Persuasion

Title: Persuasion
Author: Cin
Disclaimer: Trust me, if I owned it, it'd have been a lot different. For one, this would have been a real damn scene! And T-Bag would have molested a lot more people.
Summary: "What do you call that? A mohawk?" "We call it a handle."
Annoying Authors Note//: 'Kay so, Oboro-chan helped me write this, meaning she did all of Michael's dialog for me. I love her. We managed to make Michael NOT a pussy! AMAZING! So yeah, this was written as part of my two in the freaking morning Maytag obsession. I think I've got a crush on that boy, which ain't any kinda good. So anyway, enjoy it, 'cos there's gonna be a helluva lot more where this came from.


Persuasion

Maytag was leaning inconspicuously against side of the building, taking one of the rare moments in prison where one could be alone to his advantage. T-Bag had given him a look that clearly meant 'get lost', and he wasn't about to argue with it.

Looking past the chain link fence, the young inmate tried to keep his mind of the new fish that had captivated his cell mate. He'd have to do something to get back to the center of T-Bag's interest, because there was no way he could survive on his own now. Not with all the people he'd already pissed off.

Reaching into his pocket, Maytag drug out a bent cigarette, striking a match on the brick behind himself. Cupping the flame, he leaned his head forward and inhaled as the tip touched the fire, smoke filling his lungs and adding an inevitable calm to his demeanor.

Pushing the white sleeve up his arm, Maytag examined the finger-shaped bruises left there from the night before, a reminder not to get too mouthy or involved in T-Bag's personal business. They were a sick black and purple color, shining darkly against the sun. Admiring them, the younger man didn't hear shoes crunching over fresh grass, or the ambling gait of a man with purpose. Bringing the cigarette away from his lips, Maytag left the sleeve pushed up and caught the sight of a shadow spilling before him. His eyes snapped up, and narrowed when he realized that the fish had approached him. Straightening his back, he attempted to look at least somewhat civil, wiping the bitterness from his eyes. Bringing the cigarette up again he breathed deeply and then choose to speak, letting smoke trail from his mouth as he did.

"The hell do you want?" Blowing the rest of the smoke semi-towards Michael's face, Maytag shifted, unsure of what to do with himself in this situation. It didn't look like the older man wanted to hurt him, or even would for that matter. Even Maytag had to admit-reluctantly though it was-Michael was pretty. It didn't look like there was much between his ears. That didn't mean anything though, and Maytag was his own prime example.

"I want the bolt back." Michael said simply, studying the shorter males movements. There was a sarcastic flutter of bright blue eyes, and Maytag's lips twisted into what might have been a nice smile, once. He sucked in another hit of the cigarette, which was probably laced with something else, and took his time before answering. Michael's eyes never left his face.

"I can give you hair tips." Maytag dead panned, the look on his face too serious for the comment. Crossing his arms as best he could with a lit cigarette, the inmate leaned back against the wall in attempt to look at least more superior than his present company, crossing one leg over the other. Michael's lips turned up in a dry smirk.

"That's alright. I don't think I could pull off a...what do you call that, exactly? A mohawk?" Maytag snorted and rolled his eyes, compulsively raising the cigarette to his lips once more. Letting smoke trail from his nostrils slowly, Maytag sighed.

"We call it a handle." Michael had to keep himself from wincing from the mental image that slammed into his head, the glimmer of pride that appeared in the younger man's eyes only making him sicker. "You're wasting your breath, fishie. Go back to moping, it was working out a lot better for you." Michael actually had to restrain himself from reaching out and shaking some sense into the kid. He probably wasn't even old enough to drink, yet here he was acting like the big man in the yard. There were some people you just couldn't help though.

"Just give me what I need and I'll leave you alone. I don't want to cause any trouble." This time Maytag laughed, a bitter sharp sound.

"Little late for that, don't you think?" Maytag paused and inhaled another hit. "You're already in enough trouble, and harassing me is getting you nowhere." Blowing the rest of the smoke away from them, Maytag's curiosity perked. "Whattcha need that bolt for so bad anyway?" It could have been a weapon, but he doubted that. If the fish was tooling up for the race riot and he wasn't on their side, one of his nigger buddies could get him some steel. Something about the particular desperation for that one piece of metal made Maytag suspicious.

"Let's just say someones life is depending on it." Michael replied in an almost dubious voice, thoughts of his brother, the blueprints, freedom, and Panama filling his mind in the few seconds of silence that surrounded them, averting his eyes for the first time since he'd walked over. Michael's eyes caught the smeared bruises on Maytag's arm, sleeve pushed out of the way without a hint of self-consciousness or shame. The soft voice caught the older man's attention, and his eyes snapped back up to the youthful face, hardened by at least a month with T-Bag. Michael had to wonder for a moment, what the hell that man had done to this kid to make him so loyal.

"Well, tell that someone they're shit out of luck, 'cause I'm not gonna help you. No reason to." Inhaling another hit, Michael noticed the cigarette was almost completely burnt out, but Maytag seemed content to smoke it right down to the filter.

"Let's make a deal. You don't want me around your...T-Bag, right? If you give it to me right now, I'll walk away and it'll be the last you hear from me." Not a strand of spiky hair fell from place, not one eyelash fluttered at the deal. Michael hadn't expected Maytag to exactly jump at the offer, but he hadn't expected an utter lack of reaction. The kid’s face had suddenly gone completely blank, like those words had been the last he'd been expecting. He'd already proved to be unpredictable, so Michael wasn't exactly sure what to expect. The smile that spread across Maytag's face had thrown him for a loop.

"You're barking up the wrong tree." Snubbing the cigarette out against the bricks and dropping the butt into the grass Maytag straightened up again, pushing himself that much closer to Michael, who took a step back when his comfort zone had been breached."First of all, he'd kill me if I helped you, ever. Second," He pushed the sleeve down, covering the bruises as his eyes hardened just a little. "I don't have your precious fucking bolt. So even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't. Like I told you before, fish. You're just wasting your breath." Maytag's face was a blank wall again, and he moved away, a faint call in the distance drawing him like an invisible leash.

As he walked, the spike-haired inmate's lips turned up and he stuffed his hands into his pockets as he stepped, right hand stroking the bolt that lay against his leg tenderly as he made his was back over to T-Bag. The fish was smart, but he was smarter. He'd stick that life-saving bolt right through his ribs, into that stupid bitch's heart, and watch him bleed out while the rest of the riot raged on around them. He may have been pretty, but a corpse can't hold a pocket.

Owarii