Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Series-OZ
OZ SUCKS ( a quote not a statement)
Alvarez/ other male
Rating-ADULT
WARNINGS- M/M NON/CON READ AT YOUROWN RISK
Disclaimer- None of these characters belong to me. All property of Levison/ Fontana
Set at the end of season three, beginning of four
Author's note.. .I wrote this a long time ago, my second ever story, so please be gentle with me! Enjoy!
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OZ sucks! This you know. This we all know. Suck up stale air and stale odours, suck up drugs crap food, suck cock. But it also sucks from you. Sucks up your time, your dignity and pride. Sucks up your soul.
Miguel Alvarez sat in the centre of the floor trying not to breathe. Every bit of air he sucked in was causing the walls to move closer. When the air ran out the walls would reach him, crush him. He was back in solitary once again. He had managed to escape from it only to ask to be returned but too late. So he was here for defending himself, his life. To keep himself alive, Carlos Ricardo had had to die. He had known they would come and soon, had been ready but still he sat here with the walls closing in to spend Christmas alone, no family, no friends but then, it was just another day in OZ.
How long had he been in here now? Three days? Four? He was determined that this time he would cope. He was healthier, he got fed this time and the pills kept coming. Here through justifiable actions, defending his own life, for himself, not trying to please someone else to fit in but he was still here due to the same man, Hernandez. And the walls were still closing in.
Face it, he had to breathe. Just as he had reacted instinctively to plunge the shank into Ricardo, his body called for life, for the air his lungs craved. Drawing up knees, he folded his arms atop, letting his head drop forwards and breathed deep. If the walls came at him he didn't need to see.
The panel in the door slid back and Miguel could practically feel the air rushing in and the walls recede and become still. Stupid, he knew they hadn't moved, that they never really did. He languidly looked up as if uncaring to see the maniacally glinting eyes of that fuckin' bitch Howell.
She loved to see scum in misery. Doing her hourly check, she just sneered and slid the plate back. Since she had caught him 'seein' to himself', she had stopped with the bang on the door, the calling of his name, probably hoping to catch him again. He could bet she would stand and watch if he let her, had thought about it but denied her, it was for his enjoyment not hers.
At night it was a different matter. Miguel could almost imagine himself somewhere else, could fantasise that the hand giving him a few moments of pleasure, of distraction, was that of his sweat Maritza. He would be warm, loved and not here. He'd only been caught the once at night, hadn't even realised until he'd finished, the male Hack staring in at him. Alvarez had just sneered at him, turned over and tried to recapture the warmth.
Getting up, he stretched straining stiff muscles. He had no idea how long he'd been sat there. Would having a clock help or just make the passing of time seem slower? Probably the latter. It's not as if he had appointments to keep or anything, he wasn't going anywhere.
It couldn't be long until lights out surely. He decided to do a few exercises. It was so easy to just sit here doing nothing and turn to seed. He had to keep in shape because, one day, he would be let out of here and you needed to be strong to survive. Strong in body and strong in mind.
His mind had let him down in the past, a weakness that had lead to many of his recent troubles but his strong body had helped him to survive. He could not trust his mind not to betray him again, he recognised that much about himself, so in the cramped room he did his best to keep in condition. And beneath it all he was also quite vain. Still.
A good looking face, he had been told so for years. Running the blade down his right cheek had not done anything to destroy his looks, had in fact, unintentionally, enhanced his appearance in a roguish manner. But none of this really occurred to him as, moving from sit ups to pull ups at the bars, he mainly just wished to tire himself out so he could sleep and leave this place for a few short hours, nightmares permitting.
The lights went out. No warning down here as in the rest of the prison, just another mind fuck game. He dropped from the bar, standing idly scratching at his stomach and let his body cool down. A few minutes and the sweat on his body turning cold, he moved shaking out limbs and prepared to sleep.
Crossing to the sink he stripped, throwing clothes into a corner, washed his body and teeth before the water supply was turned off for the night, finding everything with ease in the dark. He knew every inch of this cell, knew where everything was. He was trying to get his 'shit' in order these days and one of the few things he had any order over in a life that had been spiralling out of control was that he knew where his 'stuff' was kept. Small, possibly insignificant steps, shit, he was beginning to think like Sister Pete, were a start.
Ablutions finished, he found a clean T-shirt and boxers then got under the rough coverings on the squeaky rubber mattress. Lying on his back, hand on stomach, the other immediately moved to his prick. Nah. Nothing. Just wasn't in the mood. Wrapping himself in the too thin blanket, Miguel Alvarez turned onto his stomach and tried his best to escape.
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TBC…