Work Text:
When summer turned into autumn for the first time after Abruzzi took T-Bag with him and moved to a little cabin in the Norwegian forest, the two men had been fucking for nearly a year. Not that Abruzzi counted – of course he didn't, in any way, keep any sort of score. Or, you know, know when their theoretical anniversary would be. That would be stupid of him. He wasn't a teenager; grown men did not care about anniversaries when they were both men. But it was roughly a year. Or, you know, two months short of one, give or take a week.
And autumn announced its arrival by turning a few leaves yellow, letting a few of them land on their newly built deck in front of the cabin, just as Abruzzi came outside with his morning coffee one day in September. The air had that crisp, clear feel to it, the sky was unbearably blue, and as Abruzzi drew in a deep breath, he knew autumn and winter were in the offing.
“We should probably get some more firewood in,” he told T-Bag, who was already seated in one of their two deck chairs with his own coffee. “Have Thomas call his guy again.”
“Hmm. I been thinkin', John, we oughta learn how to get them damn trees felled ourselves.”
Abruzzi rubbed at his beard – it was getting a little long. “Why? We can just have wood delivered. Or use the electric heating, like fucking civilised people.”
“Yeah, but them trees over yonder are gonna be a problem in a few years,” T-Bag argued, gesturing towards their drive with his mug. “See that young spruce? Gonna scratch the paint when we drive out.”
Abruzzi couldn't deny that the spruce was beginning to take up part of their already narrow drive.
“An' that ol' one behind the sauna? It ain't gonna hold up through a winter storm,” T-Bag persisted.
“Okay, yeah, we should probably get that taken care of. You think we should do it ourselves?” Abruzzi asked. He drank some coffee. T-Bag had begun testing out different ones, and this one was extra dark. Abruzzi liked it.
“It'll need doin' every year,” T-Bag said with a shrug. “Plus, we got that sauna an' the tub to heat. An' I know for a fact we ain't doin' too well if we ain't got a project every now an' then.”
Recently, Abruzzi's only project had been fucking T-Bag sore. T-Bag had begun cooking a lot more from scratch. True, they both enjoyed those projects immensely, but even fucking and eating could become monotonous if you had absolutely nothing else to do all day for months on end. Especially now that the weather was getting colder, making a lot of summer activities less appealing.
“Okay, I guess we'll learn how to fell trees,” Abruzzi agreed. “How do we learn that?”
“Call Thomas, ask him if he's got a guy,” T-Bag said with a smirk. “He got a guy for firewood, probably got a guy for lumberjackin', too.”
Abruzzi snorted. “Probably there's half a dozen lumberjacks on my payroll over here. And moose hunters.”
T-Bag sniggered. “Well, tell 'em to come earn their keep.”
“You're one to talk about earning your keep,” Abruzzi said into his coffee, grinning. “Trophy wife.”
T-Bag gave him a heated glance. “An' I do it well, too, boss, don't I?”
“Hmm.”
Abruzzi got up to go call Thomas, their Norwegian go-to guy. Thomas promised to have someone come up within a week. Abruzzi was pleased. He liked giving T-Bag what the other man wanted.
***
A small pick-up truck came rumbling up their drive four days later. Abruzzi, watching from the window, had gotten a text from Thomas that morning, confirming that their lumber guy would be arriving, so he didn't bring his gun with him when he went out to greet the newcomer.
“Hi,” the man said, jumping out of his truck with far too much vigour for the time of day (not even noon). He was young – mid twenties, as Abruzzi judged – and broad-shouldered, fair-haired and with a very well-kept beard. He was wearing a red flannel shirt, sturdy boots and dark jeans, and had his long hair tied back. He looked like an absolute caricature of a Norwegian lumberjack. “I'm Harald, Thomas told me you needed some help with the trees?”
Abruzzi held his hand out. “John. We need to learn how to take them down and turn them into firewood, yes.”
Harald looked at him with open astonishment. “You don't know? With a forest property?”
Abruzzi resisted the urge to punch that prominent jawline. “No. We've lived here less than a year, and we used to live in the city.”
The lumberjack smiled. “Many people leave the city nowadays. It's nicer in the country. I'll teach you, and you can practice on all your trees!”
Just then, T-Bag came out of the house, pulling a jacket on as he went. “Who's this, now?”
Abruzzi turned to glare at the other man. That was his flirty tone of voice. He'd used that tone of voice on Fish back in Fox River. It made Abruzzi's ears go red with rage to hear him use that tone on a man half his age and twice his attractiveness.
