Hey there! Lemme just say I cannot stress how badly I wanted to call this fic 'Orange is the New Black'. Had it not been for the Netflix series with the same name, I would have indeed titled the fic just that. But Take No Prisoners was a close second choice, so here we are. I'm not exactly proficient in how prison's function, and my sources are basically reruns of Orange is the New Black and Wentworth on Netflix. So apologies if I screw something up.
Rated T for language, violence, and sexual content. (Though it may go to M when lemon season rolls up)
I don't own Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters. See you at the end of the chapter.
Seven hundred twenty hours. So far, that's how long Ciel had been there. Which was equivalent to exactly one June month, or thirty days. Now, if Ciel had done his maths correctly, which of course he had, that was six hundred seventy two unnecessary extra hours for someone to lose their mind. Quite frankly, he had not. Yet. Though he was teetering on the lines now, and bound to fall. The torture and psychological manipulation would take a toll on him sooner or later.
Now, he only had 60,600 more hours to serve before his life returned from dormancy and a temporary pause. And he was counting down every second of it.
Ciel closed his eyes as soon as he felt the raw frustration and rage blooming inside of him, shoving every last bit of it down into the deepest parts of himself. There'd be no point in getting upset here. He'd just be drowning himself in his own misery. Might as well try to like wretched place as much as possible. However difficult that task may be. He was, after all, being forced to for seven years.
With a silent sigh and fluttering of dark eyes, he pressed himself deeper into the shelter of his bottom bunk, hating the narrowness of his room, and the boy who slept with him even more.
He'd be honest, here. Ciel Phantomhive was definitely a hot-tempered guy with a short- very short fuse. It didn't take much to irritate him. But that's exactly it. He was simply irritated, exasperated, even. But never actually flustered nor angry. Never truly upset with anyone, 'less they'd done something unspeakable to grant such direct hatred.
Yet the halfwits there at Hatfield Prison managed to coax out every little vexation from him. Starting from a morning dosage of aggravation to a nightfall of sheer rage.
Ciel would never admit that, though. They weren't worth his frustration and rage. Not a single one of them.
Two fingers slid across a worn out leather book, tucked in between frigid hands closely held to his chest. Ciel had kept track of all the nudniks there for the past month, just to note his surely inevitable slow slipping of sanity and who caused it. No, it was not a diary. More of a bitch book that he wrote little observations about people. And everyone was in it.
Beginning with the boy on the top bunk of their shared room. Alois Trancy... or was it Alex Terrance? Maybe Allen Troy? Ciel shook his head quickly with a snide roll of inky blue pools, waving off the importance of the name before sinking back into thought.
You'd think that after a month with someone, he'd learn their name. But when you're constantly ignoring them along the way, the prospect wasn't so difficult. Nevermind his name, he was a blond brat with no personal boundaries himself, or a lick of respect for anyone else's. With a flushed face, Ciel thought, Especially not mine.
The kid was a year or two older than Ciel himself, probably no more than 20, but acted as if he was a twelve year-old that just discovered porn for the first time.
Thank god, Alois- yes, Ciel was sure that was his name, now- was one of the inmates that flustered him more than the other two options, so Ciel didn't have to worry about smothering anyone in the middle of the night with pillows that smelled suspiciously like cigars.
Currently, Alois was on laundry duty, so he wouldn't return for another half hour or so. Ciel smiled faintly, glad to have a good hour of sanity and dignity.
Ciel opened the notebook in his hands, eyes flickering to the first note he'd taken on Alois:
Horny.
When he'd first met Alois last week, he was sure that the penitentiary was just fooling with him. Sending the most infuriating inmate in the entire unit to be his roommate, just to see how far deranged goldie locks could push Ciel Phantomhive before he snapped and they'd actually have solid evidence that he belonged in the damnable place.
Ciel hadn't exactly thought about that on the first day, so he'd automatically resorted to bitch slapping the boy when groped. Thankfully, it had been in the shower, after Ciel finished dressing, that is, in a corner where none of cameras could capture.
Alois had only laughed, continuing to prod and poke at the boy, only with his lewd remarks instead of his hands. In fact, it was Alois who'd shed light on the prison's so-called true intentions. What had he said, again?
