Michael knew the job was dangerous and there was going to be hell afterwards if things did not go as planned, and he was right - it got them five years - it was the most embarrassing kind of fuck up there ever could be: they got a tipped off by 'anonymous sources' from their Carcer City job. The best part: they had two (hopefully unoccupied) beds waiting for them in the worse part of Quincy State Correctional Facility, and Michael was shitting himself while Trevor slouched into the seat having a grand old time picking his lock in less than six moves and doing sleight of hand saying to himself, "See, Mike? Y'see me now - now you don't, eh - y'see me…"
"We're dead, kid," Michael looked across Trevor at the blacked out window, the bars all the more daunting a prelude to their trip to QSCF, he thought of Amanda and her pregnancy with Twins of all the most unneeded pressures in his life, "Dead. Dead like the ten-thousand presidents we got pinched for."
"Lemme tell you something about your cynicsm, Mikey, eh?" Trevor looked to his mentor, and shit-oh-shit did the boy turn nearly every head their way when he looked up at Michael beneath his thick eyebrows and slicked back overgrown crew cut, (his thick Canadian accent really sealed the deal of making him the cellblock cum-dump) his voice just finally grown into full rich deepness, "It'll get us killed, and I don't know about you, but I'm starting to like where the good lord put my skin and I'd want to keep it that way, eh."
"Your face? Be thankful it ain't getting stripped Elsewhere," Michael brushed a hand through the short dark hairs on his sweaty neck, he swore his sweat smelled like a bag of warm hamburger meals.
"Bah! Fuck my face! I meant my ass. Comprendo amigo?" Trevor nearly jumped up from his seat, he clicked the cuffs back on and tied a string on the wire, he swallowed the wire enough that it was invisible and he could tug it out by the string when the time came, Michael was always surprised at how Grown the kid seemed to sound along with the hardness in his big hazel eyes, "The ole turd-cutter doesn't Need any cops or cons busting in like they've caught the Yankton-Strangler. Yea, you heard right, eh, it's back-end nugatory-territory."
"Sticking to your alibi this time, huh?" Michael looked down at his young colleague, (thanking his lucky stars that he never got anyone pregnant at a young age, because he would otherwise have been raising a pair of little pricks the same age as Trevor) he remembered the first time Trevor said the same things the year before about refraining from 'bodily impulse', "You're really hard-up on this whole 'born again virgin'-hype, ain't ya, kid? How long ago was it you took and broke those particular vows the same day you made them, for your hockey coach no less?"
"Okay, that was…twice. There comes a time in every young man's life when he is faced with the Man Upstairs and a fucking five-year sentence in the most degenerate hole available without having first hand the sweet bliss of 'recreational experimentation', quite a stretch, eh?" Trevor was staring straight into Michael's face, his nose wriggling in the slightest from the crazy itch there was to growing facial hair, "Especially the temptations of the tits, tush and twat. It was the hockey stick or my prick, and there was Technically no bodily goings-on where my cock was concerned. It was Purely consensual."
"Bullshit," Michael grumbled as he turned away first, he knew that stare would be the death of him if he looked too long, "Alright, you're not kidding."
"Sure as shit," Trevor lilted, his head leaning again towards his older colleague, "Eh, sugar-tits?"
"Shut the fuck up, that ain't funny, little dude," Michael bumped his shoulder to Trevor whom only broke out into a slightly buck-toothed grin.
"Oh, pork-chop's got a bite, and I know exactly where that shit flies, Mike," Trevor pointed to a man in uniform at the very head of their sputtering tin-can, there with a gun in hand stood an officer behind a shielded metal mesh cage with the driver, the pale blue eyes kept darting to the pair and back to the only window available within vision, "Eh, sugar-tits?"
"I'm gonna fucking defile you before our sentence is up if you keep talking enough shit to get even Brad jealous," Michael chuckled to his partner in crime.
"You and these pencil-dick fuck-heads best grow yourself a metal cock 'cause if it takes swallowing razors, glass, pins and needles to shred some ill-advised bastard's cock-" Trevor only gave a smug sneer as he illustrated his point by opening his mouth wide and biting down hard enough to make his teeth click loudly, and scaring the other inmates' eyes off him, "-by fucking Balls, this'll be fun, eh."
The state of Quincy was just east of North Yankton, snuggled perfectly against the Canadian border, even then Michael had to comment among other things about seeing his damp breath in the noontime 'sunny' day, "It's cold as a witch's tit in this fucking eighteen-wheeled rat-trap! Motherfuck!"
"Can I enjoy my first incarceration in peace, Mike?" Trevor had a fingernail inside the chain links and tinkered with the metal, and just before Michael could face the fact that his younger colleage was much more cool at going to prison than him, the boy slammed his feet on the floor and growled, "I'm gonna lose my fucking mind if we're not there in the Fucking prison in the next Fucking hour before I can't feel my Fucking Face!"
Out from the front came an officer (every man within sights had their cocks pointed his direction and maybe harbored a barely-concealed man-crush) he looked like he stepped straight out of the pages of a top-shelf magazine with his pale blue eyes and fuck-me-lips, it was only then the guy stepped before Michael and Trevor's seat, "Is there a problem, son?"
"Yes, there is-" Trevor read off the tag stitched on the officer's chest, "-Nor-ton. Are you delivering us frozen and compliant to the fucking criminal melting-pot, eh?"
"Ease down, boy-" the officer known as Norton cocked the pump action shotgun, not to alarm anyone just so that his 'you're just another paycheck and justifiable murder' stance was taken more seriously than Trevor lead on by blowing a loud raspberry with his lips, "We're just about there."
Trevor nearly stood to full one-hundred-fifty-centimeters in height until Michael put a firm hand on his shoulder, which Trevor heeded but shook off agitatedly, he instead resorted to sneering, "Hey, Mr. Piggy, I hope you're at the very fuckin finish line ready and waiting to give me a full-body rub."
