Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

New kid got row five bed ten. A good bunk right next to Benson, row four bed ten. Corner bunks were a prized commodity. The best bunk in the whole dorm was row one bed ten against a blank wall. Second best was new kid's, next to the toilet and shower block. Sure it stunk and was damp and got a lot of traffic but still a corner was a corner, and you were first in line to wash, shit and piss. Benson put his toothpaste under his nose when it got really smelly in summer. Third best was row one bed one and row five bed one. Up front next to the guard offices with windows overlooking the dorm where you couldn't get away with anything. Fourth were up against a wall but not in a corner like Benson's. Dead last was in the middle. 

A corner bunk meant less people around you, and two walls to hang stuff up on and a chance to properly hide your face away. Benson's bunk had the one wall to hang stuff up so wasn't too bad. If you had a bunk right in the middle you were surrounded by guys, nowhere to hang photos, couldn't hide your face if you were feeling down and didn't want the other guys to see you weepy eyed. Middle bunkers envied them. 

Oliver Fowler-Jones was the new kids' bunky. Oldest guy there in his eighties. The whole dorm was on the older side. More people over forty then under. An older dorm was good though. Quiet at night. A younger dorm was too rowdy.

No one bitched and complained about Fowler-Jones getting a good bunk, he'd earned his time. Being that old meant he was constantly hobbling for the toilets throughout the night. The last occupant before the new kid was a guy only known as Shivers and Benson didn't know what happened to him. He'd either been released, shifted to another dorm chucked in the psych ward or dead. Who cares really. He wasn't much into gossip. 

Benson's bunky was an incredibly annoying little fucker called Chris Marciello. On his other side was Terrance Hardy and Nic Santos. Benson thought Hardy was a slimeball, but Santos was decent. Benson didn't get a lot of money for commissary and Santos always traded him necessities for cake and bread from chow. Benson thought charging for toilet paper and soap was more criminal then what most people were in here for. Other guys could be a fucking pain to trade with. When he was in a jail with cells they'd want you to clean it spotless for a nearly empty container of soap. Assholes the lot of them.

He felt uncomfortable with Ma putting money on his books. She barely had enough as is...don't waste it on him. 

He wondered if the new kid got good commissary. Marciello did. Always chewing obnoxiously on snacks, playing his music loud. Benson would rather shit in his hand and clap then ask to trade with him though.

Immediately felt a tad nervous on the kids' behalf. Very young. Not the youngest, they had a couple of eighteen-year-olds scattered around. Still. A lot of the youngest ones were straight from juvie, knew the prison system pretty well already, knew how to handle themselves. Would punch the head in of anyone who mistook their youth for weakness. Marciello tried to pick on one, Chris West for 'stealing his name.' Idiot, there were so many multiples of names in here, John's, Michael's, Mohammed's, Chris's. There was even another Benson, a scrappy little nineteen-year-old. Only Marciello was dumb enough to fight someone over stealing their name. Got two black eyes from West for his trouble. 

New kid did look young and weak though. 

Benson, reading a book, watched out of the corner of his eye as he shuffled over with his head down. The rest of the new lot just strode over to their bunks with their bedrolls, casual, cool, unbothered. That's how you did it. Stroll in like it's no big deal. Don't look like a sad, scared kitten.

"Whose new?" said Santos, pulling out his earbuds. "Mo's back! Good ol' Mo."

New arrivals were the rare bit of excitement here. 

People were returning from various jobs. Benson, who was on janitorial work got his cleaning done fast, always kicked off earlier. Fowler-Jones arrived from the library. Gave a short nod to his new bunky. Sat down on his bottom bed. He couldn't manage getting up to the top one anymore. Marciello strutting in from yard work. He spent most of it chatting up the young redheaded guard Benson couldn't be bothered learning the name of.

"Fresh meat!" he exclaimed as he took the bottom bunk. He used to kick the mattress above him until Benson came down the steps and gave him a split lip.

"What's your name?" he demanded of the new kid who was hovering awkwardly by his bunk steps, clutching his bedroll. 

"Randy Bradley," he said in a tiny squeak of a voice. Fuck. Benson hoped he'd last. Call him soft, but it still got under his skin when kids killed themselves in here.

"My name's Chris Marciello. Say hello Marciello."

Randy Bradley was silent, looking at him warily.

"I said say hello Marciello."

Fight back, Benson thought. Tell him to fuck off.

"Hello Marciello," Bradley said quietly.

There was a nasty bark of laughter.

"I reckon were gonna be best buddies Bradley," said Marciello. Could almost see his shit eating smirk. Benson felt the urge to tell him to back the fuck off. But he didn't. Bradley should learn to protect himself. Everyone else did. Either that or die. Sink or swim.

Benson went back to his book, feeling a worm of growing dread gnaw at his heart. People on the outside thought all rapists went to maximum security, but there were plenty of creeps in a medium security like this as well. Hardy was in for putting cameras in women's toilets and uploading the videos to the net. Benson never got used to the horror stories. Always felt sick to his stomach hearing and seeing people in here who were targeted that way.

Got a call for chow time. Not everyone went, the slop was plenty disgusting. Benson decided to go to get his bread and cake to trade, running low on supplies. Bradley was in front of him, swimming in the baggy uniform, shrinking away at the stares he was receiving. Fuck's sake, the other new guys didn't care if they got stared at, not showing one shred of nerves. 

In the chow hall. The ragging that every new inmate received begun at once. People tested you to see if you were a pushover. Cut you in any line they could. The other fresh meat passed with flying colours. Marciello cut each one in line and got an elbow to the ribs and a 'fuck off' for his trouble. Tried Bradley and the kid did nothing. Kinda just folded in on himself, looking at the floor. He was so fucking frail Benson wondered if he'd last the night. 

"Thanks Bradley," Marciello crowed with a big grin. That was the signal. Two others cut him. Then a trickle began, one after the other. Finally...

"For fuck's sake you little bitch, stop lettin' em cut," said John Gryce loudly. "One more of you assholes cut see what happens."

Gryce had come down to medium security from max for good behaviour. Was one of few murderers in the dorm. Despite being an old timer, people still did whatever the fuck he said. Cutting stopped at once.

Bradley, hands shaking took his tray of slop. He didn't know why he did it...followed him to a table. Had a strong urge to keep an eye on him. Of course Marciello came swaggering by.

"Mind if I have your cake, Bradley?" he said. Snatched it up before he could answer. Another loudmouthed cunt, came and pinched his drink with an obnoxious 'thanks new meat!' Then a third giggled as he took his apple. Left with the meat slop and bread with mold on the edges. Bradley's fingers had crept to his mouth. All wet eyed and pink in the face. 

God Jesus Christ. He had to learn to stand up for himself. He was more pathetic then every other shit stain in the joint. It was just...sad to fucking witness. 

If he was a nicer person he would've given him his drink or fruit or cake. But he didn't know if Bradley had good commissary yet. Wasn't about to give things away for free.

Yard time was uneventful, Marciello's attention on the slutty redheaded guard. Bradley found a place to hide in a corner near the shed nearly out of sight. Benson kept watching him as he smoked. Santos sauntered by him. 

"Real wuss that one," he said. "Other fresh meat aren't too interesting. Everyone's glad Mo's back."

It was the boredom in prison that really killed you. Nothing to fucking do. Benson worked out, read books. Tried to get on a waitlist for a class, thought it'd be good to try to better himself, learn some decent skills. Waitlist was miles long though. Everyone had the same fucking idea. 

Back in dorm, he got his hygiene products off Santos in exchange for cake and bread. You'd get a lock in a sock to the head if you're hygiene was shit, everyone had to live together, smelling like feces made you public enemy number one. He put them in his locker, a big metal box with four compartments between two bunk beds.

He heard Bradley's stomach grumbling. Had just nibbled at his bread and looked scared of the slop. 

"Hey Bradley," called Marciello. "You got a bitch on the outside to put money on your books?"

Fowler-Jones grunted from the bottom bunk, in a half sleep, always taking an afternoon nap. Bradley had that deer in the headlights look.

"Mon-ey," said Marciello like he was slow. "Someone put money on your account?"

Bradley was silent. People in neighboring bunks were watching curiously.

"What're you mute? Bradley why you being so mean to me, we're friends remember? You should buy me stuff from commissary seeing as we're such good friends."

He stood up. Walked over. Put his forearms on Bradley's fresh made mattress.

"Y'know that's a prime spot you got there. Two fucking walls! We should trade."

"Please leave me alone..." Bradley finally said in a tiny voice. Benson saw out of the corner of his eye Santos cringe, a look of contempt and pity on his face. Hardy was staring at the new kid like he wanted to eat him alive. 

"What was that? What'd you say?: Marciello said loud and mocking.

"4:10, back to your bunk," said a guard on the walkway that surrounded the top of the dorm. Marciello slunk back again. Everyone eventually looked away, got back to their pastimes.

Benson people watched over the top of his book for a while. Mo Johnson getting hearty hugs and back slaps at the bolted tables in the middle of the dorm where people played cards. Poor Ol' Batshit who really oughta to be in a psych hospital chewing his cuticles, scribbling in his notebook. CK short for Calvin Klein, who'd gained his moniker because of his model-esque looks, yawning and settling down for an afternoon nap. Two old timers with canes and walkers complaining about the aches and pains they got from the damn shit mattresses. Bradley with his back turned, curled up towards the wall.

Benson decided to get back to his book. Hoped the library would get some new ones in soon. This was a reread. Everything so fucking boring in here. Fowler-Jones woke with a start. Got up to wander to the toilet, making phlegm throat clearing sounds.

Bradley didn't go to evening chow, despite his rumbling stomach. Still sore from the humiliation during afternoon chow. 

The dorm is half empty now. Marciello gone thank goodness Santos reading a letter from his kids, Fowler-Jones taken out a Sudoku book, reading glasses on with a stubby pencil. 

After evening chow, Benson reckons it's shower time. He's always been a night showerer. Bradley still hasn't left his bunk. 

In the line he thinks of sad doe eyes, bee-stung lips, blond hair in his face. Benson eyes the guard on the rail that looks over the shower and toilet block too, no fucking privacy. He doesn't know the names of any guards, but knows the ball-breakers and the lazy shits. Has a lazy shit today. 

One of the shower blocks at the end is a bit of a blind spot hard for guards to see properly unless craning their neck and going on tiptoes. Benson looks over his shoulder. Every time a lazy shit is on during showertime, a few people hover nonchalantly around, waiting for a nod from another guy in the shower line, which is code for 'want to go have fun?' Benson has a few fuck buddies. Woodstock, a dope head hippy, Jesse Long, with glorious hair cascading down his back and...CK who's now watching him in line, waiting for the signal to come over. Benson nods. CK's almost running.

Vaseline to slick him up. Underneath the lukewarm shower. Buried deep inside, smacking in and in, CK grunting lowly, water running off his strong tanned back. Fingerprint bruises in his nice firm ass.

God, he's a pig for thinking of sweet sad eyed Bradley while doing this. Fucking pig animal. Coming deep in his fuck buddy's hole, trying not to grunt too loud, thinking of Bradley. He don't feel any guilt with his three prison boyfriends, it was all consensual...but just looking at Bradley felt like some kind of violation. Poor fragile thing.

Washed the cum down the drain, water cold now. CK slides off and away from the wall, all smiley and fucked out. Benson don't feel good though. Got a stomach ache.

As he said before, he trades for hygiene products, refusing to spend money on that. His meager commissary he uses for jerky, soups, coffee. Sometimes once in a blue moon his buddy Donny on the outside has money to spare and puts some on his books. Going to give Donny a hundred blowjobs when he's released in thanks. The 'special treat' money as he calls it, he uses to buy soda, cigarettes and candy with, letting it last as long as he can. Hearing talk about how they might ban smoking in jail is a cold creeping dread. One of life's few pleasures in here.

Down to two sodas now from the five he usually buys with his special treat money. They don't let you have cans, just bottles, no sharp metal bits. The fizzy liquid always strangely worked when he had an upset stomach. Went to his top bunk to savor it before lights out. 

Bradley curled up in the fetal position. Shaking. 

Marciello returning from chow, snickers and reaches up to hit his mattress, making him jump, yelp. Nasty laughter from some other cunts who saw. 

Like clockwork. People start to get changed for bed. Bradley doesn't get his gear off. Stuck in his curled up position too scared to move. Fowler-Jones closes his Sudoku gets up for the toilet again. Comes back and is asleep ten minutes before the call of lights out. 

In the dark he sees the familiar sight of Hardy pulling some dirty photos out of his pillow case and pulling the sheets over himself. Most guys jerk off in the relative privacy of the toilets or showers where only the guards have to suffer the sight and sound, but Hardy has no shame. 

Soft muffled sobs from Bradley's bed. He wishes he didnt feel so bad for him, so protective, wish prison had hardened him up made him cold. Still after all these years, was a damn bleeding heart for lost strays.

"Fucking pussy," Marciello hisses in the dark.

Benson watches in the darkness. Here he comes. He knew it'd happen. All the way from the other side of the dorm, row one bed two. Jarrott, in here for indecent exposure, showing his penis to college kids. Creeping around bunks like a shadow, all spindly fingers, curling grin. Benson's skin crawls. Reaches for the bunk frame behind him. Pats around until he finds it.

He's at row five now. 

Bradley's breath catches violently as Jarrott runs his hand up his ankle.

"Pretty like a girl..."

Benson has his shiv. A screw he wiggled out of a fence during yard time. Had carefully taped it to the back of the bed frame.

Slides off the bunk at once. Has the sharpened edge to Jarrot's throat.

"Back the fuck off."

He just giggled back, hissy little sound and clicking teeth. Slunk away like a spider. Bradley's face collapsed into tears, but he managed shockingly not to let out a noise. Just silently blubbering.

Benson goes to his locker. Squints in the dark to undo the code. Gets out a bit of jerky. From under his pillow gets his soda. Warm and flat sure but sweet and comforting too.

"You gimme a bit of commissary as payback when you get it," he says gruffly. Gives the boy a mouthful of the soda and bite of the jerky. He drinks and eats shakily, swallowing with a wet sound. He wants to brush his tears off his face. Might terrify him after Jarrott.

"You gotta toughen up kid," he murmurs. 

"O-o-okay...thank you..."

"I'm Boudreaux," he tells Bradley. 

"Thank you Boudreaux."

He makes his name sound so sweet on his pretty red tongue. Benson puts his treats away and goes back to his bunk with a raging hard on. Doesn't wank the night away like Hardy does though...although sorely tempted.

Chapter Text

He always slept light. Ignored the ridiculously early call for breakfast to lay in bed a bit longer. Just watched over Bradley. The boy had turned his body from the wall now. Curled up towards Benson. Dried tears on his cheeks. Fingers in his pink mouth. 

Looked away when his eyes started to flutter open. The call for morning count. Everyone started to get up to stand by their bunks. The prison had a lot of dorms all with a maximum capacity of a hundred inmates in each so it's a lot of standing around waiting to get counted. You don't really interact much with people from other dorms. At least Benson didn't. Different yard and chow time meant you cross paths rarely. 

Bradley saw everyone getting up and went to stand by him, very close until their elbows nearly brushed. Could have told him to fuck off give him space. But he didn't.

"Did I miss breakfast?" Bradley asked. He could ignore him. Refuse to be his friend. Leave him to try desperately to survive on his own, treading water.

"Yeah they call it in the ass crack of morning. Better to sleep in."

Bradley nodded. Sent a quick anxious look at Marciello on Benson's other side. Marciello was always the most bearable in the early morning. He was definitely not an early worm and would just stand there, wavering slightly on the spot, absolutely bone tired. Became a menace after his coffee. Benson saw Bradley looking around. Spotted Jarrott. He seemed less like a bogeyman in the daylight, tired and yawning like any other regular person. Still, Bradley drew a bit closer to Benson.

A wave of relief when a few guards appeared at their dorm to start counting. No one liked standing around. Sooner it was done the better.

Now Bradley was looking at the other new inmates with confusion. They'd all changed out of the orange jumpsuits into the same tan uniform everyone else wore. Mo Johnson was going through a welcome bag put together by his buddies, eating M&Ms.

"B-Boudreaux," he said in a tiny voice. He had a strong urge to reply, 'yeah baby?' Just grunted instead.

"Why...why do they have regular uniforms and snacks?"

"They musta went and got uniforms from the laundry yesterday," he explained. "And the guy with the snacks has friends in here, they gave him all that."

A guard was coming down their row now.

"B-B-Boudreaux," he squeaked again. "Where's the laundry?"

"I'll show you after count."

Counted at last. Coffee first. Coffee curbed your hunger. He'd probably have half a honeybun for breakfast, sugar and caffeine hit getting him through the morning. 

Marciello went to chat up his guard so she'd put his coffee in the staff microwave for him. Dumbass, gonna get his ass beat for spending too much time with her. Hanging around guards made you look like a snitch. 

Some people used hot water for soups and coffee from the shower block, others made a wire contraption called a stinger that you plugged into an outlet dunked in water and let boil. There was a hot water spigot in one of the day rooms, but the line was a mile long, and sometimes you couldn't get to it in time and got called to work. 

Benson was a stinger guy. No waiting, hottest water, but you had to be sneaky unless a guard saw. Bradley watched fascinated by it. Cup of lukewarm water from the shower block. A stolen cord split in half, rubber taken off to expose the wire. Bits of nail clippers, rubber bands and cardboard attached on the end. 

"That looks dangerous," he whispered. Smart enough to keep his voice down. 

"It is," he said, flicking the outlet behind his locker. Usually outlets were for radios or miniature fans in summer. Bradley flinched like he thought he'd be electrocuted. After a few minutes the water began to steam. Once it was boiling, it was time to put the plug and stinger away and stir some scoops of coffee and creamer in.

"Wanna sip?"

"I don't really like coffee, sorry."

He shrugged. Offered Bradley a bite of a honeybun and he took it. After his breakfast, he grabbed his book to return to the library, and then it was laundry time. Clicked his fingers for him to follow and took him on a walk. Inmates sent Bradley curious looks but left him alone, seeing him glued to Benson's side. It was a pain in the ass getting around prison. Constantly stopping, asking guards if they could be let through, explaining where they were going, then doors buzzed opened and closed then, down another half corridor and do it all over again. Dull, monotonous. Stop start, stop start.

Benson was feeling grumpy as hell when they finally arrived and joined the line. Christ everything in jail was lines and waiting.

The ladies tended to work laundry. The ladies being what decent people called them, assholes called them much worse. Trans women who wound up in here, were fiercely protective of each other. 

The guard supervising nodded that Bradley could go up. The boy hesitated.

"Ask her for your clothes, give her your size," Benson told him. Wasn't about to do it for him. He was an adult, needed to be independent.

Bradley gave him a wet, wide-eyed look. Benson shrugged, not budging. Finally, he stepped forward. Mumbled into his chest and Aggie squinted at him. Aggie was the second-oldest inmate in their dorm and reminded Benson of his Ma, slow smokey voiced, blonde hair she put in curlers, leathery tanned skin. 

"Speak up honey," she said. Bradley  managed to squeak out what he needed.

"Alright," she said, going out back to fetch his gear. Mama Lavelle watching, clicked her tongue sympathetically.

"Poor thing," she said. "You go Boudreaux taking care of you?"

"Yes ma'am."

Mama Lavelle eyed Benson narrowly.

"He doing a good job?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You come get Mama if you need her, okay?"

She was always good with the more nervous new meat. Benson knew she'd shed tears over the soft ones who'd self expired in here.

"Thank you," he murmured and repeated it when Aggie returned with clothes for him. Was commended on his good manners.

Back to the stop start bullshit down the hallways again. Benson decided to point things out to him along the way. Bradley listened attentively, soaking up every word.

"There's gym stuff if you wanna work out," he said. "Don't let you have weights anymore, too many heads getting bashed in. Just get some heavy books if you wanna lift."

And;

"Normally your second day or so you'll see the counselor. They'll sort out who's on your call and visitor list, you can see if they can try to put you in a class here. You don't get put to work straight away, gotta wait around a bit. Some of 'em are more slack then others."

Hopefully the new kid got Beard. Benson found her kinda sickly sweet and condescending, very kindergarten teacher vibes but at least she gave a shit. Not all of them did 

Walked by the day rooms, putting a finger to his lip to stay quiet. There were a few TVs mounted on the walls set to different channels. Guys with their transmitter radios and earbuds in. Mainly old mobsters liked the TVs the most, watched the same reruns every day. If you sat down too loudly they'd bitch about the new generation with their blatant disrespect towards elders. 

"I don't bother with TV," he said. "The radios cost a damn fortune, fuckin' rip off. Barely cost nothing outside."

Stopped by the library which was his fave place. Reading made him feel like he wasn't going brain-dead in jail and the guys working in here were very chill, quiet. Only noise were the jailhouse lawyers chatting to eager listeners over books and paperwork. A good hustle, giving legal advice for some commissary. 