“I'm Harald, I'm helping with the trees,” Harald said pleasantly, holding a gloved hand out for T-Bag to shake. “I brought a chainsaw and some axes for you.”
“Mighty pleased to meet ya,” T-Bag said, smiling slyly at the younger man. “I'm ready to learn.”
Abruzzi had to exercise considerable self-control not to punch both of the other men in the face. As it was, he snapped, “Let's get on with it.”
Harald didn't seem to notice the strained mood, nor the glares Abruzzi shot the other man. He went to his truck and picked up equipment one item at a time, holding them out for the older men to take.
“This is a very good chainsaw,” he said, then handed Abruzzi a small, round file as well. “I brought an extra can of diesel also. The chain is new, but when it gets dull, use this to sharpen it.”
He demonstrated how to use the small file to sharpen each notch on the chain. Abruzzi refrained from sighing. That would take time and patience he did not have at the moment.
“Two axes, one for splitting and one for removing twigs,” Harald continued, handing T-Bag first a whetstone, then two axes. One of them was notably larger than the other. “The big one is for splitting. You can sharpen those blades also.”
“Why can't we use the same axe for both purposes?” Abruzzi demanded sourly.
“The big one is very heavy, you would wear yourself out for no reason,” Harald said earnestly. “This is very heavy work. Remember to take many breaks. One man I worked with forgot to take breaks, got too tired, and chopped himself in the leg. It happens.”
T-Bag's eyes widened. “Breaks, noted. What's that thang?”
Harald held up what seemed like an axe blade, flat and wide at one end, narrowing to a sharp blade on the other, but still much narrower all over than an axe blade. It had no hole for a handle. “This is for splitting extra resistant logs. You put this in, then use the back of the axe – or a sledgehammer – to force it down. I will show you.”
Loaded with all their new equipment and with Harald still talking about lumber-related injuries, they made their way to the old tree just behind their sauna.
“This one is good, yes,” Harald said eagerly. “First, we must decide the direction.”
Harald taught them how to plan the trajectory of a falling tree by cutting a wedge out of the trunk in the desired direction and then sawing through from the other side. Harald cut down the old, dying tree and ensured it fell away from their sauna, which was, admittedly, a very important step of the process. He then encouraged both T-Bag and Abruzzi to each fell their own tree, planning for trajectory. They brought down one each, and even though the heavy chainsaw made his arms ache, Abruzzi had to admit it felt strangely empowering to do it.
Then he saw T-Bag openly admire Harald's wide shoulders as the young man hefted the chainsaw, and his empowerment vanished. He glared.
“Now we remove the branches,” Harald said, and proceeded to guide them through de-branching their own trees after demonstrating how it was done. The smallest branches and twigs at the top they cut easily away with the smaller axe, while the larger ones required using the chainsaw.
They worked through the day. After removing the branches, they used the chainsaw to cut their respective trees into suitable lengths. Harald pressed the importance of not making those lengths longer than their stove or fireplace, because that would make it difficult to burn them. Then they broke for lunch, and T-Bag had sandwiches ready in minutes. Abruzzi barely tasted the food; he was busy getting irrationally angry over the appreciative glances T-Bag threw their instructor.
After lunch, they went back to their trees and Harald informed them this was the hard part.
“Modern lumber workers have machines for this,” he said. “But since you will only take a few trees every year, you can use an axe.”
He rolled the largest and flattest of the log pieces until it was lying where he wanted it. Even Abruzzi could see his back muscle straining under that damnable flannel as he lifted the massive chunk of wood.
“We place logs on top, and split them one by one,” Harald explained. He carefully balanced a medium-sized log on top of the big one, hefted the big axe in both hands, swung it, and brought it down on the log in a graceful arch. The log splintered neatly into two.
“Use the weight of the axe, not all your strength, to work,” Harald instructed, and demonstrated again. “Split until you are happy with the size.”
Abruzzi took the axe when Harald handed it over. He picked out a log, balanced it, and swung the axe. He tried to do as Harald had told him and use the weight of the axe to do the work.
Remarkably, it worked. The log splintered, though not as neatly as Harald's log had, and Abruzzi had two pieces now.
“Very good,” Harald said with a smile. Abruzzi didn't glare back at him, but it was a close call. “Now Theodore.”
T-Bag took the axe, balanced a log, and swung. He didn't do a very good job of it; he hit the log too far to one side, and it bounced off the bigger log and nearly hit Harald in the nuts when it whizzed past him. Abruzzi tried very hard not to snigger.
