Caged Bird - Part Two of Two
Jun. 15th, 2011 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: BA/Murdock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-con
Summary: Part Two of Two for a fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
ICan we get a prison AU? Hannibal is the lifer who runs the place, Face his second in command who can get hold of anything you want, BA is the muscle with the secret sensitive side... And Murdock can be the new prisoner who really should be in the psyche ward but had a shitty lawyer.
Bonus points for Murdock getting in a bit of trouble to begin with and BA (or Face) stepping in to help him. Double bonus points for BA (or Face) pretending to claim Murdock as his prison bitch to keep him safe from other prisoners and Murdock being a bit bemused by the whole thing. BA/Murdock would be love but I could totally go for some Face/Murdock if that's more your speed :)
Hannibal sticks BA in charge of some crazy-ass new inmate. And the guy’s driving BA nuts. Except, maybe, there’s something more going on...
He’s not sure if his worst fears are confirmed that night.
All he knows is that that night, Murdock talks, like he hasn’t talked for the past two weeks, and that’s got to mean something.
“BA?”
It’s so faint the big enforcer almost doesn’t hear it over the buzzing of his own thoughts, still trying to reconcile what he witnessed this afternoon. He closes his eyes in the darkness.
“BA?”
It’s louder this time, and he knows, already, that whatever Murdock wants to talk about, Murdock is going to talk about. “What, fool?” he grunts.
The bunk above him creaks, shifting, and before he can stop any of it, Murdock’s jumped down, right next to him, squatting on his heels, so close their faces are almost touching.
“BA?”
“You right here!” he says, a little too sharply, but the pilot doesn’t pull away.
“BA, do you...”
“Say m’ name one more time, fool, and we gonna have...
“...hav’ta hurt me, too? Is that how it works? You hit me and push me to the groun’ and...”
“No...”
“...and hit me ag’in and then force my mouth open to choke me on your...”
“No!” he snaps, thinking of what his mama would say now, if she saw him like this, reduced to this, in this place, having to explain to another man that no, crazy, I don’t wanna rape you. BA grabs out for Murdock when he whines and tries to pull away. Catches him just in time. “No, Murdock, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Why not?” he asks, and there’s nothing crazy or unhinged behind tht. It’s an honest, honest question. “Huh? Aren’t I yours?”
“You mine to take care of. Don’t... I don’t...”
And then something went off like a firecracker in the man, because he grabbed out for BA’s collar and swung himself up top. Straddling him. And the veteran prisoner was too stunned to move as a set of lips sucked the very, very tip of his ear. “You’ve never done it before, have you? Big bad BA Baracus ain’t fucked a guy before?”
And now BA really, really, has to stop thinking about what his mama would say, big woman that she was, filling up the entire kitchen with her presence and the warm, sweet smell of chocolate cookies for the building’s kids, just coming back from school, interrupting his little sixteen year old’s self’s lecture about Tanesh Helms from chemistry class, the girl whose daddy called and told his mama that he’d basically molested the girl.
I done tried my best to raise you right, Scooter. You treat her wif’ some respect, you ax her out. You take her out for ice cream and don’t you dare, dare think ‘bout sleepin’ wif’ her! You remember your daddy, sweetie. Real man don’t need to prove nuthin’ to nobody, ‘specially not how good they are at sleepin’ ‘round, leavin’ poor babies ‘round. Real man waits ‘til he can take care o’ his family before he starts in on somethin’ like that!
I know, mama, I know, but...
But nuthin’, Bosco Aiden Baracus! You love this girl? Course you don’t. No one got an idea what they want when they sixteen. When you know what you wan’, that’s when you can give yoursel’ to somebody. Not before, sweetie...
What would she say now, his mama? Knowing that Hannibal, that very nice man who don’t deserve to be here, as she said on that one visit when she got to meet him, has basically given him some mentally damaged pilot to fuck? After years of agreeing not to force Baracus into that position?
“No,” he grudgingly admits to that weight above him, knowing he’s probably giving up all his power over this man by saying it, but not knowing what else to do. Somehow knowing that Murdock’s going to call him on a lie, that Murdock can see right through him with that lighthouse brain of his. “Not really. Not...”
Whatever he expects Murdock to do next is not what Murdock does.
What Murdock does is drop down right next to him on the narrow cot, ear right over his left breast, over his heart, and a surprisingly strong arm wraps around his chest, and... is the crazy pilot snuggling? Is that what this is?
What the hell is this?
“It’s okay, BA,” the other man says happily, smacking his lips and settling in, like he wasn’t just discussing, a minute ago, all the ways his cell mate could rape him. “When you wanna, I’m right here to help you out.”
And... what? What does that mean? Is Murdock actually, legitimately, honest-to-god... “what you talkin’ ‘bout, fool?”
Another little nuzzle into his chest, through the scratchy blanket over him, digging under it now, and BA lifts a corner automatically, helping his cellmate pull in close. They’ve both got their boxers on, but the pilot’s chest, a little furry, surprisingly muscled, skin soft despite the prison soap, feels good against his own.
“Talkin’ ‘bout you and me, BA,” the other man says seriously, cheek hot against the big enforcer’s smooth pectoral, hands playing in to each other. “Talkin’ ‘bout this.”
“There is no this in prison, fool,” he says, absently starting to stroke the pilot’s naked side, thinking about Face and Hannibal in the kitchens today. “Nothin’ like it.”
Silence for a moment.
“BA?”
“What?”
“Can I sleep with you tonight?”
It’s a little more scared than some of the other comments, back to the beginning, and BA really doesn’t want to start another of those crazyness feedback loops up.
Which is, of course, the only reason, the absolute only reason the big enforcer says, “yeah, fool, jus’ tonight.”
He can hear the grin in the dark.
Feel it.
And as he feels that body breath against his, he finds his arms closing up around bony shoulders, holding it all close.
But only, of course, for tonight.
+++++
BA realizes, about two weeks later, that he should have realized it to begin with.
He is never getting Murdock out of his bunk.
The crazy fool sleeps with him every night. Crawls in right after lights out, and somehow is always back in his own bunk by lights on in the morning. And it’s...weird, sleeping with Murdock cuddled up to his chest. There’s no other word for it, really. The pilot’s all bony elbows and sharp angles of flesh, little wuffled breaths against his chest, soft black hair going every which way, picking up the static from the shitty synthetic blankets, sticking to them both. And he only ever sleeps in boxers, which means BA can feel the man’s cock against his own most nights. Sometimes soft, sometimes harder, but always there.
Always.
Every. Single. Night.
And the worst part about it all is that the enforcer doesn’t seem to mind. Which is strange. Because you fuck your bitch.
You don’t go to the library with him while he forms his own little book club, and sit in on his lectures about Catch 22 with the rest of the inmates, somewhat amazed. You don’t wash his hair in the showers when nobody else is in there with you both, just caused he asks. You don’t let him lecture you in French about not eating your carrots. You don’t feel hot inside when you look at him. You don’t lay in bed with him half on top of you, absently stroking his back, wondering what it’d be like to kiss him.
And you certainly, absolutely, fucking never, look forward to all of that
BA really has no idea what’s going on.
So he figures he might be in love. He’s never been in love before, but it sounds right. It seems to fit. He wants to check, though. Wants to be sure, before he goes for the vaseline or whatever a guy’s supposed to do about something like this. He can count on one hand the people he knows who have been. .
His mom.
Hannibal and Face.
Definitely Hannibal and Face.
BA’s pretty sure about that. He’d given it some thought, a lot of thought, and it seemed to make sense.
Not because of the way they act with each other in public, Face all puffed up and Hannibal constantly reminding him of his place. Not like that time he got mouthy and Hannibal decked him in clear view of half the prison, or the week that Face spent in the infirmary with undisclosed injuries to his ass. No.
It’s an act. It’s gotta be an act.
Looking back on how many chances Face had had for parole, how he always seemed to blow it at the last minute, how Hannibal guarded Face jealously, how they fought in public and fucked in semi-public whenever the questions started up about whether or not the old man was going soft, it all makes sense.
So he’d asked today.
“You in love with the boss?”
Face had stiffened and didn’t respond. His eyes got huge.
Then narrowed.
“You’re way outta line, BA,” he warned.
“Gotta know, man.”
“Fuck that. Fuck you, Baracus. You don’t need to know shit,” Face growled, and jabbed him in the chest, moving him away. “And you don’t understand shit anyway, so that works out well for you.”
