Alfred sat down on his bed with a small huff. The white walls felt like they were closing in on him in a way that made his chest hurt. Or maybe it was the sight of the empty bed opposite him- he couldn't be sure. Antonio had been down in solitary for over two weeks.

How did it feel to be all alone, enclosed in a small room with no distractions whatsoever? Alfred couldn't even start to imagine what it was like. The thought that Antonio was stuck in a place like that made Alfred shift uncomfortable on the bed. A person as lively and cheerful like his cellmate wouldn't last long in solitary and with no indication that he was going to be let out soon.

Then again, prison management never let on anything. Alfred could be transferred the next day and probably wouldn't be told about it.

Comparing his own troubles to Antonio's predicament seemed selfish, but Alfred couldn't help but dwell on his own loneliness. He was lucky to be surrounded by other people and to at least have the option of starting a conversation with another inmate, sure. With the way his conversations did go, though, Alfred wondered if Antonio was getting the better end of the deal.

Option or not of conversation, there was very little of it ever since his run in with Randal. Alfred had only learned the name of the man who had pinned him to the wall later that evening, but he made a point of otherwise ignoring him. He didn't want another confrontation, nor did he want to have Arthur intervene on his behalf in anything else. There were already enough rumors flying about than he cared for.

It wasn't like he heard about it from a friend, either. Rather, inmates would pass by his table at lunch and make obscene noises that reminded Alfred of bad porn videos he used to watch as a teenager. Other harassment included choice phrases that made their way to his ears during the day, such as 'Kirkland's bitch'.

So no, Alfred wasn't exactly engaging in stimulating conversation. Nobody wanted to be seen with him- not even Arthur, to whom he supposedly belonged to. Then again, he hadn't parted on the best of terms with the man the last time they spoke, so perhaps Arthur was just keeping his distance like Alfred had asked him to.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so harsh. True, Alfred had been stressed and in pain, but Arthur had rescued him from worse. He should have at least thanked him.

Now it felt like all he could do was wait for Antonio's return while in the boring safety of their bunk. Honestly, if he didn't go out for a change of scenery, Alfred was sure he was going to lose his mind. Self imposed solitary confinement wasn't going to help his friend or get him out any sooner.

There wasn't anywhere to go, though. There wasn't anyone to talk to.

"Alfred?"

Except for gang leading exes, apparently. Weighing his options, Alfred slowly straightened up on his mattress and turned to look at the bars, which were still open at this time of day. Arthur, who was surprisingly companionless, was standing there and most likely doing his best not to sound too interested.

God forbid Arthur Kirkland gets rejected again.

Still, Alfred supposed he had made his point by not speaking to the man for over a week (though it wasn't for a lack of trying to find him). Arthur presented an opportunity to talk and frankly, Alfred was getting desperate.

Maintaining a begrudging front, Alfred raised his eyes to meet Arthur's and tilted his head. "What do you want?"

Arthur looked uncomfortable. "I was wondering if you were free to...talk."

"Talk?" Alfred blinked, trying not to look too eager.

"Yes, I have been meaning to have a chat with you ever since...well, you know. May I come in?"

Alfred waited for a moment before waving toward Antonio's bed. "Yeah, sure."

He waited as Arthur stepped into his cell, watching as he took in his bare walls and sparse furnishing with a wrinkle of distaste before seating himself on the very edge of Antonio's bed. "I am assuming this is Carriedo's bunk?"

Alfred nodded. He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms against his chest guardedly. "You said you wanted to talk?"

"Yes," Arthur spread his palms on his knees and met his gaze firmly. "I wanted to apologize. I realize that I have been going about this wrongly, and I would like to make amends."

Alfred didn't bother asking what 'this' was. He was far more interested in the apology. Arthur had never apologized to him before. Small gestures of kindness as a way of asking for forgiveness? Sure. A straight out 'I'm sorry'?

Never. Not even after he had given him a black eye.

"What are you apologizing for?"

Arthur seemed to stiffen, and then with what sounded like great difficulty- "I am apologizing for cheating on you," he said quietly, averting his gaze. "That was wrong of me, and I had no reason whatsoever to hurt you in that way. That is why," the confidence returned to his voice and his eyes flickered back to Alfred's face, "I would like to make it up to you."

