free hand travels down his body, washing away the shame Kendall left like the water pouring down over them. ''I'm not him,'' He repeats, wrapping his hand around Dan's member, lips grazing the sensitive skin on his neck, canine teeth drawing blood.
''You're not him,'' Dan agrees as the man starts pumping him, rough hands moving slow like a sedated heartbeat. He presses his fingertips down hard on Dan's skin, replacing Kendall's fingerprints with his own; one left marks of shameful force, the other leaves marks of humiliating submission. He feels himself harden against Lester's touch, tries to pry off his relentless hands to no avail, skin burning underneath his fingertips. He feels the man harden behind him, press up against his sore entrance but not entering, not claiming him just yet.
''Beg,'' Lester commands against the shell of his ear, voice husky with arousal. The hand resting on Dan's hip finds its way around his throat while the other quickens its movements, both grips tightening as Dan's control flees and his climax approaches him. He becomes a slave to the pleasure those cruel hands offer, goes lax in Lester's merciless embrace. He doesn't recognize the filthy sounds leaving his mouth, the moans of submission echoing off the wet walls.
''Please.''
-x-x-x-
''Is something wrong with the food, Phil?'' Dad asks during dinner, eyes locked on the untouched plastic tray in front of his youngest son. They haven't eating anything but ready meals for months, Dad doesn't know how to cook. Phil has trouble deciding what the microwaved, brown sludge in front of him is supposed to be; it looks like dog food. He fixates his gaze on the wall behind Dad. The family portrait has been removed, only the hunting riffle is left. ''Come on, you can tell me.''
''He's probably not hungry,'' Martyn defends him, arising from his chair to gather their dishes. Phil grabs the fork in front of him, well aware of what comes next. Dad grabs Martyn by his hair, begins smashing his head repeatedly against the wooden table's hard surface until Phil has eaten every bit of the sludge.
''I didn't ask you,'' Dad says as he throws Martyn to the floor, blood oozing out from the open wound on his forehead. Phil places his fork back down as Dad resumes eating, cheerfully humming along to some song playing on the radio in the other room. There's no one to hold Phil's hand underneath the table this time.
-x-x-x-
occasionally during nightcount the guards will perform a shake down, turning the inmates' tiny cells upside down in search of weapons, drugs or any other items that could in some way or another be considered contraband. The female guard who usually ransacks Dan and Lester's cell tends to go easy on them, turning a blind eye on the dandelions Lester often plucks him from the cracks in the yard's concrete floor. During this exact nightcount it isn't the female guard who searches the cell, but instead a young, short man with a brown bowl cut and blue eyes. Dan hasn't seen him before, and the name engraved on the plate attached to the front pocket of his uniform doesn't ring any bells.
''What's this, inmate?'' The guard, Hecox, asks as he picks up something from Dan's bed, turning to face him with the item in his hand. Both Dan and Lester are standing outside the cell, hands folded in front of them as the procedure requires them to. ''Contraband?'' Dan turns his face to inspect the item, is immediately filled with confusion at the sight. The item Hecox has classified as contraband is an issue of National Geographic. Dan bought it at commissary last week with the money from his work in laundry. Hecox rolls the magazine together and places it underneath his left arm, grabs a small notebook and pen from his pocket with the right. ''That's a shot.''
''It's a magazine,'' Dan defends himself as Hecox writes him up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tries to explain the misunderstanding. The guy must be newly appointed, trying to set an example and create a certain first impression with the inmates. ''From commissary.''
''Talking back?'' Hecox looks up from his notebook, and Dan knows by the daring smirk dangling on his thin lips that his behaviour isn't because he's new; it's because he's got the authority and power to do so, and Dan can't do a single thing about it. He narrows his eyes as the man scribbles something in the notebook again. ''That's another shot.''
''Are you kidding me?'' He asks in a mocking laugh, unfolding his hands and turning to front the guard, defying the procedure. Lester stares at him with warning eyes, commanding him to resume his position without even opening his mouth. Fronting a guard is very different from fronting a fellow inmate; the guards usually let the inmates sort out their disputes with each other without interference, but crossing the staff members' boundaries will have consequences. Dan raises a daring eyebrow directed at both men, refusing to back down.