“Face, don’t mean nothing by it...”
It only left him more confused than before.
Now Murdock’s giving a very entertaining speech about some people called Yossari-something and some asshole called Major Major Major, acting out some funeral scene with sock puppets to a whole group of inmates. Fifteen at least. Right in the middle of the library. Everybody’s laughing. Most of them are actually reading the book, in preparation for these daily sessions. The whole thing is surreal, and not because of the sock puppets.
In fact, the sock puppets might be the most normal thing about the situation. Which is freaking BA out a little. But the pilot’s voice has this weirdly soothing quality to it - sock puppets and all - and the big enforcer feels himself relaxing a bit.
Then a hand hits his shoulder and fucking squeezes. Cruel and hard, nails breaking skin.
“Hey Baracus, how’s the asshole doin’?”
Hissed in his ear.
Bitter. Triumphant.
Pike.
Cold adrenalin shoots through BA’s entire being, that fearsome mixture of terror and fury, and he’s already whirling up, that rage of action building in his chest and swelling outwards to his limbs, but then there’s wire around his neck, cutting into his skin as he’s drug backwards, hard and fast.
The noise he makes against makeshift garrote must be enough, because everybody but Murdock stops.
And looks.
And everything goes right to hell.
Everybody’s scattering everywhere, shouts and curses filling the old, slight space, screams as Pike’s men start going at anybody they can reach, shoving everyone out of the way, trying to get, trying to get at...oh.
Fuck.
Murdock.
There’s at least four guys holding BA down in the chair and somebody’s kicking him in the ribs and the more he struggles the worse it cuts, but he has to get up, has to, has to, because they’re going for the pilot, have their fucking hands on his pilot, and Murdock’s shouting out too, now, loud and manic, manic like BA hasn’t heard him before, not even on that first day, and that sound, that right there, the you can’t touch me, I’m Harry Houdini, that’s so brave and so, so fucking desperate...
He almost gets to him. Manages to throw off and fight up and get a glimpse of Murdock, spitting blood as he’s hauled off, still babbling nonsense at the top of his lungs, his damn sock puppets joining in, laughing like it’s some big fucking joke, losing himself.
In that fucking defense mechanism of his.
No. No. No no. Not that. Not that...
But BA can’t even yell, can’t yell at Pike that he’s going to fucking kill him for this, can’t yell to Murdock that he’s going to save him, just like he’s sworn he would, no way to get a good breath, and then somebody delivers a punishing blow to a kidney and the garrote tightens, choking him until the world begins to gray and his limbs won’t listen to him anymore, failing him when he needs them the most.
When he needs eveything to save Murdock.
Pick grabs the top of his mohawk, twisting his head back, and the world’s graying out now, air gone, spent up.
“I think I’m going to fuck him,” he says, conversationally, like they’re discussing the terrible chicken that was lunch today. “Then I think I’m going to kill him.”
Fuck you, motherfucker.
He doesn’t get to say it. His lungs and his throat aren’t playing nice right now.
BA hopes his eyes say it for him, though. But he’s scared they’re saying what else he’s thinking right now. Like he let his guard down. Like he’s let this happen. Like if he wasn’t so goddamn enamored with the man’s voice he would have heard, would have felt... if he hadn’t been so involved with his stupid little infatuation with the man, he could have stopped this, could have saved him...
“Whaddaya say I let you watch, Baracus?”
That he tries to fight again. That sets off a fresh burst of murderous rage. Rage he could use...
But then it doesn’t matter anymore.
The world narrows to the head of a pin.
And then vanishes utterly.
Sweeping Murdock away from him.
When BA wakes up, it’s to a sense of relief that he’s not dead, a relief that last approximately three seconds.
Until the meaty smack of fist-on-flesh brings him back to this reality.
A reality where he’s being overwhelmed by a throbbing pain in his neck and searing pain in his wrists, where he’s tied up, arms strapped around behind him, against a pipe in some dusty, half lit machine room where Hannibal is never, never, gonna find his body, and where Pike just slugged Murdock to the ground and is pulling him back up on his knees, laughing manically, both of them, but especially Pike.
Judging by the faint splatter of blood on the ground, it’s not the first time he’s hit the pilot.
And the rage is rushing out of him in a loud, wordless growl, before he even recognizes it himself.
Pike is hurting Murdock.
His Murdock. His.
Mine.
BA isn’t aware that that word gets out with the growl until Pike turns and looks at him, knuckles bruised and face split by a sick grin. “How touching of you, BA.” He grabs Murdock by the hair and twists his head back. “Such depth of emotion for your crazy little bitch here.”
“Crazy like a fox!” Murdock cackles, and Pike jerks him back even harder, clubbing him down again. BA jerks forward automatically.
“Pike, you motherfucker...”
The veteran hauls the pilot up again, the younger man’s back to his chest, twisting his arm back around behind him cruelly and biting roughly at his ear. Murdock’s eyes are wide with fear. He’s still giggling. “He’s just so goddamn cute, Baracus, with these little cocksucker lips of his.” He runs a finger into the pilot’s mouth, another of those damn shanks of his clenched in his fist, almost grazing Murdock’s cheek. It get him a scared little whimper. Pike smiles. “I can understand why you want to keep him. But fact of the matter is, he’s not yours, is he? He belongs to Hannibal. Just like you do...”
BA jerks forward again, feeling the rough wire cutting into his wrists. Fuck, they’re alone. If he could just get out, if he could get free... “Jus’ like everything do in here.”
“But that’s the beauty of it,” Pike purrs, sliding that hand down from Murdock’s mouth to his throat, blade just starting to cut in, and the pilot tensed, the giggling slowing to a desperate little gurgle. “After I rape and kill your pilot here, the old man’ll be finished. Nobody will listen to a damn thing he has to say, ever again.”
“Pike, I will...”
“What do you get to the bit where I tear his ass open with my dick?” Pike asks breezily, and forcefully throws the pilot down. He hits with both hands, head bowed, long hair just starting to shake.
Pike kicks him over, sprawling him out on his belly, and BA feels tears actually starting to come to his eyes as one heavy foot slams into the pilot’s side. “Whaddaya say about that, asshole? You like the idea? Me ripping you apart? So much better than anything good ol’ Barely Able Baracus here is going to give you...” He kicks him again. And again.
And doesn’t stop.
“Hannibal’s can’t help you boys now!”
THWMPPPP
“Who the fuck do you think really should run this place?”
THWMPPPP
“Some weak-ass motherfucker who lets his bitch act like he’s equal to the rest of us?”
THWMPPPP
BA’s screaming, throwing himself against the bonds holding him back, every triumphant little chuckle, every cry of pain, ever word and every sound, sending a shot of horror right through him, shocking and white-hot, demanding an answer, demanding...
“Come on, BA! You threw in with the wrong fuckin’ man! And now I’m going to...”
THWMPPPP
“...kill your cute little bitch for...”
THWMPPPP
“... his stupidity by accepting your protection!”
And then...
“Stop, stop,” Murdock coughs weakly, whining, rolling over on his back, hands up, looking for all the world like a beaten puppy, just like that first day, panting and sweating, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Plese, sir...”
“Sir?” Pike laughs, and looks down, stopping his foot mid-kick. “Sir? You fuckin’ kiddin’ me, retard?”
Murdock, clearly in pain, somehow manages to make it to his knees, spitting blood as he goes, hands reaching and head down. BA can’t see his face beneath that mop of hair. “Sir, please,” he says, and pitches forward, right on to Pike’s shoes. “I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die for him...”
And he throws a hand, shaking, in BA’s direction.
Freezing the big black man’s heart solid.
“He can’t protect me,” Murdock sniffles, forehead on Pike’s toes, nose on the floor. “He can’t keep me safe. He’s weak. You’re strong, sir, you...”
Pike kicks him off, laughing again. “What are you sayin’, bitch?”
The pilot lifts his head. “Take me, Mr. Pike. Don’t kill me. I’ll be a good boy for you...”
“Murdock...” BA whispers, the floor falling away from him, the world retreating, everything inside clenching and releasing, all at once. He’d thought, he’d thought... “Murdock, no...”
“Shut up!” the pilot screams, voice breaking, pure agony there. “Just shut up, BA! You fucking lied to me! You said you’d keep me safe!”
“Murdock!”