Slid his well-read book into the returns. Never knew when new arrivals came, they were donations and not a lot of people felt generous towards crooks. He always had to race to get a new book when they got here, before someone else nabbed it first.

"Down that way's the prayer room," he said. "If that's your thing I'll tell ya who to go to."

"My mom says I need to keep going to church in jail," he says in his little squeaky kitten voice. Finally spoken up during the prison tour.

"You want to go or what?"

"N-no..."

"Then don't. What are you twenty years old? Make your own decisions."

There was a pause.

"I'm twenty-one."

Fuck, he had to stop being so endeared by him. 

There was an inmate down the corridor, better known as Freakshow, with two guards on him. He was doing his usual trick, sticking a whole wet slobbery hand down his throat, vomiting up down his front, glassy eyes rolled back showing the whites. Guards were tearing his bile drenched hand away yelling that he had a one way ticket to SEG acting like that. 

Bradley was shaking like a leaf looking nauseated.

"Don't do drugs kid."

Finally got back to the dorm. Without all the stop, start, explain where you're going inmate, buzz through the door crap, it'd probably have taken them ten minutes to get to and from the laundry. This had taken fucking forever.

As they walked for their bunks, Jarrott pulled his waistband down at once to flash his balls. Benson walked in front of Bradley so he wouldn't see. It struck Joker in the bunk next to Jarrott as funny. Started his horrible laugh that had gained him his moniker. The hyena-like sound bounced off the walls.

"Pipe down, 2:3!"

Bradley drew closer to him. 

"Don't look," he breathed. Batshit, seeing them walk by, immediately undid the bandages on his wrists, eager to show off the thick red scars. It wasn't even an intimidation tactic. Had wide puppy dog eyes and a sweet smile, showing off the scars like he wanted to make a friend. 

"You're Boudreaux's bitch now, huh?" said Marciello when he saw him approach. The redheaded guard was up on the rail and giggled instead of reprimanding him. Bradley just swallowed roughly, teary-eyed again. Freakshow, Jarrott, Joker and Batshit all in quick succession was sure to unnerve even the toughest guys here. A weakling like Bradley looked close to being sick. 

"I need...water..." he whispered hoarsely to Benson.

Benson didn't think. Put his hand on his lower back. Led him into the bathrooms. Hardy was combing his mustache in front of a mirror. Turned to smile at the new meat.

"You wanna work, you should try to get into the kitchen with me," he said. "Best job going..."

"Fuck off," spat Benson.

Hardy muttered about just making conversation before slinking out. Bradley turned the tap on, cupped water in his hand sipped it. Anyone else would drink from the tap like a dog. 

"Boudreaux?"

"Mmm."

"Do I need to get changed in front of everyone?"

Sickly faced with fear, almost feverish, red dots high in the cheeks, damp with sweat.

"Well your gonna have to get used to changing, showering, pissing, shitting in front of people Bradley, this is prison there's no privacy."

"What if...someone tries to hurt me..."

He looked so sad and scared and vulnerable. Benson felt such a slurry of emotion. For fuck's sake, stop being such an easy target wearing a sign over your head 'all predators come fuck with me.' Like how...how when Benson was a kid...no...no, don't think about that. Wanted to keep him safe, hold him close. Protect him like Benson never was.

"You gotta punch em in the face. Get a shank. Learn to stand up for yourself."

Bradley looked at his feet. 

"C'mon, let's just get it over and done with. Rip the band aid off."

Bradley hesitated but followed him to the dorm. Well-behaved.

"Go on," he murmured. Standing slightly over him like a shield keeping him as hidden as he could. Turned to glare down anyone who'd want to fuck with him. Heard the sound of him stripping off, fast, fast, fast.

The pervert brigade all tried to catch a look of course. Hardy made a song and dance about walking past them, having to stop right by Bradley's bunk to bend down and tie his shoe. Benson looked for the guards, then kicked him over. There was scattered laughter as Hardy floundered on the floor like an upturned turtle. Ed Bell, in there for attempted rape, with his ear missing, bitten off by the woman he tried to attack. Blatantly staring from the middle of the room. Randy was scrabbling at his clothes, trying to get done as quick as he could. 

Benson glanced over his shoulder at him. Pale lightly freckled shoulders. Look of prey animal terror on his face.

"Honey, your shirt's on back to front," he said softly. Cringed at himself. It had slipped out so naturally. Honey. Bradley quickly righted it, face flushed red.

"Y'know I have to go to work soon," he said and Bradley looked at him wide-eyed. He was being a hard ass on him, making him change in front of everyone. It was that division in him, he was just a baby, treat him gentle, no he's gotta be a man, he's gotta toughen up. The latter won out this time.

"I'm gonna take you back to the library, and you stay there til they call you to see your counselor, or I come back for you. Stick by Weston and that's Weston, not West, two very different people. West is a little scrawny kid, Weston looks about seven feet tall and five hundred pounds, but he's a good guy, and he don't let people fuck around in his library."

Bradley's lower lip wobbled. Then he bit it til it went red. Nodded, face going blank. Learning to hide his fear. Good boy. Might swim instead of sink after all.

He dropped him off at the library.

Went to work. 

"Damn Freakshow hurled again," Santos who was on cleaning too whispered to him. "Better make yourself scarce, so some other bitch has to clean it up."

Benson didn't mind cleaning. Santos was good to shoot the shit to when he was feeling social and when he was feeling antisocial he just let his mind drift, mopping and mopping. He had a reputation as the best, most thorough cleaner in the whole prison. He doesn't know why he tries so hard. Other guys cut corners, slacked off, got away with it. He just didn't have it in him.

When his work was done, back and arms aching, starving hungry, he went to check the library.

"Your boy got called to the pencil sharpener's, Boudreaux," said Weston. That's what they called counselors. His boy. Word spread quick. Hopefully it scared off some creeps knowing Bradley was with him. 

"Looks too soft for here hope he...fucker don't touch the books with your cheeto dust fingers get the fuck outta my damn library!" 

That was yelled at some fool in the far corner who knew to scuttle away from the biggest fucker in prison. Benson hung around, looking for something decent to read until afternoon chow. 

Walking out he saw Bradley heading down the corridor for the library, looking grey faced and ill. Marciello was behind him throwing bits of paper off the back of his head. Soon as he saw the look on Benson's face he went running.

"Hey kid," he said as Bradley came up to him. "You good?"

Bradley looked lost for words. What had happened to him at the counselor's? Was he alright? Remembered what Mama Lavelle said; poor thing. What Weston tried to say; hope he lasts.

"You want chow? Sit next to me, I won't let no one steal anything."

Bradley didn't look capable of decisions so he made the choice for him. Off they went to the chow hall. He put Bradley in front of him in line and when people tried to cut again, glared daggers. People knew he could handle himself in a fight. Wisely backed off.

"Poor kitten," said a voice snidely. Benson had the urge to smack whoever said it.

It travelled down the line, kitten, kitten, kitten. Benson felt a surge of frustrated anger. Some nicknames were crueler, nastier then others. And the nicknames stuck. Bradley was gonna be Kitten, just like Hao Liu became Freakshow.

Took him to a table. Made sure he got to eat his cake, apple and drink. Wanted to pry. Why did the counselor's have you so shook up? None of his business. That was a big rule in prison. Mind your damn business.

Marciello walked up.

"Didn't save the cake for me? Now you owe me two."

"I don't owe you anything," Bradley replied. It would have been more impressive if he didn't mumble it into his chest.

"Oh Kitten got a Daddy looking after him, he thinks he can talk shit now. He's just being nice to you so he can fuck you later."

Bradley was silent. That's what they called guys who swept up someone young, saying they'll 'protect' them and then springing the hidden price in the shower. Benson felt a wobble of sickness in his belly. Didn't want to be like that.

"Hey," Marciello said, pushing his head forward more threateningly. "I'm talking to you."

Couldn't bash him here. Guards watching. Would end up taken to SEG, leaving Bradley out to the wolves. 

"Sit down inmate," a guard watching called. Marciello slunk away like the weasel he was.

After chow, an uneventful yard time then back to dorm. Fowler-Jones familiar afternoon snoring as usual. Bradley had checked out some books for himself no doubt while waiting for the counselor's call. He'd gotten a nonfiction book about sailboats, another about the ocean. Benson doesn't read much nonfiction, wants an escape from reality. Had reread Dune and Lord of the Rings a thousand times.

"What're you readin' Kitten?" called Marciello. Tried to pull the book down and Bradley immediately pulled it back up into his chest. It was quick. Marciello glanced up at the guard on the rail who was looking the other way. Grabbed Bradley's head, smacked it into the bed frame. Yanked the book off him.

Blood down his nose. Everyone looking around.

"You fucker," hissed Benson, moving to scramble off the bed. 

"Hey break it up!" the guard had turned and saw Benson about to rip out Marcielli's throat. Don't go to SEG. Don't leave him alone. Bradley had turned his face back around to the wall to hide the blood, wiping, sniffling.

Over at the other side of the dorm, Weston had sat up, eyes blazing. Marciello dropped the book back down to the bed at once. Wasn't about to piss him off by fucking with his books.

"Come on let's get you cleaned up," he said. His hand slipped to the small of his back. Again without thinking. Bradley didn't shrink away from it though. Into the bathroom. A bit of water to clean his face. Bradley looked at him with his doe eyes.

"Why are you...looking out for me?"

Someone less naive would have been questioning Benson's motives from the start. He shrugged back.

"You look like a rich kid," he said. "I don't get much commissary, thought if I was nice to ya, I'd get some off you."

A half-truth. Bradley looked disbelieving. Benson shrugged again, feeling defensive. 

"Look I'll back off if you want..."

"No! Please don't..."

Guys were lining up for showers. Always busy straight after yard time. Marciello was one of them.

"Lovers tiff?" he said with a grin. Humiliated, Bradley hurried off.

Benson slunk back to his bunk. Everything seemed red and hot and boiling. His rage like an open sore, potent and throbbing. He was catching glances here and there. Crackling tension through the dorm. He scanned the rail. A guard who liked to chat, thank goodness.

CK was listening to his radio and Benson caught his eye. He got up, went over. Benson quickly groped his ass. Harder than usual. Would leave a bruise. Bradley was pretending to read, watching over the top of his book.

"Go flirt with the guard for me," he said under his breath. "I'll suck you off."

"Sure thing," CK grinned back. Benson sat by and watched. CK was a conman, it was why he was in here. Knew how to turn the charm right up. Soon got the guard's attention completely on him. 

Benson toed off his shoe, pulled off his sock. Went to his locker, did the code for his lock and slipped it inside the fabric. Shoe back on. To the shower block again.  

Gryce near the front glanced down the line. Saw Benson with hellfire in his eyes.

"Let him through," he said. The line parted. Went to go find him. Marciello, naked under the spray. Looked around, eyes growing wide in terror, putting his hands up.

"What the fuck..."

The sock swung through the air in an arch.

Clunk.

He slipped to the floor. The tiles darkened with blood where he'd smacked his head against the tap on the way down. Clutched at his belly where he'd been hit. Swung again and it slammed into his balls. He curled against the tiles and vomited. Benson bent down, grabbed his hair, yanked his head back.

"Don't you fuck with him anymore," he hissed. "Got it?"

He put up his hands slick with puke and blood in surrender. Benson stalked off again. Up on his bed, Bradley watched him, white face ghostly.

Chapter Text

Benson's watching Bradley in the middle of the night again. Doesn't take his eyes off him. Bradley's eyes are half closed. Looks over every few moments and when he sees Benson still staring fixedly, swallows hard and pulls his blankets closer to himself.

There's a sudden long moan. People grumble, move about in their beds. It's poor Batshit of course. He has these spells in the night occasionally. He slowly gets out from his bunk, blanket wrapped around him. Staggering through the darkness. Teeth at his wrists, gnawing at the scars to reopen them as he continues to moan. More people are woken up. The guard hasn't bothered to go up to the rail, sticking to their cozy office. Hasn't noticed yet.

Bradley watches wide-eyed.

"Someone get 'im," a voice whispers, to grunts of agreement. A sound of splattering on the floor and a sharp urine stench.

"Fuckin' pissed next to my bunk," says the nineteen-year-old Benson, outraged. Weston gets up, huge, big solid and surprisingly gentle. Reaches Batshit and pulls his wrists from his mouth so he can't bite anymore. 

"Please, please no more momma, hurts, hurts..." Batshit mumbles. It stings Benson's chest. He's heard a lot of unpleasant rumors about how Batshit got so Batshit, but no one really knows. All they know is that he was homeless outside of jail. 

"Let's get you cleaned up," said Weston. "Then back to bed."

"Bad dreams," Batshit whispers back as he's led to the shower block, looking small as a child next to the towering man. The younger Benson curses how there's no way he's wasting his toilet paper on another guy's piss.

Sound of the sink running, Batshit still moaning pitifully. After he's cleaned up, Weston takes him back to his bunk, hands Younger Benson some of Batshit's toilet paper. He does it, bitterly complaining the whole time.

"Bad dreams," Batshit repeated as Weston readjusted the bandages on his wrists. 

"Give him this," a rarely used voice spoke up.

The bunk behind Batshit's, the best in the dorm 1:10 carries Gryce and Don Khan, the rare killers put down from max for good behaviour. Khan was a hitman in the 70s and 80s, had the biggest kill count in the whole prison. Looked very unassuming and barely spoke. Whenever he got called to the medicine line he popped the mysterious pill he was given out from under his tongue and hid it. He passed it to Weston now.

"Thanks..." Weston said, a bit nervously. Everyone was a bit nervous of the killers even a big guy like him. 

"Want something for it?"

Khan flapped his hand. 

"We deal with that in the morning."

Then went back to bed.

Batshit was given the pill. Was out like a light in five minutes. Younger Benson went to flush the toilet paper and Weston returned to bed. The excitement for the night was over.

The next morning, Marciello's bed was empty. His mattress dotted with blood. 

"Went to medical," said Santos. "Was pissing blood."

Good. 

He wouldn't snitch either. The two most despised type of people in prison were snitches and chomos....what they called child molesters.

Bradley stared at the mattress, his face a flurry of emotions. Still needed to learn to hide them better. There was horror at the blood, a strange look of satisfaction, shame at himself for being happy his tormentor was gone.

A guy right up front, 1:1 was grinning, getting handshakes, fist bumps, hugs from his buddies.

"Henare's getting released today," said Santos. "Shame, he was the best tattooist here."

It dawned on him. There was a chance when Marciello returned he'd be put in Henare's old bunk instead. God be fucking merciful. He glanced over, where Khan was talking quietly to Weston, next to Batshit's bunk who was still asleep. Funny how a guy like Khan smaller even then Benson himself, could intimidate a giant. 

"Boudreaux?" came the usual tiny kitten voice. He turned, in the middle of getting his things out for breakfast.

"Where're the phones?"

He'd forgotten to show him the day before. Didn't ring anyone. Ma barely spoke on the phones.

"You won't be able to call yet honey," he said, that fucking pet name slipping out again. "It takes awhile for them to check everyone on your call and visit list. Beard's good for a cyclops though, she gets everything approved quick. You have her?"

Bradley went a funny pallid colour. Swallowed roughly.

"Yeah... I have Ms Beard."

Benson peered at him. Took a step closer.

"Hey?" he said quietly. "Whatsamatter? She give you grief?"

Didn't sound like her. She was a good one. Bradley had lost his voice. Just looked at Benson, anxiously swallowing, Adam's apple bobbing in his soft neck.

"If she did I'll fuckin'..."

Fear flashed in his pretty face.

"No! No, she's good, please..."

Wanted to pry it out of him. Why the fuck has she unnerved him so much? Christ...what if he was creeped out by the eye patch? He wasn't so sheltered he'd never seen someone with a disability before?

Best not to push him too hard.

"They take a while to approve visit and call lists, but they accept money to put on accounts straight away. Fucking figures huh. Out to make that damn coin, want you buying commissary quick as anything. Got someone to put money on your books?"

"My mom," he said.

"She put any on yet?"

"I... I don't know how to check."

"Come on then kid, I'll show ya."

Took him to the guard offices up front. Stood there and waited with some other inmates. Guards always made them wait. He watched them ambling around with coffee and Krispy Kremes. Marciello's redheaded guard was there, biting her nails, a worried look on her face. Saw a big butch guard come up to her, say in a voice muffled through the thick security glass;

"Want a donut, Jess?"

"No, thanks Carla," she replied. 

Thankfully no complete dickheads on this morning, who ignored all the inmates in line. Didn't have to wait too long.

Marciello's guard said through the slot in the window;

"What's the problem inmate? And don't lean on the window!"

Straightened up. Glanced at her name tag; J. Ambrose. 

"Sorry, boss," he said with his most honey-dripping voice, turning the charm right up. "I was wondering if anyone's put money on my friend's books and if we can have a commissary sheet for him as well. Randy Bradley."

Ambrose rolled her eyes, sighed like he'd asked her to recite the alphabet backwards and snatched a commissary form. Shoved it crumpled through the slot. Didn't bother looking up Bradley's account even though there was a fucking computer right in front of her.

Couldn't help it. Cracked his neck around. Bradley let out a nervous squeak. He must have seen him do the angry tic before, knew what it meant. Benson couldn't remember doing it recently, must have done it without realizing. Probably while watching Marciello pick on him. 

"Has anyone put money on his books boss?"

"Well have we called him up for a receipt inmate?" she said as though he were slow. Wanted to bash her head in. Stayed calm. The big butch guard went over. Rolled Ambrose on her wheelie chair aside.

"What's the inmates' identification number?"

Benson gestured at Bradley to show his badge. Held it up against the glass. Butch guard typed it in.

"You want the account balance printed?"

"Yes please, thank you boss." 

She pressed a button, and it came out in a receipt form.

"There you go," she said, passing it through the slot.

"Thank you," Benson said making sure it was in as annoying sing song voice as possible to make Ambrose glare daggers at him.

"Fuckin' bitch," he mumbled under his breath as he turned to Bradley. All that hullabaloo cause her prison boyfriend couldn't fuck her with his mashed up dick anymore.

Caught a sneaky glance at the receipt as he passed it over. Goddamn triple figures of course. Wasn't that shocked. Bradley reeked of middle class.

"Don't show it to no-one," he said. "Memorize it and then flush it." 

Bradley nodded, folding it up small and putting it in his pocket. Walked back through the dorm together. This close, he smelt the sharp stink of his sweat. Realized...he hadn't taken a shower since he got here. Wait...had he...used the bathroom? Was he holding it? End up getting a UTI, constipation because he was scared to use the bathroom?

"Bradley, you're gonna have to use the shower block you realise?"

He immediately shuffled with embarrassment, looking away.

"I can stand guard while you shower, but I'm not standing guard while you take a shit."

He looked like wanted to sink into the floor with embarrassment. Pretty pink blush spreading across his face.

"I don't...need to go..."

"This is your third day here, of course you need to go."

The blush was down his neck now. He wondered how far it'd spread.

"I...I went while you were at work yesterd..."

"No you didn't. You didn't leave the library. Did you think you were gonna hold your piss and shit forever? For chrissake you're gonna have to go sooner or later."

He looked defeated.

"Okay."

Took him over. No troublemakers around, a couple of old timers in the showers, some of the ladies and little Chris West brushing his teeth. He sent Benson a nod and smile, no doubt approving of his beat down of his old bully. 

"Well off you go, kid," he told his boy, gesturing for the toilet stalls. Fuck where did that come from? His boy?

"Please don't lea..."

"I'm not sticking around while you shit Bradley. Don't worry, I'm not gonna let any of the pervert brigade in, I'm just a second away. And make sure you courtesy flush. I seen people get beat half to death for not bothering."

Tough love, sure but he needed it. Coddling wouldn't do him any good at all. Mama Lavelle put her toothbrush away, but didn't leave, sticking around. Benson ducked out to get Bradley's towel, fresh underwear and his own shower shoes to borrow.

"He can use my soap for today," said Mama Lavelle as he walked back in. Passed it to Benson from her toiletries.

"Thank you ma'am."

"Poor thing," she murmured. "I remember how scared I was the first time using the shower block."

"I shanked that creep who tried to grab your tits remember," said Mina at the sink, with a mouthful of toothpaste foam. Mina was five foot tall and would kick your nuts up your throat if you looked at her wrong. 

"I thank the lord I had some sisters in here to look out for me," said Mama Lavelle. "Not everyone does."

Bradley emerged from the stall to wash his hands. Looked slightly less sweaty and pallid. Must have been hurting him to hold for so long.

"Shower time," said Benson, handing everything over. At the doorway, Hardy was trying to slip in inconspicuously. Mina turned her toothbrush around showing him the sharpened edge. That scared him off. 

