Babes and Bathwater

Inspired by Two Fugitives and A Hideaway.

There will be one main story and a few snippets from the same universe.

_

Westmoreland and Sucre are the first ones to leave. The Porto Rican fool can’t wait to chase after his slutty girlfriend, still in denial that she’s stepping out on him. Baby probably isn’t his either. T-Bag almost feels sorry for the dumb fool.

Westmoreland takes the other direction, towards his dying daughter. He is caught two days later. At least he makes it inside the hospital before the U.S. Marshals take him down. You gotta hand it to the old geezer though, he doesn’t give up their location or else they would have had to abandon this cozy little bungalow that looks more like a fancy suite anyway.

One has to admit, Scofield knows how to live in style. Three bedrooms, equipped with a bathroom each, a kitchen and the living area with enough couch space for the rest of them. It could be argued that it is not all that different from prison, as they rarely let him out. But there are linen sheets (not that stops him from keeping his shank under his pillow every night), no COs wanting to shake you down in the middle of the night and they gets to eat what they want. And baths. Can’t forget about the baths.

Abruzzi is the next one to go, tired of waiting for Burrows’ people to arrive. He says his goodbyes, promises to send them a card from Sardinia and gives Scofield a number in case he wants that transportation after all. T-Bag can tell that the Pretty is less than pleased with that solution, but he has nothing to hold Abruzzi with. He is amazed that Abruzzi doesn’t take the Pretty apart when he refuses to give up Abruzzi’s little traitor, at least not before they get to make use of that transportation. But Abruzzi is still high on his new found freedom, he lets it slide.

That leaves him and rughead, playing cards and trading insults while Burrows and Scofield pace up and down, relentlessly. C-Note gets sick of it after two days and decides to take his chances alone. The Pretty again shows that his heart is just to soft for this by giving C-Note a sizable part of the old geezer’s money. Rughead in turn proves himself resourceful, because they haven’t heard from him ever since. At least he has his own room now.

Sucre calls in once to tell them that he’s alright and that he spoke to Maricruz.
_

Finally, yet a day later they arrive. Before he can even react to the soft knock on the door, Burrows grabs him, slams him against the wall and locks him into his room. No place for him in the happy family reunion. He presses his body against the door so he can hear their voices, two new ones, a man and a woman. And then there is a third one, a boy’s voice, shrill and hiccup-y, a kid clearly on the verge of tears. That must be the son he’s been hearing about.

They let him out half an hour later and he finally gets to see them. The man is attractive in your typical, boring mid thirties yuppie kind of way, but he looks nervous and he clearly hasn’t been getting much sleep lately. The boy looks fifteen, sixteen at the most. His eyes are clear, a strange mixture of light greens and blues and his face reminds of a cage of fluttering birds, new emotions, from fear to elation, flying over it every second. His hands are soft and girlish, his hair of a dark sandy colour. His face and his cheeks look so young and innocent, so unbroken by life, T-Bag finds it heart to believe that he is really Burrows’ son. If it weren’t for the haunted look in his eyes, he could have been any Ivy League kid playing baseball or golf with his peers.

T-Bag believes in marking his territory early on. It’s not easy to find the right moment amongst the chaos, but at one point the adults congegrate together in the kitchen area, discussing animatedly, with LJ standing 20 feet away, on the outside looking in. Quickly he hugs him from behind, as if to greet him, and rubs his hand deftly across the boy’s crotch, once, twice. LJ’s eyes widen, but before he can open his mouth to scream T-Bag withdraws, making his way to the other side of the room, acting like nothing ever happened. LJ stares at him like he isn’t completely sure it was even real.

They never let him see the woman, she’s already gone when they let him out of his room, but she better be looking like Marilyn Monroe herself, because Burrows barely makes it out of their room except to grab something to eat. T-Bag can hear her from his room though and when he presses really close he can even feel their movements through the walls.
_

The best part however is watching the Three Stooges as he christened them. The Pretty, the lawyer and the kid spend most of their day sitting around the kitchen table, lined up like sleeping chicken, awkwardly looking down, playing with their hands. Sometimes there are embarrassed attempts at conversation that lose themselves after a sentence or two.

Every once in a while the Pretty gets up to stretch and walk around, allowing T-Bag to admire his beautiful long limbs and the graceful way he moves. He has tried to talk to the Pretty, but the Pretty just gives him a look of faint disgust mixed with pity and doesn’t even bother to respond. Five days they have been stuck here and the Pretty hasn’t said a single word to him.