''Contraband, backtalking and incorporation,'' Hecox states, taking a step forward, bumping chests with Dan. The pen is pressed so hard into the notebook Dan thinks it might break, ready to write him up a third time. ''You wanna go to the box?'' Dan looks down at him, clenching his fist. One punch, he's sure that's all it takes to wipe that smug smirk of the guard's face.
''Dan,'' Lester warns, voice demanding and cynical, leaving no space for objection. Lester speaks as if he owns the name leaving his lips, as if he owns Dan. The box is another word for solitary confinement. It's there the staff places the untamed animals who refuses to obey and submit. Hecox raises an eyebrow, awaiting his reaction.
''I'm sorry, sir.'' Dan backs down, submitting to both Lester and Hecox. He takes a step back, resumes his position. Lester's gaze softens but is still cautious. He feels like a child getting scolded, a dog being lectured and placed in a muzzle.
''That's what I thought,'' Hecox mocks as he places the notebook and pen back in his pocket again, leaving the cell with Dan's magazine in his hand.''Better listen to your owner.''
-x-x-x-
''What the hell are you doing?'' Dan asks when the sound of Padilla grinding something against the concrete floor becomes too distracting for him to continue reading the book in his hands. They've already folded and stacked todays laundry, are just lounging around the damp room until lunch eventually starts. Dan has learned from past experiences not to leave his work shift early, and Padilla doesn't mind keeping him company. It's nice when it's just the two of them, sitting in comfortable silence in each their side of the room.
''This, my friend,'' Padilla starts out as he arises from the floor, inspecting the object he's spend the last twenty minutes making before throwing it to Dan. Dan catches the object, places his book on the ground to study it closer. It's a toothbrush with the head broken off and filed to a sharp, fatal point. Talk about contraband. ''Is a shiv.''
''What do you need that for?'' He asks, rubbing the tip of his finger against the sharp point, surprised when it actually manages to draw a tiny drop of blood. Padilla might be the nicest person Dan has ever met, and he can't imagine anyone would ever think of hurting him. He snorts as he arises from the floor, briefly thinks of making one himself just to piss both Hecox and Lester off.
''It's for you,'' Padilla responds, shrugging like it doesn't mean anything. Dan raises his eyebrows, surprised at the bizarre token of friendship. It reminds him of a silly Christmas present Adrian made him when they were younger; a sharpened stick to defend himself against the kids across the street who'd once called them a bunch of gritters. ''I'm getting out in a few months, can't leave your sorry ass unprotected.''
''Wow,'' Is all Dan manages to say, wondering what he did to deserve to cross paths with an individual like Padilla. Despite the selfish sorrow he feels at their upcoming departure he hopes the man will never return, that he will live a long, carefree life filled with happiness and love. He still got a chance at making it on the outside, just hit a minor speed bump. Prison isn't made for people like him, and people like him aren't made for prison. ''As grateful as I am, I have to humbly decline.'' He returns the shiv to Padilla, patting him on the shoulder. ''I'm not street enough for that.''
''I got you,'' Padilla says and bends down to place the shiv in his sock, now hidden by the hem of his pants. ''I'll keep it, just in case you change your mind.''
-x-x-x-
''How are you holding up?'' Dan asks as Adrian stops vomiting on the other end, his ragged breathing instead filling Dan's ear. The sound would disturb him if he didn't know it's just a sign that the chemo is working, that the poison Adrian gets pumped into his bloodstream once a week has begun its process of killing the active cancer cells. Dan thinks it's funny like that, how a poison could ultimately become the antidote, how the sound of your brother retching means he's getting better.
''Great,'' Adrian responds, voice dripping with a snarky sarcasm that makes Dan chuckle. They've been through it before; first comes the constant nausea, then his immune system breaks down, then he's good for a few months until he once again relapses, the cancer cells eventually overpowering the chemotherapy. Dan has learned not to get his hopes up too high. He just hopes Adrian spends all the time he can outside, enjoying the sun on his skin before the chemo prohibits him from doing so. ''I've been thinking about something,'' Adrian continues, quickly cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps.