Looking slightly calmer with Benson blocking the shower stall so no one could peek in and the ladies nearby, Bradley went to a stall. Glanced up at the guard on the rail, overlooking the shower block like Big Brother. He was absentmindedly clearing out his ear, looking bored.

Benson turned around to give him privacy. Shuffle of clothes. Then the taps being turned on. He was instantly uncomfortably hard. Showers just tended to turn him on nowadays, a Pavlovian reaction to all the sex he had in them. But the thought of the baby boy all wet and sudsy with soap and water, his pale lightly freckled skin turning pink under the heat.

Focused on Old Bulldog in the next stall starting his usual morning coughing attack that had gained him his moniker. Spent his whole shower hacking and barking and coughing his lungs up. It was why you wore shower shoes. God knows what he was coughing up in there. Imagining phlegm and dribble flying out of his jowly face was helping to kill his erection thank fuck.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bell, the most dangerous of the pervert brigade, hissing slurs at the ladies as they barred his way in. 

"Break it up inmates!" called the guard on the rail.

"Yeah back off bitch," Mina sneered. 

"You want a cunt so bad, I'll cut you one and fuck it for ya," Bell said through his teeth.

"And I'll cut off your other fucking ear, shove it up your ass so you can listen to your own shit right up close and personal."

Bell backed down. Slunk away.

The shower was turned off. He'd only taken a few minutes, obviously too scared to have a longer shower. Felt the sudden urge to force his arms up, smell his pits to see if he'd cleaned properly. Fuck, he'd be toweling his bare body now, running it through his hair. Bulldog think of Bulldog...

"I'm all finished," he said, timid and mouselike. Turned and saw him, his hair all fluffy, freshly dressed. Smelling sweet and fresh and clean and fucking delicious.

"Good job, kid," he said and saw him smile a little bashfully at the praise. 

"Give the soap back to Mama, thank them both, they helped you out," he instructed. He went over to do as he was told.

"Thank you," he said. Mina just nodded shortly, uber focused on plucking her eyebrows in the mirror.

"No problem at all, cher," Mama Lavelle clucked. "It's a scary thing to do, that. Should be mighty proud of yourself."

They returned to the bunks. Got back to making coffee, had abandoned it for their little adventure. Asked his usual;

"You hungry?"

It was nice to feed the little slip of a thing, even if it was just bites of jerky and honeybuns. 

"What's sha mean? What Mama Lavelle called me?"

Benson blinked, looking over from his stinger and boiling water.

"You ain't from Louisiana?"

"I am!"

"Not the Cajun side then. Cher, comes from mon cher, it's French for my dear."

Bradley smiled again. Nice to see it more often, even if it was still small. Benson sat on Marciello's bunk to savor his coffee. Why not, wasn't like the bitch was there to complain was he? Watched Bradley take his commissary form, read through it.

"You can fill that out when you're in the library while I'm at work," he said. Waiting for me to pick you up. They were already falling into a familiar routine.

"What would you like?"

For a second he's confused. Then remembers the whole 'I'm only being sweet to you because I want some of your commissary' facade. 

Saw that tiny little smile on the sweet boy's face. Like he was saying 'I know. I know the real reason.'

"Surprise me," he said. Not able to help smiling back at him.

CK was wondering back from medical as Benson mopped the floors. He fucked a big breasted nurses there whenever he went to go get his insulin shots. 

"Behind the shed at yard time," Benson murmured to him out of the corner of his mouth as he passed by.

"Lucky me, two blowjobs in a day," CK grinned back. Benson just pinched his ass.

Picked his baby up from the library. Dropped off his filled in commissary sheet at the guard's office. Then off to the chow hall.

In the line Benson asked;

"What'd you order then?"

Bradley just sent him that tiny smile.

"It's a surprise," he said. Wanted to kiss it from his mouth, make him moan.

Some dickhead tried to trip him up, walking to the table, but he walked around. Someone else threw a handful of slop at his head and he ducked. Learning. Benson reckoned he'd swim after all, despite everyone thinking he'd sink.

Out on the yard, the redheaded guard Benson had already forgotten the name of was too sulky and upset to pay attention. CK and Benson snuck behind the shed. Woodstock was keeping watch, would knock on the wall if anyone wandered over. Benson had promised to trade him coffee for it.

CK knew Benson's boundaries. Knew not to thrust into his mouth. Knew not to touch his hair. Benson didn't love giving head, but would do it in here as a trade with his fuck buddies. Had to be in control though. Pushed CK's hips down to the wall in a bruising grip, swallowed his nice fat cock to the root. Brought him to the edge once, twice, three times, withholding his orgasm from him until he was whining, absolutely wrecked. Finally, slipped off jerked his cock and told him to come. Only when Benson said so. Felt his hot semen on his tongue. Got up and licked his face, smearing his own come mixed with spit there. Gave his model face a slap.

They shared a cigarette in the afterglow.

"Heard Henare's gone," said CK as he pulled up his pants. "I was thinking of getting a tattoo and everything."

"What, a tramp stamp that says cum slut?"

"No, bitch," he shot back at once with a grin. "CK on the bicep or something."

"Why would you want your own name tattooed?"

He looked incredulous for a second.

"That's just my prison name y'know?" he said. "No one on the outside calls me CK."

Benson blinked. Sometimes you forgot, all the prison names were just that. He was only CK in here. It suddenly hit him...

"Fuck, don't even know your actual name?"

He snorted.

"Nathaniel. What's yours, Boudreaux?"

"Benson."

Struck them both as funny. Fucking each other for months without knowing each other's actual names. Started to laugh until they heard a tap on the wall. Two last puffs of the cigarette, and they went their separate ways, still grinning.

Bradley was standing where he'd left him with Santos, chewing on his fingers looking at his feet. Glum expression. Wondered if he was jealous. When he walked over he quickly tried to fix his face, so Benson wouldn't notice. 

Back in the dorm, Bradley wouldn't look at him, eyes on his book that he could tell he wasn't reading. He wasn't chucking a bitch fit was he? Damn, they weren't boyfriends committed to only each other. He could suck dick if he wanted, fucking hell.

In the middle of the dorm, the O'Reilly brothers had gotten into another one of their fights. They were nicknamed Liam and Noel in here, always at each other's throats. Shouting in each other's faces about some girl on the outside they both liked. There were a few families in the dorm. The Nguyen brothers got along just fine and Papa Velez had his son Santiago as his bunky to keep an eye on him. 

"Break it up!" shouted the guard on the rail as always. Liam and Noel just started shoving each other.

"You want a trip to SEG?"

Finally, Gryce called from his bunk;

"Cut it out, assholes."

They listened to him of course. Tension still running high. One might get their head busted in during lights out. On his bunk, Bradley was all shrunk up and shaking.

Like clockwork, the day went on. Fowler-Jones woke from his usual nap. Evening chow was called. Santos took his letter from his kids out, started to write one back. Fowler-Jones started working on his sudoku. Bradley still wouldn't look or talk to him.

Benson decided to visit the shower block. Bradley looked anxious at being left alone, but didn't complain though. He was a good boy.

Still, as Benson did his business, jumping into the shower after, he fretted. Bradley wouldn't look at him. Hadn't talked to him since afternoon chow. Surely not cause of CK? Shutting him out just cause he had a few fuck buddies? Such a bitchy wife thing to do. Fucking hell. Was angry with him, scared of this silent treatment, wanted to hit him for being such a damn jealous girl...

Returned to see Jarrott doing his creepy slow crawl across the dorm like an overgrown spider. When he spotted Benson he turned back and went to bed again. 

Had a hankering for dinner. Got a bowl, a soup and his stinger from his locker.

It felt good to be able to sit on Marciello's bunk as he waited for thw soup to cook. Normally just stood around. Bradley came down the bunk and sat next to him. The tight little knot in his chest loosened. Felt a shy little prod of a foot. Was Bradley...playing footsie with him?

When he saw his questioning look, Bradley immediately drew his foot away again, embarrassed.

"Uhh...how do I request a bunk change?"

It was like his guts had fallen out. God. He'd want Henare's old bunk as far away from him as possible. By the guard windows safely watched over. He'd scared him off. Come on too strong. Was too much. Too Benson. 

Wanted to tell him to fuck off, find out himself. Wanted to shut down, ignore him completely. Wanted to cry, ask like an overgrown child 'why don't you like me?'

Bradley's eyes had widened, a look of sudden fear on his face. That's it. So fucking scared of him. Rejection harsh and spiky in Benson's soft and tender bits. Fuck, what if he just walked in front of the guards with his shank and had them beat him to death, suicide by wannabe cop and...

"I wanted to move to Marciello's old bunk. Underneath you."

Hit him like a brick to the stomach. Just gawped at him stupidly. It wasn't a rejection at all.

"Huh?" he said, big and dumb and reeling.

"I... I like being...close to you... I like how you look after me. I like when you watch me while I sleep...it's scary. You're scary. But... I... I...really like you Boudreaux..."

Damn. Wanted to kiss him til he stole all the breath from his lungs. Felt the shy little prod of his foot again. He reached up, brushed his hair out of his blue green eyes.

"Call me Benson, Randy."

Chapter Text

Randy was panting in his sleep. Having an interesting dream, no doubt. Not too noisy yet but he’d get people’s attention if he got any louder. Benson's so painfully hard he felt dizzy. Randy on his stomach, one hand gripping his pillow for dear life, other fingers in his wet mouth like a goddamned whore. Pushing his hips back, back, such a sweet good boy…

“Benson…” he breathed in his sleep and fuck, fuck he was gonna come all over the sheets, it was too much, too damn good, hearing his name out of his perfect pretty mouth, thrusting his fingers past his lips until they dripped with spit.

He slipped off the bed. Stood by Randy’s, propping his elbows on the mattress. Just watched his baby up close, getting fucked by him in his dreams. Smelt his arousal, watched the sweat bead at the back of his neck.

“Gotta keep it down, honey,” he breathed in his ear and his eyes fluttered open. The beginning of a loud moan started in his throat. Kissed him. Captured the moan, muffled it so no one would hear. Pressed his tongue into his eager mouth, ran his hand through his hair. Toothpaste breath. Trembling body against him.

“Sorry if I scared ya,” he said. His eyes looked dark, pupils blown.

“I knew it was you. You wouldn’t let anybody else near me.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said, voice suddenly fierce. “No one goes fucking near you.”

Randy eyelids fluttered, long lashes at his cheeks.

“Hey!” the sudden shout scared the absolute shit out of the pair of them. Jumped out of their skin, Benson scrambling away for his bunk. A wave of grumbling, people all waking up. Felt a sickening wobble of relief when he realised the guard wasn't shouting out at them. It was Freakshow, standing on his bunk, arms stretched, up eerily silent. Like a statue reaching for the heavens.

Weston was up at once to try to help.

“Get down!” yelled the guard.

Freakshow tipped over the railing. Hit his head on the floor with a crack like an egg. Blood that looked black in the darkness spread over the floor.

The guard cursed then spoke into his walkie-talkie. Weston was told to get the fuck back to his bunk as medical was called in. Freakshow was whisked off by the medical staff. Benson turned to see Randy gawping.

“Aren't they gonna clean the blood up?”

“They’ll make us do it in the morning, inmates clean every fucking thing," Benson replied. “Freakshow's not popular with us cleaners. He pukes, shits, bleeds everywhere. Can't help it though, poor fucker. Absolutely fried on drugs.”

“Is he gonna be okay?”

He wondered suddenly, why was Randy in here? Seemed too…innocent. Inmates with that innocent vibe were rare. He could only really think of Randy and Batshit really.

“Don’t worry, you can't kill yourself jumping off the bunk.”

Didn’t tell him what he was thinking. That it was too short a distance.

Back to bed. Hard to stay horny when you just saw a guy brain himself across the floor.

His bunk change was approved. Liked having him close by. Hearing him shift and turn around in his sleep. Benson would put his hand down sometimes and then feel him reach up to hold it. Prison was violent and boring. Having something sweet in all of it was…well he was sounding fucking sappy now.

Marciello returned from medical, subdued and hunched over like a dog with its tail between its legs. Saw he’d gotten the cherished, second-best bunk in the ward like he’d so wanted, 5:10. It was painful getting up to the top though, and he cringed every step of the way. Lovely poetic justice.

“It sure gets crazy at night,” Randy said curled up at the bottom bunk as Benson made them breakfast. Night before, Younger Benson, drunk off hooch, tried to hit Don Khan in the middle of the night cause “he was just a sad old man, why are all you pussies so scared of him.” Gryce had broken his arm in retaliation before Younger Benson could even get in the first hit. The main hooch guy, nicknamed Achtung, in here for bomb threats, was just as good as brewing booze as he was at making explosives. He got a firm talking to. As in Gryce threatened to put him permanently in medical, what was he fucking thinking, giving hooch strong enough to strip paint to a kid?

Benson laughed a little, shook his head.

“This is a quiet dorm,” he said. “I hear other dorms call us the retirement village.”

Randy looked flabbergasted.

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, just one incident a night, guards in here only once in a while is decent. Other dorms are crazy all damn night long, guards constantly in and out, like a fucking zoo.”

Randy blinked. A cheeky smile appeared on his face.

“I’m glad I’m in here with an old man like you,” he said and Benson let out a bark of a laugh, called him a brat and threatened to spank him.

Beard worked fast as always, got Randy's visitor and call list approved. Another way assholes liked to fuck with people in jail was while you were on the phone, they’d reach over and press the button to disconnect the call. Benson stood over him to make sure he got his call home to his Mom. Even though she sounded like a fucking harpy to him.

“Are you going to church?”

“Uh…uh…not yet mom…”

“Why not Randy? I told you to. You need spiritual guidance!”

“Yes Mom."

“Hayley wants to talk to you."

“I’ve only got fifteen minutes…”

“Randolph Bradley, you owe it to your poor sister to speak to her, do you know how difficult it is for her to understand all this? Do you know how she’s being treated at school because of what you did? How I’m being treated? I can’t bear to show my face outside sometimes. Because of you!”

Randy started to cry. Benson reached over, brushed some of the tears away. His baby leaned against his palm for comfort.

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t cry when you’re talking to Hayley she’s upset enough as it is.”

He spoke to his little sister, trying to sound strong for her. She was excited to see him on visitation day. Next weekend it’d be. Sometimes Donny visited, helped Ma to come over, but it was tough for her, he could see she was in pain from the trip and the prison’s accessibility features were a joke.

Benson felt all tight and angry like he wanted to hit something. How dare the bitch talk to his boy like that. It all made sense. Why he was so timid, afraid, well-behaved. Been verbally berated by that witch his whole life.

“She’s not a c-word…” Randy said in her defence on the stop start journey back. “She has to be …controlling of me, cause… I… I…"

“What?"

Randy squirmed. Face look beset with guilt and shame.

He'd dig the root of his guilt out one day. He swore it.

Baby’s commissary arrived. He was a good boy, got all his hygiene products along with snacks. Some dumbasses only bought candy their first commissary order, didn’t bother with any hygiene at all. Randy had bought honeybuns for Weston as thanks for looking out for him whenever he was at the library. For the laundry ladies as well, thanks for looking out for him during his first shower.

“Oh ain’t you just a doll,” said Mama Lavelle with a smile when he went over to their cluster of bunks. “Good thing you’re here too, we wanted to talk to you.”

Mina, doing her nails black with a sharpie said;

“Aggie’s arthritis is getting more painful, but she didn’t want to quit her laundry job completely, did ya Aggie?”

Aggie nodded slow and steady from her bottom bunk.

“She needs to lesson her duties, and someone else needs to help out. We’d like to offer it to you Bradley. They often listen to who we suggest.”

Randy went red, stuttered out a thank you ma'am, yes please ma'am.

“Oh that’s just lovely,” said Mama Lavelle, sugar sweet. “We’ll arrange that as soon as we can.”

It was unusual for the laundry ladies to offer a job to a boy. Benson wondered if they knew something about Randy he hadn’t worked out for himself yet. Benson would let him figure that one out on his own though.

For Benson, Randy got the soda, the first thing Benson had ever offered to him his first night here. He gifted it to him with a shy smile.

“I saw you were running out,” he said.

“You’re too fucking sweet,” he said, running his hand through his soft blonde hair. “Go join the shower line for me.”

Randy’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas, nearly wriggling with excitement. Bounded over to the shower line.

They weren't fucking yet. One of the first nights together he whispered;

“I’m a virgin.”

 Benson brushed the hair from his eyes.

“Do you mind?”

“Course I don’t,” he breathed back. “It’s good. Too many kids fucking too young nowadays. Having kids they don’t want, they grow up have more unprotected sex, have kids they don’t want…”

Randy was sending him a bemused look. Benson trailed off.

“Wish I could fuck you properly,” he said. “Really take my time, make you feel real fucking good. Make you come over and over.”

Randy hummed happily.

“Anything with you will be amazing,” he said,

“I dunno… I don’t want a quickie in the prison shower to be your first. I want it special."

“You’re a romantic,” he giggled.

“Fuck yeah I am. Wanna treat you nice.”

Randy suddenly came over all flustered and shy. Wriggled about on the thin mattress.

“I…uh… I don’t mind…if it’s not nice…”

Benson raised an eyebrow at him.

“You can…um…be rough with me if you want to…”

Benson kissed his neck, felt his quivering pulse point underneath his lips.

“Little freak, are ya?”

Felt the giggle vibrating in his throat.

“Just for you.”

“Only for me," he said. "Go join the shower line first thing this morning, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good boy."

No, Benson refused to pop his cherry in a damn prison shower. Still. They got up to fun in there regardless.

Wait for the hard to see shower stall to free up. First time Randy saw him naked, his eyes go as big as saucers, touching his hairy belly, his thick arms, staring at his cock hard and leaking just for him. Probably never seen another cock but his own. Maybe never seen an uncut one.

Benson will lean against the wall, wishing he could block the entrance, but he’s not gonna stand there with his ass out for any fucker to slap on the way past. Gets Randy as close to him as possible, so Benson’s bigger frame shields most of him from sight.

Gotta beautiful body, straining red cock, soft ass. Randy turns on the water, squirts liquid soap into his palm. Starts to rub it over his blushing flesh. Doesn’t grab at his cock yet. Hard, hard, aching but keeps his hands above the waist, like a good, well-behaved boy.

“You wanna touch yourself?” he breathes, dark and soft like syrup. Randy looks at him with his big doe eyes.

“Go on,”

Watches as his face deepens pink. One hand plays with his nipples, the other goes between his legs. Teasing the nipples into red pointed peaks.

“Just softly,” he demanded. Something about controlling how he jerks off…seeing him do exactly what he tells him. Goddamn. Fingertip stroking delicate over his cock head, across the underside. Making a little drop of white form at the tip, dribble down to wet his balls.

“More?” he begs so pretty.

“Not yet honey.”

Can’t draw it out as long as he’d like to of course. Taking too long in the shower had people out for  blood. If he ever got him to a motel, where he could take his time…fuckin hell. Torture him with pleasure. Get him to the edge again and again til he was sobbing. Spend hours on him.

“Alright Randy, go ahead.”

With that magic word he’s gripping at himself at once. Tugging at his tits so hard they glow an irritated red. Wet slick sound of the soapy suds and precome, making Benson’s mouth water.

“Bens… Benson…”

“You wanna come?”

“Uh-huh.”

"Aww...I guess you've been a good boy, huh? Yeah? You can come.”

Head roles back as he jerks himself to completion. Cum shooting onto the shower tiles, swirling down the drain. Like he said, shower shoes were a necessity in here. Standing in the fluids of a hundred different inmates.

They have a few minutes until people will start to complain they’re taking too long. Benson quickly crowds him up against the shower wall and Randy muffles a squeal, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Rubs his cock against his wet warm thigh, humping him like a dog. Pressing him into the tiles harder, nearly crushing him until his breath goes tight and short. Squeaks like a trodden mouse when Benson bites down on his shoulder as he comes.

He’s got the soap suds that Randy rubbed over himself dripping down his chest. Quickly rubs them over himself. Randy shoves his face into his armpit like the dirty little slut he is.

“Don’t clean the smell away,” he says with a pout. Benson laughs as he sends his soapy hand over the curve of his ass.

Privacy was near impossible in here. Benson wasn’t the type to like to fuck in the dorm where anyone can see. Xavier Sinclair-Stewart was a big fan of that. He’d used to run a goth club in New Orleans and got in trouble for repeatedly having BDSM sex in public. Benson didn’t quite count him as part of the pervert parade though, he never did anything non-consensual like the others did. Still told him to fuck off when he propositioned him.

So, him and his boy didn’t get up to much after hours. Benson would climb down from the top bunk. Just kiss and cuddle like chaste fucking schoolchildren. Whisper to each other late into the night until Randy snuggled up in his arms and fell asleep. Just before dawn, he’d go back to bed himself. Some guards were motherfuckers, wrote you up for not being in your bunk at night. Just pulled the good ol’ trick of putting your laundry bag up under your blankets to make it look like you were there.