"Huh, good kid-" Norton huffed, hearing the retorts of similar wording but always by someone Way older than the kid flashing him a set of white teeth, he looked to Michael whom was obviously trying to keep Trevor under his thumb and having trouble processing his request, "-keep him out of trouble and maybe, just Maybe, you two will walk out of here alive."
"And we hold it to you, Norton," Michael nodded unquestioningly.
"Was that a threat, bacon-bits?" Trevor again stood up but not enough that he Was considered a viable asset or instrument to obstruct 'justice', he had that gleam which made him see red and made his muscles jump like he was ready to get into a penalty-box brawl, "Because I might be young, but I've got a quarterback ready to throw his shit into the grinder and stuff you like a nice holiday ham. Bow, blood and all."
"Whoa, whoa, we're off on the wrong foot, officer-" Michael squeezed Trevor's shoulder harder because he was ready to break from his grip, he laughed nonchalantly as Trevor again settled upon the seat, "Kids these days, them and their shitty neon print and generic rock music. He's just missing his momma, right?"
"No, boy," Norton leaned down into the two's breathing space, he tapped the gun and squeezed the safe-locked trigger, "A good-hearted warning. The men you've got yourself in with - they're the threats, and nobody pushes too kindly on potty-mouthed baby-faces with your Northern 'charms'."
"If my mother didn't tell me to be a good boy and play nice with you fucking pigs - Ohh!- Fuck!" Trevor growled, the sound coming from deep inside his stomach as he bit his tongue to the memory of his mother waggling a finger at him after dropping him off at the police station, he fisted his cuff's chain links, "You would have gotten some Real nasty shit to deal with, officer Norton."
Norton stood up to full height while the bus gradually pulled to a stop and awaited clearance at the gates, he nodded to the young soon-to-be inmate, "So we've come to an agreement, boy?"
"Crystal-" Trevor held up the OK sign with his fingers, but rotated his wrist until he was making a motion of smoking a bowl, "-Meth."
"Keep your boy on a leash, pal, there're enough Cold War bastards preaching equal rights, freedom, hate for the weaker sex and communism in the same handbook," Norton paced back to the front to escort the new crop to the grinding pit, he shot an unaffected last look at both Michael and Trevor, adding a humorless wink, "Exactly like You pair of daisies doing the american Justice System proud by burning the star-spangled-banner and the proud history with it. But who isn't?"
"And we'll do just fine walking the Fair, corruption-free legal tightrope in hell? Fan-fucking-tastic!" Michael shouted to the retreating officer as they began to file out of the bus, he said upon meeting Norton at the reinforced door at the bottom of the bus's aluminum stairs, "It's not like I had a family and life to live, right? What kind of fucking holiday camp're you running here, bub?"
"A reasonable one; a violence-free environment facilitating the rehabilitation for wayward criminals," Norton shrugged, surprising the two in his non-domineering manner, he waved them with his shotgun towards an open metal door enclosing a concrete wall nearly eleven yards high tipped with razor wire and lookout towers stationing fully-armed officers, "Welcome to Quincy State, where everyone Like you stews until you can't tell your ass from your mouth."
"And how does that happen? Eh, pig-sucker, does the warden give his officers a night-stick fucking, too?" Trevor looked back to the officer prodding them onwards, he smiled to Michael at his side, "Don't you just feel the Love, Mike?"
The men were paraded off the bus through a basemen-like lot beneath the prison, each given a number and taken through check-in by being unlocked of their cuffs and stripping down to their underwear, undershirt and socks; Michael shrugged out of his plaid flannel jacket and button up shirt, his jeans and snow boots last as he put them into a bag. He stood around until the others finished and felt himself being scoped out as a prospective 'stress reliever', he scooted himself closer to Trevor to block out any eyes behind them while the kid yanked off his denim jacket sporting the Lone Wolf Royal Canadian Air Force insignia on the back and sleeves, he kept his faded and torn green t-shirt on, he wiggled out of his canvas pants and hiking shoes as others looked on at his threadbare baby blue Derrière-brand panties and pale legs stuck into sagging knee-length socks.
"Panties, T?" Michael glanced down when Trevor straightened up, he knew his worry would only get him a sneer in turn so he instead disregarded the rest of the leers aimed their way, "Last I heard was the bozos forcing kids like you into them sexy little numbers, making 'em all the more appetizing like chronic bed-wetters on dry ice."
"It was either This or the tie-dye thongs my mother bought me. D'oh!" Trevor smacked his head in frustration and said, "Should have gone with thongs! Always classy, mother. Always classy."
"And I mistook you for a traditionalist," Michael shuffled his feet on the cold concrete floor, his bones nearly jumping out of his feet in the frigid autumn air.
"In a strange way, maybe I'm not," Trevor folded his arms over his chest, making his hockey muscles stand out and wave hello to everyone looking.
Michael heard a couple of sneers behind him, he grit his teeth hard thinking better that their positions in the caste would be decided away from the cops than having his ass thrown into solitary confinement on his first day, he shouted, "Hey, what's the holdup, huh? We're naked in below-freezing temperatures, could catch and worst a cold up in this frigid dump!"
The line inched forward, by the time Michael was second in line, his feet had turned blue and gone numb, he approached the barred window with a small slot etched through, the officer sitting at the desk pulled out a fresh page with Michael's information already stamped on top, maybe he was just bored or sarcastic, "Name?"
"Michael Townley," Michael answered, he shifted from one foot to the other in hopes of keeping his blood flowing and bones from fusing to his flesh, the officer took his bag of items and listed down on his log an inventory of possessions, watching as his wallet was emptied and dollars pocketed, he sneered cheerlessly, "Yeah, that's nice - they pay you to screw the scheme, also?"