“Shut the fuck up, you stupid nigger!”
BA feels his heart implode at that one word. Everything black and numb and cold and dead inside of him. He’d been hoping, up until that moment, that maybe it was the crazy, or a ruse, or something else, anything but...
But.
That word.
It’s all been a lie. Murdock just wanted protection. Murdock feels nothing for him. Murdock was playing him all along. There’s nothing there. Nothing ever possible there.
He collapses, slumping forward, eyes squeezed shut, tears smarting up again. Never, not in his whole life, has anybody ever, ever dared call him...
But Pike’s laughing. Of course he is. Pike thinks it’s a fucking joke. Which it is. Which BA knows it is. Whatever Murdock was laughing at before, he’s laughing at now. A world gone insane. His own best sense failed him entirely.
“That so, bitch?” Pike growls over the static of grief filling BA’s mind.
“Yessir, sir...”
“Get up here.”
A dragging noise, jumpsuit on raw, unsealed concrete.
“Mouth open.”
Something wet, slurped, vile.
“Take it all...all of it...good bitch, yes, good girl...you done this before, haven't you? Sick bitch, slut for cock, ain't'cha... you fucking love...”
And then.
Then.
A wordless scream of unbearable pain rips through the hot, oppressive atomosphere, loud and long and sustained, a wail shifting frequencies too fast to follow, and then the pain around his wrists is gone, pitching him forward, his body crumbling in on itself, and right before BA knows he should be hitting the hard, indifferent floor, he’s caught by soft, wet hands.
Surprisingly strong.
Surprisingly sweet.
A flutter of a touch against his cheek, and BA finally lifts his eyes, vision clearing. Disbelieving, he sees the pilot, holding him steady, helping him down to the ground lightly, pressing him back up against the pipe now, back into a sitting position.
A finger presses his lips shut. “I got him, BA,” the pilot drawls softly, nothing but weariness and pain in his voice now, none of the raw, insane hatred from before. “I got him for you.”
BA dares to look over, at the source of those moans.
At where Pike’s laying in agony, doubled up, one hand pressed over his exposed cock, a dark puddle spreading out beneath him and across his jumpsuit, moaning piteously.
“Wha’ you...”
“I’m so sorry, BA. I didn’t mean...” Murdock tells him in a low whisper, almost too quiet to hear. “I just wanted him to believe me.”
The big guy stares. “What’d you do to him?”
Murdock looks away. “I kinda... tore off...uhh...”
BA really stares. Did Murdock, the batshit insane pilot, really just do all of that, fake the panic, fake the fear, fake the insults, just to...
“You fuckers!” Pike howls. “You aren’t going to get away with this! My men are going to be in here any minute and they are gonna fuck you u...”
“Actually Pike,” very familiar voice says, the scent of a cheap, nasty cigar, the very solid smack of a man’s body hitting a wall, filling the room, “I think those boys of yours aren’t capable of fucking anybody up right now.”
“On account of me, sort of fucking them up first,” a younger, cockier voice adds.
And BA looks up at where Hannibal and Face are standing over him and Murdock now.
“You okay, boys?” the boss asks, genuine concern barely hiding under the facade of indifference he’s got on for Pike’s benefit.
Murdock cracks a grin, but he sways a little, almost falling full-length into BA’s lap. “Outstanding, sir,” he says, snapping a smart salute nonetheless.
BA slumps back again, this time in relief, and realizes his hands are around Murdock’s waist, holding him tight. “Faceman, I love you sometimes...”
“Aw, BA, you sentimental bastard,” the blonde says, but squats down next to them both, giving them both a rare, genuine, almost sweet smile. “Makin’ us come save your sorry asses...”
“Fuck you, Smith!” Pike snaps, voice roughed and raw with pain and blood loss.
They all look over, at where the boss is staring down at the disgraced inmate, smoking impassively. He takes a few more puffs, not responding at all, allowing himself a small chuckle only, and finally taps the ash off the end of the cigar, right over his rival’s prostrate body, turning on his heel.
Leaving.
“Make sure they all get medical attention, Face. Pike included.”
“Boss...”
The reply comes soft and fast, not a hint of revenge or pleasure in it. “Do it, kid.”
And he’s gone.
Face and BA exchange a glance.
“I can get crazy here,” the enforcer promises, pulling Murdock in close and wrapping his arms around him, promising himself, then and there, to never let him go again. Never let anything like this happen again. “You deal with half-sac over there.”
Face grins and waggles his eyebrows, going over to grab Pike by the collar and the discarded testicle by a raw edge. “What do you say we got see if they can sew this back on for you, asshole?” he asks merrily, shoving Pike along in front of him. “And if it doesn’t work, I hear they’ve got implants for this sort of thing these days...”
Murdock’s harder to get upright, and BA realizes almost too late that he has to pick the other man up. He’s light, like he is in bed, but stiffer, wincing. Probably broken ribs or something.
But he still manages to push himself up close as BA follows Face out.
Close enough to plant one soft, weak little kiss right on BA’s mouth.
Soft and weak, sure, barely more than a chaste peck, but huge and expansive, reinflating everything he punctured with his words earlier, filling BA with warmth, a surge the big guy can feel in his toes, and he almost stumbles with his precious armload.
“What was that for?”
“My hero,” he croaks, like he did that first day.
But today, as they near the light of the hallway outside, where a couple of medics from the clinic are conveniently waiting with gurneys, strapping Pike down to one while Face lays the man’s ball right down on top of him, still laughing about it, today, BA doesn’t get irritated. Doesn’t get mad.
Because he understands himself now.
He kisses his crazy man’s forehead. “Anything for you, baby,” he whispers.
And the smile he gets in return is almost entirely, completely, one hundred percent, worth it.
+++++
The infirmary makes for a nice change of pace.
BA’s cuts, around his wrists and his neck, are mostly superficial, the bruises from the fight already fading. But they keep him around. In a fairly private room. Where a nurse comes in every few hours and locks the door behind. Where everything’s bright and cool and clean and white, like things are never white in prison, and the beds are more comfortable.
Where Murdock is.
Murdock’s in worse shape than BA, but it’s impossible to tell how bad he actually is. He seems okay, says he’s okay, laughs when the doctors poke and prod - turns out he doesn’t have any broken ribs after all - but when they’re gone, he curls up on his bed and doesn’t talk.
BA thinks he knows what’s wrong, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. Like maybe the strain of the con hurt the pilot, whether from having to focus so hard or having to suck the guy’s cock or something else, something’s he’s missing, something he can’t figure out until Murdock, clever man that he is, tells him.
Or shows him, maybe.
It’s night, two days after the library and the machine room, the bitterness and that harsh, coppery scent of blood. Two nights since they got here to the infirmary. Two nights of Murdock sleeping in a different bed, not attached to his at all. Two nights of sheer torture.
This is the third.
BA stares up at the ceiling, thin sheet thrown over his naked body, arms stretched behind his head. There’s nothing going on up there. Nothing going on down here either. Nothing going on at all.
And then there’s a touch on his leg.
He looks down. There’s enough light to make out Murdock, standing there, naked too, at the foot of the bed, hunched down and over him. “What you doin’, fool?”
Murdock doesn’t answer, not with words, not as he starts rolling and pushing the sheet out of the way, knees up on the thin mattress now, moving over BA’s legs, sitting back against his feet.
Exposed, open, shocked, BA doesn’t do a thing. Can’t. Not as Murdock touches his thigh again, stroking softly, stroking upward, stroking inward, stroking right around...
And that’s where the big enforcer finds it in himself to stop his crazy cellmate, a gentle touch to his head, lifting his face so their eyes can meet in the darkness.
“What you doin’?” he repeats.
The pilot bites his lip, and tries to drop his head again. “I’m not his, am I?”
His? Pike’s? “No, Murdock. You don’t belong to him.”
“Gave you up,” he says, voice sad, turning his face until his lips are brushing BA’s palm. “Didn’t I give you up?”
And that’s when BA gets it. What Murdock’s afraid of, and what Murdock needs.
Reassurance. Something solid to hang himself on, if the nightmares come for him, if he can’t figure out what’s real and what’s not, and the big guy pushes himself up on an elbow. This isn’t the way to give the man what he needs. . “I didn’t give you up, Murdock.”
That hand’s back edging his cock. “I’m sorry, BA. I’m so sorry...”