Randy always whined in his sleep a little, grabbing at him when Benson had to leave for the top bunk. Wanting him to stay. Benson wanted to stay too. Damn…the fantasy of the motel grew more and more appealing. Getting to spoon him all night, wake up side by side.

One morning, Hardy missing from his bed.

Santos who was always his first news source told him;

“He’s bribed his way into protection I heard. Someone pulled his papers. You know what he’s in here for?”

Randy looked at Benson curiously.

“He put cameras in women’s toilets and filmed them on the shitter, uploaded them online,” Benson told Randy. Randy pulled a revolted face.

“Well not all the women who got a creepy video taken were women. There were fourteen, fifteen-year-old kids up on that fucked up website of his.”

A fresh wave of revulsion went through him. God…wanted to skin the fucking pervert alive, slowly.

“Shit,” said Benson. “Chomo?”

“Chomo. Tried to say he didn’t know, teenagers dress like adults nowadays…”

“Fuck off,” he said in disbelief.

"Someone heard wind and the Killers had a beat down organised, but he’s disappeared into protection now.”

The Killers, Gryce and Khan, took charge of all the chomo and snitch bashings in the dorm. Benson had seen about four during the time he’d been here. Horrific shit. The trick was to get as many inmates in on it as possible, so not one person could get pinned for it, too many people involved.

“The guards might fucking kill him though.”

“Let’s pray, huh?”

That was the one thing that worried Benson about Randy wanting a bunk change. His old bunk he was next to Benson, with harmless Fowler-Jones beneath. The bunk change meant Benson was on top (ha) with Hardy next to him. Didn’t like Hardy sleeping right by his baby one damn bit.

Santos started to make his breakfast as Randy glanced over at Benson.

“What’s pulling papers?”

“People want to know what you’re in for, and you won’t tell em, they call up someone they know on the outside like a lawyer or something, find out what you did.”

Randy nodded. Mouth opened like he wanted to ask him something. Then shut it again. He thought he knew what the question was going to be. What did you do to end up in here? He didn't need to be shy, it wasn't a taboo subject to Benson. Would tell him if he asked. Wasn't just gonna offer it up to him though. Get some guts and ask me the tough questions, kid c’mon.

Younger Benson, in a sling, got shuffled to Hardy’s old bunk on account of Freakshow with head in bandages being placed in his. Two empty bunks now. Henare’s and now Freakshow’s old bunk too. The place so damn boring, who’d fill what bunk was the most exciting gossip around. He wondered why Henare’s had been skipped over three times now.

“Oh, Pope bribes the guards, says not to put a young person in there, only put someone older like him,” said Santos. Pope, Henare's bunky was the definition of grumpy old man ranting on and on about young people with their lack of morals nowadays. Which was funny coming from him, who embezzled from his church, got him locked up. Definition of hypocritical religious prick.

He didn’t mind younger Benson, he was a ratty angry kid been in juvie before winding up here, but the broken arm had embarrassed him, made him behave more. He much preferred him next to Randy then Hardy.

He was pondering over the whole taking his baby’s virginity dilemma. Finally, a few weeks into them being together, he worked it out.

“You’re Ma wants you to go to church,” he said. “C’mon on then, let’s go.”

Randy sends him a quizzical look. But does as he’s told.

Fucking stop start walk down to the prayer room. Always heard guards bitching about being put on duty watching the prayer room, most boring gig in the prison. There were a few people from other dorms he didn't know and Woodstock, as planned. Even without planning to meet here, Woodstock said the prayer room was his favourite. Said the incense they burned reminded him of his hippy van he lived in on the outside.

Woodstock grinned his dopey smile as he came over. Randy was looking at him narrowly. Musta heard through the grapevine he was one of Benson's fuck buddies. His jealous bitchy wife streak showing. Benson discreetly passed Woodstock some cigarettes, his payment for the scheme they were about to pull.

“Jesse's jealous you went monogamous,” said Woodstock as he pocketed them.

“I haven't fucking gone monogamous.”

Randy shuffled beside him, drawing his limbs right up close to his body.

“Oh...that's what we heard. Now you got a sweetheart.”

Annoyance was flaring in his chest.

“Jesse gotta nerve. Remember he started turning us all down cause his girl on the outside hated how he was slutting it up in here? I haven't had him in ages.”

Woodstock shrugged. Started to get philosophical as he breathed in the incense smell.

“I think he just likes the idea of all of us lining up drooling for him. Now you got a sweetheart, and me n' CK go to Xav instead a' Jesse. Well he's like oh shit. No one’s lining up for me after all. Don't know how good you got it til you drive it away.”

“Dumb bitch.”

Woodstock laughed his dozy laugh.

“I know.”

“By Xav you mean Xavier Sinclair-Stewart?”

"Yeah, the pain freak. He had to take out twenty body piercings when he got here, apparently."

Benson tutted.

"You and CK have low standards."

Woodstock elbowed him with a big shit eating grin at once.

“Hey Boudreaux you ain't that bad, c'mon, don’t be so hard on ya self!”

Benson rolled his eyes, flipped him off. Had walked right into that one.

“I'll cya round.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Randy was sulking when he turned back to him. Fingers in his mouth, looking at the floor. Benson swung his arm around him.

“Did you just bring me here so you could talk to your other boyfriends?”

“Aww honey,” he said, catching his chin, lifting it. “You wanna be my one and only, is that it?”

Randy flushed red.

“I dunno! I just... I've never done...It before and I...get...get worried I'm not...not good enough for you.”

Fuck wasn't that a damn laugh? This lil angel feeling like he ain't good enough for a dirty redneck.

“You’re too good for me, Randy. I'm batting way outta my damn league.”

The bitchy wife mood was still strong as ever. Frowning pout that he wanted to kiss away.

“Why'd you bring me here?” he demanded.

“I'm a good boyfriend,” he replied with a grin. “My baby's Mama wants him to go to church. So I take you.”

Randy looked disbelieving. But was smiling slightly. Said against the ticklish spot by his ear;

“Go on. Say your prayers.”

Randy played along with the new interesting game. Closed his eyes, put his hands together. He noticed he didn’t do the sign of the cross. Didn’t want to go all the way with the blasphemy just yet.

Put his hand on his thigh. Thumb circling there. Felt his breath hitch. 

“Dirty boy, wanting me to fuck you where God's watching…”

He shifted in his seat. Benson's hand skated by the growing bulge in his pants.

“What's this? That has to be a sin, dont it?”

Randy’s face was deepening red. Trying not to breathe too hard.

“Nice big sin. All for me.”

Someone up front got up to leave the prayer room. Benson put his hand away, heard the inpatient whine from beside him. About time to put his scheme into action. He said to the guard who was watching the clock;

"Hey boss? Can you ughhh...open the supply cupboard please? We want to use one of the rosaries.”

The guard was more then happy to. A bit of excitement finally. Practically jumped up to go unlock the cupboard. Benson got up to follow him, leaving Randy watching, fascinated to what his plan was.

As he opened it, his walkie-talkie buzzed. Perfectly timed. Couldn't have done it any better.

“The O'Reilly's fighting outside the library, back up needed, all hands on deck!”

“Copy that!” the guard said and bolted out. The others in the prayer room trickled out as well, to rubberneck the O’Reilly bust down.

They were alone.

Benson clicked his fingers for Randy to come over. Into the supply cupboard. Closing the door behind them. Plunged into darkness. Into privacy. Randy was smiling wide, not just a tiny little one, looking absolutely delighted.

“That’s why you gave Woodstock the cigarettes?”

Benson stole a kiss, running his hands all over him.

“Yes, clever boy.”

“What would he have said to get the O’Reilly’s to fight?”

“Fuckin’ hell, anything. Probably just tapped one on the shoulder and ran, they’d have thought it was the other. Now shut the fuck up, I don’t know how much time we have.”

Randy immediately started giggling with excitement. So naughty, sneaking around like this. Next to the holy wafers, plastic rosaries, prayer mats and candles.

Drew him into his arms. Biting at his neck, making him squirm.  Of course, he wanted to draw it out. Shame it had to be quick.

Down on the floor, Randy bucking up against him.

“Sssh,” Benson said with a grin, capturing his whimpers with his mouth. Pants pulled down, felt his throbbing hardness. Randy’s head flopped to the side. He saw they were next to a tub of holy water and moaned loud, cock twitching against his belly.

“Blasphemy turn you on, huh?"

“Uh-huh.”

Reached into his pocket, pulled out his Vaseline.

“Bet your disappointed we’re not using fuckin’ sacred anointing oils as lube, eh?”

Randy just writhed, opened his legs wide.

“Please…please…don’t be gentle…please hurt me…”

He did exactly as he was told. Put his arm against his windpipe, pressing down. Increasing the pressure until he heaved for air. Let him breathe for a second then shoved his legs up, slapped his palm with a loud smack against his ass, leaving a bright red handprint. Pushed a greased finger inside, no warning.

"That fuckin’ rough enough for ya? Little slut."

Randy’s eyes just rolled back as he grabbed onto Benson’s arms. Spanked him again with his free hand, against the same red aching spot. Then across the over cheek, as he plunged his finger in and out without mercy. Spat on his hole, put another finger in. Randy's mouth was hanging open, blonde hair slicked over his eyes.

"You don’t need any more prep, do ya?” he said with an evil smile. "You like it to hurt, huh?"

"Please!"

Greased up his cock tapping the head against the untouched hole.

"Come on, spread it nice and wide."

Randy did as he was told, reached down, opened himself up. Benson started to feed his hole the tip of his cock. Both groaning at the sensation. Didn’t give him time to adjust. His pretty whore asked for it rough he was gonna get it. Fucked into him, tight but opening up so sweet and needy for him, swallowing down his cock. Randy grabbed Benson's hand brought it up to his throat. Couldn’t help the laugh as he choked him as instructed, cutting off his air again. 

"Such a greedy hole…fuck..."

Benson…it’s so good…perfect…fucking perfect..

Never heard him swear before. Seemed to get even more excited at the idea of doing it in a holy space. Filthy little thing.

Slapped his ass to see the slight jiggle, started to pound in harder, harder, slick wet sounds, smell filling up the small enclosed space. He was getting a blissfully happy, fucked out look on his face, drifting off into space. Then both heard footsteps down the hall all at once.

"Goddamn," he hissed. Spat in his hand, gripped Randy’s cock, started to jerk him off, fast, brutal. Angling his hips to hit his sweet spot more intensely.

"Come on honey," he breathed. "Be a good boy now, come for me so pretty."

"Oh, oh, oh, oh..."

Hand around his throat clamped over his mouth. Randy’s nails dug into his arms, face deep red, eyes fluttering. God, he wish he could listen to those noises properly, not muffle them. Watched as his baby came, hole pulsing on his cock, stomach sucking in and out furiously, shaking all over.

The prayer room door was opening.

“Please…finish inside…come inside me…”

The exhilaration of getting caught, his little kitten voice squeaking out utter filth, their stinking sex sweat smell. Benson felt the groan come up from the pit of his belly, pulsing through his blood as he shot his come right into him.

No time to enjoy the afterglow.

Pulled some toilet paper out of his pocket he’d brought along with the lube. Randy whined a little at being cleaned up, wanting to keep it inside of him body.

“Stop bitching,” he said with a grin, wiping them both off. “Pull up your pants, quick.”

Last second, he grabbed a rosary and opened the door, smiling as innocently as he could manage. The guard saw their sweaty faces and hair on end and sent them a look that said “really?” Still, couldn’t prove anything.

“I don’t wanna fucking know,” he said. Randy saw Benson had left the Vaseline on the floor. Quickly grabbed it, shoved it in his pocket. The guard locked the supply wardrobe behind them, Randy resting his forehead briefly on his arm as they headed out. Whispered;

“Thank you.”

As they were making their way back, feeling all soft and romantic from their first proper fuck, one of the guards buzzing them through the endless doors said;

“Boudreaux? You’re wanted in your counsellor’s office.”

That immediately caused an anxiety spike right through him, ruining the lovely post fuck glow. Randy touched his hand briefly.

“It’s okay, I’ll go to the library,” he whispered. Benson squeezed his wrist. They were so fuckin’ codependent even after a few weeks, they hated being separated even for a hot second. Felt his heart in his mouth as he was escorted to Beard’s office. What the hell did she want?

“Boudreaux here for you, ma’am,” said the escorting guard. Beard looked up with a smile, wearing mint green today, matching with her eye patch as always. Her office had some of her paintings on the walls, all the stationary on her desk brightly colored. Surprised there weren’t goddamn crayons and plush animals to be honest, the kindergarten vibes that strong.

“Please sit.”

He didn’t really want to, but you did as you were told in here. Benson lowered himself nervously into his seat.

“It’s nice to see you, Mr Boudreaux,” said Beard. One of the few who called inmates Mister or Ms in here. Other staff just barked your name out.

“Is my Ma okay?” he said at once.

“Oh yes,” she said, and the relief hit him in a wave.

“She called to say your Aunt Doreen has passed away.”

Benson blinked. Aunt Doreen was on his deadbeat father’s side. When Dad ran off on them, his side of the family stopped bothering with his ratty wife and feral son.

“I don’t give a shit,” he said.

“Oh well…she wanted to tell you.”

Ma always pulled stunts like this. Benson was escorted to see Beard, scared out of his mind, thinking she was dead. Turned out Ma had called cause the cat was taken to the vet and might not make it or the next-door neighbour girl he’d grown up with had gotten cancer. Ma would ring, insist that the counsellor tell her Benny the bad news. Couldn’t help but be endeared by it though. On the outside whenever he got home from work she’d tell him all the neighborhood woes or the terrible things she’d seen on the news that day. Such a morbid old girl.

“You might like to call her and tell her not to ring us so often about news that doesn’t concern you.”

Calling up Ma she’d say the same handful of sentences. Hi Benny. What if I getta call that someone’s died while I’m talking to you and I miss it? This is making me nervous, just write me instead. Bye Benny.

Beard’s face suddenly narrowed in a peculiar way he’d never seen before.

“So I’ve heard about your relationship with Mr Bradley.”

Nothing stays a secret long in here. There were a handful of prison boyfriends and husbands throughout the prison dorms. Not just fuck buddies, actually committed to each other. Like Jarvis and Mauer who’d been together five years. There were rumors that Khan and Gryce were amicable exes, but no-one had the guts to ask.

“Yeah, he’s my boy now,” he said bluntly, narrowing his eyes right back at her. “That a problem?”

“It wasn’t coerced?”

Anger flared up hot and acid and furious. Coerced? Like he was one of the pervert brigade? Like he was like…like…

“Y’know he gets real antsy whenever anyone brings you up,” he said as venomous as a snake. “Why the fuck is that?”

A surprised look on her face. Then a sad kind of worry.

“He does?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…well…that’s his story to tell,” she said. “He shouldn’t be upset though. Not at all.”

She saw the dangerous burning fire in his face.

“I just ask out of concern for Mr Bradley,” she said. “I tend to feel quite protective over him.”

The rage simmered slightly.

“Me too,” he replied. She studied his face. Seemed half convinced he wasn’t a predator, not completely certain though. Was excused. Went to pick up his baby, and they went back to the dorm.

“The Cyclops knows about us,” he said when they were back lying on Randy’s bunk together. Saw him flinch.

“I wish you’d fucking tell me what your problem is with her. She’s decent and she cares about you. Was acting Mama Bear cause of us y’know, wanted to make sure I wasn’t some creep.”

Randy hid his face in the crook of Benson’s shoulder. Still had the sex stink that Benson wanted to bottle up and keep forever.

“I’m not… I’m not ready to tell.”

He carded his fingers through his hair.

“You gotta one day.”

Randy raised his face up, glowering petulantly.

“You tell me something you don’t wanna share about yourself then.”

His guts felt all sick and shivery at once.

“Fuck off. “

“See!” he said with triumph. Such a fucking brat sometimes.

“Alright. When you tell about Beard I’ll tell something about me that I don’t wanna.”

Of course, it wasn’t going to be the Big One. The Major Fucking Trauma he had tucked away in the darkest corners of his mind, that he barely even liked to admit to himself. No, he’d find something else unpleasant to tell him. Like how his Ma coughed up blood like black tar over his birthday cake when he was nine, around the time she was first getting sick.

“Promise?”

“Kiss on it?”

Randy happily kissed him. Then got a sneaky look in his eyes.

“Tomorrow?”

He had Benson wrapped around his little finger. Too cute to tell him no.

“Alright. Gimme another kiss.”

Marciello in his oh so coveted spot turned his face against the wall, wincing as he moved around. Good. He enjoyed seeing him suffer.

Chapter Text

It's tomorrow. And Randy is making excuses to tell him about the Cyclops. Trying to put it off.

It was Saturday which meant no work for a lot of people. Benson only worked on weekends if a sudden mess got made, and he maybe got called over to sort it out. Everyone was lounging around, taking it easy. After he'd made breakfast and sat down by Randy, his boy started his campaign.

"Do you want me to s-s-suck you off behind the shed?" he said sipping at his hot chocolate he preferred over coffee.

"Yeah," he replied with a grin. "But tell me about your Beard beef first."

Randy squirmed.

"After visitation?" he said, big puppy eyes. Gonna have to put the scary Benson act on. It only half worked really...turned the little freak on more then anything. Took his face heavily in his hands, pressing his fingertips into his skin.

"No Randy," he said in scary-Benson voice. "You do it now. Rip the band-aid off. 

Randy flopped into his arms. Looked like such a sad wet cat it was almost laughable. Benson played with his lower lip and he hid his face in his shirt in response.

"Wanna talk somewhere quiet?" he crooned and Randy just nodded silently.

They decided to stop by the prayer room again. This early, the incense hadn't been lighted yet. Benson got Randy to have a smell of each and pick his favorite. He chose palo santo. The guard that escorted them lit it to have something to do, and the nice smoky smell filled the room. Slung his arm around his baby's shoulder as they sat down.

"Wonder if our love nest still stinks?" he said to make him smile, chase away the worried look. Only got the tiny little smile for just a second. He took a long time to gather his nerve. Sitting in silence in the sweet smelling early morning.

"Ms Beard used to be my teacher in second grade," he said finally. "And there was an incident."

Something unpleasant wobbled in the base of his belly. She hadn't...? She wasn't like...?

As Randy continued his story he felt the tension ease, replaced with an uncontrollable bubbling mirth. Started to laugh, making the guard jump from his post and hush them sternly. He fuckin' shot out her eye? 

He desperately tried not to let out a sound, but tiny wheezes escaped nonetheless, his eyes streaming. Randy looked absolutely furious with him. Shrugged Benson's arm off of his shoulder in an outrage.

"Randy!" he managed to croak out as Randy glared, wet eyed. Took him a good half minute to get himself together. Fuck he'd had him worried! All over a fucking accident! Oh, the poor dumb idiot!

"You really ruined her life didn't you," he said, sardonic. Wrong thing to say, Benson, you big clumsy buffoon. His pretty face crumpled up. 

"Yeah, I guess I did," he managed to squeak out, hiccuping with tears, streaming down his cheeks. Benson felt an instant shame for laughing at the poor thing. Wiped his wet face, made gentle soothing sounds. Drew him in so he could rest his head on his shoulder. Despite being mad at him a second before Randy still cuddled up for comfort.

"Haven't you noticed she's got a new job now? So some assholes at her old work called her names, she went and moved on. She's not locked up at home cursing your name, is she? And was she angry at your first counselor's session?

"N-n-no..." he hiccuped out, really properly crying now.

"What'd she do, honey?"

"She asked if I wanted a hug. But I was so scared and shocked I couldn't t-t-talk. So she just went through paperwork stuff with me."

Benson's hand was getting soaked from endlessly brushing his tears away.

"Hey, if she hated your guts, thought you'd ruined her life, would she wanna hug you?"

Randy, however was past reason. Just in a state of utter miserable distress.

"I'm bad, I'm bad...whenever I'm angry I hurt people... I need someone to control my whole life for me, I can't do it myself, or I'll wreck more lives again and again and..."

"You better not expect that from me, kid. I'm not gonna run your life for you. I boss you around when I fuck you only cause you tell me to."

Randy let out a muffled whining sob.

"Bad, bad, bad..." he whispered, hand curling painfully in his hair, tugging. Benson gently unhooked his fingers from the locks to keep him from tearing it out.

"I should be locked up in here forever," he admitted. "I did it a second time. That's why I'm here."

"What you got another fucker's eye out?" he said with a laugh in his voice despite himself. 

"No! My...my family took me to a restaurant for my twenty-first and...and I had my first drink and I got drunk...at least... I felt like I was drunk...and someone from another table was catcalling my sister. She's twelve."