“I ain't cut out for this kinda work, no pun intended,” T-Bag muttered, looking a little embarrassed.
“You will learn, no problem,” said Harald, and then – the audacity – went to stand close behind T-Bag, correcting his grip on the axe, showing him how to swing it and aim. T-Bag looked far too pleased with himself as the younger man's big arms came around him to guide his movements.
Still, even on his next attempt, T-Bag's log didn't split as neatly as Abruzzi's had.
“That's all, when your tree is down and chopped into bits,” Harald said, and smiled at them both. “The last thing you need to do is stack the wood, and leave it for a year. Next winter, you can burn this. Make sure it is covered so it doesn't get too wet in rain or snow.”
“Gon' keep us warm all night, ain't it?” T-Bag said with a wink.
“Right,” Abruzzi said, by then quite unable to not glare. “Fell, chop, stack. We got it.”
“Good. Call Thomas if you need me to come back; I have to drive back now. Thanks for lunch!” Harald said happily. Obliviously. He left them all the equipment, as promised, and waved carelessly from the window of the truck as he drove off. Clearly unaware of what he'd done to Abruzzi's good mood.
“Aight, lessgo, wanna get more done before dinner,” T-Bag said, but he was looking at the drive, not at Abruzzi, when he said it.
“Goddammit, Bagwell!” Abruzzi snapped, throwing the axe to the ground. “Could you at least try to be a little less obvious? You can cut your own fucking firewood. I'm going for a walk.”
“John!” T-Bag called after him, but there was no sound of footsteps following as Abruzzi strode off into the woods. Just as well. He was far too angry to look at the other man right then.
Logically, Abruzzi knew he was acting irrationally. He couldn't stop T-Bag from looking at other people, so long as the other man didn't actually go out and fuck other people. It was unreasonable to expect the other man to be blind to attractive men, coming to their house and teaching them things. And Harald had been very attractive, even Abruzzi could see that. Abruzzi had never, not once in his life, been attracted to another man except for T-Bag. He still wasn't; he understood Harald to be objectively attractive, but he didn't feel the slightest urge to fuck the other man. He felt that urge for T-Bag several times a day.
But that was just the thing – Abruzzi had never wanted any other man, but T-Bag used to fuck men all the time, going through them like normal people went through socks. At least, that was how Abruzzi remembered it. Submissive and cowed, every one of them. And the way T-Bag had looked at Fish back in Fox River, and the way he looked at Harald, reminded Abruzzi sharply of something else all of T-Bag's previous partners had had in common: they were all young and attractive.
Abruzzi glared at the trees, kicked at a mushroom as he passed it, grumbled to himself. It was hard to remember that T-Bag was his, well and truly his, when the other man looked at a young, handsome guy like he had looked at Harald. It made Abruzzi jealous. It woke an unpleasant part of him; possessiveness was not attractive, his wife had always told him. It spoke to a lack of trust.
But by God, Abruzzi wanted to possess T-Bag. The other man should belong to him. The other man did belong to him; T-Bag had begged him to carve his mark into the Alabamian's own flesh not three months ago. A big, red set of initials, J.A., dripping blood onto their sheets. When the letters had scabbed over, T-Bag had carved them back open himself to ensure they left a scar.
The second time they'd scabbed over, he'd asked Abruzzi to do it. By the time the wound had healed, the scarring was a fact, and John Abruzzi's name was carved right into T-Bag's flesh. Of course T-Bag belonged to him. He was, quite literally, branded with Abruzzi's name.
Having worked off the worst of the anger, Abruzzi felt himself deflate a little. What the hell was wrong with him, getting this worked up over a few glances, a few flirty comments? T-Bag had been on his knees that very morning, choking himself on Abruzzi's dick and begging for more. T-Bag wore his permanent mark, and sucked heated kisses into the scar on Abruzzi's throat that he himself had put there. T-Bag was still here, living with him in the middle of nowhere, after almost a year.
Shamefaced, he returned to their cabin, following the sounds of axe meeting wood. When he came out of the treeline, he saw T-Bag, still swinging the biggest axe, face red with exercise and eyes hard with effort.
“Theodore.”
T-Bag lowered the axe and turned to face him. “John.”
“Were you actually trying something with that guy? Or were you just being...” he began, then trailed off. Of course T-Bag wasn't actually trying to fuck another man. Not right in front of Abruzzi. He braced himself for righteous anger from the other man.
But to his surprise, the Alabamian looked just as shamefaced as he himself had been. “I didn't mean it. I was just... distracted.”
Abruzzi's gut dropped. “Because he was attractive.”