''Time is up, inmate,'' Hecox yells loudly as he nears Dan, hands placed comfortably in the pockets of his uniform. He's whistling a carefree tune, that smug smirk plastered across his lips. Dan removes the phone from his ear as Adrian resumes vomiting again on the other end, holds it against his chest instead. Lester who's been standing quietly by his side the whole time places a possessive hand on the back of neck. ''Put the phone down.''
''I just got it,'' Dan says, not even five minutes into the call. He can feel Lester's gaze harden behind him, nails pressing threateningly into his skin, warning him to back down. He feels like a dog kept on a tight leash. Hecox sighs as he pulls the notebook and pen from his pocket. He flicks through the pages and stops once he finds Dan's notes.
''You've got two shots this month,'' The guard says, pressing the tip of the pen against the paper, ready to write up Dan once again. Dan slams the phone back on its stand. Lester's nails scrape against his skin as he removes himself from his grip, drawing blood. He takes a step forward, looks down at Hecox with narrowed eyes. The man just smirks, prompting Dan to go on. ''Wanna make it a third?''
Dan raises his fist, but as he's about to swing Lester grabs Dan by his arm, forcefully pulling him backwards, keeping his back flushed against his chest. ''Let it go,'' He mutters against his ear, pressing his lips to the vein throbbing with anger in his neck. Hecox still stands with the notebook, waiting for his reaction. Three shots means going to the box. He'd get his privileges taken and wouldn't be able to neither call or see Adrian. ''It's not worth it.''
''Better teach your boy some manners, Lester,'' The guard shouts as Lester guides Dan down the hallway, each submissive step echoing mockingly off the concrete walls.
-x-x-x-
Lester doesn't have many possessions in their tiny cell. The only thing he owns beside a toothbrush, some toothpaste, a towel and a comic book is an old and grainy picture, the edges wrinkly from years of the lunatic caressing it like he does now. Dan is laying in Lester's bed, the man sitting at the bottom of it. They've been seated like this since nightcount about half an hour ago, got around forty minutes before all lights are out. Dan can almost enjoy Lester's company when they're like this.
''You're a brother?'' Dan asks, nodding towards the photograph in Lester's hand. It's of him and an older boy, playfully chasing each other through a backyard. Lester repeatedly slides his fingertips over the boy's face, something he continues doing even as he raises his head to meets Dan's gaze. Dan can never predict what's going on behind those wide, glossy eyes, what thoughts crosses his troubled mind.
''Used to be.'' Dan doesn't know much about Lester apart from his crimes and now this information. Getting to know who Lester was before prison can result in two things; either it'll attribute some humane qualities to his existence or the complete opposite. Dan regrets asking due to the small possibility that the blood on his hands belongs to the boy in that photo. Lester arises from the bed, moves to place the photo back in the steel cabinet mounted to the concrete wall. He closes the cabinet door and turns to face Dan, resting his back against it.
''Do you ever stop being one?'' Lester taps his index finger against his temple, contemplating an answer. Dan can't imagine the bonds of brotherhood ever being severed. Part of his identity will always be labeled as Adrian's big brother, even after Adrian eventually succumbs to the leukemia and leaves him and this world behind.
''I guess not,'' He responds after quietly observing him for a while. Dan can't describe the expression gracing his facial features, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, gaze softening just a bit. Dan thinks he's the most unsettling like this, when he looks at Dan with such fondness instead of lust. It makes the anger rush through his veins, his heartbeat pounding against his chest like the fluttering wings of a caged bird. He wants Lester to be barbarous, forceful, relentless and unsparing. It would make it easier to accept his own submission.
''Did you kill him?'' He asks, desperate to crush that mellow demeanor. Lester's smile just widens at his attempt, but Dan doesn't miss the way his eyes flicker for the tiniest fraction of a second. The man grabs the hem of his sweatshirt, pulling it over his head and folding it neatly before placing it at the top of the cabinet. Dan studies the scars on his back, wonders how they got there, how they would feel underneath his fingertips.