"Jesus," Benson hissed.

"So I threw hot soup in his face and tried to bite him."

A rush of affection for his boy strong and hot like lava.

"Good! I'm glad you did!"

"He got really badly burned Benson!"

"He deserves it."

His face growing pinker by the second, skin burning hot. So upset he was almost feverish.

"Ms Beard didn't deserve it! How many more people will I hurt when I'm not under control?"

Benson preased a kiss to his forehead. Tucked his blonde head underneath his chin.

"I'm gonna set up a meeting with Beard and us two."

"What?" he squeaked with panic at once. "N-no...!"

"Yes. And you're gonna talk it fucking out. Yesterday she was so damned concerned for you, Randy. She cares about you. I need you to get it in your fucking head that this isn't worth destroying your own life over. That creep in the restaurant? Fuck him, why ruin life over some human cockroach, huh?"

Randy's body siezed up in a paroxysm of self-hate and pain, twisted as though his own shame were like razor teeth eating his organs to gristle. Benson grabbed his face again, hard. Switched his scary voice on. 

"When you first came here still under you're mother's thumb you were just the saddest scared little kitten. But you've been making decisions in here, Randy. You're the one who made the first move, not me. I didn't request a bunk change. And you were running the damn show yesterday in that cupboard."

His breathing was harsh, temples slick with sweat. Benson pushed in closer until their foreheads brushed. Stink of fear and guilt and palo santo in the air, a suffocating smog.

"If it were up to me, if I was controlling things...well I don't know if we woulda hooked up at all, I was scared of looking like one of the pervert brigade, wasn't gonna make a move until you did. And if you didn't tell me what to do, you know I woulda handled you like glass for your first time. So what would have happened if you decided to do nothing? Decided to stay still?"

He grinned at him.

"No hot sexy amazing boyfriend! Stuck with Fowler-Jones as your bunky! Your first time that'd probably bore you to death! Getting out from somebody's control's been fucking great for you, I damn reckon."

Randy sniffled. The words starting to sink in. Still uncertain. Marinated in the shame for so long, so difficult to get clean of it, like black oily tar.

"What? Am I wrong? Was making a move on me a bad decision was it?"

Randy immediately shook his head eyes wild and shining with tears.

"It wasn't a bad decision..."

"Moving bunks a bad choice? Do I move around too much? I fart in my sleep?"

Smiled despite himself.

"Only...only fart sometimes..."

"And telling me exactly how you wanted to be fucked, that was a bad choice? Woulda preferred it if I treated you like a delicate little flower?"

"No...no..."

"So you admit you've made good decisions then!"

"And bad ones..." he said stubborn as a mule Benson rolled his eyes dramatically to the ceiling, throwing his head back.

"Holy shit, who are you, fucking God almighty? Who hasn't made a bad decision? Who hasn't hurt someone? At least you're sorry for it, fucking overdo that sorry way too much but most people can never admit to fault!"

Saw him trying to look away, slapped his face a little to force him back.

"Putting all this energy into never making a bad decision by never doing a damn thing ever again, it's bullshit. You just hurt yourself even more doing nothing at all. You get Marciello walking all over you, you let people cut ya in line, let a pervert piece of shit...it's...it's just not fucking safe or good for you at all. Okay?"

Randy tried to push his head back into Benson's shirt collar. Hide away. Didn't let him. Shook him roughly til his whole body jolted.

"I don't wanna talk to Ms Beard," he said and then cringed at the whine in his voice, hating it, embarrassed by it.

"You want me to make your decisions, take control of your life? So be it Randy. I'm in control. I'm deciding. You're talking to Beard. You're working through this shit. Got it?"

Tears like dewdrops quivering at his lashes. Melted like wax of a prayer candle, slumping in his arms.

"Got it," breath of a whisper. Benson kissed him all over his face, his eyelids and lashes and cheeks.

"That's my good boy."

Randy blinked slow and heavy.

"You...you...gotta tell me...something you don't wanna tell."

Sounded so defeated. Worn down to nothing. Almost felt guilty. Almost said don't worry honey, I changed my mind, we don't have to. Had to stick to his guns. Make him run barefoot over the coals. It was tough love. And he fucking loved him so much.

"I did promise that didn't I?" he said with a smile.

"You did," bratty, bitchy voice. Loved that anger in him. Even if it scared Randy to death. Would never let him try to extinguish it again.

"Alright," he said, choosing the option B that was painful but not soul-destroying to bring up from his memories. "It was my tenth birthday....my Ma coughed up blood all over my birthday cake. It had yellow icing...yellow's my favourite colour. I had maybe a few people from school over. I was having a rough time at school, didn't have much friends. But they disappeared overnight after that. Who'd wanna be friends with the blood cake freak?"

God, what an understatement, having a rough time at school...

Ran a hand through his blond hair. Nice and yellow.

"That's why I'm here. Her medical bills, medication were just ridiculous, so I started skimming money from the cash register at work."

Funny. Benson in for the non-violent crime, Randy in for the violent one. You wouldn't think it looking at them. 

"You're a good son..." Randy whispered. "You're...too good... I don't know why you're so nice to me... I don't deserve it.

"Fuck baby... I feel the exact same about you."

Randy rested his head on his shoulder. Whole body just loose and deflated. Exhausted right to his core. Couldn't blame him. Had told his big, long held secret, then cried harder than he'd ever seen him. Must be completely emotionally drained.

"I wanna...go sleep," he croaked out.

"Okay honey."

Randy leaned against him like a big tired cat the whole way back to the dorm. Time to do a Fowler-Jones and take a well needed nap. The whole dorm was sleepy and sluggish. Some people were up, getting ready early for visitation. Santos always got emotional about seeing his kids.

"They're still little," he'd say and a sad, worried look would cross his face. "They don't...hate me for not being around yet. Fuck man...hope they don't hate me when they get older, but I don't blame 'em if they do." 

Then he'd have to excuse himself to go to the shower block. Would come back with puffy eyes from crying.

Marciello was sitting cross-legged on his bunk as Fowler-Jones snored beneath him. Carefully combing and putting hair product through his curls. He put a lot of effort in when his parents came to visit. Used to comb his hair in the shower block, but now he resisted unnecessary trips down the steps as much as he could cause of the still lingering pain. Shame his black eyes had faded.

"Cleverer then he looks," he said with a narrow sideways look at Benson.

"What was that Mashed Banana?" he snapped back.

"Kitten's cleverer then he looks," Marciello said venomously. "Pretending to be all lovey-dovey to get free protection here. Pretty lucky he found an inbred redneck dumb enough to fall for it."

"You stopped pissing blood I heard? Want me to fix that for ya?"

But he wasn't cowed. 

"Can't believe you fell for it. As soon as he's out you'll never here from precious lil kitten again. You're totally getting played old man. He'd do anything for a protector in here, acting like your girlfriend, offering up his hole...

So Benson whacked his head on the bed frame and busted his brow open.

Randy woke up crying. Benson slid into bed with him not looking back at the new mark he'd left on Marciello, the cunt. Made quiet shushing noises as he stroked his hair.

"Hey, you're Ma's coming to visit remember? Save your tears for when you hug her, okay?"

Randy hid his face in his neck.

"I love you," he mumbled. First time he'd ever said it. Like a punch and a hot shot of molten heat right to his heart. 

Benson kissed him, tasted the salt of his tears

"I love you too."

A window in a day room overlooked the car park and people always crowded around on visiting day. Either to catch a glimpse at their family or to sticky beak, see other inmates'. Santos' three kids always waved like mad when they saw their Papa in the window, all under the age of eight and utterly overexcited. Mrs Bradley cried when she spotted her little boy. Blew kisses. She looked like a nice lady...he coulda judged her too harshly...snorted at the thought at once
As if! No way! Benson still didn't trust her at all.

After the hour or so was done Randy returned from visitation wanting more hugs at once. Very cuddly but who could blame him. Had a high stress day.

"Mom's rang up my highschool girlfriend and wants me to put her on my visit and call list so we can 'reconnect.' A proper straight marriage will set me on the righteous path."

Benson laughed, kissing him on top of the head. He was lucky in that regard, Ma never gave a shit about who her son was attracted to. Was from the free love, flower child movement of the sixties. Probably kissed more girls then Benson ever had and ever would.

"She apologized for yelling at me on the phone," said Randy. "She's not perfect, but she's not...evil or anything. She just...gets intense when she's angry."

"That's where you get it from, huh? Got your damn mother to blame. Can't help your genetics honey."

She was only a quarter in Benson's good books. Had to work hard to get all the way back in.

"High school girlfriend, huh?"

Randy sighed.

"Yeah...we only ever held hands. She dumped me."

Benson rubbed his hand up and down his spine. Just hard enough the way he liked, not interested in a soft touch.

"Why'd she do that?"

Randy paused. Thought about it. 

"I don't know."

Benson sent him an incredulous look.

"What dya mean you don't know?"

Watched as his fingers crept to his mouth.

"We didn't...talk about it. Her cat died and...she stopped ringing me and didn't wanna hang out anymore."

Fuck. His little doll to fix up. Re-do all the broken porcelain with gold paint so you still saw the cracks where the damage had been done. Easier, less frightening to work on this doll then focus on his own pieces. Pieces so broken they were dust, impossible to ever gather and patch together again.

"Randy...you need to put her on your list now. Gotta figure out what the fuck her problem is!"

"I... I guess..."

Ran his fingers over his most ticklish spot right behind his ear. He got all sweet and giggly at once.

"What's her name?"

"Oh...! Uh... L-Lisa."

"Lisa, like the Simpson."

Randy giggled harder at him.

"You're so weird," he said. "Benson?"

"Mm?"

Sad scared look on his face suddenly.

"We're not going to be released the same time. I'll be in here longer then you."

Marciello's words haunted him. Knew they were bullshit but still...crept under his skin. Only wanted a protector. That was all.

"Don't worry about it, baby," he said, voice low and gruff.

Randy offered a small smile.

"Okay."

Didn't want to think of them being forced apart yet. Too difficult. Too painful. A band aid for another time.

Sunday was Weston's birthday. He'd invited a few people to hang out in one of the day rooms. Even the old mobsters knew to clear out for a guy's birthday. His bunky was Achtung, who provided the hooch. You had to duck behind someome to have a quick sip.

Achtung was jittery, eyes always flicking around behind his aviator glasses, but the booze wasn't half bad. Guess he knew how to put chemicals together the right way...what with the bomb threats and all.

Every library regular was there, the laundry ladies, Santos who was everyone's friend and Batshit. Music from someone's radio playing. Everyone bought food and some their weird prison creations they called food. Benson was never a fan of all that mess. Poor Batshit was hobbling. He'd torn both his big toenails off on purpose, had to get his feet bandaged. Benson cringed in sympathetic pain just thinking about it. He'd not bought food, didn't get any commissary at all, no one to put money on his books. People with absolutely zero funds got refills of the meager toiletries new inmates came in with. Tiny toothpastes, and soaps in packets. Batshit had made Weston an origami frog instead.

"My Gramma sent me a care package," Weston said and shared around Lil Debbie snacks to them all for dessert.

"Look at this, she wrote me a note, bless her," he said with a grin, sharing it around. A big love heart with To my baby Russell. Always in my heart. Grammy.

"Nobody calls me Weston on the outside. Just Big Russ. Funny ain't it?"

He thought about how his Ma called him Benny. How no one else in the world did but her.

Mina, leaning on Mama Lavelle's shoulder was talking to one of the library regulars about tarot readings. Mama Lavelle was gently stroking Mina's hair. Weston rereading his Grammy's note over and over. Santos, Achtung and Aggie playing cards, Aggie winning, had more hooch then anyone but was the least drunk of the lot. Would out drink them all. 

Randy was the only one to turn the hooch down. Probably another hangup he had, the first and last time he drank had landed him in prison after all. Benson watched as he admired Batshit's origami frog. 

"That's so cool..." Randy said and then paused, realizing he didn't know Batshit's name, not wanting to call him the moniker.

"What's your name sorry?"

Batshit blinked. Looked momentarily stunned.

"Uriah," he replied. Randy smiled at him and Uriah seemed uncertain.

"My name'a Randy. Those are really cool."

Batshit smiled a sweet puppy dog like smile, pushed the toes of his shoes into the ground impulsively til tears of pain sprang to his eyes. Weston glanced over, put a hand on his shoulder. Slid his feet underneath Batshit's ankles to lift them up, stop him pushing down on his wounds.

"What's your...favourite animal?" he asked Randy.

"Oh uh... I like crocodiles. What's yours?"

"Cat."

"Yeah I like cats too. I don't really like being called Kitten by everybody though."

"I don't like Batshit," he admitted. A spike of guilt stirred in his belly at once. Of course, he wouldn't like a name like that. Felt shame for always using it without even thinking about how it effected him. Swore to never again.

Randy turned his pretty smile to him.

"What's your favourite, BB?"

BB? Nobody had ever called him that before. Liked it. Felt good. They watched Uriah get up, shuffle away to the corner with his notebook to be on his own.

"Giraffes," he said at once. 

Randy smile grew. A rare ear to ear one. 

"Benson?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"When we get out, can I take you to the zoo, and we can look at giraffes and crocodiles?"

His stomach twisted up. The sweet cake and hooch swimming in his guts like acid. 

"Maybe," he said forcing a smile. "I kinda wanna take you to the lake my Ma took me swimming in. We'd camp and everything."

"I've never been camping."

Benson lowered his voice, leant forward to whisper, beard and moustache tickling Randy's ear;

"First place we're going is a motel though. Gonna take my time on ya."

Randy wriggled and grinned. Would someone just pretending to like you for protection make plans for the outside with you? No. It felt real. It was real.

Everyone started drifting off to bed, the party goers well-fed, tipsy and partied out. Benson spooned up behind his boy. It'd been a big weekend for them.

"We're gonna have a great Monday," he said into his ear. "Gonna get a meeting with Beard, sort your shit out with her. Get the Simpson on your list, then you sort out your shit with her too. Get rid of all your damn baggage."

"Mm hmm," Randy murmured back, warm and tired in his arms.

But it wasn't a great Monday. In fact, it was one of the worst Monday's in his life.

Cause Elliott Sheppard arrived as a new inmate and was placed in Henare's old bunk.

Chapter Text

They'd been lying in Randy's bed together after work. That morning they'd put in a request for a meeting with Beard, filled in a form to put the Simpson on Randy's list. Now were just cuddling, Benson reading Dracula. It was getting colder, so Benson had bought his blanket down from the top bunk which Randy was trying to hog. 

"Little shit," Benson scolded him, tugging it back. Randy giggled. 

"I reckon Khan looks like Dracula and Gryce looks like Frankenstein," Randy murmured after a glance at the book cover. 

"Don't let em hear you say that," he said. "And it's Frankenstein's monster you bimbo."

Randy pouted, hit him with a pillow. Benson was tempted to hit him back with the book, but fucking with library books would incur Weston's wrath. Just pinched his ass instead.

"New arrivals," Santos piped up. "Oh, goddammit. Diamond's back, in fuckin' Bell's old bunk."

Diamond was a notorious loudmouth shit stirrer who reminded Benson of Chris Marcello in twenty years. Bell of the pervert brigade had gotten a lock in a sock to the head the night before. He'd been harassing one of the eighteen-year-olds Tommy Winters, trying to make a prison wife out of him. So Tommy busted his head in.

"And some old timer," Santos said. "Henare's bunks finally fuckin' filled."

Benson just saw the top of the old timer's bald head through the busy dorm. All the way at the other end of the room. Returned to his book as Randy spider danced his fingers over his chest, cocooned in blankets.

Felt something weird in his belly. Like he was missing something. Something important.

A faint warning sign flashing in his head.

Danger! Danger!

He put the book back down. Tense and slightly nauseated. What was the matter? Why was he feeling like this?

Across the room, the new inmate turned around and Benson saw his face.

His Pa's voice so clear and sharp it was like he was right there beside him.

'Yvonne what the hell is wrong with the boy, why's he pissing the bed for at eight years old! Cryin' all the time, acting like he's fuckin' two?'

Blood rushing in his ears. Heart thumping like a drum. 

No.

No, no, no, no....

Watched him in his orange jumpsuit making his bed, casual, easy as anything. Tucking in the corners with big sweaty hands. 

Mind was blank and white and sterile. Nothing there

Out of the bunk, walking like he was in a dream. Felt like there was vomit in his stomach, blood, brain and skin, acid, unclean. Across the dorm towards him, fists clenching, muscles pulling tight.

A hand clapped on his shoulder. Turned to see Santos' concerned face. When he spoke it sounded like he was underwater, faint and far away. Behind him Randy clutching at his blanket, wide-eyed, confused.

Too many people around. Close hot, damp smelly bodies. Hand on his shoulder. Gripping, gripping tight. Can hear his own breathing amplified. Getting faster, growing panicked. 

"Let's go to the shower block, BB. C'mon...come with me?"

Felt curious eyes on him as he was led into the shower block away, away. Into the shower block. Into a stall. Only him and Randy now.

His mind once blank, started to fill with memories like pus from a wound tinged with blood. No...no...don't take him back there. Didn't want to be back there. Whole body spasmed violently. Puke splattered on the tiles. Big disgusting pile. Why were there so many invisible insects crawling on his damn skin? Get off, get off...

"It's alright. We'll wash it away."

A soft comforting voice in the swirling vortex of sights and smells and touches on his skin in his brain, in his insides.

Randy turned the tap on. The vomit swirled around and down the drain. 

"I wanna...be clean..." he heaved out

"Okay BB," the voice, quiet, gentle.

"I don't...wanna...be naked..."

"Okay. Just leave your underwear and singlet on? Is that alright?"

"I don't know..."

Ashamed of how he sounded. Voice high and pitiful, a childish keen.

"Okay. Whatever you decide is okay."

His big sea colored eyes full of worry, concern. Turning away to give him privacy. The guard on the rail wasn't bothering to strain to see them. Felt...felt better. Not to be watched. 

Needed the water on his skin, needed to be clean. Couldn't do it. Couldn't take off his uniform. Couldn't bare his skin. Let the tap just trickle. Cupped lukewarm water, splashed it on his face. Trickling over his collar, wetting the fabric. Some water in his mouth to get rid of the vomit taste.

Benson didn't want to be touched, skin crawling itching with hungry biiting bugs, Benson needed comfort, needed Randy's warm safe embrace, Benson wanted to cry, Benson couldn't do it, all stuck up and jammed.

Punched the tile wall. Again. And again. Heard it crack, felt the split of his knuckles. Blood ran down his wrists. Randy turned. Put out his hand. Benson hesitated. Then took it. His head flopped onto Randy's shoulder. Smelling him. Warm and familiar. He felt so sticky and horrible.

Fuck. Couldn't hide in here forever no matter how much he wanted to. Suddenly felt more then ever the utter lack of privacy, inability to be truly alone. Needed it, needed it like oxygen. If he didn't get space, he was gonna pull out his hair, pull out chunks of his own skin, he was gonna scream til his throat ruptured and spewed blood.

"Take me to medical," he heaved suddenly in a complete panic. "I need to get out, I need to get out.... Randy.... Randy..."

"Okay," he whispered at once. "I don't know if they'll let me stay with you in there..."

"But I need you..."

Fuck everything was wrong, he couldn't get out, help, help, please, he was stuck, he was trapped, get out, get out, stop, stop....

For a second he thought he saw his Ma. Wanted to run to her. Curl up and cry with his head in her lap, hear her smokey voice calming and rough.

It was only Aggie. Only Aggie. 

"Hey honey," she said through the crack in Randy's arm. Sounded just like his Ma. Sounded just like her.

"We got the other laundry ladies guardin' the door," she said. "Can you breathe for me...what's his first name...?

"Benson."

"Benson, honey can you breathe for me?"

Closed his eyes. Easy to pretend. It was Ma. Ma hadn't known what was wrong. Too scared to ask. Still let him sleep in the bed with her even when Pa cursed and spat. Still whispered old lullabies to help him through the nightmares.

"Nice work. I reckon we should go to medical to fix those busted knuckles. You've done a number on 'em."

"But...but they won't let Randy stay..."

"He can stay for a little while. Don't worry."

They were all gonna looking at him, they were all gonna know, all gonna stare and pity and judge and...He was out there. He couldn't do it. Would stay in this shower stall forever.

Randy slipped his hand to his wrist. Holding it. Randy...his angel. Like a deer all soft eyed and trusting and sweet. 

Put on the mask. Don't let anyone see you're teary face. Be a man. Be a fucking man not a little scared boy wanting his mama. He cracked his neck. Opened his eyes.

"That's a great job, Benson," said Ma. No. Not Ma. Ma would call him Benny.