"We're just playing by Your rules, convict," the officer stamped and sealed the files away and pulled up another set, he waved Michael aside and shouted, "Next!"
Trevor strode up to the booth right behind Michael, his own belongings neatly folded and bagged, he handed his articles to the officer whom most definitely saw Trevor's military service on the record, he was again hassling the Canadian since it was rare that they at Quincy State were utilized to entertain their cousins from up north.
"Up here, fish," the officer motioned to Trevor's dogtags, Trevor took off his tags and dropped them into his underwear, unfazed and annoyed, the officer wiped a greasy hand through his sweaty head and inquired non-too entertained by the happenings, "Name?"
"Uh, let's see here… Yankton Strangler," Trevor leaned into the window like he was letting the officer in on a secret, no sooner was he thrust up the wall and pinned like a moth on display against the bulletproof glass, he laughed wickedly all the while testing the touchy subject of a known *(still yet to be identified) serial killer, "Loosen up, fuckers, you're not the ones' fearing the death of chivalry! I'm in here for the next five years and I'm beginning to regret getting locked in by a bunch of assholes without a shred of humor, eh!"
"What's your fucking name, son?" the officer stood up and showed off a paunch which flopped over his belt and sweat stains in his armpits, Trevor whooped out breathless belly-laughs with his face pushed up to the window, a nightstick prodded his ribs and another against his lower ribcage, "C'mon, don't make this scene bloody, boy."
"Eh! Eh! Get your fucking mitts off me, sweetie, or they're comin off," Trevor pushed the weapons away with his arms and squirmed around until he was growling into another officer's face, "Tr-ev-or Phillips; look into the shorts and you'll find something hard that Isn't a flashlight."
"Get the fuck back in line, smart guy," the officer roughly pushed Trevor into the outgoing line to the showers, his toiletries and customary jail-wear were thrown at him in parting, "Pull up those socks and no more cute shit."
"Sir, yea, sir!" Trevor gave a fake salute, he turned around bent over with his ass in the air and pulled up his socks, he marched off stiff-legged after Michael.
"No talking in the showers!" a voice on the intercom boomed, as the inmates began trickling into the large concrete room where nothing but stainless steel spouts lined the walls, scrubbed tile covered the floor and sprinklers poked from the ceilings, Trevor set his paper bag down next to Michael and stuffed his thin t-shirt into the bag while leaving on all his other under articles.
Michael only proceeded to plod naked up to an untaken shower spout next to his younger colleague, and again, he felt those stares on him, scanning over his body seeing if he was a threat or even able to take on maybe a dozen men in one go, his ass cheeks involuntarily squeezed shut as if to keep the eyes from seeing the homophobe he was inside, not saying he was Completely against doing anything and everything to come out of QSCF with most of his parts intact. He puffed out his barrel chest and straightened up his muscle-taut shoulders and back to give himself some much-needed bluster-build if not for the hard poker-face he was already sporting, a cold swath of disinfectant and pesticide powder hit his back, trickling down his ass to his thick legs, showerheads tentatively sputtered on tepid water one by one. Nothing helped the cold outside seeming to turn the entire room into a freezer, things could be worst.
Trevor on the other hand, was spiking his hair into a mohawk, his head and arms keeping to a silent beat, he hummed some popular radio tune most likely confused between Metallum's 'Exit Boogeyman' and another nameless song by the Crumbling Stones. Eyes squinting away water, he rubbed the powder into his skin and into his sunken mohawk, his body was defined yet lean, a few hairs dusting the center of his pecs and short dark hairs peppering his arms, legs and back, he looked only more mysterious with the blue panties clinging to his package and the dog tags' weight making the panty sag down the center. Though decidedly straight they were, the inmates could barely help themselves from witnessing Trevor's cock slowly give shape to the thin underwear, the outline clear and at the same time restrained. The pair rinsed quickly as Michael saw a shadow befall them, a strong hand slapped unto Trevor's shoulder, roughly spinning him around to face the gang of five inmates whom shared the bus ride from North Yankton with Trevor and Michael.
The 'whatever' posture loosely made by Trevor only pissed off Michael more, he had his own huge fists up, thick forearms flexing and cock swinging flaccid between his thighs, the voice in his throat died choked by anticipation and a lingering fear, Trevor suddenly cracked the guy in the brow with his forehead, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "I don't give a shit about my fuckin police record!"
" 'Cause you twirl me right 'round, baby!" Trevor grabbed the next arm swinging over his head, he ducked under the arm he still held and pushed the bent arm with little resistance up between the sopped shoulder blades, the shoulder dislocated, his out-of-tune shout rang the chorus line, "Right the Fuck 'round!"
"And you make me feel…!" he slapped the ass before him, the crack of wet skin on naked skin resounded before he bent the body in half at the waist, he pushed his hard cock unto the other man's scrotum, the inmate howled and bawled since his arm was still painfully held against his back and Trevor's pushing only punctuated his bone grinding on the displaced tendons, "Oh! You make me feel - Like a choir Boy!"
Trevor raised his arms as Michael threw a skull-shattering slug at a lunging inmate, he dodged a fist blowing past his left ear and whipped his fists in a left-right combination at the inmate, "Hey, Mikey, you so fast - You so fast you kiss much ass!"
"Hey, ya pappy!" Trevor threw his knuckles into another's kidney, the person doubled over and slipped unto the floor, he looked at the surrounding audience itching to join and eager to have a piece of the two new inmates, he smacked his chest with his flat palms through the chaos behind him, "Hey, ya mamma!"
"You're fucking Jammin at a time like This,T!" Michael threw a charging inmate to the nearest wall, they slipped to the floor and rolled unto his back to wrestle down an inmate, until Trevor threw off his shirt and slapped the wet article on the inmate, giving the man a stupidly-astonished glare speechless to the low IQ, Michael stood up, "Do you mind putting up your dukes and pulling your cock outta your hand for a moment!"