“Hey, hey,” the other man groans, sitting up and pulling Murdock into him. Murdock doesn’t so much as lean into him as he does fall, breath coming in harsh pants, settling into his lap. BA wraps his legs up around him, holding him close. “You did good, baby. You did so good...”
“Don’t want to lose you,” the pilot says, words muffled. “Like you too much, big guy.”
“I like you too, crazy,” he whispers, stroking that soft dark hair, holding him close in the cool night, feeling an arm squeeze up under his, both of them, tighter and tighter, something building and building and building, pushing up, higher, so much higher, too high, until it finally erupts in a hesitant, resisting kiss that soon starts to melt into something else entirely.
Something wonderful.
Something that definitely, never, ever happens in prison.
Except, maybe, for right now.
And BA's heart starts to soar.
It's just a touch, the lightest feathering of fingers across BA's naked belly, moving down, lower and lower. Just a movement, the way a narrow set of hips drag up, pelvis and groin and cock then, right over his. Just the slightest little whisper as the kiss falls apart, a quiet Bosco, c'mon, shooting through him.
All that wriggling produces the most wonderful sensations, every one sparking awake all those things he thought he'd never feel in here. Reminding him, reminding him, I love him... But still... "You injured, man."
"C'mon, BA," Murdock whispers, eyes bright in the dark. Erections brush again. Hard tonight. Definitely hard. "Promised I'd show you, you promised you wouldn't hurt me. I wanna..."
He feels like he’s spinning already, falling, and he grabs out for the only thing he can think of to break the descent. "Murdock..."
And there it is, a hand tracing the bare skin of his head, between mohawk and ear. "Still yours, BA?" Murdock drawls softly back. "I am still yours, right?"
"You a crazy ass fool," BA grunts, and then moans a little as his cellmate, his certifiably insane, bizarre, gentle, sweet, beautiful cellmate, kisses him again, thumbing that shaven skin, biting just a little, bucking up, a pattern to the movements, a beat, all starting to fall into place.
He can’t help it. His cock’s screaming for attention, and his pelvis jerks up, bringing their cocks together again, hard, trapped between their bellies, and he moans at the sensation. “Oh, oh, fuck...”
Murdock kisses him again, and takes one big hands in his own long one, forcing his fingers underneath BA’s. “Fly me to the moon?” he asks, nuzzled close.
“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he repeats, feeling his brain start to short-circuit, sparks of arousal shooting through him. “If we...”
“More’n’one way,” comes the answering little whisper. And the pilot settles himself upright once more. A finger drags down BA’s chest, stopping at his hip, and braced like that, Murdock wraps their joined hands around both their cocks. “More’n’one way to be together, BA.”
Somehow, BA thinks from very, very far away, the pressure, the feel of their twined fingers, the closeness, it all fits.
Perfectly.
He lets Murdock set the pace, showing him how to move, meeting each hip roll with one of his own, squeezing with just the right tightness, sweat and precum starting to ease the way, everything smoother and smoother, easier and easier, and it’s all descending into that kind of controlled chaos that’s so, so Murdock.
It’s all a wonder to BA, an absolute wonder, as he lies beneath his . He never knew it could be like this, between men, something this good, this equal, nobody taking, nobody losing, just the two of them, rutting into each other, both of them pulling the other higher, electricity building between them, breaths turning to moans turning to cries, and he learns the sound that comes next, when Murdock shudders above him, when he shudders below, when muscles freeze and vision blanks and the world breaks apart entirely. BA loses everything else to that sensation of pulsing flesh in his hands, giving up everything, and he lets himself float for a while, the last conscious thought that his baby, his, isn’t going to let him go.
That they’re together now.
That everything’s going to be okay.
Murdock’s holding against him when he finally finds his way back, drained, exhausted, blissed out. The pilot’s snuggling in, too, like he does every night, except now it’s sticky and messy and sweaty.
“Hey,” BA whispers.
“Hey,” Murdock whispers back, and giggles, just a little, before quieting. Before playing with the edge of the big guy’s mohawk again. “Bosco, Bosco, I...I...”
BA pulls him closer. Not letting him finish. “I know, baby, I know.”
“Y’do? Then...”
He kisses the pilot again, strokes the back of his index finger down a soft cheek, lingering for a moment, letting himself feel it all, all that’s here. Then he has to stop. Has to remember where they are, set the lines for both of them, stay strong. No room for tenderness here, not the kind Murdock deserves. So...
“Go to sleep, crazy,” he grunts.
His pilot smiles a little, like he understands exactly what’s going on, and teases a nipple lightly. “BA, can I sleep with you tonight?” he teases.
“Jus’ tonight,” the big enforcer grumbles.
And Murdock wraps that arm around him, breath coming hot between them, and BA holds him there. Holding him tight.
Like they’ve done so many nights before.
Except now, it’s perfect.
+++++
In light of the seriousness of Pike’s attempt to seize control, and the extremes Murdock had gone to in order to take him down, of his revelations about love and life and his boss and himself, BA had really thought more would have changed around the prison. But only a few days later, after they get out of the hospital, BA’s a little amazed at how little things have changed.
Hannibal’s still top dog in the prison.
Face still screams out in the night when the old man’s nailing his ass.
Murdock still says incredibly intelligent, retarded things that BA has to defend him from.
BA still has to crack skulls from Pike’s gang, and the Aryan Brotherhood, and the local Crypt franchise, and the Aztecs, and everybody else.
Nothing’s changed.
Except it has.
Murdock might be crazy - and he is, legitimately, according to the infirmary doctor - but he’s getting some help now. A therapy session once a week. A low dose of something that’s helping him control the manic episodes. He’s got more respect now, ever since Face has taken to carrying a big sealed glass jar, Pike’s left nut floating in some kind of preservative, out into the exercise yard. His book club’s back on, and seems to be legitimately popular, although BA suspects that might be because he usually borrows the nut-in-a-jar for it, giving its own chair and talking to it occasionally. Just in case it has an opinion it wants to share with the class.
And he’s teaching BA everything he promised he would teach him.
They’ve even gotten to the vaseline. It’s fantastic, moving together like that, being together like that, being buried in the satin-smooth heat of his baby’s body, together, like one being with one purpose, one heartbeat.
But right now, they’re separate entities, held apart by the dust of the prison yard and the wrappers of orange jumpsuits, the ones that Murdock wears so well. His crazy pilot’s scuffling a shoe into the dirt. Hannibal’s watching, smoking one of those goddamn cigars of his, chuckling a little.
Face claps him on the shoulder. “Whatcha up to, buddy?” he asks.
“Billy can’t remember where he buried his bone,” the pilot says seriously.
“I can help you look...”
Hannibal snorts. “You forgettin’ something, kid?”
The blonde puts on his best impression of a pout, one of those challenging ones, arguing without words. Hannibal chuckles a little more. BA rolls his eyes. Murdock looks worried.
“Face...was there somebody new at intake today?” the old man asks, flicking ash away.”
“Right,” Face finally says, casting an apologetic glance at Murdock and a tight smile at BA. “Yeah. Yeah, one new guy. Couldn’t get much on him. The guards don’t even know the details. He’s here for grand larceny, somethin’ like that...”
“This thief got a name?” Hannibal prompts, impassive.
“Yeah,” and Face smiles. “Lynch. Just Lynch. No first name.”
“Hmm,” the boss says thoughtfully, rolling his cigar between his fingers, like he’s considering something very, very carefully. “Boys, we should keep any eye on this one.”
“Anything you need, boss,” BA says automatically. “I got it for ya.”
“Good man,” Hannibal grunts, and throws an arm around Face. “Walk with me, kid. Tell me exactly what Sosa said about this asshole...”
BA watches them go, and then Murdock’s at his side, fingers twisting into his jumper, just a bit, and he lays his head on the big guy’s shoulder. “My hero,” he murmurs softly, equal parts teasing and awe.
“Crazy ass fool,” he grunts, and bats Murdock away.
Not the time, not the place.
Maybe someday, some day, he thinks, they’ll both get out of here. They’ll leave together, and he can take Murdock out of this damn cage, take him home, a real home, a real home together, somewhere, anywhere, where they’ll have a bed big enough to spread out in, really explore one another, find each other’s soft spots, the freedom for all the tender little things that his mama tried to tell him about, all the things he can tell her about now.
Mama, you were right. I know what I what now, know who I am...