"Careful, or they'll take you away from me," Ciel thought.
That prompted the second note:
Deceptive.
So the following days, Ciel played nice. He'd allowed Alois to grope and tease and do whatever he please, and hadn't uttered a single objection. Obviously, that didn't mean he liked all the suggestive things Alois would do to him, but they hadn't become bothersome enough for him to crack like the first day. Nothing as derogatory or upfront.
Ciel didn't exactly swing that way, for now, at least. In reality, it hadn't been far fetched of a challenge to ignore the guy. Alois was, in fact, a male, and he wasn't attracted to that kind of thing. At least that's what he kept telling himself.
That's what he told himself when the brat catcalled him in the garden and giggled about it. A guy, Ciel.
It's what he told himself when Mr. Bipolar Sunshine whispered taunting little things about what he'd do to Ciel had he the chance. He's just a guy, Ciel.
What he told himself when he'd been slapped in the ass in front of the entire unit in the cafeteria, which caused quite an uproar of teasing and following even more catcalling- not just by Alois this time. He's just a guy with no release, Ciel.
What he repeatedly told himself when Alois asked for a blowjob. Again, in front of the entire cafeteria.
Okay, he was exaggerating. It was more like the entire table, which consisted of Ciel and six or seven other guys, but no less humiliating and degrading.
The most embarrassing of it all wasn't even that! Oh yes, my friend, there was more. Like that was even possible. It wasn't just, "Oh that banana looks delicious, Ciel, would you be up for the same with me?" or, "Let's have some fun tonight with that pretty mouth, Ciel."
Any of those, he could have easily brushed off and replied with a joke of his own to fend off Alois. But no. He guessed the bloody place just had it in for him.
Because what came out of his roommates mouth, instead, was:
"Say, Ciel? I need a blowjob sometime."
The third note in Alois's profile was:
Lacking filter.
Ciel said nothing. He could only sputter while choking on his milk, sure that the white beverage was dripping out of his nose.
"Oh dear, please don't do that when you get to it," Alois had fretted, patting the boy reassuringly on the back with raised eyebrows and a tilted smile.
His hands had been slowly removed off of Ciel, by Ciel, gracing him with a denying glare and haughty departure.
Ciel figured that, at that point, the boy was sick of engaging in a one way road of foreplay that was clearly going in circles, so might as well jump straight to it. So no reply was needed.
That had been four days ago. And the last straw, frankly, for Ciel. Alois was not just a guy. And he certainly wasn't a guy with no release. No. Alois was gay. The cherry on top: he was gay for Ciel, of all people. Not that Ciel minded, of course. His girlfriend Lizzy had come out as lesbian. Which was why they broke up; it was a mutual agreement in the end. He supposed he never really liked her all that much in the first place. They were still close friends though, and she promised to pay him a visit once every two months or so.
Anyhow, he wasn't some conservative snotty homophobe from the 1800's, and he wasn't as much disgusted by Alois' attempts at seduction as he was tired. This was the 21st century, c'mon. But that didn't mean he didn't have any rights. Of course, the Acts of Parliament did not list 'personal space' in it- or 'personal space for prisoners' either- but it was kind of an unsaid moral that most people, more or less followed.
At that point, Ciel had began blatantly ignoring Alois. The nice guy act was over, and he wasn't putting up with any of this bullshit any longer.
Like, when Alois asked him to pass a napkin at breakfast the morning before, he pretended as if he hadn't heard. Or when Ciel was invited to the common roomful a smoke with his friends. He had not gone.
But the little arse was fine. He was, still, Alois. It was almost laughable. He wouldn't, and couldn't, be put off by any of Ciel's retreating, and would probably come crawling back asking if Ciel needed a blow.
The fourth words were:
Dense and desperate.
Fortunately, his roommate was the most of his worries- everyone else was either just rude or crazy.