"I'm your P-P-P-P-Petrol-Bomb!" Trevor waved his shirt in circles as the alarm blaring off the end of shower time, he wrung out his t-shirt on the bloodied inmates still littering the floor and groaning, he stepped atop a few bodies to get to his bag of toiletries, "Party on, assholes. Careful on the wet tile, its slippery."
Bruises formed on the pair, the worst darkening on Michael's side and elbow, his fists swelling and having a heartbeat of their own also, he pulled a crude towel from his paper bag and laid out his clothing, Trevor took out a pillow case and reveled in the cotton cloth sopping moisture from his thick hair and body. Michael could hardly help himself from ruffling the dark brown hair, Trevor did a whole-body shake forcefully wringing himself of the clinging water beads, they dressed in silence, Michael pulled on his knee-high white socks, his issued jeans and denim long-sleeve button-up, the collar upturned as he pulled out his comb and ratted his bangs up high, and combed his hair perfectly straight from his scalp to flick the back into a ducktail.
They were each given crappy leather boots which laced up from the snubbed brown nose to the long padded neck, Trevor dressed himself the exact same, save for tying his shirt around his waist and pulling his 'MoonDog BatShit' t-shirt back on, the two looked each other up and down before Trevor chuckled and slapped his knees, "You fucking antiquated cliché!"
"You fucking innovative stereotype," Michael shot back while again ruffling Trevor's hair, he then rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, showing off a few bruises and colorful scars, his younger colleague was without a single cosmetic blemish, but on his side was to twist his face into ugly battle-masks of insane doom, masterfully enough that even his own commanding officers and psychiatrists were struck by the 'Phillips-Fear'.
They were herded into a room glaring puke-yellow walls and acrylic-painted dark seats, as if half-attempting to hide the gray with watered down shades of outside life; each man knew to their own of the lie and containing it inside the insufferably close walls and stale scent of piss-on-paint. Orientation was short, sweet, to the point and more or less put a smile on Trevor's face, "Obey and survive. Get the fuck to lunch, you detestable shits."
Like ants pouring out of an angry hill, each man filed out of the room into another bare concrete tunnel, the sounds on the other side deafening, Michael looked to Trevor wondering if the kid was at all worried, but instead saw a gleam shining in his wide hazel eyes and an excited smile cleaving his wicked face in half. White-gray light showered the vast opening: six floors spread on either side made of concrete and lined by metal pipes, among those leaning over the railings were thugs ranging of all sizes, of all ethnicities grouped into their own little cliques, over a thousand inmates crowded into close living spaces proved nearly too much for those seeing the place for the first time, others were shouting greetings to their fraternity comrades. The two could have passed under the radar until Michael saw Trevor's eyes holding each gaze sizing them up, committing visual sins of the flesh as they passed through behind a see-through wall of wire-fencing, Michael knew they should have appeared tougher by staring straight ahead and walking tall, but Trevor was innocently staring each more hardened inmate up like a boy in a candy store - moreover a boy who hit puberty in his first peepshow or his first titty-shop.
"Lookee here, fellow Cracker-Barrels!" a tiny man squeaked from the top floor, every seeing inmate behind the wire fence eyed Trevor as he threw his bag over his shoulder and stopped before the group, Michael stopped at his side, blue eyes aimed the same direction up into some asshole's direction, the man leaned over the rail and shouted to his men, "We got us a payload o' white snow bunnies like a couple of Yankee-Doodles!"
"Yo, lily-white princess!" another inmate shouted at Trevor, rotten teeth displayed at his attempt to smile like Prince-Charming, instead looking more like a toad with his hairless head, long mouth and sweaty belly unable to stay held beneath the one-size-fits-all shirt issued to him, he yelled to Trevor's elbow nudging Michael in the rib, "The name's Horse!"
"Howdy, Horse!" Trevor grabbed unto the fence, pressing his face into the wire-grid as if his words were not enough to shock a boner unto the 'toad', he pulled off until the whole fence vibrated like an angry wave of disappointment, his hooted laughs infected the entire block, his tears stung as he pointed to the 'toad', "Hung like a castrated Gelding! Change your name, change your life, fuck-face!"
"Hey, baby!" just down the block came a voice, Trevor stepped back stiff-legged from the hard lump formed inside his fitting denim jeans, a ways stood a muscled freak nearly two-and a half-yards tall, wrung entirely with muscle and tattoos, "Come up here and give daddy some head!"
"Gladly," Trevor licked his lips, savoring the cold sweeping his tongue, he pointed to the man, "I'll remember you, apple-cheeks! Just you wait!"
" 'Born-again virgin'-my ass, Trevor," Michael pulled his colleague away from the fencing, shuffling along awkwardly through the walkway to their destination where they were being frantically waved through by a young officer in uniform, he breathed so that no one would hear their conversation, "Fuck the entire prison system, why don't you?"
"That was the plan. Light flirting is a penitentiary requirement, cowboy," Trevor shuffled into the room, taking note of the various doors throughout and the open door at the very end, "Fuck, I'm starving! Do we scavenge for rats and roaches, some damned or other shit?"
They were given tin trays and plastic juice containers once arriving at their destination, the ungodly things being served seemed to be of no taste, nutritional content but only enough to keep them full, the short line for incoming inmates was nowhere near overwhelming as what they all had just seen outside the metal door, and the last thing they all expected were the servers: nuns in full garb and aprons, officers guarding them behind the same glass-and-mesh walls save for the long buffet-style serving range, more grey and concrete enclosing the vast mess-hall cutoff all escape and hope for scuttling from the cold, colorless walls. Michael found himself alone first, he trudged to an empty table made of plastic-coated welded slabs of metal, the round tables bolted to the floor and hardy metal stools numbering five to a table, he sat down and took out his stainless cutlery kit from the bag, he cut into something resembling a biscuit smothered in watery brown gravy, and mashed white paste next to another stringy green vegetable plopped into the four sections. His first bite was swallowed by a gagged choke, Trevor settled next to him soundlessly, his tray having only a bowl of thick soup giving off no steam as to show it's warmth, Michael slurped down his juice and swallowed another bite of Something-mushy.