And as Murdock lets himself be pushed away, his eyes are sparkling.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-con
Summary: Part Two of Two for a fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
ICan we get a prison AU? Hannibal is the lifer who runs the place, Face his second in command who can get hold of anything you want, BA is the muscle with the secret sensitive side... And Murdock can be the new prisoner who really should be in the psyche ward but had a shitty lawyer.
Bonus points for Murdock getting in a bit of trouble to begin with and BA (or Face) stepping in to help him. Double bonus points for BA (or Face) pretending to claim Murdock as his prison bitch to keep him safe from other prisoners and Murdock being a bit bemused by the whole thing. BA/Murdock would be love but I could totally go for some Face/Murdock if that's more your speed :)
Hannibal sticks BA in charge of some crazy-ass new inmate. And the guy’s driving BA nuts. Except, maybe, there’s something more going on...
He’s not sure if his worst fears are confirmed that night.
All he knows is that that night, Murdock talks, like he hasn’t talked for the past two weeks, and that’s got to mean something.
“BA?”
It’s so faint the big enforcer almost doesn’t hear it over the buzzing of his own thoughts, still trying to reconcile what he witnessed this afternoon. He closes his eyes in the darkness.
“BA?”
It’s louder this time, and he knows, already, that whatever Murdock wants to talk about, Murdock is going to talk about. “What, fool?” he grunts.
The bunk above him creaks, shifting, and before he can stop any of it, Murdock’s jumped down, right next to him, squatting on his heels, so close their faces are almost touching.
“BA?”
“You right here!” he says, a little too sharply, but the pilot doesn’t pull away.
“BA, do you...”
“Say m’ name one more time, fool, and we gonna have...
“...hav’ta hurt me, too? Is that how it works? You hit me and push me to the groun’ and...”
“No...”
“...and hit me ag’in and then force my mouth open to choke me on your...”
“No!” he snaps, thinking of what his mama would say now, if she saw him like this, reduced to this, in this place, having to explain to another man that no, crazy, I don’t wanna rape you. BA grabs out for Murdock when he whines and tries to pull away. Catches him just in time. “No, Murdock, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Why not?” he asks, and there’s nothing crazy or unhinged behind tht. It’s an honest, honest question. “Huh? Aren’t I yours?”
“You mine to take care of. Don’t... I don’t...”
And then something went off like a firecracker in the man, because he grabbed out for BA’s collar and swung himself up top. Straddling him. And the veteran prisoner was too stunned to move as a set of lips sucked the very, very tip of his ear. “You’ve never done it before, have you? Big bad BA Baracus ain’t fucked a guy before?”
And now BA really, really, has to stop thinking about what his mama would say, big woman that she was, filling up the entire kitchen with her presence and the warm, sweet smell of chocolate cookies for the building’s kids, just coming back from school, interrupting his little sixteen year old’s self’s lecture about Tanesh Helms from chemistry class, the girl whose daddy called and told his mama that he’d basically molested the girl.
I done tried my best to raise you right, Scooter. You treat her wif’ some respect, you ax her out. You take her out for ice cream and don’t you dare, dare think ‘bout sleepin’ wif’ her! You remember your daddy, sweetie. Real man don’t need to prove nuthin’ to nobody, ‘specially not how good they are at sleepin’ ‘round, leavin’ poor babies ‘round. Real man waits ‘til he can take care o’ his family before he starts in on somethin’ like that!
I know, mama, I know, but...
But nuthin’, Bosco Aiden Baracus! You love this girl? Course you don’t. No one got an idea what they want when they sixteen. When you know what you wan’, that’s when you can give yoursel’ to somebody. Not before, sweetie...
What would she say now, his mama? Knowing that Hannibal, that very nice man who don’t deserve to be here, as she said on that one visit when she got to meet him, has basically given him some mentally damaged pilot to fuck? After years of agreeing not to force Baracus into that position?
“No,” he grudgingly admits to that weight above him, knowing he’s probably giving up all his power over this man by saying it, but not knowing what else to do. Somehow knowing that Murdock’s going to call him on a lie, that Murdock can see right through him with that lighthouse brain of his. “Not really. Not...”
Whatever he expects Murdock to do next is not what Murdock does.
What Murdock does is drop down right next to him on the narrow cot, ear right over his left breast, over his heart, and a surprisingly strong arm wraps around his chest, and... is the crazy pilot snuggling? Is that what this is?
What the hell is this?
“It’s okay, BA,” the other man says happily, smacking his lips and settling in, like he wasn’t just discussing, a minute ago, all the ways his cell mate could rape him. “When you wanna, I’m right here to help you out.”
And... what? What does that mean? Is Murdock actually, legitimately, honest-to-god... “what you talkin’ ‘bout, fool?”
Another little nuzzle into his chest, through the scratchy blanket over him, digging under it now, and BA lifts a corner automatically, helping his cellmate pull in close. They’ve both got their boxers on, but the pilot’s chest, a little furry, surprisingly muscled, skin soft despite the prison soap, feels good against his own.
“Talkin’ ‘bout you and me, BA,” the other man says seriously, cheek hot against the big enforcer’s smooth pectoral, hands playing in to each other. “Talkin’ ‘bout this.”
“There is no this in prison, fool,” he says, absently starting to stroke the pilot’s naked side, thinking about Face and Hannibal in the kitchens today. “Nothin’ like it.”
Silence for a moment.
“BA?”
“What?”
“Can I sleep with you tonight?”
It’s a little more scared than some of the other comments, back to the beginning, and BA really doesn’t want to start another of those crazyness feedback loops up.
Which is, of course, the only reason, the absolute only reason the big enforcer says, “yeah, fool, jus’ tonight.”
He can hear the grin in the dark.
Feel it.
And as he feels that body breath against his, he finds his arms closing up around bony shoulders, holding it all close.
But only, of course, for tonight.
+++++
BA realizes, about two weeks later, that he should have realized it to begin with.
He is never getting Murdock out of his bunk.
The crazy fool sleeps with him every night. Crawls in right after lights out, and somehow is always back in his own bunk by lights on in the morning. And it’s...weird, sleeping with Murdock cuddled up to his chest. There’s no other word for it, really. The pilot’s all bony elbows and sharp angles of flesh, little wuffled breaths against his chest, soft black hair going every which way, picking up the static from the shitty synthetic blankets, sticking to them both. And he only ever sleeps in boxers, which means BA can feel the man’s cock against his own most nights. Sometimes soft, sometimes harder, but always there.
Always.
Every. Single. Night.
And the worst part about it all is that the enforcer doesn’t seem to mind. Which is strange. Because you fuck your bitch.
You don’t go to the library with him while he forms his own little book club, and sit in on his lectures about Catch 22 with the rest of the inmates, somewhat amazed. You don’t wash his hair in the showers when nobody else is in there with you both, just caused he asks. You don’t let him lecture you in French about not eating your carrots. You don’t feel hot inside when you look at him. You don’t lay in bed with him half on top of you, absently stroking his back, wondering what it’d be like to kiss him.
And you certainly, absolutely, fucking never, look forward to all of that
BA really has no idea what’s going on.
So he figures he might be in love. He’s never been in love before, but it sounds right. It seems to fit. He wants to check, though. Wants to be sure, before he goes for the vaseline or whatever a guy’s supposed to do about something like this. He can count on one hand the people he knows who have been. .
His mom.
Hannibal and Face.
Definitely Hannibal and Face.
BA’s pretty sure about that. He’d given it some thought, a lot of thought, and it seemed to make sense.
Not because of the way they act with each other in public, Face all puffed up and Hannibal constantly reminding him of his place. Not like that time he got mouthy and Hannibal decked him in clear view of half the prison, or the week that Face spent in the infirmary with undisclosed injuries to his ass. No.
It’s an act. It’s gotta be an act.
Looking back on how many chances Face had had for parole, how he always seemed to blow it at the last minute, how Hannibal guarded Face jealously, how they fought in public and fucked in semi-public whenever the questions started up about whether or not the old man was going soft, it all makes sense.
So he’d asked today.
“You in love with the boss?”
Face had stiffened and didn’t respond. His eyes got huge.
Then narrowed.
“You’re way outta line, BA,” he warned.
“Gotta know, man.”
“Fuck that. Fuck you, Baracus. You don’t need to know shit,” Face growled, and jabbed him in the chest, moving him away. “And you don’t understand shit anyway, so that works out well for you.”