Ciel flipped through the pages of his notebook, stopping when he landed on a rough sketch of a scrawny man was in his late twenties, long locks dyed silvery, shielding his mad eyes and fading facial scar from the world. Ciel often found himself wondering how the officials let him keep it that length. His own hair had never been touched, forever the same choppy mid-neck length it'd always been, because it was short enough to function with. But that man's hair was longer than most girls'.
That man was the Undertaker.
Now, if Alois was deranged, Ciel thought as he skimmed through the side notes, then the Undertaker was simply a nuisance.
Beneath the scribbly, poorly drawn picture of the Undertaker was the word: unprofessional.
His real name was left behind in the real world, as he requested for everyone there to refer to him by that name, even the officials. They all surprisingly complied.
Ciel had nothing against the man, except the fact that he particularly liked to drag Ciel into his antics- or whatever you might call them-, most likely because he was a lot more difficult to humor than any of the others.
And his damn jokes and riddles were absolutely insufferable.
Likes dad jokes.
Long story short, Ciel wasn't sure if the Undertaker belonged in prison, or an asylum.
The only reason he even gave a bloody hoot about the man was because of his knowledges.
Evidently, the Undertaker knew everything about everyone. Rumor had it that he was sleeping with an official to learn all of the penitentiary's secrets. And they were good secrets. For instance, two weeks ago, two of the inmates in the west block managed to escape via laundry chute, and have been wanted ever since. But guess who knew about it even before the security cameras?
Precisely.
Sly.
That's not all, though. The first week Ciel had gotten there, all the prisoners had already known who he was. No polite introductions or 'Hello, nice to meet you's'. All he got was, 'Aye, Ciel' and a grope (guess who that was). Because they'd all previously been notified from a certain source about his arrival, and they'd been expecting it ever since. Everyone virtually knew him already, and they didn't need to be nice to someone they already knew. Anyway, that didn't make it any less creepy to him.
So far, since Ciel had gotten there, no new people had yet to arrive. At least not in their unit.
But last night at dinner, there was a load of chatter, caused by the Undertaker, about some guy named Sebastian who was returning back from a probationary period in the high-security Chelmsford. Joy, another lunatic for Ciel to hate. Apparently this man was already very acquainted with everyone, because they wouldn't stop talking about him.
'Do you think he remembers the time when we did joints in the chapel?'
'Of course, you blubbering fool, he's only been gone for five months.'
'Shut up, Bard, you guys weren't even friends.'
'He liked me better than you!'
'That's hilarious, you lil'-'
Ciel had stopped listening after the first glop of mashed potatoes were thrown. Following had been an array of peas, tomato soup, and chicken strips. Most of which tarnished his uniform and undergarments in unspeakable ways.
And the entire time during the food fight, the Undertaker just sat there, laughing his arse off, untouched by a crumb of the prison meals.
Scheming.
You see, Ciel ever wanted a chance at survival there, he needed to be in the man's good grace's.
Then, there were other people Ciel would never put in a single drop of effort for.
Like the pale-haired Ash with anger management issues. Now there was somebody he actually did want to smother had he the opportunity. Ciel didn't have any notes on Ash. He didn't deserve them.
The boy subconsciously touched the faint bruises on his neck, scattered and yellow.
He wasn't sure what the guy's problem was. First Ciel had been walking down the east block to get towels for himself and Alois at the commissary, and next thing you know, he's being pinned down and strangled by some random man he'd never seen before.
Two hands wrapped tightly around his throat, while screaming some obscenity about him being 'unclean'. The boy was actually frightened for a moment, scared and paranoid that all the inmates were secretly after him because he was some new weakling twig that was a great punching bag and outlet for them.
Soon, the security guards were on the both of them, successfully pulling Ash off in seconds. Afterwards, both of them had been given a strict reprimanding of the 'no-hands' rule, and were threatened into isolation until one of them confessed.
Ash had originally tried to blame everything on Ciel, yapping about how he was just defending himself from the other boy trying to stab him. But when no sharp objects had been retrieved from Ciel, he was found guilty, then placed in solitary confinement for the next three months. Thankfully, Ciel had yet to get a glimpse of him.
The marks on his throat were beginning to fade little, but they were still quite evident, and everyone had begun treating him like some great war hero with battle scars, instead of a kid who got throttled by a raging prisoner.