So he has to get his enjoyment elsewhere. T-Bag especially loves the times when Burrows bothers to come out. He always makes a point to go over to T-Bag and smack him over the head, as if to tell him that he is being watched. T-Bag could swear that he can smell the woman’s pussy juice all over him and he has to stifle a laugh when Burrows breezes through the room, pats Pretty and the kid on the head, exchanges a few polite remarks with the lawyer and before going straight for the fridge.

In those moments Michael and the kid look more alike than ever. The way they sit up like attentive children when Burrows walks in. The way their eyes shine with hope when they look at him. But when he walks away again Michael just slides his poker face back on, while the little Pretty sinks into himself like a kicked little puppy. Burrows either doesn’t see or doesn’t care.

She better fuck like Marilyn and Rita Hayworth rolled in one.
_

As much fun it is to watch them in their misery, T-Bag decides to throw them a bone. He decides on Nick, the lawyer, and calls him over for a game. All eyes turn on him in surprise and disdain. He has to nag for half a day till lawyerboy makes his way over. The kid tags along on his side. T-Bag smiles. This of course is going to make it all even better.

They play for two hours, even though lawyerboy doesn’t exactly show a lot of enthusiasm. Doesn’t matter. T-Bag would rather look at the boy anyway. The kid (LJ, T-Bag reminds himself) sit on Nick’s side. He eyes the board attentively, his tongue darting past his lips occasionally. Every once in a while he leans in and whispers advice into his partner’s ear. Every time he does it, the tiny little hairs on the back of T-Bag’s neck stay on end.

Patience pays off, because lawyerboy loses interest and moves away in the search of a magazine.

It takes all T-Bag’s self control to hide how pleased he is at how eagerly the little Pretty slides into Nick’s seat. Oh, yes, this is just like the good old times. This boy is only three years younger than Seth, 9 years younger than Maytag, but somehow it makes all the difference.

Not as preternaturally exquisite like his uncle he is, but more boyish and gawky. Normally you can feel a certain quality of fear in him. It’s in the way he his shoulders always seem tense, the way he whirls around at the slightest noise. Everything about the way he moves gives away that he still doesn’t feel safe. The only time he seems to be able to relax when he can focus on something else, like now, conjuring strategies, moving pawns.

T-Bag looks around and thankfully they are almost alone, Michael has withdrawn to his room, probably for a nap, and Nick looks completely consumed by his “Nature”. He loves that he doesn’t have to remember anything of the old ways, he just slides back into them, the way his voice lowers, the way he smiles and makes sure to compliment the kid every time he makes a good move. And there is of course the feeling of accomplishment when the kid breaks out into a smile. He knows that it is for the game and not for him, but what is important is that the boy doesn’t bother to hide his feelings.

“So, your father…,” he starts.

LJ looks up at him, his eyes wide and an impossible shade of light green.

He changes his strategy.

“What took you so long to meet up with us, anyway?”

LJ blushes.

“We didn’t know how to reach you. We kept checking the confidentials in the hope for a message. It took a while.”

LJ falls silent again.

“So, is she pretty? The lady who was with you I mean.”

No answer.

“Seems like your dad doesn’t want me to see her.” – beat – “Doesn’t seem to have a problem with me spending time you.”

“Are you really a pedophile?” The little bugger looks at him straight, his eyes blazing with hostility.

“There, there, such a nasty word. Did I hit a sore spot there?”

“My dad loves me.”

He pointedly stifles a laughs. “Sure, he just doesn’t know how to express it. At least that is what they used to say about my dad when they pulled me out of the haystack, all torn and bloody.”

“My father is not like that.” Enraged.

“Of course not.” he grins.

LJ pushes the game away and stalks towards the room he shares with Michael.

T-Bag feels the satisfaction rising in his stomach.

The seed has been sown.
_

The next few days are lazy. When Burrows isn’t with his lady, he’s usually discussing things with Michael, frenzied, but always in a hushed tone. They start to leave together, staying out longer and longer. As far as he can tell, they can’t agree on whether to move on, something about a conspiracy or another. He likes to assume that they are staying at least in part because that way they do not have to decide what to do with him. Now he couldn’t care less, he likes it here. The only thing he has to watch is that his stash isn’t running out. For that he has LJ, seeing him each day is intoxicating, his anti-drug.

Things are in his favour. They are all wrapped up in their own problems, they are starting to forget that he is even there. Nick is getting more and more grumpy each day and the ladybird still isn’t ready to fly out of her cage. Sometimes he can see Nick slip into her room. No “movements” though that he can detect.