“Face, don’t mean nothing by it...”
It only left him more confused than before.
Now Murdock’s giving a very entertaining speech about some people called Yossari-something and some asshole called Major Major Major, acting out some funeral scene with sock puppets to a whole group of inmates. Fifteen at least. Right in the middle of the library. Everybody’s laughing. Most of them are actually reading the book, in preparation for these daily sessions. The whole thing is surreal, and not because of the sock puppets.
In fact, the sock puppets might be the most normal thing about the situation. Which is freaking BA out a little. But the pilot’s voice has this weirdly soothing quality to it - sock puppets and all - and the big enforcer feels himself relaxing a bit.
Then a hand hits his shoulder and fucking squeezes. Cruel and hard, nails breaking skin.
“Hey Baracus, how’s the asshole doin’?”
Hissed in his ear.
Bitter. Triumphant.
Pike.
Cold adrenalin shoots through BA’s entire being, that fearsome mixture of terror and fury, and he’s already whirling up, that rage of action building in his chest and swelling outwards to his limbs, but then there’s wire around his neck, cutting into his skin as he’s drug backwards, hard and fast.
The noise he makes against makeshift garrote must be enough, because everybody but Murdock stops.
And looks.
And everything goes right to hell.
Everybody’s scattering everywhere, shouts and curses filling the old, slight space, screams as Pike’s men start going at anybody they can reach, shoving everyone out of the way, trying to get, trying to get at...oh.
Fuck.
Murdock.
There’s at least four guys holding BA down in the chair and somebody’s kicking him in the ribs and the more he struggles the worse it cuts, but he has to get up, has to, has to, because they’re going for the pilot, have their fucking hands on his pilot, and Murdock’s shouting out too, now, loud and manic, manic like BA hasn’t heard him before, not even on that first day, and that sound, that right there, the you can’t touch me, I’m Harry Houdini, that’s so brave and so, so fucking desperate...
He almost gets to him. Manages to throw off and fight up and get a glimpse of Murdock, spitting blood as he’s hauled off, still babbling nonsense at the top of his lungs, his damn sock puppets joining in, laughing like it’s some big fucking joke, losing himself.
In that fucking defense mechanism of his.
No. No. No no. Not that. Not that...
But BA can’t even yell, can’t yell at Pike that he’s going to fucking kill him for this, can’t yell to Murdock that he’s going to save him, just like he’s sworn he would, no way to get a good breath, and then somebody delivers a punishing blow to a kidney and the garrote tightens, choking him until the world begins to gray and his limbs won’t listen to him anymore, failing him when he needs them the most.
When he needs eveything to save Murdock.
Pick grabs the top of his mohawk, twisting his head back, and the world’s graying out now, air gone, spent up.
“I think I’m going to fuck him,” he says, conversationally, like they’re discussing the terrible chicken that was lunch today. “Then I think I’m going to kill him.”
Fuck you, motherfucker.
He doesn’t get to say it. His lungs and his throat aren’t playing nice right now.
BA hopes his eyes say it for him, though. But he’s scared they’re saying what else he’s thinking right now. Like he let his guard down. Like he’s let this happen. Like if he wasn’t so goddamn enamored with the man’s voice he would have heard, would have felt... if he hadn’t been so involved with his stupid little infatuation with the man, he could have stopped this, could have saved him...
“Whaddaya say I let you watch, Baracus?”
That he tries to fight again. That sets off a fresh burst of murderous rage. Rage he could use...
But then it doesn’t matter anymore.
The world narrows to the head of a pin.
And then vanishes utterly.
Sweeping Murdock away from him.
When BA wakes up, it’s to a sense of relief that he’s not dead, a relief that last approximately three seconds.
Until the meaty smack of fist-on-flesh brings him back to this reality.
A reality where he’s being overwhelmed by a throbbing pain in his neck and searing pain in his wrists, where he’s tied up, arms strapped around behind him, against a pipe in some dusty, half lit machine room where Hannibal is never, never, gonna find his body, and where Pike just slugged Murdock to the ground and is pulling him back up on his knees, laughing manically, both of them, but especially Pike.
Judging by the faint splatter of blood on the ground, it’s not the first time he’s hit the pilot.
And the rage is rushing out of him in a loud, wordless growl, before he even recognizes it himself.
Pike is hurting Murdock.
His Murdock. His.
Mine.
BA isn’t aware that that word gets out with the growl until Pike turns and looks at him, knuckles bruised and face split by a sick grin. “How touching of you, BA.” He grabs Murdock by the hair and twists his head back. “Such depth of emotion for your crazy little bitch here.”
“Crazy like a fox!” Murdock cackles, and Pike jerks him back even harder, clubbing him down again. BA jerks forward automatically.
“Pike, you motherfucker...”
The veteran hauls the pilot up again, the younger man’s back to his chest, twisting his arm back around behind him cruelly and biting roughly at his ear. Murdock’s eyes are wide with fear. He’s still giggling. “He’s just so goddamn cute, Baracus, with these little cocksucker lips of his.” He runs a finger into the pilot’s mouth, another of those damn shanks of his clenched in his fist, almost grazing Murdock’s cheek. It get him a scared little whimper. Pike smiles. “I can understand why you want to keep him. But fact of the matter is, he’s not yours, is he? He belongs to Hannibal. Just like you do...”
BA jerks forward again, feeling the rough wire cutting into his wrists. Fuck, they’re alone. If he could just get out, if he could get free... “Jus’ like everything do in here.”
“But that’s the beauty of it,” Pike purrs, sliding that hand down from Murdock’s mouth to his throat, blade just starting to cut in, and the pilot tensed, the giggling slowing to a desperate little gurgle. “After I rape and kill your pilot here, the old man’ll be finished. Nobody will listen to a damn thing he has to say, ever again.”
“Pike, I will...”
“What do you get to the bit where I tear his ass open with my dick?” Pike asks breezily, and forcefully throws the pilot down. He hits with both hands, head bowed, long hair just starting to shake.
Pike kicks him over, sprawling him out on his belly, and BA feels tears actually starting to come to his eyes as one heavy foot slams into the pilot’s side. “Whaddaya say about that, asshole? You like the idea? Me ripping you apart? So much better than anything good ol’ Barely Able Baracus here is going to give you...” He kicks him again. And again.
And doesn’t stop.
“Hannibal’s can’t help you boys now!”
THWMPPPP
“Who the fuck do you think really should run this place?”
THWMPPPP
“Some weak-ass motherfucker who lets his bitch act like he’s equal to the rest of us?”
THWMPPPP
BA’s screaming, throwing himself against the bonds holding him back, every triumphant little chuckle, every cry of pain, ever word and every sound, sending a shot of horror right through him, shocking and white-hot, demanding an answer, demanding...
“Come on, BA! You threw in with the wrong fuckin’ man! And now I’m going to...”
THWMPPPP
“...kill your cute little bitch for...”
THWMPPPP
“... his stupidity by accepting your protection!”
And then...
“Stop, stop,” Murdock coughs weakly, whining, rolling over on his back, hands up, looking for all the world like a beaten puppy, just like that first day, panting and sweating, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Plese, sir...”
“Sir?” Pike laughs, and looks down, stopping his foot mid-kick. “Sir? You fuckin’ kiddin’ me, retard?”
Murdock, clearly in pain, somehow manages to make it to his knees, spitting blood as he goes, hands reaching and head down. BA can’t see his face beneath that mop of hair. “Sir, please,” he says, and pitches forward, right on to Pike’s shoes. “I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die for him...”
And he throws a hand, shaking, in BA’s direction.
Freezing the big black man’s heart solid.
“He can’t protect me,” Murdock sniffles, forehead on Pike’s toes, nose on the floor. “He can’t keep me safe. He’s weak. You’re strong, sir, you...”
Pike kicks him off, laughing again. “What are you sayin’, bitch?”
The pilot lifts his head. “Take me, Mr. Pike. Don’t kill me. I’ll be a good boy for you...”
“Murdock...” BA whispers, the floor falling away from him, the world retreating, everything inside clenching and releasing, all at once. He’d thought, he’d thought... “Murdock, no...”
“Shut up!” the pilot screams, voice breaking, pure agony there. “Just shut up, BA! You fucking lied to me! You said you’d keep me safe!”
“Murdock!”
“Shut the fuck up, you stupid nigger!”