You know, it was really difficult to play guidance counselor when all people would look at were the evident bruises painted brightly on his neck, asking how he got them instead of listening to what he had to say. That was Ciel's job, after all. To play mediator between the inmates and break up fights. Listen to their problems. Truthfully, it probably wasn't the best job to have for someone like Ciel, but it paid really well. Better than washing everyone else's clothes, at least.
Speaking of which-
"Ciel!" a sharp bark at the front of the cell door caused said boy to shoot up from his lying reminiscent state, forehead crashing into the solid mattress planks of the top bunk with a deafening thud. He hiss at the sudden contact, clutching his head tightly while mentally grumbling insults about whomever had called him.
Peaking through the slim fingers caressing his skull, he could faintly see those familiar icy blue orbs staring hungrily at him. Curses, look who's back from laundry. Speak of the Devil.
"You've been avoiding me," Alois spat, glaring accusingly at the dark-haired inmate. If Ciel hadn't known the guy's true intentions, he probably would have mistaken the lust hidden behind those angry words as hurt. But this was still Alois.
"Have I?" Ciel laughed humorlessly, sitting up to ease the dull throbbing of his head. "I hadn't noticed."
This only prompted his roommate to frown, tucking a strand of platinum hair behind a red-tinged ear. He sat down next to Ciel, sweeping his feet in the pathetic cotton sheets of the bed, staring at him with an unforgiving gaze.
"Like how you don't notice the mountain in your pants?" the blond asked bluntly, eyes never leaving Ciel's. Ciel snorted, shifting to lay on his side, head facing the wall so he couldn't see himself being scrutinized under blond's heated look. He could say whatever the hell he wanted, Ciel couldn't care less. He was not the least bit turned on by Alois, that much was clear to both parties. This was prison, and nobody cared in prison. "You're no fun, Ciel," Alois huffed, watching his roommate with pouting eyes.
"This is prison," Ciel voiced aloud, "nothing's meant to be fun."
"You don't know anything about prison, Dear."
No. He really didn't.
"So you did strangle him?"
Ciel let the question hang in the air; he was sure the other party was going to make up some extraordinary excuse, and he only had so much time, and so much patience. As his words drifted on with no reply, he couldn't help but think to himself with a contemptuous wince, What the devil was with inmates and garroting efforts?
The other stayed silent, nonchalantly twirling a strand of crimson with an artificial kind of interest. One, long, slender finger pauses, and the hand is brought upwards in a dramatic sweeping motion before pausing completely at the man's forehead.
"Alas he arrives again... and presentable, I am not," was the flushed murmur Ciel received, though the quiet admittance was probably not directed at him at all.
Blue eyes narrowed in irritation, vein throbbing in his head at the idiot across the desk. He did not have time for the rambling theatrics that he was sure was near delivery. Instead of strangling the other, Ciel opts for scribbling some obscenities in his notebook.
Grell Sutcliffe: psychopath. Unstable and hates prison colors.
"Mr. Sutcliffe," the younger tried again, tapping his safety pen against the peeling wood, "did you or did you not attempt to strangle Mr. Spears?"
"Five months I waited for his return," Grell said, this time much louder than the time before. Now Ciel wasn't sure who he wanted to punch. Grell, for his nonsense, or himself, for listening to his nonsense. He wasn't sure who the man was ranting about, but it was becoming more than irking and Ciel was becoming more than agitated. He was supposed to be a guidance counselor, not a psychiatrist or babysitter.
"Grell," Ciel snapped sharply, glancing at the clock embedded on the wall. Fantastic. They'd wasted eight out of the twenty minutes they had.
"What do you want?" Grell scoffed, obviously ignoring the younger inmate's question. Ciel fought the urge to sock him right then and there. As much as the boy disagreed with Grell, he was right about one particular thing... red was quite a pretty color. Ciel bet it'd look pretty trickling down his nose...
"I asked you a question," the dark-haired boy droned, voice taking on a calming lilt that hadn't been present before. "Did you attempt to strangle Officer Spears?"
Grell dismissed the question quickly with a wave of his hand, brow furrowed and lips pursed.