"Hey, kid, don't go catatonic and nuts-o already on me," Michael huffed after gulping down a mouthful of the now-flavored 'meat patty' and gravy, he remembered food being better when the hippies used to serve Actual food (though vegetarian) with space-brownie desserts, none of that information seemed to be useful since Trevor ate the funny soup absentmindedly.
"Have you ever been in love, Mike?" Trevor's mouth hung partially open as he mumbled but never fully chewed any of the crunchy bits, his too-pale cheeks were the color of ripe peach, and something inside Michael clicked, yet at the same time he was confused (Trevor 'Loved' anything and Everything on his good side).
"Can't say I can relate being that we're surrounded by the 'World's Longest Conga-Line Sausage Party', or these are some manly, hairy-ass broads we're within groping distance of. This is the shit you see when the male sex permanently loses their mojo and women take over the breadwinning rights," Michael said, at long last able to chew without tasting, he took another bite and quickly swallowed before his tongue came to it's senses and choked him with another dry retch.
"There it fucking is! That Sarcasm! That Fucking Sarcasm! Fuck!," Trevor shot a finger into Michael's face, jabbing between each word, he mimicked his best adding words to his hand puppet-shaped hands as they mouthed into the cold air, " 'Nyah-Nyah-Nyah-Nyah-Nyah, I'm gonna ruin an honest fucker's life today - nyah-Nyah!' You're worse than fucking Brad."
"Grow a pair, T," Michael simply said, he was in no mood to deal with the voices in Trevor's head or the demons ready to jump out of the kid's pants (anybody standing on the other side of that cock better make a runway for the rough landing), he swigged the last of his tasteless sugary drink and crushed the bottle under his foot, he screwed the lid unto the airtight plastic bottle and put it into his toiletry bag.
"Growing more balls requires that I let you borrow half, pal-" Trevor lost that goo-goo-eyed stare long enough to frown around his spoonful of newt-eye-and-puppy-tail-soup, the sudden wicked grin lighting up his darkened eyes warned Michael of the soon-to-be-received low-blow of all low-blows, "I don't know about you, but shouldn't you be asking Amanda back for those?"
"Bite me," Michael allowed the snide to drip from his words, it was the dickhead-voice whom seemed to be in control that hour, he flinched not before wincing and peeling Trevor's jaw from his shoulder, "What the fuck, T!"
"Yeesh! Y'smell like you've been cuddling up to road kill, Mike," Trevor reeled back, sliding his seat back and making the chair squeak painfully loud like a saw grinding on metal, he leaned over the space between his seat and the table edge, he slurped down another spoonful of the soup, "Should get your skin looked at, eh."
"I'm the last guy you should even be bothering about hygiene, kid," Michael spooned down another heaping pile of white paste and vegetables into his mouth, his teeth crunching painfully as if he were chewing on cold chunks of dry ice, he spat out a pebble and several grains of sand mixed into the 'food', he stomached the paste uneasily.
"You're the Only guy I should be bothering with that shit, hell, I give off like a bed of fucking Sunday roses and fresh laundry," Trevor bit into a soft buttered biscuit, then stuffed the rest into his mouth as he chewed the bread slowly, savoring and moaning into each breath, he sucked his fingertips clean and sneezed.
"Just zip it and finish your fucking…con-vomit stew. Ech," Michael poked inquisitively at the soup, he snatched his spoon back after swearing the soup burped at him, he gave up at all trying to eat and figured it was high time that he lost the nearly-flat spare tire stubbornly latched around his middle, he lounged on the stool and flicked his stainless utensils into his paper bag, "Starting with losing all taste in my mouth, it looks like we're gonna have a hell of a day."
"Amanda sucked all the fun out of you, eh?" Trevor shrugged to his indifferent mentor, he stirred his soup for a while waiting for Michael to answer, met with silence, he exclaimed a little too loudly so much that a few men turned their way, Trevor threw his arms to the air, "Cheer the fuck up! We're in for a good time, Mike, inside a shining example of racial-profiling and jingoism upon the government-corrupted-state facility, I think we're okay for landing balls-deep inside this wiener-cage doing small time. Get-the-fuck Stoked, hombre!"
Before Michael could even think up a sarcastic reply, Trevor waggled the spoon in his face and half growl-rasped, "Y'see that, eh? That was Optimism. The current bullshit may be thick and bleak, but fuck am I gonna smile my cock out like it's Mardi Gras morning sitting on five-grand easy."
"You're fucking insane, T!" Michael chuckled, thinking how his colleague had absolutely no needle on the moral compass spinning like a dizzy cuckoo in his head, he remembered just then a bit of their earlier conversation and asked before Trevor steered the discussion towards the argument of democracy and autocracy, "So who's the 'Romiet' to your 'Juleo'?"
"You'll know when you see her," Trevor sighed like he was breathing the ninety-nine-cent perfume of his first hooker, his rigid posture melted until he was supported by his elbows on his sagging shoulders and head propped dreamily on his enfolded fingers, his giggle shook Michael to the bone, "She's the most beautiful butterfly to ever break her cocoon without a rusty spoon and back-up scheme."
"Why are you attracted to the most outlandish female monstrosities-?" Michael followed the finger which pointed to a lone figure on the other side of the serving hall, half expecting the fur-dense snaggle-toothed lazy-eyed harlot from hell, he instead whispered urgently to Trevor, "Holy shit! She's a fucking Nun! Holy Mother Freaky-for-the-Savior could be your Grandma! Fuckin-A! She could be my own Ma!"