BA feels his heart implode at that one word. Everything black and numb and cold and dead inside of him. He’d been hoping, up until that moment, that maybe it was the crazy, or a ruse, or something else, anything but...
But.
That word.
It’s all been a lie. Murdock just wanted protection. Murdock feels nothing for him. Murdock was playing him all along. There’s nothing there. Nothing ever possible there.
He collapses, slumping forward, eyes squeezed shut, tears smarting up again. Never, not in his whole life, has anybody ever, ever dared call him...
But Pike’s laughing. Of course he is. Pike thinks it’s a fucking joke. Which it is. Which BA knows it is. Whatever Murdock was laughing at before, he’s laughing at now. A world gone insane. His own best sense failed him entirely.
“That so, bitch?” Pike growls over the static of grief filling BA’s mind.
“Yessir, sir...”
“Get up here.”
A dragging noise, jumpsuit on raw, unsealed concrete.
“Mouth open.”
Something wet, slurped, vile.
“Take it all...all of it...good bitch, yes, good girl...you done this before, haven't you? Sick bitch, slut for cock, ain't'cha... you fucking love...”
And then.
Then.
A wordless scream of unbearable pain rips through the hot, oppressive atomosphere, loud and long and sustained, a wail shifting frequencies too fast to follow, and then the pain around his wrists is gone, pitching him forward, his body crumbling in on itself, and right before BA knows he should be hitting the hard, indifferent floor, he’s caught by soft, wet hands.
Surprisingly strong.
Surprisingly sweet.
A flutter of a touch against his cheek, and BA finally lifts his eyes, vision clearing. Disbelieving, he sees the pilot, holding him steady, helping him down to the ground lightly, pressing him back up against the pipe now, back into a sitting position.
A finger presses his lips shut. “I got him, BA,” the pilot drawls softly, nothing but weariness and pain in his voice now, none of the raw, insane hatred from before. “I got him for you.”
BA dares to look over, at the source of those moans.
At where Pike’s laying in agony, doubled up, one hand pressed over his exposed cock, a dark puddle spreading out beneath him and across his jumpsuit, moaning piteously.
“Wha’ you...”
“I’m so sorry, BA. I didn’t mean...” Murdock tells him in a low whisper, almost too quiet to hear. “I just wanted him to believe me.”
The big guy stares. “What’d you do to him?”
Murdock looks away. “I kinda... tore off...uhh...”
BA really stares. Did Murdock, the batshit insane pilot, really just do all of that, fake the panic, fake the fear, fake the insults, just to...
“You fuckers!” Pike howls. “You aren’t going to get away with this! My men are going to be in here any minute and they are gonna fuck you u...”
“Actually Pike,” very familiar voice says, the scent of a cheap, nasty cigar, the very solid smack of a man’s body hitting a wall, filling the room, “I think those boys of yours aren’t capable of fucking anybody up right now.”
“On account of me, sort of fucking them up first,” a younger, cockier voice adds.
And BA looks up at where Hannibal and Face are standing over him and Murdock now.
“You okay, boys?” the boss asks, genuine concern barely hiding under the facade of indifference he’s got on for Pike’s benefit.
Murdock cracks a grin, but he sways a little, almost falling full-length into BA’s lap. “Outstanding, sir,” he says, snapping a smart salute nonetheless.
BA slumps back again, this time in relief, and realizes his hands are around Murdock’s waist, holding him tight. “Faceman, I love you sometimes...”
“Aw, BA, you sentimental bastard,” the blonde says, but squats down next to them both, giving them both a rare, genuine, almost sweet smile. “Makin’ us come save your sorry asses...”
“Fuck you, Smith!” Pike snaps, voice roughed and raw with pain and blood loss.
They all look over, at where the boss is staring down at the disgraced inmate, smoking impassively. He takes a few more puffs, not responding at all, allowing himself a small chuckle only, and finally taps the ash off the end of the cigar, right over his rival’s prostrate body, turning on his heel.
Leaving.
“Make sure they all get medical attention, Face. Pike included.”
“Boss...”
The reply comes soft and fast, not a hint of revenge or pleasure in it. “Do it, kid.”
And he’s gone.
Face and BA exchange a glance.
“I can get crazy here,” the enforcer promises, pulling Murdock in close and wrapping his arms around him, promising himself, then and there, to never let him go again. Never let anything like this happen again. “You deal with half-sac over there.”
Face grins and waggles his eyebrows, going over to grab Pike by the collar and the discarded testicle by a raw edge. “What do you say we got see if they can sew this back on for you, asshole?” he asks merrily, shoving Pike along in front of him. “And if it doesn’t work, I hear they’ve got implants for this sort of thing these days...”
Murdock’s harder to get upright, and BA realizes almost too late that he has to pick the other man up. He’s light, like he is in bed, but stiffer, wincing. Probably broken ribs or something.
But he still manages to push himself up close as BA follows Face out.
Close enough to plant one soft, weak little kiss right on BA’s mouth.
Soft and weak, sure, barely more than a chaste peck, but huge and expansive, reinflating everything he punctured with his words earlier, filling BA with warmth, a surge the big guy can feel in his toes, and he almost stumbles with his precious armload.
“What was that for?”
“My hero,” he croaks, like he did that first day.
But today, as they near the light of the hallway outside, where a couple of medics from the clinic are conveniently waiting with gurneys, strapping Pike down to one while Face lays the man’s ball right down on top of him, still laughing about it, today, BA doesn’t get irritated. Doesn’t get mad.
Because he understands himself now.
He kisses his crazy man’s forehead. “Anything for you, baby,” he whispers.
And the smile he gets in return is almost entirely, completely, one hundred percent, worth it.
+++++
The infirmary makes for a nice change of pace.
BA’s cuts, around his wrists and his neck, are mostly superficial, the bruises from the fight already fading. But they keep him around. In a fairly private room. Where a nurse comes in every few hours and locks the door behind. Where everything’s bright and cool and clean and white, like things are never white in prison, and the beds are more comfortable.
Where Murdock is.
Murdock’s in worse shape than BA, but it’s impossible to tell how bad he actually is. He seems okay, says he’s okay, laughs when the doctors poke and prod - turns out he doesn’t have any broken ribs after all - but when they’re gone, he curls up on his bed and doesn’t talk.
BA thinks he knows what’s wrong, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. Like maybe the strain of the con hurt the pilot, whether from having to focus so hard or having to suck the guy’s cock or something else, something’s he’s missing, something he can’t figure out until Murdock, clever man that he is, tells him.
Or shows him, maybe.
It’s night, two days after the library and the machine room, the bitterness and that harsh, coppery scent of blood. Two nights since they got here to the infirmary. Two nights of Murdock sleeping in a different bed, not attached to his at all. Two nights of sheer torture.
This is the third.
BA stares up at the ceiling, thin sheet thrown over his naked body, arms stretched behind his head. There’s nothing going on up there. Nothing going on down here either. Nothing going on at all.
And then there’s a touch on his leg.
He looks down. There’s enough light to make out Murdock, standing there, naked too, at the foot of the bed, hunched down and over him. “What you doin’, fool?”
Murdock doesn’t answer, not with words, not as he starts rolling and pushing the sheet out of the way, knees up on the thin mattress now, moving over BA’s legs, sitting back against his feet.
Exposed, open, shocked, BA doesn’t do a thing. Can’t. Not as Murdock touches his thigh again, stroking softly, stroking upward, stroking inward, stroking right around...
And that’s where the big enforcer finds it in himself to stop his crazy cellmate, a gentle touch to his head, lifting his face so their eyes can meet in the darkness.
“What you doin’?” he repeats.
The pilot bites his lip, and tries to drop his head again. “I’m not his, am I?”
His? Pike’s? “No, Murdock. You don’t belong to him.”
“Gave you up,” he says, voice sad, turning his face until his lips are brushing BA’s palm. “Didn’t I give you up?”
And that’s when BA gets it. What Murdock’s afraid of, and what Murdock needs.
Reassurance. Something solid to hang himself on, if the nightmares come for him, if he can’t figure out what’s real and what’s not, and the big guy pushes himself up on an elbow. This isn’t the way to give the man what he needs. . “I didn’t give you up, Murdock.”
That hand’s back edging his cock. “I’m sorry, BA. I’m so sorry...”