T-Bag bit his lip. “He reminded me o' you.”
Abruzzi did a double-take. “What? He didn't look anything like me!”
“Betcha looked just like that when ya was younger,” T-Bag said, then gave a little lopsided grin. “Broad shouldered. Bearded, long hair. Blue-green eyes, a lil' rough around the edges.”
Abruzzi was dumbstruck.
“John, I swear, I ain't even thinkin' 'bout anyone else,” T-Bag said softly, looking down at the axe in his hands. “I was bein' stupid.”
Abruzzi approached the other man, then took the axe out of his hands. “Leave it for today. We can get started tomorrow.”
They left the tools in their little shed, then went back inside and changed out of their work clothes. T-Bag got dinner started and Abruzzi made up a fire in the living room stove. When T-Bag slid the casserole dish into the oven, Abruzzi handed him a glass of wine to sip while they waited. Their eyes met over the rims of their glasses as they both drank at the same time.
“I get jealous,” Abruzzi admitted, quietly.
T-Bag's lip quirked up at one corner. “I noticed.”
“I'll try not to,” Abruzzi offered.
T-Bag shook his head. “No, I like it. Ya don't get jealous 'less ya give a damn, ya know?”
Abruzzi huffed. Giving a damn didn't even begin to cover what he felt for the other man, as they both knew damn well. “My wife always said jealousy was just a lack of trust.”
“Ya wife didn't know shit,” T-Bag said angrily. “Was it ever like this with her?”
“No,” Abruzzi said, putting his glass down on the table. “It was never even close to this with her.”
T-Bag's smirk was proud. “Ain't nobody in it with you like I am, John. Don't ya forget it.”
Abruzzi took T-Bag's glass, too, and put that on the table. “I won't forget it, unless you start flirting with men half your age. Christ, Theodore, the kid was barely twenty-five.”
T-Bag reached greedy hands out for him as Abruzzi stepped into his space. “But I need to see ya jealous, John. Wanna know how bad ya got it.”
Abruzzi grabbed the hair at the back of T-Bag's head and yanked hard, forcing the shorter man's head back. T-Bag moaned when Abruzzi's teeth sank into the skin of his throat. “Open your shirt.”
T-Bag did, fingers deft and quick on his buttons. When the skin below his collarbone was revealed, and Abruzzi saw the pale scars shaping his own initials there, he leaned further down and fastened his mouth over those scars. He sucked and bit there until T-Bag was incoherent with need.
“Tell me you're not fucking around,” Abruzzi demanded, then pushed a leg between T-Bag's knees, walked them aggressively backwards until the shorter man was pressed up against their fridge. He sucked hard on the scars again while T-Bag rutted desperately against his thigh. “Tell me!”
“Nobody else,” T-Bag promised him, breathless and eager. “Fuck, John, want ya to own me!”
Abruzzi reached up and grasped T-Bag's throat with both hands. As his fingers closed around that slender column of flesh and bone, T-Bag's breath went ragged. Abruzzi tightened his grip and the other man's eyes rolled back in his skull.
“I own you,” Abruzzi repeated, and T-Bag's pulse was thundering beneath his fingertips. “There's nothing I couldn't do to you. You'd let me kill you and fuck your corpse if I wanted, wouldn't you?”
T-Bag gasped for breath. He nodded.
“Nobody else has ever owned you like this, have they?” he demanded.
T-Bag shook his head, lips still moving even as his voice was cut off by Abruzzi's grip on his throat. Abruzzi pressed in even closer, pushed his leg up between T-Bag's, and squeezed. T-Bag's eyelids flickered, as if he was about to pass out, and Abruzzi released his hold on his neck immediately.
T-Bag came, convulsing against him, dry, sobbing breaths in the space between them the only sound he made. Abruzzi held still, holding the shorter man up, feeling a wet spot spreading against his thigh through their well-worn sweatpants. When at last T-Bag stopped shuddering and got his breathing under control, their eyes met. Only then did Abruzzi lean in to kiss the other man.
“John,” T-Bag croaked, lips dragging against the other man's as he spoke. “John, I am yours.”
“I'm sorry I was a dick before,” Abruzzi muttered, breathing heavily into the sliver of space still left between them. “I just hate it when you look at guys like that.”
“I don't mind,” T-Bag assured him, then pulled back a little. “Do you smell smoke?”