"What kind of sick hippo gave you life to call that sweet-" Trevor angrily retorted only to again have the wrath sucked from his brain as he glanced at the lone figure's direction, his words tapered into clipped honey-soaked drops of dandelion cotton-fluffs dancing like the enticing words of the unforgivable sins (which Trevor dutifully ignored), "-wonderful, pretty little thing…hmmm…"
"You're a fucking debauched child, T, and I'd be ashamed to have feelings down below for the ancient 'Bride of God' over there," Michael grumbled, knowing there was no changing his younger colleague's mind once it was set on a goal (a Highly unattainable one at that); he folded his arms over his paper bag and observed the eyes surveying them also, mostly multi-racial gorillas and those of lower position in their clique trying to make a name for themselves stared at Michael, sex-crazed maniacs and lockup pimps had their claws set for Trevor, he breathed out loudly not meaning to, "Boy, aren't we popular!"
" 'Course you would-" Trevor licked his spoon clean and dove in for another gooey mouthful, he swallowed and waved his spoon at Michael, "-because your emotions aren't pure like my love. Age is nothing but a number, and a matter of keeping the narrow-minded pricks like You off our case."
"She's not only Old, but a Nun as in 'celibacy vows, religious piety' and all that sanctified jazz washed down with vindicated whistle-blowing," Michael broke a dozen leers after several of the inmates turned away to watch an armed guard stride to the door, either to let them out to the yard or lead them to rot properly in their cells, he was more on edge than ever by both the trouble they were hardly prepared for and for Trevor's newest squeeze about to get them another year or two (depending on what Trevor felt would look good on their permanent records), "Do you want to be second-best to the dude runnin' the show up in the sky? We're talkin' church, state, -Sexual-maternal disasters here!"
"Shit, nail me to a fuckin' cross, flog me to the goddamn bone, I don't give the devil's fiery scrotum-wrinkle Who she's promised to," the scary part of Trevor speaking his mind was how he had the wide-eyed gleam in his eyes and serious line his lips made pressed hard together, he shrugged offhandedly, "I can share."
"I pity you, kid," Michael was a little sorry for Trevor also in their shitty predicament, he shook his head, "You're worse off than Brad."
"Nobody gets anywhere with pity, Mike-" Trevor looked as if he were going to stand and make inappropriate gestures or the like, but he nodded to Michael, "-except maybe a pew pity date, eh, so thank you."
"Your future children is the shit that makes me fear for my own future family, T," Michael tightened his arms around the other, contemplating If Trevor had kids, they would be more than missing half their sanity as their father, he shook his head at the thought of Trevor knocking up some poor coke-hooker sniffing crystal just His speed, "You scare up something fierce inside of me."
"Get a fucking hold of yourself, man!" Trevor leaned forward with his spoon and bowl of something-unappetizing-stew, Michael held back his equally-disgusting meal, the kid was again too level-headed for their own good, "We'd be taken for a couple of pussies if you lose your cool now, eh. At least wait until we're out of breathing-distance of every sexually-frustrated animal, then you can start lamenting your blessings."
"And I think we're about to find out, T," Michael straightened up his posture as a group of gorillas stalked their way, their style was similar to Michael's: greasy ratted-up hair, sleeveless faded t-shirts sporting prints of 'the King of Rockabilly' Silve Hearstly and flaming hotrods, their tattoos were like the graceful black strokes of decal pinstripes done on Vapid and Bravado hotrods, something in their accent red-flagged their east-coast heritage: Italians.
"The boss'd like a word with you," a lanky guy pushed his thumbs through his belt-loops and swaggered like he owned the joint, the guy was maybe Trevor's peer by appearance alone, but the cocky posture and other guys in tow was a dead giveaway stating the man's high rank beneath the 'boss' he spoke of.
Gears turned in Michael's head, he had heard the name somewhere before, maybe in the papers, and bingo the name rang a bell being announced in a Vapid cruiser he and Trevor had stolen from a donut-filled cop, "Boss Bettino of the Gambettie Family."
"Sorry, man, we don't affiliate with Bettino or any other mafia by that matter," Michael respectfully kept his posture neutral, his hands visible and his face frosty as a professional poker player, he motioned to Trevor and himself in a quick nod with his chin and dared not to break eye contact, "My colleage and myself don't plan on staying here too long to become better acquainted to you fine European specimens of self-serving patriotism."
"No habla Italiano. Get the picture, Mario spaghetti-dick?" Trevor dug into his bowl without looking up, he gave no reason for any of them to think he was a threat, so they ignored him.
The ringleader slammed his hands over the table, shaking the room down to it's icy concrete foundations, every eye again trained on the loudest scene ready to explode, either into a riot or a humiliating unwanted truce resulting in the pair being taken by the Mafia, he flicked his gaze left and right to the pair, and finally grew tired of not having Trevor's attention, he grabbed the Canadian by the shirt neck and hauled him up to their level, "Whether y'like it or not at all, Tommy-boys, we ain't asking for much except the fart becomes the toolie and the baby-"
"I ain't moving a fuckin Inch from my hotchpotch, amigo! It's almost as good as my mom's!" Trevor was again unwillingly pulled up before he could sit down hard, his growl echoed in the slop-hall, his vision slowly bleeding in anger's fiery hues, he was ready for whatever was to happen next.
"Oh, yeah, little-Miss-Buffet, meet the Pompeii Widow," the inmate revealed himself to be the Widow of Liberty City (Alderny Siders), he flicked a blade right before Trevor's face, the metal flashed as the tip entered Trevor's mouth, two centimeters entered, he grabbed the back of Trevor's head, "Let's see how much you're enjoying your last meal."