He watches LJ trying to draw closer to his father, not wanting to be left alone with that scary man. He pleads with Scofield and Burrows to be taken along when they leave. They turn him down of course and a sulking LJ withdraws to couch and TV.
_

He stands on the front porch, cigarette in hand, when LJ slips out of the apartment and joins him.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, little boy,” he mocks.

“I’m old enough to take of myself.”

“Your father keeping himself busy again?”

No answer. Together they stare out into the darkness.

“You want one?” He asks the question with a deliberate sigh, signalling boredom and exasperation.

He talked lawyerboy into getting him cigarettes, but his fancy college education obviously didn’t teach him a thing about smoking, because he picked a local brand that taste likes horsedung. The pack is pretty however, colourful, with a little mermaid sitting on a golden throne. Must be some kind of joke as there is no greater body of water for hundreds of miles here.

When LJ doesn’t answer, he lights a new one, sucking softly on the tip to convince it to flare up. He lingers for a moments, almost like a short kiss goodbye, before he turns to hold the cigarette against LJ’s lips. His hands are on LJ’s shoulder, soclose to touching the boy’s neck, his fingertips almost being allowed to brush against LJ’s hair.

The white skin on the kid’s throat glimmers softly in the darkness, begging him to be kissed. But he knows that he has to take this one slower. Slower than he has ever taken anything in his life with the boy’s raging bull of a father less than 20 feet away, separated only by a wall or three. But how could he resist really, how can he resist this unique thrall of blood?

LJ doesn’t bite, instead he closes his eyes and leans back, further away from the cig.

“What is the deal with this pocket thing, anyway?” he murmurs.

“Now where did you get that from?”

“This guy, Sucre, he called. I picked it up and he asked if the pocketman is still with us.”

T-Bag takes a step back and pulls out his pocket, slowly rolling the tip between his fingers, deliberately trying to catch LJ’s eye.

“It’s an arrangement, a contract of sorts,” he explains, slowly, hanging on to each word.

Fascinated LJ draws closer, reaching for it, softly brushing the pocket’s fabric with his fingertips.

“It means that whoever takes it is under my protection. I wont let any harm come to them.” He stresses this point and openly leers at the boy now. “In exchange of certain favours of course.”

LJ jerks back his hand, panic rising in his eyes. He bolts for the door.

“It’s no use running.” He calls after him, launghing “After you touched it, it’s ON, whether you like it or not.”
_

Burrows and Scofield leave for a longer trip the next day and Burrow’s woman comes out for the first time. T-Bag can’t believe how short she is, even shorter than LJ. Her eyes are deep green like an Irish girl’s, there’s a slight overbite and her cheeks look like they have been crudely shaped by a razor. Who would have thought that Burrows likes them this tiny?

She makes her way over to lawyerboy and they are put their heads together and whisper, making plans for the next day. He’s got a feeling that they’ll be out and about soon as well. Perfect. Time to put his own plan in motion.

It’s early in the morning. Things don’t look promising at first. The place Michael picked is a resort. Rich people come here to hunt. But it’s still off season and there was a food poisoning incident a while ago according to Michael, so, not many people here. He tries not to walk in the open, keeping close to the walls, he makes it to the dining hall and the kitchen behind it. He doesn’t want to pick any of the regular employees. He makes it round to the garbage cans and can barely believe his luck. A rughead, skulking around and rummaging through the trash. This is going to be easier than expected.
_

“Veronica and Nick are leaving for the day,” LJ informs him. “They want to check out a library or something. It’s a long drive, so they are staying overnight.”

LJ pauses.

“They told me to lock myself in my room for the day. Maybe I should rather lock you in.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I’m not scared of you. They left me a gun. See.”

Proudly he pulls the gun out of his waistband. T-Bag recognises it. It’s one of Nick’s. LJ waves the gun in his face, almost giddy with power.

The kid presses the muzzle against T-Bag’s jugular, forcing him to tilt his head upwards.

“I can do everything I want. You can’t stop me. They left me in charge.”

Every sentence is punctuated by little gasps. False bravado slowly being replaced by hysterics as the boy’s eyes dart around, like he is daring somebody to catch them and witness this glorious deed. Slowly T-Bag closes his hand around the boy’s wrist, right under the gun.

“Careful, m’boy, wouldn’t want to hurt yourself, would you.”

LJ’s head yanks around, he stares at T-Bag, their eyes meeting in a short stare down. He might have the gun, yet he the is the one starts to shake, his eyes fill with water and his mouth quivers. Before he starts crying in earnest the boy yanks the gun away from T-Bag's throat and bolts towards his room, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. And when the resounding “thud” of LJ’s door being slammed shut is followed by the lock’s quiet “click” T-Bag can’t be bothered to hide his satisfaction.