“Shit,” Abruzzi bit out, releasing T-Bag and rushing for the smoke detector, which had just gone off. T-Bag rushed for the oven, and got the casserole out – the cheese crust was charred entirely black. They threw open windows, Abruzzi took the batteries out of the smoke detector to stop it wailing, and in time, their kitchen was relatively calm again.
“Well, that's our dinner fucked,” T-Bag said, chagrined.
“My bad,” Abruzzi admitted, looking at the burnt remains of T-Bag's cooking. “Sorry.”
“I ain't takin' any apologies for makin' me come so hard I nearly pass out,” T-Bag said, and his voice was warm. When their eyes met, he was grinning. “But you can fix us that frozen pizza we got left in the freezer.”
Abruzzi set about unpacking the frozen pizza, and T-Bag wrote more frozen pizzas on their shopping list on the fridge, and finally, after much ado, they could sit down in the couch with their wine and pizza. The room was still a little cold after airing out the burnt smell, but the fire was roaring and Abruzzi's cheeks were still hot from before.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“Only reason I got stupid earlier was 'cause he reminded me o' you. I swear, that was it.”
Abruzzi cast sidelong glances as the other man. “So you'd like to fuck the younger me?”
T-Bag shifted closer until they were sitting pressed against each other. “I wanna fuck every single version of ya.”
Abruzzi smiled at his pizza. “Lucky. I don't want to fuck any other man on the planet but you, but I guess one version of me is enough for that, huh?”
“No other man? Ya mean ya wanna fuck women?” T-Bag asked, and though his voice was playful, his eyes were guarded.
“No, you dumbass, and you know it,” Abruzzi said, and ate his pizza.
T-Bag grinned into his wine.
***
When Abruzzi was in the bathroom the next morning, he contemplated his appearance in the mirror. This wasn't something he did often, so it was more strenuous than he had anticipated. He stared hard at his own reflection. T-Bag had said the handsome, young Harald reminded him of Abruzzi. Although Abruzzi couldn't really see it himself, maybe he could work with that?
He trimmed his beard neatly. There was grey in it, now, but T-Bag had said, once, that he preferred it to a clean-shaven face. Abruzzi made sure it was even, not too long and with no odd hairs sticking out. Then he considered his hair. Did T-Bag like a man with long hair? Like Harald? He had had longer hair when they had begun planning the escape back in prison, but it was thinning and receding at once, and Abruzzi decided it looked better short.
While T-Bag was downstairs, fixing them breakfast, Abruzzi contemplated his wardrobe. He had lots of flannel shirts now, after a year in this place. He picked a red one, as similar to the one Harald had been wearing as he could find. It was a little tight around the middle, but he still put it on over his t-shirt. He could manage jeans and sturdy work boots, too. And a little knit cap, like the other man had been wearing; he was sure he had one of those downstairs in the closet.
When he entered the kitchen, T-Bag was busy frying bacon. Abruzzi got himself a mug of coffee and sat at the table.
“Want to do some more timber work today?” he asked, striving for casual.
“Yeah, I was thinkin' -” T-Bag began, but then he turned around and caught sight of Abruzzi. He cocked his head a little to the side, tongue flicking out like it sometimes did when he was thinking dirty thoughts. “Ya do somethin' to your hair?”
“No,” Abruzzi said, grinning into his coffee. “Why?”
“Dunno, ya just look... Anyway. Breakfast, then lumberjackin',” T-Bag said, collecting himself and putting bacon on their plates.
They ate, then went outside in the crisp, clear autumn weather to get started on their trees from yesterday. T-Bag handed Abruzzi the big axe with a nod.
“Ya did better with this than me.”
Abruzzi hefted the axe, remembered to use its weight to do the work, and swung. Logs splintered and split under his hands. For a while, he worked at a steady, calm pace, just splitting logs and waiting while T-Bag picked them up and moved them to the shed, then splitting more once the shorter man moved out of the way. After a while, though, he put the axe down, noticing T-Bag was staring at him.
“What?”
T-Bag shook himself, then darted in to remove all the split wood. “Nothin'. Ya wanna switch?”
They switched, and while T-Bag's wiry strength let him do the job well enough, it was clear he didn't have the knack for it like Abruzzi did. After half an hour, Abruzzi offered to take over.
“It's easier if I chop and you stack,” he said.
T-Bag gave him the axe back with an odd expression on his face. “Aight. Ya wanna take a break? I'm-a get coffee started.” And then he set off for the house.
Abruzzi shrugged and kept chopping. After a while, however, he felt T-Bag was taking a lot longer than strictly necessary with that coffee. He was about to go inside and check what was going on when T-Bag came back out, a thermos and mugs in his hands. The shorter man's face was flushed and he wasn't meeting Abruzzi's eyes when he handed over the coffee.