Trevor bit down before there could be more shoved in, he smashed his fist with all the anger he had pent up since arriving in the frozen shit-hole, he wrapped his left arm around the Widow's head, his forehead met the Widow's skull, hard, quick, resulting in a broken nose and a temporary blindness and hot blood oozing out. The stunned Widow had no time to react, Trevor forced the body to spin as he vaulted over the table and wrap his body around the prone Widow, he took the knife from his mouth with his right hand and licked the blood from the blade, he positioned the edge on the right side of the Widow's neck, where there was no major organ besides if he were to stab in deep and search out the major artery beneath the external muscles. Time stopped, people froze, Michael was all too sure they would dust off the 'Home Sweet Home' throw pillows because they were not moving from Quincy State in their coming lifetime.
"Go on. It's okay. It's alright, chicken-shit. C'mon, chick-chick-chickey, early bird gets the worm; every worm eats the bird. Yeah, Yeahhh-" Trevor breathed into the left ear of the Widow, he stroked down the high greasy man-pouf in a show to quieten the nervous animal in his clutches, he made one single prick until blood welled out, the red leaking unto the printed Silve Hearstly shirt, the volume in his voice rose until he was shouting, "Personally, between you and me, I prefer gutting, but you confronting me with all this bullshit has just made me a Touch too uneasy for the elegant coup de grâce and you Dumped! My! Fuckin! Hotch-Potch!"
"For fuck's sakes, T, you're gonna get us into an unmarked grave!" Michael shouted, he still stood at the side of the table in case others decided to take a piece of them that was not their's to begin with, he tried reasoning with his colleague, "Shit, don't kill the asshole or we're getting twenty years no-sweat, he's just a fuckin 'roid-ed up errand boy doing his bid for the boss!"
"As a warning, chicken-shit, I'm marking my territory," Trevor glanced around briefly for the figure in the white robes, no heavenly lady in sight, Trevor's stroking palm hooked over the Widow's scalp, yanking the head back and exposing the throat, he began at the top of the skull and punctured skin, the screams nearly shattered his eardrums yet the sounds gave him a half-hard cock pressed up against the middle of the Widow's back, he dragged the blade down through eyebrows, shut eyelids, to a pair of wide bull-horn lips.
He began on the next line beginning at the Widow's scalp which followed the same trail except slanted slightly to run down the Widow's nose, he finished by adding a vertical line over the top of the first slash, he put a half-circle on the upper half of the other slash and released the Widow from his hold, he put both his feet together and kicked the Widow's ass until the injured inmate landed with his own cronies, Trevor stood up on top of the table and stomped his foot, the blade pointing all around and his voice rasping clearly, " 'Trevor Fuckin Phillips' better Not slip your slimy second-rate gray-matter, and all you impotent dick-slobs licking the pig's shit from the 'suggestions box', engrave that name into your fucking skulls or I Will do so with a Personal -Fucking- Visit! Comprendo!"
Just then, the riot squad showed up to conclude their thirty-minutes of mess hall, their guns aimed at the tiny corner that Michael, Trevor and the Mafia underlings occupied, they were instructed, "Down on the ground hands behind your back! Now!"
Michael dragged Trevor down by the arm, but he slipped on the forgotten spilled soup, the gurgling hoot from his throat had every convict within the room shivering, praying silently for dear life to be spared the ugly welts painting Widow's face red, Trevor laughed at how they were tucked into the small world at the bottom of the state, because it was almost too easy to say he would not mind 'living' here for the rest of his days. His fingers tangled his hair in attempt to cut off his own laugh, but everything spun in deoxygenated circles in tune to his gasping for breath that was too short in the air that was too cold, his stomach hurt by the time the riot squad hauled him up and cuffed both his hands and feet. Shut and close case, it was no mystery where they were headed except for the nearly-bloodless Widow.
"What did I say about starting shit in the pen, boy! You two brought this on yourselves," Norton urgently whispered since they were out of earshot and being led first to their next destination, Trevor by that time settled down to giggling and Michael grit his teeth hard until his jaws ached, a long grey hall stretched before them, heavy iron doors pushed tightly together on both sides, Trevor was first released into the room, Michael watched Norton's beaten riot helmet gleam before his eyes until his cuffs no longer held him, Norton opened the heavy door with a key on the sliding lock, he said before Michael disappeared into the lightless room, "You'll be seeing me a whole lot more often if you don't straighten the hell out."
"Oink! Oink, Norton!" Trevor shouted, his fists pounding the wall to the sound of retrieving footsteps, "When has being 'straight' ever been praiseworthy! Come back in an hour, eh, I'll have your slop-bucket hot and full!"
"What the Shit, Trevor! You know why we're the fuck in here? You're the fucking reason why we're in this Quincy ass-crack-cell!" Michael shouted through the concrete walls, he had trouble finding where the room began and where it ended, the walls were cold, rough and only one stainless steel bucket made a hollow noise when he accidentally brushed against it, next to a drain was nothing more interesting than the anger he had not released yet, "I say 'safe-button', you say 'automatic' - I say 'shower', you say 'Fuck you, M' - I say 'jump', you say 'Fuck you, M' - I say 'shut up and let me do all the talking to these yuppie-jacks' and you fucking say-"
"Do you think we made any friends, Mike?" Trevor lounged on the other side of the wall, he had his arms crossed beneath his head and legs propped up, his heart still doing cartwheels and the choir usually screaming hard rock were for the first time in an unending chorus of 'Hallelujah!', which lit that little spark of hope in ever seeing the nun again.
Michael took a moment to breathe, the verbal inferno he was ready to cook Trevor in completely disappeared, he said disbelievingly, "What?"
"Friends. Y'know, 'compadres'. You think we've got any biting the hook?" Trevor settled into the cold that threatened to only make his partial hard-on all the more pronounced, he shifted his body slightly to alleviate the pressure in his crotch.
