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"Theodore?"
"Hmm?"
T-Bag didn't look up from the book he was reading. Abruzzi stood at the window, restlessly scanning the trees. The sunny August afternoon suggested they should be outside.
"You like getting fucked, right?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Abruzzi caught a snort and an affectionate eyeroll. "Whatever gave ya that idea, John? Why, I never!"
"Shut up and answer the question. You enjoy... being on the receiving end."
T-Bag gave a non-comittal sound and turned a page. "When we fuck, I wantcha on top, yeah. How so?"
Abruzzi grit his teeth and forced the next question out. "You think... you think I should try to let you... be on top?"
Those sharp, dark eyes snapped up to meet his own. T-Bag's eyebrows were higher up than Abruzzi had ever seen them.
"Lemme get this straight, John. Are ya askin' 'cause ya wanna, or 'cause ya got some bee in ya bonnet 'bout equitable fuckin' an' all?"
Abruzzi grimaced. "What, you don't think I'd like it?"
T-Bag put his bookmark in, put the book down, took a sip of his coffee and got to his feet before answering. "Lemme ask ya a question, John. When ya see me undressin', ya get any urges to bend over, ass up?"
Abruzzi bristled. "No, and fuck you, Bagwell!"
T-Bag nodded decisively. "See, ya wouldn't like it."
Abruzzi hesitated a little. "That's what it's like for you?"
T-Bag gave him the widest, filthiest grin in his repertoare. "Sure is, boss. Soon as I see ya comin' downstairs for breakfast, I gotta exercise great restraint not to bend over any flat surface an' start beggin'."
Abruzzi just knew the other man was fucking with him. "Forget it. Fuck off back to your book."
T-Bag wiped the grin off his face and bumped Abruzzi's arm with his shoulder. "John. I can assure ya I ain't feelin' hard done by. I prefer bein' the catcher, not the pitcher, on this particular field. Now, of course I'd be willin' to oblige, if'n ya wanted to try a few catches. But not on my account."
T-Bag was a perceptive fucker, of course. Abruzzi had never, not once in his life, wanted another man to put anything inside him. But he had no idea what that was like from the other end, and he'd never even offered for T-Bag to have his turn, either. He was starting to feel guilty about it.
"I'll think about it," Abruzzi said, and turned to go make more coffee. He could feel T-Bag's eyes on his back, staring, as he left the room.
***
Abruzzi went outside to wander around the forest alone. It was what he did, when he needed some space and some time to mull shit over. He brought his coffee in a thermos flask - the Norwegians fucking loved their thermos flasks; you could get them anywhere - and set off for the treeline.
As he walked, he imagined T-Bag being fucked. Sucking dick. The Alabamian was always so eager. Of course, Abruzzi loved the sex, too - but he loved burying his dick in T-Bag, anywhere in him, really. He would suck the other man's cock, or stroke it, for T-Bag's sake, but he didn't enjoy having a dick in his mouth. T-Bag loved it. Would occasionally come into the mattress just from sucking Abruzzi.
T-Bag loved getting fucked, too. Abruzzi was half-hard in his jeans just thinking about it. The way the other man moaned, begged, writhed. Sometimes they fucked slow and gentle and sometimes Abruzzi beat the orgasm out of the other man, and always, every time, T-Bag loved it.
Yes, Abruzzi felt a little guilty that after living together for nearly a year, and fucking vigorously for about nine months, he had never once offered T-Bag the chance to fuck him. He had carved his initials into the other man, kissed him out in public, sworn him forever - but never once suggested they try things the other way around. T-Bag had sworn up and down he liked things this way, but a man had to wonder.
Also, there was a small - a very small, almost non-existent, but still there - part of Abruzzi who was curious. T-Bag was shameless in his enjoyment of having a cock shoved somewhere in him, making it stunningly obvious that the Alabamian honestly enjoyed it more than anything. Could it really be that good? If Abruzzi managed to get his head out of his own ass long enough for T-Bag to stick his cock up there, would it be so good Abruzzi begged?
Would he start wanting, as T-Bag had said, to bend over the nearest available surface to be fucked?
Abruzzi hated the idea. He was intrigued by it. He was terrified and curious. And he felt guilty despite T-Bag's reassurances that the other man wanted it this way.
Of course, there was that time at Christmas when T-Bag had...
Abruzzi felt his face flame, despite being alone in the woods.
T-Bag had called it rimming, although Abruzzi suspected he just made that up. Or maybe it was just something he'd found online; it was certainly nothing Abruzzi had ever contemplated. The mobster was pretty sure he didn't want anyone going near that certain part of his anatomy, not ever. But then T-Bag had put his mouth on Abruzzi's ass and...
It was mortifying to him to even think about the fact that they had done that. Worse, that Abruzzi had liked it. Because he had; that agile, wet, snaking tongue tasting him there had had Abruzzi cursing heartily into the mattress, fucking down into the soft cotton in search of something to take the edge off.
T-Bag had eaten him out like a girl, and then, when Abruzzi was hard and leaking and desperate, T-Bag had made him turn over, sat down on him and ridden his cock like he expected to be paid for it. So, no, Abruzzi couldn't really say that he absolutely hated the idea of T-Bag touching him there.