“I brought cinnamon rolls,” he offered, holding out a bag of lightly squashed cinnamon rolls that he'd been carrying between the other items.
“What are you...” Abruzzi begun, but then T-Bag looked up, expectantly, and he decided it was probably nothing. “I'll take one of those rolls.”
They had coffee and cinnamon rolls, then Abruzzi wiped his fingers of crumbs and reached for the axe again. He resumed chopping. After a few minutes, he noticed T-Bag was once more staring. He lowered the axe.
“Theodore, what?!”
“Fuck, John,” T-Bag said, voice deep and gritty, and then licked his lips. “Ya look so fuckin' hot.”
Abruzzi tried to hold back a smile. “Do I, now?”
T-Bag slinked closer, took the axe out of his hands and leaned it carefully against the sauna wall. Then he circled Abruzzi once. “Ya do. Whatcha do to look this hot?”
Abruzzi snorted. “You're saying I don't always look this good?”
“Somethin's different,” T-Bag insisted, then reached out a hand and grabbed a fistful of flannel shirt. “I think it's the axe.”
Abruzzi let the other man look. “You got an axe fetish now?”
“'S just this whole lumberjack thang ya got goin',” T-Bag muttered, running appreciative hands down Abruzzi's chest. “I don't know what it is – but I like it.”
“I hadn't noticed,” Abruzzi chuckled. “What with how you nearly started a fight yesterday, how obviously you were fucking that kid in your mind.”
T-Bag snapped his fingers. “That's what it is – ya copyin' his look.”
Abruzzi felt a little embarrassed at being caught. “Fuck off, I'm not! This is work wear, I always look like this when we're doing shit outside.”
“Nah, don't get me wrong, ya wear it better than 'im,” T-Bag said with a smirk. “I just never realised how... rustic... ya could be.”
“So me swinging an axe and wearing flannel, that's what gets you going?” Abruzzi asked, mouth dry. When T-Bag got extra riled up, the sex was usually even better.
“Kinda like me wearin' a suit an' gettin' excited for Norwegian holidays,” T-Bag reminded him, and Abruzzi bit back a groan. That had been a really, really good day.
“Yeah?”
“C'mon, lessgo back inside,” T-Bag said, heated eyes dragging down Abruzzi's body. “We need a longer break.”
Abruzzi followed with a grin. “Was that what you were doing inside when you were getting coffee?” he asked.
T-Bag's ears went red, but the other man said nothing.
Abruzzi goggled. “Seriously?”
“Shut up,” T-Bag muttered, and they went back inside their cabin.
“You were so riled up over me chopping firewood you had to go jerk off?” Abruzzi asked, and though his words were harsh, his chest filled with warmth. “Theodore, that's... You could have just asked.”
“Well, I'm askin' now,” T-Bag said, and turned to look at Abruzzi again, eyes darker than usual. “Wantcha to fuck me wearin' that outfit.”
Abruzzi paused as he was about to undress. “All of it?”
T-Bag dropped to his knees, then, and undid Abruzzi's jeans, just opening them enough to get a hand into his shorts and pull his dick out. Abruzzi had been hard since T-Bag told him he looked hot. T-Bag sucked him down, gave him a few bobs of his head, then pulled back and looked up. “Just like that.”
They stumbled up the stairs, Abruzzi's big boots thundering loudly, T-Bag's socked feet making no noise. Once they were in their bedroom, T-Bag removed all his clothing – every last stitch. Then he looked around, and his eyes lit on the chest of drawers – the one that came to about hip height on Abruzzi.
“Fuck me right here,” T-Bag decreed, and jumped up to sit on that dresser.
Abruzzi's head spun. He grabbed the lube from the bedside table, then went eagerly to T-Bag. “How am I supposed to get you prepped when you're sitting like this?”
“Don't bother,” T-Bag panted, grasping at the other man, pulling him closer. “Just slick yaself an' git.”
Abruzzi groaned, leaning in to kiss the other man. Their lips mashed together, tongues sliding, they panted into each other's mouths as the taller man quickly slicked his dick up, then moved in between T-Bag's legs. T-Bag got his legs around Abruzzi's hips, and the mobster fumbled between them, found T-Bag's opening, held himself steady and pushed. T-Bag gave a sharp, short sound just as he was breached, and Abruzzi could feel the tightness, could feel this was too fast, but he couldn't bring himself to stop, not when T-Bag was pulling desperately at him.