He settles down on the couch, switches the tv on, but his eyes are still trained on that very special door. He knows the boy. And he knows that he wont stay in there for long.
_

LJ stays in almost all day, it’s already dark outside when he comes out. He carries a pack of T-Bag’s cigarettes in his hand. Must have nicked them when T-Bag was out. Burrow’s son is obviously heading for the front porch for a late night smoke (just as he predicted), but he stops halfway and sits down opposite T-Bag.

“I wanted to apologize for my behaviour. I didn’t mean to… It wasn’t.”
The boy hangs his head, his face flushed. Poor child, too well mannered for his own good. His education is kicking in even under these fucked up circumstances.

“’s alright, “ he whispers with a dismissive hand gesture. No reason to slow the boy down for this.

“Just go and out and get your smoke. We can talk later.”

LJ nods and makes his way towards the door. T-Bag gives him two minutes before he gets his shank and follows the boy out. He leans in the doorframe, watching LJ who is on the far end of the porch, still fiddling with the lighter. Slowing down his breathing he lies in wait. He doesn’t have to wait for long.

He’s got to give to the rughead, he seems to come out of nowhere, grabbing LJ by the throat and smashing the boy against the wall. LJ claws at his assailant’s hands, struggling to breathe. The gun in his waistband, behind his back, is forgotten. It takes T-Bag just two long strides to reach them. He grabs LJ’s arm and yanks him away. Before his rughead friend can react he plunges the blade into his temple. The man collapses instantly, falling against him, so he has to steady himself not be brought by the inert mass of flesh and muscle. Behind him LJ is on his knees, crying and wheezing. T-Bag pushes the body away and lets it fall flat on its back before he turns and kicks the blubbering boy. Hard.

“You. Back in. Now, “ he hisses.

LJ stares at him with big, helpless eyes before he obeys, tears still trickling down his cheeks. Slowly he gets up on his feet and obeys.

T-Bag inspects the body. Good. Not too much blood. He grabs it by its arms and drags it behind their bungalow, over the nearby field towards the trees. The hole is already prepared. Spent the whole morning digging it. He rolls the body in and covers it with earth. Nobody is going to come looking for him anytime soon. Rughead had some bad business with a gang in Chicago (he didn’t say, but T-Bag guesses it had something to do with no longer being able to pay for his habit) and ran out of money on the run. A small pinch of H and the tale of a snooty little white boy with a big stash who comes out each night to smoke was all it took to convince him.

T-Bag stands up, bending a bit backwards and waits for the “crack” of his bones. With his eyes closed he imagines LJ, scared, alone in the big apartment, waiting for his return. He waits a while longer, just to let the boy stew.
_

LJ is still in his room when he returns. So he sneaks into Burrow’s bathroom and picks up a towel. He also pockets a bottle of the lady's fancy pink body lotion. Softly humming to himself he returns to the porch to wipe away any remaining traces of blood. He then knots the towel together to hide the stains before he throws it in the trash.

Now all that’s left to do is to let the boy come to him.
_

The tub is huge and kidney shaped, the tiles white with tiny pale blue flowers on them. A knee-high stool covered in his clothes. The whole room is damp and filled with white steam because the water his as hot as he can bear. He rinses shampoo out of his hair and tilts his head to let water drop out of his ears. Lovingly his fingers massage his shank as he cleans it of blood.

Killing always gives him such a fucking high, even a quicky like this. “Tweener, oh, Tweener,” he bellows and fondly remembers the little present he left that little shit when they left.

Even over his own singing and the running water he can hear the tentative footsteps closing in. Then, a soft scratching noise at this door.

“Door is open, Pretty,” he hollers.

LJ quietly slips in. His cheeks are still splotty from crying and he’s still a bit shaken up. He sits down, looking down on his shoes. His shoulders are slumped, his whole body language speaking of a boy filled with confusion and turmoil.

Finally he looks up.

“Who.. who do you think was that guy.”

“Must have been a robber. Least he didn’t look like on of your conspiracy people,” T-Bag muses as he latheres up his arms with soap, making sure that LJ watches his every move.

“You saved me. You protected me.”

“Told you I would, didn’t I?”

“You… you mentioned something about favour.”

T-Bag doesn’t answer. Instead he starts to rinse the soap off his body. It’s better to let him make up his own mind, about how much he is willing to give for now. No use to ask him only to have the boy run scared again, especially since he can’t leave any bruises for Burrows to find. Besides, he doesn’t like being turned down, not when his options to enforce are somewhat … limited these days.