The dorm was unbothered, don't turn to gawp at him at all. People just playing cards, listening to music, eating snacks. And He wasn't there. God...it made him feel sick. Could run into him anywhere. Only a few people had noticed. Santos and Weston looking on with worry. Only friends. And from their prized corner....the fixed staring eyes of the Killers. Who noticed everything. Were all knowing 

Taken to med with the laundry ladies...which included Randy now. CK's big breasted nurse was on duty. She was nicer then the rest. Even though he just needed his knuckles bandaged, she still let him stay in a bed for an hour, the laundry ladies for twenty minutes.

His mind felt calmer. But still...felt like he was marinating in a deep dark dread. Ready to panic and claw and punch at any second. Stared at the inside of his eyes, the light warm pink. Don't let the mask fall. Don't let anyone see. 

When he was told he had to go,  he found Randy waiting by the door.

"Can we...go to the prayer room?"

"Of course BB."

Their comfort spot now. Down the hall. Waiting to be buzzed through doors. Needed the soothing incense. Needed the quiet. Needed to sit  with Randy...

Through the entrance he saw the back of the bald head bent in prayer. Sitting next to his new bunky Pope. Felt the strangled sob in his throat.

Couldn't get away from him. He was everywhere, everywhere. Fuck...was gonna have to sleep in the same damn room.

"Let's go to the library," Randy whispered. Was led there. Wanted to rest his head on a table. Collapse. Couldn't show weakness. Had to keep up the facade. Couldn't do it. Hands beginning to shake.

"What about a dorm change request?" Randy suggested. Replied in a hoarse, defeated voice;

"They take longer then bunk changes...how many nights do I have to spend with that piece of shit old man..."

And even then. Fucking hypocrite in the damn prayer room. People from other dorms still ran into each other in the halls, the library, prayer and day rooms, in the line to med, to laundry. Couldn't ever completely avoid each other. And each time he saw him, he felt like he was dying. Guts ripped out and shredded then stuffed back in to the open cavity. 

Felt Randy stiffen beside him. Looked up...surely not here too, was he following him around?

No. It was Gryce, big and solid and frightening. Lurching slowly over. Reminded of what Randy had joked about. The Frankenstein's Monster.

He leaned over the table.

"Is he the type of person we need to organise something against?" he murmured, cutting straight to the point, no bullshit.

"Because we can."

Benson said nothing.

"You punch him one time out in the open like you were gonna back there...you get twenty guards on you at once, and he's in protection for the rest of his stay. The way we do it, we do it properly. Just think about that."

Randy's hand squeezing his protectively. Comforting warmth. Heard the heavy footsteps of Gryce leaving. 

There's a call for chow time. Benson watches the door. Sees the familiar figure with Pope walking by. Safe to go back to his dorm. Just for a little while. Gets up, Randy's hand at his wrist, a reliable presence.

Behind the library's front desk, Weston clears out his throat and Randy stops walking. Wants to viciously yank him away by the arm til it breaks. But lingers.

"Hey," he said. "Just wanna tell ya...you don't wanna and up a lifer in here, man."

Felt a growing helpless anger. Everyone in his fucking business. Why couldn't he have kept it together? Stop everyone from gossiping? Speculating about him? Felt ill to think about it. About what they could be thinking. Don't look. Don't look at me.

"Just do your time, get outta here. You in here for stealing, non-violent too...you can't have that long. A year or so? Barely nothing. You can do this. Don't fuck it up."

Then they're off. Off to Randy's bunk. Pulls the blankets over himself so he can't be seen. Buries his face into Randy's chest. Hears his heartbeat,  thumping in the frail frame. His hands rub his back in circular motions

"I don't want you to go to max," he whispers. "Please." 

"I can't. I can't coexist with him. I can't sleep in the same room. I can't be near him."

Feels him squeezing his fists, nails digging into his palms, hard, hard. Benson takes Randy's palm feels the fresh blood wet the bandages on his knuckles.

Yard time. He took Randy to the back of the shed. Kissed and bit his neck fiercely. Groped him through his pants. I'm in control. I'm in charge. Wanted to put his cock in his pretty face. But didn't want to be touched beneath the waist.

"You don't touch me," he hissed into his ear. "Not until you're told."

I'm big, I'm powerful, I'm strong, no one can hurt me...

Yet...his cock was soft against his ass. Couldn't get hard. Never in control....never strong...never in charge...scared, pathetic shell. Felt the sob rising. Stomach convulsing. Randy turned around. Bruise on his neck where he'd bitten him. 

Opened his arm in a silent invitation. Offering a hug. Offering comfort. Fuck...he didn't deserve it. Dirty damaged wreck that he was. Turned away. Walked off.

"I love you..." he whispered after him.

In the middle of the yard, he thought he felt eyes on him. Turned. Saw Khan against a fence staring him down. Pushed off the wall and made a beeline for him 

Khan...the Dracula, as Randy had put it. Shiny icy eyes, fierce face. Gliding silently over the ground.

Benson didn't walk away from him. Stood still as he approached. Just like Gryce. No bullshit, cutting straight to the point. 

"We pulling the papers," he said, voice very low as if from disuse. "It'll take a day or so to know why he's in here. Or. I find out right now. Retribution can happen this very night. Now I want to know. Is there something you need to tell me?"

Benson pressed his palm to his eye. 

"You don't want to tell? Ashamed? You think you're the only man in the world it's ever happened to? My first kill was my useless mother's boyfriend when I was eleven. My second kill was my mother for letting him do that to me. I see the look in your face back in the dorm. I know."

Breath came out harsh, choked. Whole body like a ripped scab. Sore and pulsing and freshly exposed. Couldn't look at the icy cold eyes. 

"I'm not going to be happy if I find out you knew something that you decided to keep quiet about. You lie about the worst kind of scum in my house? Where I live for the rest of my days, where I shall die? Then you are as good as. You as good as."

His voice which Benson had rarely ever heard creeping into his skin, into the flesh and marrow.

"All I need is a nod or a shake. The reason you nearly killed Elliot Shephard when you first saw him again. Is it because he's a child molester?

Benson head moved in his silent answer. Sealing a man's fate.

Back in the dorm Diamond was grinning, gleeful.

"I hear it's gonna be big! Like a movie! Like Scarface! Rebenga! Libertad!"

Santos kept glancing at him every few moments, nervousness in his face. On his other side he heard the scratch of a pencil working on Sudoku.

Benson could see him over at the furtherest corner of the room. Reading a book, still and placid. Probably a fucking bible. Couldn't turn away. Had to keep his eyes trained on him. Look away for a second, he could strike. Randy's head on his chest. Benson had his hand, thumb slowly stroking around his thin wrist, feeling the pulse. It felt better with him in his arms. Like a pet or a plush toy. 

The air was rumbling with thunder, the lighting not struck yet.

"Still doesn't know...that the scythe's swinging low, low..." Diamond said then burst into giggles.

Then the call for lights out.

Randy's body against him. Grounding weight. Heard him drop off to sleep, lulled by the rhythmic stroking against his wrist.

He couldn't sleep. He was in the same room as him. Breathing the same moist fetid breath. 

A hit like this with a guard paid off to look the other way. The few times he'd seen it happen was always horrible, horrible. A sick overdramatic, theatrical feeling to it all. This was grand entertainment to the Killers.

Randy's eyes flew open. There was a low whispering. Like the drone of bees.

Someone started off with a drawn out 'Sheppard..."

"Sheppard..."

"Elliott Sheppard..."

"Elliot..."

"Elliot...."

"Shepshepshepshep..."

Benson wanted to put his pillow over his head. Wanted to drown the hissing out. But couldn't. Had to watch. Had to.

Saw the shadowy shape at bunk 1:1. So eerily similar to reoccurring nightmares it made his skin prickle icy cold. Except in his dreams the shadow was menacing. This time the shape was jumpy with anxious energy. Knocking on the guard's office windows.

"Hello? Guards?"

Fear in his voice. Panicked breathing as he realised he was being ignored.

Khan was up. Stepping slow through the darkness. The hissing suddenly stopped. Eerie bone chilling silence. The shadow shrunk against the window. Khan stood motionless, just staring. Then cupped his hands over his mouth and sang out in a deep, booming voice;

"The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want:
He makes me down to lie
In pastures green; He leadeth me
The quiet waters by."

Randy was clutching onto Benson. White face wild with fear. 

The shadow was staggering through the rows of bunks. Mouse in a maze. Trying to find an escape. Jeers and trash being pelted, bouncing off his sweaty bald scalp, Hands reaching out to hit and pinch and slap and yank at clothes and flesh.

From his bunk, Gryce was grinning ghoulishly, watching it all with a sick delight. The shadow was at row three, row four, heading for the shower block. 

"We are your judge, jury and executioner..." Gryce called. "Jury, please read out your verdict."

Half a dozen voices yelled in response.

"Guilty!"

"Guilty!"

"Guilty and put to death!"

"To death!"

"To death!"

Like a hundred squawking witches all laughing and crowing for blood. Cut through with a moan of complete terror.

Khan in a flash of shocking quickness, bolted over across the room.

"Not in my house," he was hissing like a mantra, white teeth shining in the dark. "Not in my fucking house."

Thump of a heavy body on the ground. The men were on him. In the darkness you couldn't see. Just heard the thump and tear of flesh, smelt the iron in the air. Khan and Gryce circled the prey like vultures. Gryce struck out with a kick to the ribs. Khan stomped down on a hand. Crunching bone. Squeals of pain.

Then Khan turned. Put up his hand. The violence petered out. Saw his face, saw the ghastly baring of teeth. Something was slipping out past his lips. A razor blade he kept underneath his tongue, wet and shiny with spit. He made a silent gesturing motion. Towards Benson. Randy gripped at him. 

"Benson Boudreaux to the stand," Gryce called.

"Please don't," Randy whispered. "Please don't."

But he was up, away from his angel towards the devil. Through the dorm, saw eyes watching. Mama Lavelle had buried her head in Mina's shoulder, as Aggie stroked her hair. Weston looking solemn as Uriah cried in fear.

"Only fair," Gryce said. "You get the last hit."

Khan silently offered him the soggy razor. Benson shook his head.

Stared down at the blood caked face of the bogeyman from his childhood. His eyes were wide, terrified. Benson waited. Waited for the moment of realization. He'd heard his name called out. Surely...surely? But there was no recognition. He couldn't remember who he was. The man who'd ruined his life.

And then he felt Elliot Sheppard's skull cave in under his fists like a rotten gourd. 

Chapter Text

Under the sheets. Randy crying as they kiss endlessly, his hot tongue, salt wet taste in Benson's mouth. He's holding onto Benson's ripped open knuckles, the fresh bloody wounds. He has new cuts in his palms from squeezing tight in terror while Benson was drawn away from him. Stigmata on stigmata.

"Please don't go to seg, please don't go to max, please don't get life in prison," he whispered like a mantra.

Sheppard had been taken off to medical. When dawn broke after the longest night of his life, they all saw the pile of gore on the tiles, glistening dark red. Randy held onto him, refusing to let go. Benson's mind felt very blank. Emotionally wiped, all the pus drained out. Gryce and Khan were sleeping easy in their bunks, snoring. 

Neither had an appetite for breakfast. Kept feeling the little glances sent his way. Concern from friends, curiosity from strangers. 

Get out of my face. Get out of my business. Stop looking at me.

"Benson," he whispered as he stroked his blonde hair. "I'm not...just...gay for the stay or whatever people gossip about..."

He immediately wanted to rip the throats out of anyone gossiping about them. No one said shit about his baby.

"I... I want to be with you...when we get out of here..."

Had he wrecked it all for revenge? Trapped himself in prison for life over thar fucking shit stain old man, when he could've had something on the outside, had a life?

"I'll wait... I'll wait...we'll have the motel and go to the creek and the zoo and-and... I'm not gonna... I'm not gonna disappear i'm not going to give up or forget ever, ever, ever..."

Benson kissed his bright red,tear slick face, kissed his mouth to swallow the rattling sobs, held his shaking body. Ruined it, ruined it, ruined it all.

Call to work. He'd try to duck away, not wanting to have to clean up the blood. Randy reluctantly let go of his hand looking over his shoulder as he joined the laundry ladies.

"Boudreaux!" a guard called. Randy paused halfway up the hall. 

"Come with me," the guard demanded. He wanted to ask what for. Knew not to bother. They wouldn't tell him shit. Randy stared at him as he was led away. Taken to an office, where he found CK's big breasted nurse, Beard and a higher ranking officer, some big man who thought he was the goddamn chief of police. Beard was looking worried, the nurse neutral, the Chief all blustering. Benson didn't sit. Hadn't been asked yet. He didn't feel anything, no fear, or anxiety. Just a numb nothing.

"What's with the split knuckles then Boudreaux?" asked Chief, bumptious and threatening at once.

"Oh," said the nurse. "He came to me with split knuckles around noon, hours before the attack."

Chief turned on her.

"Did you ask why his knuckles were split?" he demanded. She raised an eyebrow in response.

"If I start demanding to know why injuries in prison happen, the inmates will be more reluctant to come in for help."

He scoffed. Turned back to him.

"Why were your knuckles split Boudreaux?"

"I punched the shower wall."

"Oh, and if we go check the stall, will the tile be broken is that it?" he demanded, like he was a big dumb child.

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. Chief nodded at the escorting guard who went off at once to investigate.

"And why were you punching walls?" he said.

"I was upset," Benson responded dully.

"Why were you upset? Because of Sheppard?"

Benson just stared at him.

"Why in med were his last words before he died Benson Bordeaux?"

What?

He'd helped kill him? Taken a life?

Feeling was rushing back to him. Head beginning to spin, vision warped and dizzying. Had no food in his stomach but the bile rushed around anyway. Was he just saying it because it was the last thing he'd heard before the final hit? Or had he remembered? The idea of him, face a crater of smashed bone and teeth, calling out his name on his death bed. Felt his skin crawling felt the sickness like long white tapeworms eating at his intestines.

"You killed him, didn't you? Why else would he say your name?"

"I've gone through Mr Boudreaux's files," Beard finally spoke up. "He was a student at the same school Mr Sheppard worked at...perhaps Mr Sheppard merely recognised him, was calling out a familiar name for help."

The escorting guard returned with a knock on the door.

"There is a cracked tile in that dorm's shower block sir," he said. The Chief exhaled noisily. Pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You better stop goddamn punching tiles," he said at last. Then waved him off.

Slowly in a daze, he made his way towards the laundry. 

"Oh, thank goodness you're here," said Mama Lavelle. Glanced over her shoulder at Randy. He was sorting clothes with a feverish look to him, breathing hard, eyes clouded over.

"He won't listen to us," she said. "He keeps working even though he's running a temperature. We were thinking of coming and getting you."

Benson went to him, slid an arm around his baby's shoulder. Randy was still set on his clothes folding. Didn't even seem to notice him at all, lost in his own world.

"Honey," he said quietly. "You need to go to med."

Realized he was whispering something under his breath. 

"Don't go to seg, don't get life, don't go to max."

He brushed the sweaty hair from his face. He'd done this to him. Literally worried him sick. 

"I'm taking you to med," he said and put on his scary stern voice. "Now."

Randy finally paid attention. Blinked up at him with a lost lamb look. Benson took his hand. Squeezed it. Felt his cut palms pulsing and hot. Hoped he didn't have an infection.

"Let's go."

He nodded his thanks at the ladies. 

"Take care Randy," said Mama Lavelle. Aggie rubbed his forearm. Mina squeezed his wrist.

As soon as Randy was in the bed at medical he was asleep. Curled up as a new nurse on duty checked his vitals, sticking band aids on his palms. Benson sat next to him, stroking his hair.

His mind was starting to come back to him, after a morning of being in a daze. It'd been a childhood dream come true, to get big and strong enough to kill the old piece of shit. Didn't feel any better now though. Fuck, fuck everyone knew, all their eyes on him, looking, looking. Everyone talking about how....how...

Everyone gossiping about his business. Something he couldn't bear to examine for so long, scabbed over, now picked open bursting with pus and infection and sour blood. Didn't want to think about it. Don't make him, please, oh god, please...

And what if he did do extra time, go to max, all for Sheppard? Didn't want to waste more of his life to him when he'd poisoned so much of it already.

"Time's up," the different nurse told him. Randy clung to him and he quickly brushed a kiss to his hand.

"Get well soon, 'kay?"

"Okay..."

Headed for the library feeling all squirmy and unsettled. Wanted to be near him. Didn't like being apart. Needed him here, his warm hand, sweet fresh smell, comforting presence.

As he passed the day rooms, there was a call from within. Turned and with an unpleasant shiver, saw the Killers inside. Gryce was gesturing at him.

"One of us now, kid," Gryce said with a grin as he approached. His skin crawled. Didn't want to be like them.

 It was funny...they'd looked so monstrous in the dark. Were just two aging men under the harsh lights, all wrinkles and nicotine stained teeth.

"His wife just found out she's a widow," said Gryce. "And she won't let it lie. Wants heads on platters."

"Susan," murmured Benson, the name emerging from the depths of his memory. He started a bit as he saw Khan reach into his pocket, pull out a matchbox and a carton of cigars. 

"Oh, the guards like when we kill scum like Shep," said Gryce, waving a hand. "They let us have our cigars when we stomp out a roach."

Benson nodded uncertainly. Khan lit up without a word.

"We'll take credit for the kill," Gryce told him. "We're already lifers. If they decide not to take our bribe and punish us, it's nothing, water off a duck's back. Put in seg? Who cares. Put back up to max? We been there before, we can handle it. We'll take the punishment because it's no big deal. It is a big deal for you. You take the consequences, it'll ruin your life. You want to see your sick mother before she dies right? You want to get out of jail with your sweetheart right?"

Benson's skin crawled. He knew about Ma? Khan noticed. 

"I know everything about everyone who live in my house," he finally spoke up, rolling his eyes. No secrets here.

What was the catch? They weren't just doing him a solid for no reason.

"I'll... I'll owe you...you want me to join more hits or something, don't you?"

The two men exchanged looks. Gryce sent him a sideways grin and Khan clicked his tongue 

"You're a good little killer y'know," said Gryce. "Don't let your skills go to waste."

That nauseated feeling again. Remembered Khan talking to Weston after Uriah's nighttime incident. Had he been trying to get him under his control too? In a weird way, it didn't even seem that evil or malicious. They were just very bored men, had spent too long in here. All they could do to entertain themselves was this puppeteering of other inmates. Cats playing with toy mice for a year or two before they were released into the word again. Something they'd never ever experience.

"I don't want to owe you."

Khan's eyes narrowed.

"You take credit for it then, boy? Throw away your whole life for Elliot Sheppard?"

Either that or be their attack dog. Each time he was involved in a hit, they'd take credit, he'd owe them again and again. He didn't want to spend the rest of his stay here like that. One kill had already made him feel sick right down to the marrow of his bones, rotten from the inside out.

"How 'bout you just think about it," said Gryce with a horrible smile, eyes completely cold, teeth showing like an animal about to attack. He was trying very hard to be friendly, and he wasn't good at it at all, not one bit. 

"This is your life, y'know. Sleep on it, yeah before you make a decision."

Khan's unblinking eyes were boring into his skin. Benson couldn't look back at him.

"Go on," said Gryce. Khan flicked a hand at him dismissively like he were a bothersone fly.

He wandered out and over to the library. Weston at the front desk said to him in a careful, soft voice;

"New books man."

Murmured a thanks.

CK was sitting at a table. Smiled as he sat down.

"What kink do you call it when you get off to seeing a hot redneck beating a guy to death? Cause I got it," he said. Benson felt himself relax into laughter. Needed to fucking laugh. Suddenly felt close to sobbing. Everything too tense, too serious, too much. The atmosphere of building dread. What was going to happen next?

"Heard your sweetheart's in med," he said.

"Yeah...shame he's not being looked after by your sweetheart. She's a gem."

He appreciated the way CK's nurse had stuck her neck out for him before. She didn't need to. CK smiled fondly at the thought of her.

"Lovely Delilah," he said. "Gives you something to look forward to, when you get out of here. You've got a good boy there Boudreaux. Don't fumble him. You'll end up stuck with me instead."

Benson gave his knee a squeeze under the desk. CK nudged their elbows together affectionately back.

Stopped by to see how Randy was doing. Delilah would have let him visit again, but the new nurse on duty said he'd had his daily visit and to come back tomorrow. He just had a fever now get out. As Benson walked off doing as he was told, he cracked his neck around. Hated the staff in here who got high on the tiny power they had over the inmates. 

As he returned to the dorm, he suddenly stopped mid step. A guard, over at the prime bunk in the far corner. Was cuffing Khan and Gryce.

"You're in luck," said another guard in the office. "The killers have come forward."

Stomach swooped. Everything spinning again. Under their control. An attack dog, made to kill again and again til there was nothing left of him, all rotted away inside. Just a husk. Their toy mouse to play with then forget about when he was released, broken and destroyed.