“C'mon, fuck me, wanna feel it,” T-Bag hissed in his ear.
Abruzzi had to bend his knees and pull T-Bag up a little to be able to move, and even then it was awkward. “Fuck, Theodore!”
“John,” T-Bag gasped, fingers fisted in the red flannel. “So hot like this.”
Abruzzi managed to get his hands under T-Bag's knees, then – he hooked the other man's legs over his own forearms, braced on the edge of the dresser, curling T-Bag in on himself. The Alabamian moaned at the rough handling. When he shifted his hands to grip the dresser further apart, T-Bag's legs followed. Abruzzi thrust. T-Bag gave a shout of pleasure.
“John,” T-Bag pleaded, eyes unfocused and swimming. “Fuck, so good!”
“This what you wanted?” Abruzzi demanded, thrusting again, leaning in until they could kiss once more. “Me lumberjacking you into next week?”
T-Bag laughed, and clenched, and Abruzzi swore into the skin of his neck.
“Yes, yes, fuck, John, yes...”
“I dressed like this for you,” Abruzzi admitted, panting, as he fucked in and out of T-Bag's ass, hot and tight as it always was, the shorter man desperate for him like the first time every time. “You like it?”
T-Bag could only hiss out his pleasure when Abruzzi began biting his neck.
“Teddy,” Abruzzi moaned, then kissed the other man deeply. “Fuck, Teddy, want to give you...”
T-Bag arched back and writhed. “John!”
“Mm. Give you everything,” Abruzz promised, then slowed. “Come here.”
He gathered T-Bag close to him, folded those scrawny legs around himself, encouraged the other man to grab hold around his shoulders. Then he lifted T-Bag off the dresser, turned around, and sat them on the bed, T-Bag in his lap.
T-Bag laughed again. “I say, John.”
“Here,” Abruzzi offered, and began stroking T-Bag's dick between them. “Right on this shirt.”
T-Bag moaned wildly, bucking in his grasp, clenching and unclenching around his dick. His hands were fisting in Abruzzi's hair as well as the flannel, now.
“Come on, Teddy,” he coaxed, and leaned his head back so they could kiss again. T-Bag grunted into his mouth, and he felt the other man's body contract all over, and T-Bag came into his hand, their mouths still locked together.
“Fuck, John,” T-Bag gasped, and shuddered again in his arms.
Abruzzi pulled the other man with him as he fell back, then rolled, and pressed T-Bag down into the covers. “Teddy,” he murmured, kissing him again. “Teddy.”
The sound of that name made T-Bag clench up and moan weakly. Abruzzi, though in an awkward position and just about ready to explode with how hard he was, began rocking slowly in and out of T-Bag, his movements gentle after the other man's orgasm. He wanted to draw this out, although he knew he was breaths away from coming.
He leaned in and kissed the scars on T-Bag's chest, and the shorter man drew a shuddering breath. T-Bag's hands were on his shoulders now, encouraging him, tugging him on. When he looked up, he found T-Bag smiling impishly at him, but there was a lot more behind that grin.
“Lumberjack me until I can't walk, John,” he teased, and Abruzzi barked out a laugh.
Rutting against the other man as best he could, Abruzzi chased his own climax, kissing whatever skin he could reach and feeling T-Bag's hands all over him. When he came, at last, he pressed hard and close, hips twitching, holding still deep inside the other man. T-Bag's greedy hands pulled him in, the other man's breath was hissing in his ear, and they were still for a moment, both their pulses racing.
T-Bag leaned up to kiss him again, all tongue and teeth and want. Abruzzi kissed him back. There was something so fucking hot about how T-Bag could want him so badly even right after having been fucked thoroughly. When Abruzzi tried lifting off T-Bag, the other man stopped him, shook his head.
“Wait a lil'. Wanna have ya in me.”
Abruzzi, though blushing a little, grinned down at the other man. “I am in you, Teddy. Way up in you, in case you hadn't noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed, alright,” T-Bag chuckled. “Nah, I meant... wait 'till I can... keep it there.”
Abruzzi felt heat spark in his gut even as he was a little disturbed. “Like... the...”
Even T-Bag looked a little awkward when he said, “Wanna feel ya in me all day.”
Abruzzi didn't know how to respond to that, so he leaned in and began kissing the scars instead. T-Bag sighed his pleasure. After a few moments, Abruzzi had no choice but to slowly pull out, and T-Bag's eyes went unfocused as he felt wetness follow the other man's dick out.