''What would you think if I did?'' Lester turns to face him again, Dan sitting up as he places a knee on the thin mattress, slowly crawling towards him. Dan already knows what's going to happen, has awaited this very moment for weeks. He places the palm of his hand against Lester's chest as he comes closer, seating himself between Dan's legs, gently spreading them with his thighs. He doesn't want it to be like this; slow, intense, sensual.
''That you're sick.'' He can feel the heart beneath his fingertips skip a single beat, but the wide eyes remain unblinking. With one hand Lester grabs both of Dan's, the other pushing him back down on the mattress. He pins the wrists above Dan's head, spreads his legs further. Dan struggles briefly in his grip, shivers running down his spine as the man in front of him doesn't budge a single inch, the faint outlines of muscles beneath his bared skin not even tensed.
''Maybe Hecox is right,'' Lester contemplates as he leans down to face him, the warm exhales of air leaving his lips landing on Dan's. Dan doesn't break eye contact as Lester grabs the collar of his tank top with his free hand, effortlessly ripping the fabric apart. He slides his fingertips down Dan's exposed stomach, stopping at the hem of his jogging pants. ''I should teach you some manners.''
''I'd like to see you try,'' Dan responds, raising a daring eyebrow. He closes his eyes as Lester captures his lips in a rough kiss; Lester doesn't, that mixture of grey and blue still lingering on Dan as he pushes his tongue past his parted lips, fingers slowly pulling the pants down past his thighs. They break apart for air as the pants are thrown to the concrete floor, Lester's lips instead finding Dan's neck, teeth claiming the sensitive skin as the grip on his wrists tightens. Dan tries to convince himself he merely arches his back out of pain, bites down on his lower lip to prevent any shameful, submissive sound from escaping.
The teeth retreat, a pointy tongue licking away the drops of blood. Lester pulls back for a second, briefly admiring his work before grabbing Dan's boxers, pulling them off in one swift movement. He digs his nails into Dan's skin as he tries to retreat his hands to cover his hard member, merely spreads his legs further apart with his thighs. He pumps Dan a few times, just enough to make him thrust into the warm fist, to make him stop struggling.
''Suck,'' He commands as he releases his wrists, grabbing him by the jaw instead, the husky voice making Dan throb. Lester pushes two fingers past Dan's lips, Dan noticing the man tensing as he slides his tongue against the digits, coating them in a thin layer of saliva. He hollows his cheeks, takes the fingers deeper, teeth grazing knuckles. Lester lets out a breathy sound before retreating his fingers. The fingers find their way between Dan's parted legs, wet fingertips pressing against his entrance, not yet entering. Lester's other hand releases his jaw, grabs him by the throat before he gets a chance to object.
Lester's wide eyes pins him down as he sinks the first finger in, observing him as his brows furrows in a delicate mixture of pain and pleasure at the stretch. He continues to stare at him like that, slowly working him open, taking his time before entering the second finger. Dan doesn't bite down on his lower lip, lets a low moan escape them instead. He sees the way Lester's eyes flickers as he grinds down on the digits inside him, the grip around his throat tightening. He knows what the man waits for.
''Please.'' Like that the fingers retreat, leaving nothing but an emptiness and a slight burn. Lester pushes his jogging pants and boxers down past his thighs, his member slapping against his stomach, hard and thick with arousal. He covers Dan's body with his own, grabs a creamy thigh with his free hand as Dan wraps his legs around him, nails scratching down his scarred back. He pushes his member past the tight entrance, captures Dan's lips once again to muffle out the moans spilling from them, fingers pressing down on his vocal cords.
He doesn't give him any time to adjust, pulls out and slams back in immediately, quickly finding a rough, fast and merciless rhythm. Dan digs his heels into his lower back, prompting him to go faster, take him harder. He needs the burn, needs Lester to wreck him, to take control. Subtle pain is spreading up his spine, but as Lester repeatedly thrusts into a bundle of nerves the immense pleasure overpowers it. The man swallows his moans, the only sound filling the tiny cell being the sound of skin against skin.