“Hey, hey,” the other man groans, sitting up and pulling Murdock into him. Murdock doesn’t so much as lean into him as he does fall, breath coming in harsh pants, settling into his lap. BA wraps his legs up around him, holding him close. “You did good, baby. You did so good...”
“Don’t want to lose you,” the pilot says, words muffled. “Like you too much, big guy.”
“I like you too, crazy,” he whispers, stroking that soft dark hair, holding him close in the cool night, feeling an arm squeeze up under his, both of them, tighter and tighter, something building and building and building, pushing up, higher, so much higher, too high, until it finally erupts in a hesitant, resisting kiss that soon starts to melt into something else entirely.
Something wonderful.
Something that definitely, never, ever happens in prison.
Except, maybe, for right now.
And BA's heart starts to soar.
It's just a touch, the lightest feathering of fingers across BA's naked belly, moving down, lower and lower. Just a movement, the way a narrow set of hips drag up, pelvis and groin and cock then, right over his. Just the slightest little whisper as the kiss falls apart, a quiet Bosco, c'mon, shooting through him.
All that wriggling produces the most wonderful sensations, every one sparking awake all those things he thought he'd never feel in here. Reminding him, reminding him, I love him... But still... "You injured, man."
"C'mon, BA," Murdock whispers, eyes bright in the dark. Erections brush again. Hard tonight. Definitely hard. "Promised I'd show you, you promised you wouldn't hurt me. I wanna..."
He feels like he’s spinning already, falling, and he grabs out for the only thing he can think of to break the descent. "Murdock..."
And there it is, a hand tracing the bare skin of his head, between mohawk and ear. "Still yours, BA?" Murdock drawls softly back. "I am still yours, right?"
"You a crazy ass fool," BA grunts, and then moans a little as his cellmate, his certifiably insane, bizarre, gentle, sweet, beautiful cellmate, kisses him again, thumbing that shaven skin, biting just a little, bucking up, a pattern to the movements, a beat, all starting to fall into place.
He can’t help it. His cock’s screaming for attention, and his pelvis jerks up, bringing their cocks together again, hard, trapped between their bellies, and he moans at the sensation. “Oh, oh, fuck...”
Murdock kisses him again, and takes one big hands in his own long one, forcing his fingers underneath BA’s. “Fly me to the moon?” he asks, nuzzled close.
“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he repeats, feeling his brain start to short-circuit, sparks of arousal shooting through him. “If we...”
“More’n’one way,” comes the answering little whisper. And the pilot settles himself upright once more. A finger drags down BA’s chest, stopping at his hip, and braced like that, Murdock wraps their joined hands around both their cocks. “More’n’one way to be together, BA.”
Somehow, BA thinks from very, very far away, the pressure, the feel of their twined fingers, the closeness, it all fits.
Perfectly.
He lets Murdock set the pace, showing him how to move, meeting each hip roll with one of his own, squeezing with just the right tightness, sweat and precum starting to ease the way, everything smoother and smoother, easier and easier, and it’s all descending into that kind of controlled chaos that’s so, so Murdock.
It’s all a wonder to BA, an absolute wonder, as he lies beneath his . He never knew it could be like this, between men, something this good, this equal, nobody taking, nobody losing, just the two of them, rutting into each other, both of them pulling the other higher, electricity building between them, breaths turning to moans turning to cries, and he learns the sound that comes next, when Murdock shudders above him, when he shudders below, when muscles freeze and vision blanks and the world breaks apart entirely. BA loses everything else to that sensation of pulsing flesh in his hands, giving up everything, and he lets himself float for a while, the last conscious thought that his baby, his, isn’t going to let him go.
That they’re together now.
That everything’s going to be okay.
Murdock’s holding against him when he finally finds his way back, drained, exhausted, blissed out. The pilot’s snuggling in, too, like he does every night, except now it’s sticky and messy and sweaty.
“Hey,” BA whispers.
“Hey,” Murdock whispers back, and giggles, just a little, before quieting. Before playing with the edge of the big guy’s mohawk again. “Bosco, Bosco, I...I...”
BA pulls him closer. Not letting him finish. “I know, baby, I know.”
“Y’do? Then...”
He kisses the pilot again, strokes the back of his index finger down a soft cheek, lingering for a moment, letting himself feel it all, all that’s here. Then he has to stop. Has to remember where they are, set the lines for both of them, stay strong. No room for tenderness here, not the kind Murdock deserves. So...
“Go to sleep, crazy,” he grunts.
His pilot smiles a little, like he understands exactly what’s going on, and teases a nipple lightly. “BA, can I sleep with you tonight?” he teases.
“Jus’ tonight,” the big enforcer grumbles.
And Murdock wraps that arm around him, breath coming hot between them, and BA holds him there. Holding him tight.
Like they’ve done so many nights before.
Except now, it’s perfect.
+++++
In light of the seriousness of Pike’s attempt to seize control, and the extremes Murdock had gone to in order to take him down, of his revelations about love and life and his boss and himself, BA had really thought more would have changed around the prison. But only a few days later, after they get out of the hospital, BA’s a little amazed at how little things have changed.
Hannibal’s still top dog in the prison.
Face still screams out in the night when the old man’s nailing his ass.
Murdock still says incredibly intelligent, retarded things that BA has to defend him from.
BA still has to crack skulls from Pike’s gang, and the Aryan Brotherhood, and the local Crypt franchise, and the Aztecs, and everybody else.
Nothing’s changed.
Except it has.
Murdock might be crazy - and he is, legitimately, according to the infirmary doctor - but he’s getting some help now. A therapy session once a week. A low dose of something that’s helping him control the manic episodes. He’s got more respect now, ever since Face has taken to carrying a big sealed glass jar, Pike’s left nut floating in some kind of preservative, out into the exercise yard. His book club’s back on, and seems to be legitimately popular, although BA suspects that might be because he usually borrows the nut-in-a-jar for it, giving its own chair and talking to it occasionally. Just in case it has an opinion it wants to share with the class.
And he’s teaching BA everything he promised he would teach him.
They’ve even gotten to the vaseline. It’s fantastic, moving together like that, being together like that, being buried in the satin-smooth heat of his baby’s body, together, like one being with one purpose, one heartbeat.
But right now, they’re separate entities, held apart by the dust of the prison yard and the wrappers of orange jumpsuits, the ones that Murdock wears so well. His crazy pilot’s scuffling a shoe into the dirt. Hannibal’s watching, smoking one of those goddamn cigars of his, chuckling a little.
Face claps him on the shoulder. “Whatcha up to, buddy?” he asks.
“Billy can’t remember where he buried his bone,” the pilot says seriously.
“I can help you look...”
Hannibal snorts. “You forgettin’ something, kid?”
The blonde puts on his best impression of a pout, one of those challenging ones, arguing without words. Hannibal chuckles a little more. BA rolls his eyes. Murdock looks worried.
“Face...was there somebody new at intake today?” the old man asks, flicking ash away.”
“Right,” Face finally says, casting an apologetic glance at Murdock and a tight smile at BA. “Yeah. Yeah, one new guy. Couldn’t get much on him. The guards don’t even know the details. He’s here for grand larceny, somethin’ like that...”
“This thief got a name?” Hannibal prompts, impassive.
“Yeah,” and Face smiles. “Lynch. Just Lynch. No first name.”
“Hmm,” the boss says thoughtfully, rolling his cigar between his fingers, like he’s considering something very, very carefully. “Boys, we should keep any eye on this one.”
“Anything you need, boss,” BA says automatically. “I got it for ya.”
“Good man,” Hannibal grunts, and throws an arm around Face. “Walk with me, kid. Tell me exactly what Sosa said about this asshole...”
BA watches them go, and then Murdock’s at his side, fingers twisting into his jumper, just a bit, and he lays his head on the big guy’s shoulder. “My hero,” he murmurs softly, equal parts teasing and awe.
“Crazy ass fool,” he grunts, and bats Murdock away.
Not the time, not the place.
Maybe someday, some day, he thinks, they’ll both get out of here. They’ll leave together, and he can take Murdock out of this damn cage, take him home, a real home, a real home together, somewhere, anywhere, where they’ll have a bed big enough to spread out in, really explore one another, find each other’s soft spots, the freedom for all the tender little things that his mama tried to tell him about, all the things he can tell her about now.
Mama, you were right. I know what I what now, know who I am...
And as Murdock lets himself be pushed away, his eyes are sparkling.