"He took away my scissors for gardening so I gave him a little scare, s'all."
Oh my god, Ciel screamed mentally, fist tightening around the pen, prepared to stab someone. Particularly someone across the table. If he didn't answer the bloody question...
"It's a yes or no question, Grell," he forced through gritted teeth.
The man sighed in an overdone fashion, finally looking Ciel in the eyes for the first time that session. They stayed that way for a while, neither willing to back down. The sound of the second hand on the clock was the only in the room, a quiet reminder of what they were wasting. Eventually, after another three minutes had ticked away (much to Ciel's displeasure), the other caved in.
"Yes, I confess," Grell responded with a roll of his eyes, "Now will you please listen to my problems for once instead of demanding your own, you little twat?"
Ciel stabbed the paper of his notebook, making a little downwards rip in the lined pages, instantly sinking into a fit of piques when it registered to him that he'd sullied the only thing keeping him sensible.
It's not worth it, just do it. The more you let him talk, the quicker you get to leave.
"Fine," he relented, fingers lacing together in a mockery of some official. They had another seven minutes left, so why not let the man rant. That didn't mean Ciel had to listen, though.
The red-head clapped feverishly, maniacal cheshire-grin present once more.
"Bassy is coming back from his probationary period in Chelmsford tomorrow," Grell exclaimed with a flourish of his hands.
Ciel nodded absentmindedly, beginning to add on the notes he'd already taken of the man.
Loony; in denial.
"I missed him dearly, I did."
Attached to nonexistent people.
"I still have one entire night to prepare, but I'm still stuck in these rags. What does a lady have to do to get some appropriate wedding attire around here?"
Terribly vain crossdresser.
"I'm not sure if- Listen to me!" Grell huffed, slamming his palms on the desk in a fit of anger. The pen slid across the lined page, a disarray of scribbles across the fine print of notes. Ciel had to bite his tongue to avoid lashing out at the dunce.
Demanding.
"I am," he replied with a mask of serenity, snapping the leather book shut with one hand to prove a point.
"Anyhow," Grell emphasized, looking pointedly at Ciel, "I've been saving myself for him, and I figured it could be his coming home gift. Poor thing; probably had nobody to help him in such high security."
Ciel felt the his face and neck blossom. He wasn't the least bit interested in knowing when any of his fellow inmates were shagging. He lived with those people, for goodness sakes, and had to see and converse with them everyday (despite how much he despised it).
But there was a lingering curiosity within as to who the hell Grell could possibly have taken a liking to. As far as Ciel was concerned, the red-head seemed to despise most (himself, especially) of the men in Hatfield, deeming each one too skinny or too fat, or too tall, or too short. The only exception the boy had yet to see was one of the inmates in another unit. Pluto, he believes, is his name.
"Who?"
Grell looked insulted for a moment, bringing his hand up to his chest as if to say, 'ouch.'
"Bassy."
"Bassy," Ciel repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose. How ridiculously helpful.
"Yes, Bassy," Grell confirmed with an exasperated look, "you know, Sebastian."
Oh lord. Ciel had to force down the dry chuckle waiting in his throat. From all of the names he'd heard in Hatfield, that had to be the only one that wasn't too posh for imprisonment. That was saying something.
Of course judging books by covers was no doubt extremely... shallow... but who was to say Ciel wasn't? Besides his name, the boy knew nothing of this 'Sebastian.' The first thing crossing his mind had to have been: Who the hell was this man, and why was everyone so obsessed with him?
Seriously, Ciel had never thought he'd see two prison inmates start a cafeteria uprising because of some petty dispute about who was the better friend, as if this was Junior High social media. And he certainly didn't think he'd ever live to see a psycho-criminal declare love for another.
"He's my savior," Grell said simply after the other boy hadn't responded.
Fabulous.
"Sebastian?" Ciel chortled dryly. The redhead nodded, examining his left hand for any nail splits.
"Sebastian Michaelis."
The italic phrases and words are notes Ciel takes of everyone. Sorry if that wasn't made very clear. Thanks for reading!
See you soon,
Yellerumbrellas.