Lester releases his lips, retreats his head to take a look at Dan arching his back beneath him, panting. Dan allows himself to get lost in those wide eyes, allows himself to think Lester looks beautiful like this; fringe pushed back, muscles tensed and thin eyebrows knitted together in concentration, pale skin covered with a light sheen of sweat. Lester digs his nails into Dan's thigh, breathy moans leaving parted lips, glossy orbs darkened with lust.
''Who do you belong to?'' He asks, releasing his thigh to place both hands around his throat, grip tightening as he continues to pound into him. Dan feels his abdomen tighten as climax approaches, the lack of air making his cells burn and skin tingle. He sees the desperation in Lester's eyes, thinks it funny how they fit together like that; Dan has spent his whole life always having to be in control, the scars underneath his fingertips telling him control was never an option in Lester's. ''Say it.''
''You.''
-x-x-x-
The next shake down the guard who usually ransacks their cell returns, once again turning a blind eye to the dandelions scattered on Dan's bed. Lester and him are as the procedure requires standing outside the cell, their hands folded in front of them. Dan's eyes are fixated on the concrete floor beneath his white canvas shoes, Lester's lingering on the dark fingerprints around his neck instead.
The guard clears her throat discreetly, holding the ripped tank top in her hand, an embarrassed blush adorning her cheeks. Anything altered from its original form is considered contraband, an information that makes him tense as if he's forgotten something important; he tries to remember what as the guard puts the torn fabric into a plastic bag, giving them a disapproving look instead of writing them up.
''Hey!'' He exclaims as Padilla appears further down the corridor, escorted by two guards, arms twisted behind his back. Hecox is walking behind him, inspecting an item in a plastic bag while chuckling a bit. Padilla looks up from the ground as he nears Dan, jaw tensed in worry. Dan feels his heartbeat quicken, once again pounding against his ribcage like a caged animal desperate to escape. ''What happened?'' He asks as Padilla passes him, breaking the procedure by following him.
''I was getting out next month,'' Padilla responds, voice broken as he turns his head to face Dan. The brown orbs are usually lit up with joy, but now they're graced by a dullness. Getting in trouble with staff so close to his release date can't be good.
''What?'' Padilla casts him the last sad glance over his shoulder before he's lead down the stairs, guided towards the hallway leading to segregated isolation. Lester grabs him by his arms before he gets to do anything, keeps his back flushed against his chest, nails digging into the skin beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt. Hecox stops in front of them, the smug smirk plastered across his thin lips as usual. ''Where the fuck are you taking him?''
''Padilla's going on a nice little vacation to the box,'' Hecox nearly laughs, thick layers of amusement and arrogance coating his voice. He shakes the plastic bag in front of Dan's eyes while chuckling. It's the shiv Padilla made him, the one he'd declined. The prison has a zero tolerance policy regarding weapon behind bars; Padilla could easily serve four more years, and it's all Dan's fault. ''All inclusive.''
-x-x-x-
Phil and Martyn finds the little sparrow that always flies around their backyard injured one day, cramped together in a corner of the green garden, one wing tucked close while the other is hanging completely lax by its side. Phil drops to his knees to tend to the bird while Martyn observes from afar. ''What's wrong with it?'' Phil asks, stroking the birds beautiful, brown feathers with careful fingertips. The bird doesn't seem to mind much, too weak to flee from his gentle caress.
''Its wing is broken,'' Martyn responds disinterested, taking a step further back from the bird. The wound on his forehead has almost healed completely, only a bruise left as evidence of the incident. He hasn't been the same since then, barely spends any time with Phil anymore. ''It's probably going to die soon.''
''We have to do something,'' Phil mutters, taking off his jacket and placing the little bird inside of it, cradling it in his arms as he arises from the ground, knees dirty from where he'd been kneeling. ''I'll take care of it,'' He says, brushing past Martyn. The bird begins tweeting as he makes his way towards the house.
''Free birds shouldn't be kept in cages, Phil,'' Martyn yells from behind him, but the bird's beautiful song drowns out his words.