Chapter 9: San Fierro Dreamin'

Sweet's POV:

When Sweet opened his eyes at the sound of the morning wake-up alarm blaring from the prison walls, he knew where he was, how long he had been there, and why he was there.

He just failed to remember who lay beside him.

'"Nigga, don't you fuckin' touch me!"

'The shorter Black leaped to his feet and painfully body slammed Sweet against the far brick wall. Sweet yelped like a wounded dog, but his cry was muffled by King Augustus' meaty hand clamped over his mouth. A passing prison guard chuckled derisively. "You niggas play nicely in there, now."'

Sweet shivered involuntarily as the memory crossed his mind. He tried to ease himself off the bed, but King Augustus' beefy forearm encircled his waist and it was already impossible to be stealthy with fractured ribs. Sweet winced at his own movements.

'King waited until the guard passed. Sweat beaded on Sweat's forehead despite the coolness of the wall at the back of his head, in fearful anticipation of the shorter Black's next move. He thought to push away his new cellmate's body, but the thought alone caused Sweet's ribcage to protest painfully.

'"Look here, nigga, I'm tryin' to make a deal with you. You need somebody inside these walls to watch your back. If you down, I got somethin' I want from you too. You wanna make a deal?"

'King pulled away his hand. "Fuck nah, nigga, I ain't takin' no dick up my ass."

'The shorter gangsta chuckled then pressed the heel of his left hand against Sweet's ribs, while using his right hand to pin the Grove Street don against the wall. Sweet was so handicapped by his injury that he couldn't mount anything resembling a defense. It took every ounce of restraint Sweet had in him to bite his lower lip and suppress the agonized cry radiating from his ribcage. Even so, tears trickled from the corners of his eyes.

'"You wanna fight me? Go ahead. You'll hurt yourself more than you'll hurt me. Don't really seem like you got much choice but to do what I want, do it?" He snatched up Sweet's collar and tossed the Grove Street don onto the lower bunk with the care a child would have shown to a favored china doll.'

"Ay, is it roll-call already?" King asked, stretching on the narrow mattress. The man's dominant bulk beside him made Sweet feel inept as a man and dirty. He circled his torso with his arms and feigned detachment from the world, the way he used to do when posted on the corners of the Grove.

"Y-Yeah."

"Alright." King lightly nudged Sweet on the back of his head. "Get up. You already know how to behave, and you got a show to put on in the mess hall, niggas. Live up to your end of the bargain."

'King Augustus pinned Sweet to the mattress with his bodyweight. Even though his muscular forearms supported his torso over Sweet's and prevented the painful pressure of their bodies touching, Sweet could discern that King weighed significantly more than he did. "Look, if I wanted your ass, I would've gotten it by now." The shorter Black jabbed his thumb into one of Sweet's ribs as footsteps approached. Sweet let out an unmanly gasp of pain. "Yeah, that's it, bitch, take it, take it, take it!" King ground their hips together and the mattress squeaked like two lovers in wanton heat were atop it.

'When the guard had passed, King stared into Sweet's eyes and whispered into his ear, "I ain't tryin' to get your ass unless you're offering it up. I heard you got a brother who knows somethin' about stealin' cars."

'"From who?" Sweet gasped. It was blatantly obvious that he stood no chance against King in a fight, and it was better if he lost on his terms.

'"Don't worry about that. I got a whole network of eyes and ears on the outside these walls. It's gonna take months for you to heal all the way. If I protect your ass from another take down, you gotta get your brother to get some cars for me."

'"What you need those cars for?"

'"That ain't important. Just know this: You ain't gotta get raped or beaten into a coma, your brother's life won't be at risk, and I get my cars. Everybody get what they want. Do we have a deal?"'

They strolled into the mess hall . One of Sweet's hands clutched the towel dangling from King's waist. A few of the men who spotted them whistled approvingly or tossed degrading comments in Sweet's direction.

"Ay, look at that GSF bitch now!"

"Still tastin' your daddy's dick, huh Grove Street?"

Sweet's jaw clenched at every insult. He had to force his head upright and focused straight ahead. King nudged Sweet ahead of him in the lunch line, and the Grove Street don picked out the shorter Black's tray. He was not allowed to get one for himself. He carried it in one hand to King's table, as the other was wrapped around King's towel again. King sat at the table, Sweet set the tray in front of him, and when King snapped his fingers, Sweet sat on the floor with his butt resting on his ankles.

The Blacks and Latinos at the table stared lustfully at Sweet while they chowed down their meals. One of them, a husky older Black with a bald, glistening head, asked "So, you liking your Daddy's meat, huh, bitch?"

Sweet glared at the man. King cut his eyes from a forkful of mashed potatoes to Sweet. "What do you say when Daddy's people ask you a question, bitch?"

"Yes. I do. Thank you."

"Good bitch," King chuckled, and the entire table followed suit.

Author's Note: I have never been to prison, so I had to watch a slew of Youtube videos about prison rape, relationships in prison, etc., to attempt to accurately write this chapter. I'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies and I welcome any suggestions.

The next nine or ten chapters will be set in San Fierro.