LJ doesn’t say a thing for a long time. Then, slowly, he starts stripping his clothes off, eyes always trained on the floor. He starts with his shoes and socks. The snug dark green shirt goes next, just the tiniest hint of blood spatter near the collar. LJ squeezes his eyes shut as he pushes his pants and boxers down and stands there fully naked.

He wont open his eyes even as he slides into the tub.

T-Bag leans back to soak in the image, the boy’s face flushed with the heat of the room and the embarrassment, his eyelashes impossibly dark against his skin, his hair damp from the steam that perforates the room. T-Bag wants to grab him and hold his head under water while he fucks him. Wants to enjoy the boy struggle and spasm around him as he fights for air.

But it’s too early for that. He’ll have to take the more traditional route.

He grabs lawyergirl’s lotion and squeezes a fair amount into his hand, slowly flexing his fingers to spread it on his palm.

Abruptly he slides over, grabs the boy’s shoulders and kisses him. The boy is shocked, he doesn’t know how to react and for a moment they lose their balance. His clean hand is in the boy’s hair and for a moment he pulls him under, swiftly kissing him underwater, feeling the young, lean body squirm against his own.

He pulls him up again, turning him around, smothering the tender shoulders with dirty wet kisses. His hand snakes into the cleft between the boy’s ass cheeks and starts massaging. This is not his speciality, as it’s not a part he usually bothers with. Normally he just orders the toys to do it themselves. Tough luck for them if they don’t come prepared.

For a moment he flashes back to Maytag, *Jason*, lying on his back, legs akimbo, head thrown back in ecstasy, his hand between his legs, fucking and greasing himself with childlike enthusiasm. Jason always loved to show himself. But that was then.

So he curls his fingers and scissors them around, trying to hit anything he can reach. Seems like he isn’t doing half bad, judging from the boy’s reaction.

“I gather you never tried this before. In fact,” T-Bag lowers his voice to a husky whisper. “I bet you never tried any of this, isn’t it? That’s why you came.”

The boy’s head whips around, his eyes wide open and incredulous.

Not that he needed confirmation on something so obvious, but to *know* always adds to the intoxication of it. The right to touch and tear where nobody has been before.

He withdraws his fingers and slides home instead. The boy starts to trash around lightly, his hands clawing at the rim as he breathes erratically through his mouth. His hands dig into the boy’s hips as he pulls him back, forcing him to take it all in, inch by inch. He ends up with the boy sitting on his lap, shaking, tears flowing freely, dick still embedded in his ass.

“Say something nice to him,“ he thinks as he puts his arms around the boy, stroking and comforting him. Skin all soft, with still a thin layer of babyfat. So unlike the hardened and scrappy junkies he is used to from prison. The boy, Burrow’s son, *LJ*, he reminds himself, trying to give the flailing body in his arms an identity.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers. “I used to think that it was about your uncle, but now I see that it all was just preparation for you.”

The lies flow so easily from his lips.

He can feel the boy shivering with disgust, but it does not matter. T-Bag knows that later, at night, alone in his room, it’s these words that the boy will remember. They will give him comfort and a sense of security. They are what will make him come back.

He starts rocking back and forth slightly as he starts to stroke the boy’s dick. “It’s gonna be alright,” he coos and starts licking away the boy’s tears. “Your daddy, your uncle, none of them will ever know.”

The boy closes his eyes and relaxes against him. Soon they are kissing and the tears subside. He can speed up his thrusts, even though the angle is crap and he is having none of it, as he starts massaging the boy in earnest. The water splashes around them as they move. LJ’s breaths start coming out in short gasps and he can feel the boy is close. Furiously he starts biting the boy’s ears and shoulder and just as LJ starts trashing as the waves of orgasm wash over him, T-bag’s hand snakes up to wrap itself around the boy’s throat. The boy’s clenching muscles around his dick, combined with the ragged pulse under his fingertips, the temptation of what he could do is enough to drive him over the edge as well.
_

Like a typical teenager, the boy recovers quickly, only giving them a moment of peace in each others arms before he struggles upwards. Together they rise form the water, hundreds of fine droplets sliding off their bodies. They face each other for a moment and he uses the opportunity to kiss the boy languidly, hands on LJ’s shoulders, tonguing him with a lazy rhythm that speaks a promise of more sex.

“There is so much more I can teach you, “ is what he wants to say.

Instead he needs to be first to break the kiss and withdraw, enjoying the boy’s dazed expression as he pulls away and steps out of the tub.

“Paid in full, “ he murmurs. “If you need anything further, you know who to ask.”

Slinging a towel across his shoulder he walks out of the room, leaving the boy behind, wanting and confused.