“So... lumberjacks are your kink, huh?” Abruzzi asked, then reached down to feel between T-Bag's legs. The other man was clenching up, tightly, and Abruzzi marvelled at how T-Bag managed to make even the filthiest thing seem like a promise.
“Mm. Wear that outfit again an' I'm-a hafta get a plug,” T-Bag muttered, and then gave Abruzzi a filthy grin. “Maybe you'd like that, eh, boss?”
Abruzzi didn't know what that meant, but he could guess. He felt himself going a little red. “You mean... to keep... stuff... inside you? Is that something you...”
“Ain't ever done it before,” T-Bag said softly, then stroked an appreciative hand down the now sweaty red flannel. “Ya just bring these urges out in me, don'tcha, John.”
Abruzzi hid his face in T-Bag's neck. “We seem to do that to each other, don't we?”
T-Bag fisted a hand in the short hair at the back of his head and pulled him in to give him a long, filthy, open-mouthed kiss. “Yeah. Urges. Blood an' scars an' cum an' other fluids. Want all o' ya in me an' on me an' all over me.”
Abruzzi kissed back and licked the taste of sex out of T-Bag's mouth. “Mm. Yeah. I want that, too.”
“I wanna go to a tattoo place an' get ya name tattooed on my ass,” T-Bag muttered, and pushed his naked hips up against Abruzzi's almost fully clothed ones. He must be chafed raw. “Wanna bite ya an' taste the blood. Wanna get a plug so ya can fuck me an' fill me up an' I can have it inside me for hours. Days.”
Abruzzi's head spun. “Fuck, Teddy, how do you even... How do you make those things sound so good?”
“Ya know, our anniversary's comin' up,” T-Bag said, and Abruzzi raised his head to stare into the other man's eyes. He had thought he was the only one keeping score. “Wanna give me a tattoo for a anniversary gift?”
“Both of us,” Abruzzi countered, still staring into those dark, dark eyes. “I want matching tattoos.”
“An' a plug,” T-Bag wheedled.
“Anything you want. Fuck, Teddy, you really want that?”
“Mm. All of it. An' a new scar. Want ya teeth marks in my neck, permanent, like,” T-Bag said, shocking Abruzzi to his core in the best way.
“Yeah, sure,” Abruzzi agreed, and licked again at the scars on T-Bag's chest. “Anything.”
There was a short silence. Then, “Ya wanna lumberjack me again tomorrow?”
Abruzzi laughed into the skin beneath his lips. “Sure, Teddy. I'll lumberjack you every day for a week. You want to choose the colour of my flannel shirt every morning?”
“Laugh all ya want, boss, but I actually never been this hot for ya before. Damn. I knew that kid reminded me of ya somehow.”
“Not even when you let me fuck you dry because you were so hard up, that time in Canada?”
“Not even then, John. I'd say it's a good thang, ain't it, that I wanna fuck ya more an' more the longer we fuck?”
“... Happy anniversary in one month, three weeks and one day, Teddy.”
“Actually, strictly speakin', our anniversary was weeks ago. If we count the first time ya fucked me.”
Abruzzi considered. “Shouldn't we count from the first time we actually decided to do this couple thing?”
T-Bag shrugged. “Dunno. We got lotsa options – first time I sucked ya dick, first time ya fucked me, first time we kissed, first time -”
“Okay, okay, we don't really have an anniversary,” Abruzzi muttered.
“First time we kissed,” T-Bag decided, and leaned up to repeat that occurrence. “'Cause that was also the first time we fucked properly, all consentin' an' everythin'. An' the first time ya admitted to wantin' this.”
Abruzzi picked T-Bag's left wrist up and kissed it. “Did I ever tell you I'm really fucking happy you decided to cuff yourself to me during the escape?”
T-Bag's eyes glinted happily, and he smirked. “Ya didn't, actually.”
Abruzzi kissed him deeply, then sat up and took T-Bag's hand in his, pulling the other man with him so they could go shower and wash off the sweat, sex and bits of forest they had brought back inside with them. In the shower, unable to resist, Abruzzi pushed T-Bag against the shower wall and slid two fingers into his ass, making T-Bag moan helplessly and feeling the slick heat there.
Pressing the shorter man against the wall, rubbing their bodies together and thrusting three fingers loosely in and out, making his own come leak down those wiry thighs, Abruzzi pressed his nose to the skin of T-Bag's temple and told him, “I'm really fucking happy you decided to cuff yourself to me during the escape, Teddy.”
And T-Bag pressed back into him and said, “Yeah, John, me, too. Really... fuckin'... happy.”