Alfred knew that he was supposed to respond, but his mind was busy processing Arthur's words. He hadn't expected Arthur to bring up that. He had been thinking of more recent slights Arthur could have apologized for. Going back to that night at the club was a bit too raw for him.

Arthur waited, though, silently watching him as he contemplated. It was a bit unnerving to have the man's intensive eyes on him as he thought and the quiet wasn't helping.

He wasn't at all done with thinking it through, but Alfred couldn't bare another moment of awkward silence. "How?" he blurted, leaning forward. "How are you going to make it up to me?"

Arthur visibly brightened. Swiftly, he reached out and grabbed Alfred's arm, prying it away from its fold and circled his wrist gently as he pulled it toward him. Once he had Alfred's hand in his grasp, Arthur drew it close to his lips, his breath warm against his skin.

"By taking care of you," he answered softly. "If you will let me."

Alfred swallowed thickly as his knuckles were kissed briefly, unsure of how to respond to that. Arthur seemed to take his silence as one, though, to which he smirked and ever so slowly rewarded by taking Alfred's index finger into his mouth. Alfred gasped and started to pull back, but Arthur's hold on his wrist was firm.

Resigned to watch and feel (more than resigned, really), Alfred's eyes were trained on Arthur's lips, which sucked on his finger. He could feel the other's tongue all over his digit, wonderfully warm and wet. The suction around his knuckle wasn't helping the heat he was sure was spreading across his cheeks and when he raised his eyes to see Arthur's intense green studying him with a glint of arousal, Alfred knew he was done for.

He yanked his arm sharply from Arthur's grasp, who looked surprised for a split moment before smiling knowingly as Alfred pushed off of his bed and settled on his lap. Arthur himself was propelled back and hit the wall, but he didn't seem to mind. Even if he did, his mouth was too busy fitting against Alfred's to protest.

Alfred had always loved Arthur's kisses. They were passionate and warm, not unlike Antonio's. The one thing that his cellmate lacked, however, was the possessive demands of Arthur's tongue and his hands, which found his back and supported him like years hadn't passed since their last embrace.

Alfred's hands were all over the place: cupping Arthur's face, holding him close, fingers tangled in his hair. Arthur took it all in stride, never moving his hands from Alfred's back. They did, however, inch lower and lower with every meeting of their lips until they rested heavily on Alfred's hips.

They shared a short look before Arthur delved forward and latched his mouth to Alfred's throat. Sliding into habit, Alfred craned his neck to allow the other easier access, which he immediately took. Alfred was trying to regulate his breathing as he felt a sharp nip near his sternum and a wetness licking the pain away.

His hands settled on Arthur's shoulders. "What are you doing?" he breathed, his eyes fluttering closed when he felt the other exhale on the now sensitive skin.

"Marking you," Arthur said simply before returning to the spot with his lips, sucking on it intently. "I want to show the whole prison that you are mine."

Alfred's eyes flashed open and he pried himself away. "No I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Arthur said steadily, snaking one of his hands from Alfred's lower back to his front, grabbing at his crotch and grinding the heel of his palm against the hardening flesh. "And now everyone will know not to mess with what is mine."

With a low keen, Alfred bucked his hips against the other's touch, digging his fingers into Arthur's shoulder blades. However, after a long and delicious squeeze, Arthur withdrew his hand and held Alfred at arm's length (as far as he could while keeping him on his lap, anyway).

"I need you to say it," he prompted him in a low tone. "Say that you are mine, and allow me to provide for you."

Alfred looked between them, his breath heavy and his eyes lidded. There was nothing he wanted more than to just give in, to go back to the days he felt secure and loved. Go back to when he'd had his first highs and fumbling drunken lovemaking. Return to the lazy mornings after when his head felt like it was about to burst, but it was okay because Arthur was the first thing he saw when he woke up.

He was lonely. Bored. And for the first time in what felt like months, properly aroused.

"Okay," he conceded, his eyes eying Arthur's hand longingly. He scooted forward on Arthur's lap and ground his hips against the other's, grinning wickedly as he felt the telltale hardness form underneath him. Arthur wanted him just as much as he did.

"I'm yours."

This chapter is short, but I thought it deserved its own chapter :') What do you think? I'd love to hear from you!