"I...no....no..."

The guard frowned. Confused.

"No what?"

It all came tumbling out. 

"I... I helped."

"You helped?"

Saw over by their bunk, Gryce rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Khan was just staring and staring, still and silent as a bird of prey.

Randy would suffer. Randy would wonder where he was. All alone in med with his fever. Had he done the right thing? Had he fumbled?

"Alright Boudreaux. You're going to seg."

Chapter Text

Seg is just a closet sized room with a bed and metal toilet and sink. The worst brand toilet paper which basically guarantees you get shit on your fingers. No soap to wash your hands properly either. Disgusting.

There's a handful of people from other dorms in here along with him and the Killers. They put him across the cell from Gryce and next to Khan.

After a quick piss, Benson curls up on the bed, face to the wall. He doesn't hate it at first, despite the stuffiness. Likes the privacy. Free to finally have a cry that he hasn't let himself have in the dorm where everyone can see and judge. He does it quietly, aware that every sound is clear through seg. Someone down the end is praying endlessly. Khan pacing around and around. Gryce counting and grunting with exertion no doubt working out. Another person moaning pitifully, the sound getting right into his skin. 

Randy, Randy, his Randy...he's safe in med for now. But when he gets back to the dorm? Will Santos, Weston, the laundry ladies be able to look out for him properly? Fuck... Bell from the pervert parade might get Benson's old bunk. Panic blared sharp and prickly. Randy sharing a bunk with him. No, no, fuck no...

The crying leaves him exhausted. Tries to go to sleep on the tiny uncomfortable bed with the lights still blaring. Pulls his shirt over his face to shield his eyes. 

He's in Great Grandma's house. The first house he'd been in. Right near the bayou, the damp smell in the air, trilling of cicadas, grasshoppers, crickets, humid oppressive heat. After Pa ran off, that side of the family wanted nothing to do with them anymore. He's in the spare room where he remembers sleeping with Ma and Pa all in the same mattress on the floor. Everything seems darker now though...looks like there's moss on the walls and ceilings but too shadowy to properly make it out. Carpet moistly wet under his boots. Looks at the mattress on the floor, torn fabric, stuffing falling out, a large brownish red stain in the middle. 

Confusion, complete confusion. Why have they moved back here of all places? A feeling of fear in his chest. While he was gone, did Ma just...up and sell the house? Sure it was a dump but...but...didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to it. And the cat! She'd been there since she was a kitten. She'd be miserable moving away from her home-ground.

Normally she's slinking around his ankles. Where is she? Is she lost? Tried to go back home? 

He squelches out of the room into the hallway. Sees the bathroom ahead. Water reeds growing through the tiles. Tub full of muddy water and leaves. Buzz of mosquitos hitting the cracked light in the ceiling.

"Ma?"

She's hunched over by the sink, looking down the drain, clutching tight at the filthy porcelain. Mirror covered in brown spots, cracks in the glass here and there.

"Ma why the hell are we back here? Why didn't you tell me you were moving? Where's Jett?"

A moment of silence. Hair in her face so he can't see her expression. Didn't know if she couldn't hear what he said or if she was ignoring him. Then the door slammed shut without her saying a word. Didn't know if the wind had blown it shut or if she'd kicked it closed without him seeing.

The floor feels swampier beneath his feet. Sound of rushing water. He hears a meow somewhere in the distance. Panic gripped his chest. Thought of her, helpless, no idea where she was, the water growing higher...

"Jett?" he calls, walking through the mold speckled hallways. Come on Whiskey Dick it's okay...it's okay... I'm coming to get ya.

Here's the pitiful meow again. It makes him want to cry. She didn't ask for this. Just torn away from safety, familiarity. Needed to be protected. Needed him. Needed Benson.

He can see out the window. The bayou has overtaken the front yard. It's over the porch. Water dotted with weeds and clumps of mud, a thick cloud of buzzing mosquitos over the top like a moving skin.

A skittering echoed over the rushing sounds. Like a small animal running somewhere. He walks faster, footsteps squelching. Reached Great Grandma's room. Empty, with litter strewn across the disintegrating carpet and a cracked ceiling. Next to the doorway is a dark corridor with open linen closets, deep shadows within. Stops walking, feeling a dread in his belly. Stares into the shadows wondering if he's imagining a presence there watching silently back. Doesn't want to walk past them. Feels as though someone, something will jump out at him. Another skittering sound and a faint meow again. Leaves the corridor with the linen closets behind. Heads back for the bathroom, determined to search it properly despite Ma closing the door in his face.

Pushes through the door. In a toilet. It doesn't look like the one from Great Grandma's house. Looks...like a public toilet...how did it transform so fast?

The water reeds grip at his ankles. He shakes his legs. But they're hanging on tight. Where...where have his boots, socks and jeans gone? Why is he naked from the waist down? Why are the weeds so strong on his bare skin? He's being pulled down to the filthy toilet floor. The slimy wet reeds up to his thighs. Around his neck. Caressing his face, leaving a trail of fetid slime behind. Cries out and his voice sounds small and childish. Wants his Ma. Wants Ma please, please. Feels the reeds in his mouth, probing. Can't get away. Please someone help....

Skittering sound and then a shining bright light in the doorway. Glowing whitish gold.

Something pulling away the reeds, ripping them apart. The broken leaves and plants spurt dark red blood. So much blood. Blood everywhere. Strong iron stink. Smell of death.

Randy his angel. Big sad eyes. Opens up his mouth. Meows. Meows just like Jett. He's been the one meowing for help in the house. Skin crawls, stomach drops out, feels a swirling sickness. So...wrong. Sensation of eerie uncanniness mixed up with confusing feelings of love, adoration, gratitude.

Randy meows again with a terrified expression. Benson holds his bleeding palms.

For a moment he's half awake, half asleep. Still in seg, the lights blaring above him. In the corner is a big looming shadow, hands reaching over the wall, fingers growing unnaturally long. Getting closer, closer. Benson falls back to sleep.

Randy lying in bed, asleep, naked. Over his bare body and the sheets and blankets, there's neon lights flashing green and pink and blue. His hard nipples, his warm skin, breath coming out of his pursed ruby lips. A bursting blooming sensation runs through Benson's body that he can't quite identify.

Benson, he calls his name in his sleep. Sound echoing, reverberating. He just wants to be here forever. In this strange colourful void with him. Where it's safe. Where they're safe. Nothing can hurt him.

Benson wakes up.

Doesn't know if it's been a few minutes, a few hours, days. Lost all track of time. The harsh light still blaring. There's a tray of food pushed through a slot in the door. Goes over and washes his sweat slick face in the sink. Then drinks from the tap. Cold and metallic taste. Takes a piss. Dehydrated by the colour of it. Sits on the floor to eat. Concrete cooler then the bed.

He feels filthy and unwashed. Furry feeling on his unbrushed teeth, hair matted. His uniform sweat stained, smelly. Wonders if he'll be let out to shower, if they'll let him change his clothes. How long will he be here...

Considers working out to pass the time like Gryce. He's already uncomfortably sweaty though. Kinda needs to take a dump but is putting it off, not looking forward to having to use that terrible toilet paper. 

Fuck.

Nothing to do. 

Just think of Randy. His pretty boy. His baby. So perfect. Perfect pink mouth...sweet ass.

What else was there to do but jerk off? Slipped a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. Pushed his other hand into his pants.

Only properly fucked once. Still had so much to show him. To teach him. Christ he wanted to slide up inside him again, feel the velvety heat. Feel him clench on his cock so good and tight. Pretty face, eyes rolling with pleasure, his lips all spit slick...bounce on him so good, take his cock fucking perf...

What was that? Stomach nearly fell out, nearly jumped out of his skin. Goddamn Khan was singing. Deep, booming voice bouncing off the walls and ceiling, filling up the space.

"What a fellowship, what a joy divine, leaning on the everlasting arms. What a blessedness, what a peace is mine, leaning on the everlasting arms.
Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms. Leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms."

His cock was limp in his hand. Couldn't get hard with that bullshit going on. Fuck. The boredom was almost painfully itchy in his mind, his skin, his bones. Started to understand the endless moaning from the end cell. 

He starts again when he hears a clacking sound. At the door a second slot has slid open to reveal a pair of eyes looking in. Then the food slot at the bottom opens, and his old tray is taken, replaced with a new one. 

Shit. How many times did they take away an untouched tray, replace it with a new one while he was asleep? Now he really has no idea how much time has passed at all.

The walls suddenly seem too close. His breathing gets tight. Never had claustrophobia before. But now.... breaths in shakily as his vision gets blurry, a dizziness making the water and shit food toss around in his belly. He's a rat stuck in a trap. God fuck get him out get him out, he's gonna be sick, gonna be sick...

He crawls across the floor. Puts his head against the cold steel of the toilet. Tries to breath evenly. Someone down the hall is making weird clicking sounds with their tongue and teeth. Like an overgrown insect. 

Christ, he'd fucked up majorly, hadn't he, ending up in here? Susan Sheppard out for blood, wanting someone to suffer the wrath of God over all this.

Remembered her. Always organising bake sales with the same fervor of a general marching into battle. Southern Granny vibes with her cat eye glasses, her smell of cinnamon and vanilla, the candy in her purse. Standing there...looking up at her. Wanting to say it. Right on the tip of his tongue. She looks down and smiles, lipstick bleeding into the wrinkles on the side of her mouth. She presses a wrapped Werther's into his hand and he can't say it. Can't tell her. Wants to cry. All choked up and suffocating.

"Don? Don?"

Benson feels the hairs stand up all over and prickle. Gryce's voice sounds uncharacteristically plaintive, keening.

"Ack. What you want?"

"Sing me a song."

There's a pause and then a long sigh like he was really putting him out asking for that. Still, he began to sing regardless. Benson wished he wouldn't.

"My girl, my girl, don't lie to me, Tell me, where did you sleep last night?"

"Come on and tell me baby," Gryce called out softly.

"In the pines, in the pines where the sun don't ever shine, I would shiver the whole night through."

Benson felt like some insect was stroking his spine. Tried to cover his ears, but the morbid singing crept through anyway. Goddamn pair of freaks.

"My girl, my girl, where will you go? I'm going where the cold wind blows."

"Where’s that, baby?" Gryce called again in a rumble of a voice. It felt like something he shouldn't be listening in to. Something...private.

"In the pines, in the pines where the sun don't ever shine, I would shiver the whole night through."

"Come on and tell me something about it..."

"My husband, was a hardworking man
Killed a mile and half from here."

"What happened to him honey?"

"His head was found in a driving wheel and his body has never been found..."

They finished up their unsettling little serenade and there was clapping until a guard yelled at Gryce to shut the fuck up.

"I love Kurt Cobain," said someone in another cell.

"That was Leadbelly you fool," Gryce answered.

"Leadbelly didn't write it, it's an old folk song, no one knows who wrote it," Khan said with exasperation.

"Alright, alright...thank you anyway, Don."

Khan tutted.

"You sad are ya? Wanted to adopt a stray puppy, and it didn't work out?"

Gryce grunted with laughter. Benson felt his skin crawl afresh, reminded all over again of how dangerous they were. Their bickering spell had almost made him forget for a moment. They'd wanted him as a pet attack dog. He couldn't have been in their debt. Couldn't be under their control. 

That peculiar clicking noise from the end cell. Imagines it. Human sized cockroach locked inside. Stomach flips over. He feels sick. Gonna go even more insane then he already is in here. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Stomach hurts. Can't put it off much longer, gonna have to shit. It goes exactly as expected. He washed his hands again and again in the sink until the cold hurts his bones. Can't wash the damn stink out. 

Falls into a half awake, half sleep on the floor. Faint buzzing of the light boring hungry worms into his brain. Closes his eyes. The after image of the light imprinted on the inside of his eyelids. Warping kaleidoscope colours. Turns his head to get away from it. Stares into the cool silver metal of the toilet. In the faint reflection thinks he sees a giant human sized roach on his bed, with clicking antennae. Turns around again, heart in his mouth. Out of the light above there's an angelic shape forming, blonde hair, pink mouth, doe eyes. The wings unfurling from the back, delicate and thin...insect-like but beautiful.

Then he's in the lake he used to visit in his childhood. Surrounded by trees gently blowing in the breeze. Warm blaring sun above. Cool water. Deep and green. Following the angel that's swimming ahead of him. Down beneath in the still darkness, sees a white shape, with a bloody broken crater for a face, reaching, grasping, touching fingers. Can hear the faint garbled underwater singing...sounds like Khan...singing more songs out in the real world, blurring into his dreamscape.

Focus on me, whispers the angel. Look ahead. 

He does. Doesn't look back into the mud. Swim out, out, far away from the shore. The angel rolls onto his back, opens up his arms. Sun flushed body. Soft inviting skin. Kisses his mouth. Tastes caramel toffee. Like werther's hard candy. 

Awake with a shuddering gasp. Body aches all stiff and painful from lying on the concrete for who knows how long. God, doesn't know if the tray of food is new or the one from before. They're never gonna turn this damn light off, are they? He's never gonna know how long he's spent in here. 

Here's soft slick rhythmic sounds somewhere. Someone's jerking off. Hopes it's not one of the Killers.

Surely they'd let him out for a shower? Right? Not let him stew in his own filth?

Feels like he's baking in here under the lights. Brain cooking in his skull, turning into soup. Eyes crusty and sore. Lips dry. Tongue like carpet. Drags himself up to drink from the tap again. Washes it over his neck that feels almost gummed over with grime.

Is he gonna die in here?

Please don't let him die in here.

Wanted Randy.

Wanted his Ma.

Felt like he was about to cry like a child.

A slow grunting sound of relief from the other cell as he reached climax. Wave of nausea went right through him. It was Gryce. Weird though...hearing the song had felt more invasive, intimate then hearing him jerk off. 

"Fuckin' disgusting," hears Khan say, tutting.

"I'm only fuckin' human, Jesus. What else is there to do in here?"

"Pray."

"Yeah, right when pigs fucking fly out ya ass. Hey I was thinkin of you the whole time, sweetheart."

Fresh tutting.

"Fuckin' disgusting."

"Yeah, yeah."

Like an old married couple. Wonders if the rumors about them being exes is true. He thinks they might be.

There are footsteps down the hall. Clunk of metal on metal.

"Shower time, inmate."

Oh, thank god. Still...one at a time? And Benson's near the end? Goddamn fresh torture.

Feels like centuries until it's his turn. Told to turn around, put his hands through the slot where they normally look in. Cuffed and the door opens. Heavenly, heavenly room to move. Gets to finally stretch his cramped aching legs. Thank god, thank god.

"What day is it?" he asks. Gets no answer.

He's taken to a tiny shower room. The door shuts behind him, and he's instructed to put his hands in the slot again to get uncuffed. Given a pack that they normally give to new inmates, tiny toothbrush, toothpaste, bar of soap that might clean just an inch of him. Hates the feeling of eyes watching, dead and unfeeling as he strips. His clothes get pulled through the slot. Gets under the weak icy dribble of the shower. Mainly uses the soap on his hand, trying to get the stink out, only a tiny bit left over for the rest of him. Feels great to finally brush his teeth, get all the gunk off, fresh minty taste.

Wants to stretch the time out as long as he can, but he can't of course. There's a rattle against the door. 

"Finish it up inmate."

Turns the tap off and the slot opens, a towel and a fresh pair of clothes pushed in for him. Doesn't feel properly clean, but it was better than before. Dries off. Cuffed again and walked out. But they don't turn back towards seg. Go the opposite way.

"Where're we going?" he demanded. Radio silence. His heart starts to pound sickly in his chest. Is this it? Is he getting taken away to max? Never got to say bye to Randy properly. Can't remember the last time he kissed him. Just like that, he was leaving him behind.

Stop and start, buzzed in and out. Finally, a door opened. Just a normal office, nothing special. But here...he might get the extra charges in here, the life in prison sentence.

"Sit," said the guard. He obeyed. Shoulders tense. Muscles coiled up. Heart pumping in his mouth. Least he was a bit fresher and in clean clothes... 

Eyes flicked around as the door opened again. In walked Beard. He watched her like a hawk as she went over and sat down. Put a can of Dr Pepper on the desk. 

"I got you som...oh..." she noticed his hands cuffed behind his back. Looked over at the guard at the door.

"Can you undo his cuffs?"

"Not for a inmate in seg," the guard answered promptly.

"Well...just cuff his hands in front of him then? So he can drink?"

The guard sighed like they'd been asked to eat a shit sandwich. Went over and readjusted his cuffs. Benson murmured a thank you as he picked up his drink. Took a sip. Explosion of glorious fizz down his throat. The guard was thankfully called away after that, some fight in another dorm. The first words out of Benson's mouth were;

"Is Randy okay?"

Beard nodded.

"He spent five days in medical with influenza. He just left yesterday."

It hit him like a stack of bricks. Time had stopped existing properly in that suffocating closet cell. 

"I've been in seg for a week?" he said. Beard nodded again. No time to process that. More important matters.

"Who's Randy's bunky?"

"Oh...the bunk's empty for now..."

"Are they gonna put Bell in my bunk?" he interrupted her. She frowned, confused.

"Which Bell?"

Which...? Oh my god, who else would he be talking about?

"Wannabe rapist Bell," he said with growing impatience. She pulled a face.

"Well...he's suffering from a brain bleed and won't be out of med for a good while."

Slight relief.

"Oh nice."

He raised his arm to his mouth to muffle a soda burp. Beard ignored it. Got straight down to business.

"Now I've been working on this for the last few days," she said. "I know Mr Khan and Mr Gryce have a history of this type of thing. They'll organise a hit on someone's enemy and then that person owes them. Forced to work for them. So you must have admitted to joining their hit to avoid being forced under their control..."

"No I didn't..." he tried to say. She suddenly glared, face sharp and stern.

"Yes you did," she said. "Susan Sheppard refuses to let anyone get away with this unscathed. She'll have you in here for life. Now there's no way you can get away with this scot-free, everyone heard you admit to it. But we can spin this. You were coerced by Mr Khan and Mr Gryce into putting a hit on Mr Sheppard, you thought it'd only be a beating, not a murder. Being coerced into approving his beating is non-violent but still Mrs Sheppard will insist on some kind of punishment. You'll get an extra year."

He stared at her.

"Mr Khan and Mr Gryce will get transferred back to max, so there's no danger of any retribution. Mr Bradley is in here for assault but because he's a first time offender he only has two years. You have two years now too. We spin this right you'll get released maybe a week or so after him."

She'd organised all of this...to help him? Anyone else would just leave him in seg to rot, just let him get kicked up to max. 

"Why...why are you..." he stuttered.

"Why am I doing this?" she asked. "Because he needs you there to take care of him. I won't let him be in that dorm unprotected. I know he's made friends, but they can't watch over as well as you can. And don't try to argue with me. This is how it's going to happen whether you like it or not. You're going to get an extra year. Okay?"

Not really for his benefit then. She just still had the urge to look after the scared little boy she taught in school. Didn't know what to say. Too awkward to express his gratitude. 

"Finish your drink, Mr Boudreaux."

"Yes ma'am," was all he could muster.

Chapter Text

Beard said that this was his last day in seg. She’d spun it. It’d taken time, but she'd done it for them. Benson had gone to a special room with a laptop for a virtual court hearing. Told the court he'd admitted to Gryce and Khan his past with Sheppard knowing their history of bashing child molesters. Had no idea they'd kill Sheppard. How afterward, they'd said that Benson now had to work for them as repayment for the kill. How out of desperation, he'd lied and said he'd been part of the hit to escape their control. 

The lawyers probing him about Sheppard...scratching that horrible wound he'd left to fester for so long.

"What exactly did he do?"

"You were molested at what age?"

"And why did you tell nobody about it?"

"Were there repeat molestations are just the one..."

Clawing out the blood and viscera and pus. Ripping at his most tender parts for everyone to see. Felt like he was drowning in his own sweat and bile and nausea. 

It was...odd though. The horror of finally being forced to talk about it...verses the strange relief. Something that had been unspoken for so long. Now it was out, out of his lungs, out of his guts where it had rotted inside him for so long. The absolute disgust and physical agony of purging, vomiting out the rancid mess....then a...freer, lighter sensation afterward. Getting it all out. At last. At last. 

Still he staggered back to seg each time feeling like a dead man walking, shaking all over, wanting to rip off his skin, wanting to die. It'd be worth it at the end. Gonna see Randy. Randy his angel, his guiding light.

The court came to their decision. Had an extra year for his part in organising the hit. Was going back to the dorm, the Killers shuffled off to max. Beard had spun it. Beard had won. 

The last few hours in seg were a surreal nightmare just like the whole stay in here had been. Khan and Gryce whispering like snakes, slithering into his brain. They'd had to go to virtual court as well of course. Knew they'd been fucked over, were going to max with Benson getting away with everything scot-free. Was gonna make him sorry for it.