"Cut the line, T, 'cause they're fighting the bait as we speak," Michael leaned up against the wall, his hands going to his armpits for warmth, he wished to say more than quick second-hand advice, but it was all he had replaying over and over at the moment, "Play it cool, T. Just show a Slight sense of control, will ya?"
"It's funny what love does to ya, Mike-" Trevor closed his eyes even while the room felt like a double-ply cold wrap, he remembered standing in line for his food until he looked up at the most wonderful sight in all his life; she wore white robes like an angel and had a smile to suit her beautiful face, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth only made her look more distinguished, and he could not answer as she ladled the stew into his bowl, there came those sinful thoughts again, "-you lose All control. Of Everything. Is this how you feel with that chunky stripper or is it just me?"
"Fuck you, buddy," Michael bumped his fist into the wall, making an audible 'thump' in annoyance, he decided then to bust Trevor's hump for obviously pulling some weird shit on their end of the deal, since the darkness seemed to amplify the snail-paced passage of time, Michael decided it was time to have real discussion instead of the hit-and-run lectures they had come to call 'small time' talk, "By any chance are you breaking those set-in-stone 'vows' you took in the frozen tuna can?"
"Don't tempt me, sugar-tits," Trevor laughed, remembering how he held up the line for a full minute just staring with his tray rattling in his shaking hands, his mouth choking to find his voice along the backdrop of his forty-percent fail-rate pickup lines, "Operation: back-end nugatory-territory is still in effect. Strictly 'No Freebies'."
"Yup, we're dead. We're gonna end up in an unmarked grave 'cause you got the sinful-holy hots for the matron saint of the cafeteria," Michael shrugged, he settled deeper into the slightly warm spot his back made against the wall, he breathed deep and let out shallow breaths only until he felt himself heat a little in his chest, in reality he was more than sure that Trevor would extend both of their sentences.
"Stick a forty-watt up your ass and Lighten Up! Shit, pork-chop!" Trevor kicked the metal door with his propped leg and felt the cool air creep into his skin, yet was pushed away by the blood pumping away throughout his body, fighting to make it to his groin, he shuddered all too happily in his little cell, "Why do you have to be so negative All - The - Fucking -Time?"
"Call me the cynical realist, but don't ever confuse me with a naive optimist," Michael breathed heavily and rubbed his body slowly to get the numbness from completely overtaking his thinking.
"Remind me not to get wasted with you, you pessimistic prick," Trevor stuck his pinky into his ear and flicked away the wax before diving in digging for more treasure, he then paused mid-ear-drill and felt a sudden down-moment where all the happiness ready to burst from his chest vanished and left him a depressed drain of doubt, he kicked the door and shouted, "Fuck is your misery contagious! You say some of the most despicable shit, enough to make a man hang himself out of sheer amusement."
"I try, T," Michael again shrugged, he stood up and paced the room, his hands reaching across but not without his shoulder bumping against the other, he tried reaching the door to the wall behind, his arms strained outward and reached the end only until he took two paces, so their rooms were roughly three-yards by one-and-quarter-yard, he whispered in their damning hour, "Magnificent!"
"Ohh!" Trevor stabbed his index finger in whichever area he had heard his mentor's voice filter in from, he resolved how easy their time would be were he to completely ignore Michael's man-o-pause statements, because all in all, he was having the time of his life so far, "You asshole. You poor, pitiful, joyless, miserable cocksucking asshole."
Michael stood up from his lunges, he swung his arms and said simply as much as truth was spared on their part, since they lied little to each other about, "You lucky, strange, young, stupid beautiful bastard."
"Thanks," Trevor said, his mind resuming the pinky-mining of his other ear, his heart lifted for the description and possible compliment which was passed his way.
"Don't mention it," Michael went back to his isometrics and quick calisthenics workouts, the room was ideal for isolation but shit on the 'freedom' part.
"But I'm not stupid," Trevor flicked out the last of his earwax and lounged, the sound of his blood moving along the only kind of kinship he had tying him to the beasts outside in their open cells.
"The jury's out on that one, T," Michael huffed as he jogged in place.
"Fuck you, blubber-butt," Trevor stuck his invisible finger in the dark, the opaque lack of light swallowing him whole and making his vision explode in spots.
"Don't mention it," Michael again went for a second rep of lunges, he did a few butterfly strokes to warm-down his muscles and simply said, "Really, don't fucking mention it."
"Sure, I can't wait to get outta here," Trevor yawned, his mouth stretching wide and his teeth clicked as his body melted into the stiff, icy concrete.
"Me, too," Michael answered, wiping the sweat from his face and neck, he settled on the wall and slid down, his seat finally meeting the ground.
"I meant solitary," Trevor murmured, he shifted slightly for his arm to reach down and scratch at the thin hairs springing up from below his navel.
"The future is now for sure to be mourned, T, I tell ya," Michael said, resting his head against the wall and not at all minding the cold assaulting his still-warm limbs.
"This so-called 'Future' you've predicted better supply lube, guns and a mountain of heroine, Saint Shit-Stain," Trevor mumbled offhandedly, he reached a little further into his jeans, his palm resting on the proverbial 'snooze button'.
"Oh, your faith always rewards me, my good believer," Michael's lids drooped briefly, he welcomed the deeper kind of blindness only wide-eyed sleepers had, he folded his arms over his chest and continued, "We've got more waiting than the dope-slope, kid, just keep your cool and the five years'll be up like a snap."
"The irony, Mikey, the irony of keeping cool in a place colder than a witches tit…" Trevor's voice trailed off, his light snores accompanied by a twitch in his leg signaled his dropping off to wherever his mind went when not occupying a certain mental space reserved for the terms of 'normalcy'.
The full version is 40000+ words long & on "Archive Of Our Own 'dot' Org" - it's been posted for a while & contains too many curse words, drug use, prostitution, non-con, smut, racial bigotry, violence, blood, cannibalism & inappropriate relationships... read at your own risk. :P
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