"What was your favourite kill?" Khan hissed.

"Mine?" Gryce replied viciously. "Well... I never got as many as you. But there was a rat once...who liked to get everyone in trouble. We cut out his tongue, fed it to him on a plate. Couldn't rat nobody out anymore after that."

Nasty laughter.

"No, but I heard about your most famous kill back in the day," Gryce said. "Gnarly stuff. Usually you were so straightforward with your hits. Just a bullet to the head. But this hit of yours...no mercy. No fuckin' mercy."

"Well he was a real bastard. He deserved something special. Shooting him would be too nice."

"You skinned him didn't ya?"

"Only skinned his palms and the soles of his feet. Then set the dogs on him. Ate his hands and feet right off."

"Now what'd he do to deserve that?"

"He fucked with me."

Benson knew it was all talk. They were going back to max, what could they do to him? All they could do was whisper this evil shit to get under his skin, then laugh when they made him cry.

"And what was the kill that got you caught, put in here?" asked Khan.

"Nothing that exciting. Just bashed up some fucker and they caught it on CCTV. I did it with a crowbar. Made his face into a brain soup."

Don't let the images get painted into your mind. Don't let it get marked there forever. 

"And you?" Gryce asked Khan.

"Oh some detective gathered enough evidence on all my hits to get me in here. They found his legs in one trashcan, his head in a freezer, and his torso at the bottom of a lake."

"What about his arms?"

"They never did find where I put those."

Cackling like a pair of fucking witches. They'd known each other for years, of course they knew these horrible stories already. Why the need to repeat them now? Just for Benson's benefit of course. 

He could get through this. He could make it out the tunnel. Just close your eyes. Think of Randy. So close now. Nearly able to see him. Nearly able to be together again. Angel, angel...his angel.

A clank at the door and for a second he thought they'd gotten out, were about to skin him alive. Just a guard of course.

"Boudreaux."

The Killers repeated it mockingly; 

"Boudreaux, Boudreaux..."

Just an empty intimidation tactic. He was getting out of here. Fuck those two old freaks. 

He was taken to the showers, and he gratefully washed off. Then out of seg, down the hall to Beard's office. She went through some more boring business with him. He was being checked back in to his regular dorm and bunk, wasn't being moved anywhere, still had the same job, so on and so on. He felt like his stomach was full of squirming eels, wanted to just get out of this damn office, wanted his Randy again. So near but stopped at the last hurdle. Needed his smell, his body, his warmth and comfort. Now, now, now.

"Before you went to seg…" said Beard. "You booked a meeting with me and Mr Bradley? You still want to attend?"

He nodded.

"I'll rebook for tomorrow," she said.

"Thank you ma'am," he said in a quiet voice. Wanted to thank her for more. Felt awkward and unsure of himself though. She sent him a soft smile. As though she understood.

He was free to go back to the dorm now. As if nothing had happened. Back to normal. He knew what time of day it was though. Most inmates were at work. 

Benson headed for the laundry, heart in his mouth, feeling almost feverish. Needed him, needed him now. The stop start was more terrible then ever, each second he was kept from him making his skin itch, making everything ache with impatience. Finally, finally he was there. The laundry ladies all looked around when he burst inside. 

"Where's..." he gasped out, voice rough. "Where's..."

Felt his heart jump when Randy stepped out from behind a washing machine. Hair had gotten longer, curls down his neck. Gaping at him. Then his pale face flushed red. Hunger, shock, want in his eyes. Benson's mouth flooded with saliva. Fuck. Fuck...

Mama Lavelle looked around the room. 

"We can finish early, can't we?" she said with a slight smile. 

"Yeah I reckon," said Mina. Aggie pressed the keys into Randy's shaking hand.

"A guard comes and checks on us in ten minutes," said Mama Lavelle as the three of them began to walk for the door.

"Lock up after yourselves," said Mina. Leaving Benson and Randy alone. Alone at last. After so long.

He was shooting towards him like a bullet from a gun at once. Grabbed him. Kissed soft full lips like he wanted to eat him alive. Randy was gasping, half crying, keening high.

Shoving him onto the laundry floor. Pulling at his uniform, hungry desperate animal. No grace, no skill. Shoved his legs up and apart. Randy's mouth opens to receive his fingers, sliding over his tongue, gathering spit. Then down inside his hole. A rapid hurried prep. Swearing, panting helplessly;

"Fuck, fuck...need you now, need you fucking now fuck..."

Pulls his cock from his pants, spits on it, slicking himself up with saliva. Randy is making pathetic bleating sounds, hands gripping Benson's arms for dear life. Benson positions his cock head against his winking hole, starts the push in.

"My angel, my angel, don't leave me, don't ever leave me again, oh fuck, angel, angel..."

"Oh...oh... Bensoooon...!" he squeals and throws his head back, knocking against the concrete floor. Benson immediately cradles the back of his skull, protecting it.

"Don't get a fuckin' concussion..."

Helpless laughter. Hands up Benson's biceps...arms wrapped around his neck, hand in his hair growing long, shaggy down his neck. Benson fucks him against the floor, grunting like a caveman touching every inch of him with greedy palms, his ribs and hair and nipples and ass. Presses his ankles nearly down to his ears. Thumping, thumping in. Droplets of sweat falling down onto Randy's face. Saw his pink tongue flick out to lap it up. 

"Missed you so much..."

"Me too..."

"Dreamt about you..."

"Ughhh...me too..."

"Yeah? What was I doing? Fuckin' you like this?" 

"Yeah...yeah..."
 
Manhandles him around to his front, pins his wrists to his back. Falls over him, squashed against the floor, slapping hips, wet smacking sounds, clenching heat. Sniffs like a dog at the sweaty nape of his neck. Sinks his teeth into his throat. Salty skin, tart blood. Randy trembles violently all over.

"There gonna come in n' see us..." he whispered with delight.

"Everyone know what a whore you are..."

"See you fucking me....know I'm yours..."

Tipped him over the edge. Unloaded inside his hole, hot and wet. His walls clung to him tight, not wanting to release him. Keep his cock inside him forever. Kissed him all over his sweaty pink neck and temple.

Footsteps outside in the corridor. A guard on the way. They reluctantly parted, cleaned up as well as they could. Hurried out hand in hand, locking the door behind, slinking away before they could get caught.

The rest of the day and night they just slept in Randy's bottom bunk, limbs twisted together like braids. Refusing to be parted. Not again.

That next morning they rose together, clinging tightly to each other's bodies. Benson saw Weston heading for them. Put a few books on top of his locker. He'd set aside the new library books for him to make sure he got them.

"Agatha Christie," Benson said with a slight smile. "My Ma loves all that mystery stuff."

Weston just smiled.

"Nice to have you back, man," he replied.

They had the meeting with Beard. It went well, Randy opened up his soul, telling her his lifelong fears of destroying her life. She was comforting, reassuring. Randy cried, she got a bit teary as well.

Benson felt…strange. Pleased for his baby, obviously. But...a feeling of emptiness too. Randy’s problems were something he could work on, overcome. Benson felt like he was just a lost cause. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Benson together again.

At the end of the meeting, Beard told them they both had visitors on the weekend. Lisa was visiting Randy. And Ma was visiting him. She hadn't in ages. No doubt heard he was out of seg, and had an extra year...fuck...she knew about...about Sheppard now, no doubt. Felt all...weird and sickly. Like he might cry.

That night Randy was the big spoon for the first time. To be cradled in his arms, feeling his heart beat against Benson's back. Felt safe. Finally safe.

He hadn’t been to the visitation room in ages. Saw Donny with his Ma in a wheelchair. Gave him an awkward side hug, bent down to kiss her on the cheek. A few tables over, Randy was sitting with the Simpson, both looking stiff and uncomfortable. Santos with his kids jumping all over him, squealing with excitement. Donny left for the vending machine, which was just an excuse to give the Boudreaux's some privacy.

"Gettin’ an extra year," Ma said in her familiar comforting drawl.

"Yeah…"

"Elliot Sheppard…" she said, and it was like a cupful of poison into his belly, burning bloody vomit through the guts. He swallowed, couldn’t look at her.

"Susan Sheppard says it’s a smear campaign what he was arrested for," she said. "But it’s…it’s true? It’s true Benny?"

He couldn’t speak. He was a little boy, wanting to sleep in Ma’s bed, and she drew him in to her arms. Asked him what was wrong, why was he wetting his bed, why didn’t he want to sleep on his own? And he couldn’t tell. Couldn’t do nothing. Was frozen still. Helpless. He’d noticed the fights with Pa were getting more frequent, noticed how Ma was developing a nasty hacking cough. Didn’t want to add to all her worries. She didn’t push to know why he withdrew in on himself. Distracted by her own issues with her illness and disintegrating partnership. A part of him resented her for it…ignored her own kid when there was clearly something wrong. Still it wasn't all her fault and he hated himself for it. He didn’t talk to her. He didn’t explain.

He's not ready even now to tell her. Coated in cold sweat, feeling the dread like a cloud of acid rain above him. Her hands are trembling, and the guilt surges afresh. Doesn’t want to burden her with his own shit, not when she’s sick already.

She rolls her chair over. Puts her weak stick arms around him, and he hears the wheeze of her breath in her bird chest. He puts his head on her shoulder, shaking, shaking, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

They don’t talk about it. Just silently hug.

Once it's time to go back to the dorm, he sees Lisa Simpson, shooting Marciello’s redheaded guard an interested look. She returns it. Strikes Benson as funny. Of course Randy’s ex-girlfriend was a lesbian, of course. 

"What did she say?" Benson said, getting them each a soda and then flopping onto the bottom bunk with him, snuggling up at once. Couldn't bear being separated for very long nowadays. Always had to be holding hands, hugging. Were getting the nickname of the Lovebirds throughout the dorm.

"Oh…?" Randy choked a bit on his mouthful of drink. "Uh…she said she…dumped me because…because…well basically because I just seemed detached and uninterested…"

"And cause she’s gay?"

Randy looked at him, blinking.

"She was sending that red-headed guard a look."

"Oh Jess Ambrose?"

Of course, he knew the names of the guards.

"She had a point. I think I was frozen for years. Felt like I had to repress everything, act like this…unfeeling robot. So I wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again."

"But being a sexy robot hurt the Simpson, y’know. She felt like you didn’t give a shit."

"Yeah…and I didn’t…didn't even destroy Miss Beard’s life at all. My brain just told me I did."

Benson stroked his hair.

"You’re brain’s a real asshole to you, y’know."

Then he kissed his forehead.

"How was your Ma?"

Benson shifted uncomfortably. Didn’t want to talk about that.

"We’ve got a whole year together now," said Randy. Knew him so well. Sensed his unease at once and didn't push him. Just changed the subject.

"Hell fucking yeah."

"Thanks to Miss Beard."

"Yeah. Here’s to Miss Beard."

And then they tapped their sodas together in a toast. Drank to the Cyclops who had reunited him with his Angel. His guiding light.

Chapter Text

It feels horrible waking up alone. So used to waking up with his boy. Only been gone a few days, but it was unbearable. It was alright, it was alright. It was his last day. He was seeing Randy soon.

He sat up stretched. One thing on his mind; 'I'll see him soon, I'll see him soon.'

The bunk next to him didn't have Marciello and Fowler-Jones anymore. Marciello had been released, Fowler-Jones had passed away. Now there were two loud annoying cousins who wouldn't stop yapping at each other, drove him nuts.

Marciello had a rough last month here. Jess Ambrose cold-shouldering him completely, absolutely contemptuous of his frat bro flirting that once worked a charm on her. Ambrose was up on the rail right now, dreamily admiring her engagement ring. Had started dating Randy's ex the past year. Engaged in six months.

Benson gathered his commissary. Would divvy it out among the friends he'd made here. There was a little giraffe origami that Uriah had made him at the surprise going away party that'd been thrown for him and Randy on the weekend. Popped it in his pocket. Felt a tightening in his throat, heart feeling swollen, eyes damp. Fuck don't cry. Keep it together, goddamn.

Remembered how Mama Lavelle had cried at the party, hugged them both and said 'don't you dare be strangers.' The original laundry ladies were thinning out now that Randy was gone. Mina had been released a month before. There was a new little eighteen-year-old called Elle that they'd taken under their wing though.

After making his usual soup and coffee for breakfast, he began his last round.

Santos gave him a typical 'bro' hug just a quick pat on the back when Benson offered him some coffee. One visitation, he'd bribed a guard into being able to take his baby mama into the bathrooms. Now she was pregnant with twins. Upset that'd it be the first birth he'd miss.

"Best of luck man," he said. "Don't end up back here."

Benson nodded, not looking at him, not wanting him to see his damp eyes.

"And don't be a stranger," he said.

"Course," Benson said gruffly.

CK's bunk was closest. Fresh prison ink shining on his bicep as he lay napping in his his bunk. Not as great as Henare had been, but still not bad. He cracked an eye open and smiled.

"Hey you ever want a third, you know who to call on the outside," he said after gratefully taking Benson's cigarettes. Woodstock had been released not long after Benson had been sentenced to an extra year. Poor bastard CK only had that freak Xavier now.

Mama Lavelle and Aggie he gave his shampoo and liquid soap. Mama Lavelle, teary, said to give Randy a hug from her. Don't cry Benson, don't cry...

"We'll put a plaque up behind the washing machines in your honor," said Aggie with a grin. The spot in question had become his and Randy's favourite place to fuck. Christ couldn't believe he'd be fucking him in a proper bed soon.

Benson gave Weston his warm sodas. Weston offered him a handshake so firm it nearly shattered his hand.

"Don't you end up in here again, y'hear?" he told him sternly. All his food, soups and jerky, he was giving to Uriah, who had no one to put money on his books. Unfortunately Uriah was back in med for another self harm incident. Trusted Weston to get the food to him.

Now it was just time to wait. His whole body alight with nerves and excitement. Gonna see his baby soon. Gonna get out of here forever.

It was around noon he hears the call.

"Time to go Boudreaux."

His heart starts beating hard and his hands shake. Nods at Santos who gives him a thumbs up. The laundry ladies send him encouraging smiles as he's lead out. Weston waves. CK blows a kiss.

His mind is a blur as he's checked out. Takes the prison uniform off for the last time. Crazy to put on his old clothes, faded jeans, boots and a tank with some band logo across the front. Then he's allowed to go. And he walks out. A free man.

Looks around for him at once, feeling too hot, all tingly, heart a painful drum. Then he grins, endeared when he spots his boy in his regular clothes, waving wildly by a car and beaming at him. Looks like his mommy picked out his outfit, button up and pressed pants. Looked like a giant dweeb.

"Why you dressed like a Mormon missionary?" he said and then swooped him up in his arms, kissing all over his lovely blushing face. Reacquaint himself with his smell with the taste of his skin with the sound of his breathing. His arms wrapped around him, and he was immediately so hard it was painful. Captured his mouth, crowding him up against the side of the car. Tangling his hand in his hair. Kissing him like it was the end of the world, not letting him up for air. Randy was gasping into his mouth.

"We're gonna get thrown back in for indecent exposure," he finally managed to say. Benson laughed. Rested his forehead against his. Just staring, drinking him in. The light freckles up close, the greenish blue of his eyes, the shape of his nose and brow. Memorize it, memorize it all.

"I got us a motel room," he said with a shy little smile.

"Yeah?" he grinned back. Slipping his hand down to his ass, grabbing it.

"You gonna take me there?"

Randy nodded eagerly. Goddamn cutie.

There's a fast food bag in the passenger seat when he opens the door.

"For you," Randy said with big eyes.

"Fuckin' angel," he replied and made him blush. As he starts the car, Benson absolutely devours it. Groans, never thought a burger would give him a hard on. Fresh steaming hot meat and bread, deliciously salted fries and soda that's fucking cold. He'd even got him a hash brown, sweet thing, had remembered him saying in passing how it was his favourite food. Tasted like nectar from the gods. Belly felt nice and full. Randy treated him damn well. Better than he deserved.

The rest of the trip he keeps his hand on Randy's thigh, stroking the soft flesh, leaving grease stains from the fast food there. Wants to eat him alive next. Tear him apart. Looking so good, breeze from the open window tossing his curls around, sun making him look all the more angelic.

They pull into your average roadside motel. The second they're in the door, Benson's on him, shoving him against the wall, burying his mouth in to his neck, biting and biting and biting.

"I was only gone for a little while," said Randy trying to keep his tone light-hearted. His voice was shaking though. Benson took his face roughly in his hands. Kissed his temple, over to the tear wet eyelids, then his sweet trembling lips. Tongue pushing into his mouth.

"Don't care how long," he whispers. "Any time apart from you is too long."

Randy wrapped his arms around his neck as Benson pushed him against the wall. Kissed the bite marks he'd left on his neck, tasted his warm pulse. Felt his soft lips over Benson's cheeks and mouth and jaw.

"Bed," he gasped. "Bed..."

"Never fucked in a bed," he said with a laugh in his voice. Randy's answering laugh was cut off by a squeak as Benson walked him backwards to the mattress. Fell in a heap on top of each other. Saw the lube on the bedside table, laughed again.

"Got ready for me, huh?"

"Yeah... I was...thinking about you all last night..."

"I can see that," he leered picking up the half empty bottle. Fuck foreplay. Just needed him. Poured a dollop of lube on his hand ad Randy wiggled out of his pants and underwear. Opening up his legs. Gonna fuck him properly...not on the floor somewhere, rushing to finish before they got caught. Felt like heaven.

Slid a finger inside his tight heat. Found the sweet spot in record time and Randy rocked down eagerly against his touch. Made circles there, teasing slow. Randy's head fell across the pillow. Whined high and Benson answered it with a groan.

"Want my cock?"

"Want it..."

"Make you feel so good baby?"

"Yes...yes..."

Smeared lube over his aching shaft. Watched his face crease in pain and pleasure as he sheathed himself inside. Oh, it felt like home. Embraced by the familiar griping heat. So perfect. Just for him, only him.

The first fuck he broke his promise. Didn't take his time on him like he'd said he would. Just fucked him like an animal. Came in his clenching hole, made him come all pretty on his cock.

They stumbled to the shower afterwards. Wasn't long before they launched into round two.

Rutted against each other, wet and slippery under the lukewarm spray. Pushing the head of his cock against Randy's like a kiss. Felt the electricity with each touch of their cocks together.

Hand goes to his nipple. Starts to stroke and pinch it nice and swollen as Randy desperately ground against him. He lets out a stuttering cry. Benson kisses down his body to the other nipple. Takes it into his mouth. Feels it harden under his tongue. Lathers the shower damp flesh in spit, tugging at the other.

"Love your pretty tits, honey," he groans and drinks in the high keen Randy made.

"Turn 'round," he demands and Randy obeys. Gets down to his knees and grabs at the soft flesh of his ass. Smacking it hard, slapping his hands down to leave red handprint marks. Prising the cheeks apart to reveal his loose cum slick hole. Sees his load oozing out and groans. Randy is panting, legs shaking. Benson can't help himself. Dives in. Sticks his tongue there, tastes the slick quivering bud.

"Benson!"

His fingers dig in, leaving vibrant bruises. Lapping at him. Driving his tongue in past the tight ring of muscle. He's delicious so goddamn delicious.

He's crying his name out like a mantra, rocking his hips to drive Benson's tongue further into his ass. Pre-come dribbling down the shower wall.

"Please...please... I want you in my mouth... I want you in my mouth..."

"Fuck baby," he gasps back, slipping off of him. Sees the beard burn he left behind over his hole. Leaving his marks all over him. Claiming him as his own.

He got up with a complaining sound, feeling his aching bones protest. Randy went down to his knees at once. He cradled his head, stroking his wet blonde hair. His pretty pink mouth opened, tongue slipping out, big eyes staring up at him. Fucking angel.

Shoved his cock down his willing throat. Randy obediently kept his hands in his lap, could have grabbed onto Benson's legs, but knew his boundaries. Let Benson fuck his face, eyes rolling with pleasure as he humped his own hand. Tight wet glorious mouth. Showed him no mercy, throat fucking him until he retched and choked and drooled. Benson swore, grabbing his head tight, forcing it over his spasming cock. Pulling his hair nearly out if the roots and Randy shuddered at the delicious agony. Came in his hand. The feeling of his mouth and throat slackening loose and open tipped Benson over the edge. Threw his head back, came again feeling the second orgasm wrack through his body.

After toweling off they went back to bed naked, tired out from two orgasms. Randy snuggled up in his arms.

"I thought we could go to the zoo and the creek tomorrow..." he said in his sweet voice. Benson ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah," he said. "Today I just want to enjoy you though. As much as I can."

Randy pressed himself more firmly into his arms.

"I love you, BB," he murmured.

"I love you too honey."

Freedom tasted better with him.