He hated it a little bit. But he was still curious enough to think that maybe this was like the cock-sucking. If he just tried hard enough, he might manage it, given time.
And we're just pretending, I guess, that I don't kinda hate that every single time. That I only do it for his sake.
Abruzzi heaved a sigh and sat down on a convenient fallen tree. He unscrewed the top of his thermos and poured himself some coffee. Birds were chirping in a disgustingly cheerful manner around him as he drank his bitter, black coffee and thought about T-Bag.
T-Bag had fucked other men all the time in prison. He probably knew exactly what he was doing, in sharp contrast to Abruzzi, who had to be guided through everything for the first few weeks of their... thing. T-Bag would know how to make it good from the start.
And Abruzzi trusted him. Trusted him with his life and his entire sense of self. If he couldn't let T-Bag fuck him, what did that say about his commitment to the other man?
He sat there, contemplating shit, and drank his coffee, until there was no more coffee left and his ass had fallen asleep sitting on that log. Then he got up and began walking back home, determined to man up and let T-Bag fuck him. Like a goddamn adult.
***
"There ya are, I was gettin' worried," T-Bag said, grinning up at Abruzzi as the taller man came back into the reading room. "Thought ya might be off havin' adventures without me."
Abruzzi snorted. "Went for a walk and had some coffee. What's for dinner? You need any help?"
T-Bag told him dinner was leftovers and not to mess with it, and Abruzzi obeyed because he was not a skilled cook. So he picked up a book, too, and sat in the other chair (they had two chairs, now, so they could read side by side, like a married couple out of some sitcom - Abruzzi loved it, but he did not say that out loud). They read for a couple of hours until Abruzzi's stomach rumbled and T-Bag got up to reheat the leftovers.
***
Later that night, Abruzzi had had a few glasses of wine (the leftovers were really good and deserved to be paired with a nice bottle between the two of them) and was feeling a little more relaxed. He decided to be an adult again and talk about shit.
"I think we should try switching when we fuck," he declared, and T-Bag choked on his wine, coughed up half of it, and began wheezing.
Abruzzi swore under his breath and went to get some paper towels. He really needed to start checking if T-Bag had a mouthful of something that would stain before he threw shit like that at him. Last time, it had been coffee. Red wine was a bitch to get out of rugs.
"Fuck, John, ya gon' hafta learn how to segue into topics like that, my lungs can't be havin' all this fluid in'em," T-Bag rasped once he'd stopped coughing.
Abruzzi felt his face heat up again over the paper towels and the wine stains now setting happily into their rug. "You, uh, you good? Need me to do the Heimlich maneuver?"
"Gimme a second," T-Bag muttered, and took a cautious sip of wine. Abruzzi went to throw away all the paper towels. When he got back in the living room, T-Bag was on his feet.
"Now, just so's we clear on this," T-Bag said, and his eyes were crinkling at the corners. "Ya just made me inhale our best wine so ya could tell me ya want fucked?"
Abruzzi hesitated. Want was entirely the wrong word. He did not actually want to be fucked. Had never, once in his life, wanted that. He wanted T-Bag. But he wanted to be the one fucking T-Bag. Still, it was as close as he could get to explaining what he wanted, which was to show T-Bag he valued him enough, and trusted him enough, to let the shorter man have a turn, too.
"Yeah."
T-Bag chuckled. "I do love it when ya throw me them curve balls, boss. Keeps me on my toes. Ya wanna try it right now?"
Abruzzi squared his shoulders. No time like the present; he might as well get it over with. At least he wouldn't have time to work himself up into a worry over it. "Yeah, sure. You in?"
"Not yet, but I guess I will be," T-Bag quipped with a smirk, and nodded towards the stairs. "Bedroom, I'm guessin'?"
Abruzzi followed him upstairs. Damn straight, they were doing this in their bedroom. He may be determined to do right by the other man, but he was not getting fucked on the couch. He needed a pillow in which to hide his face if he got too embarrassed.
"Go grab a shower, John," T-Bag ordered, then began turning down the bed. "Just a quick one."
Abruzzi shamefacedly headed into the bathroom. Right, the whole hygiene thing. He wondered how often T-Bag actually prepped himself for fucking in the shower. They didn't use condoms, and things got sticky and messy, but Abruzzi never minded that. Just a quick shower, T-Bag had said. Alright.
Five minutes later, Abruzzi returned to their bedroom, a towel around his waist. He had given himself a brisk scrubbing, and was all out of excused to delay things. The Alabamian stared at him for a moment, then nodded towards the bed and began undoing the buttons on his shirt.
T-Bag undressed slowly, meticulously, staring straight at Abruzzi the entire time. The mobster kept his eyes on the floor, dropped the towel as quickly as he could, and got on the bed, then laid down straight away, front down.
"Could you, uh, just... tell me if I need to move or something?" Abruzzi muttered, and shifted a little. He felt ridiculously exposed. It made no sense, but he did.
"I was thinkin', I could give ya a lil'... encouragement first," T-Bag purred. The bed shifted, and then Abruzzi felt T-Bag drape himself all over the taller man's body - pressed together skin to skin. "Ya remember my lil' Christmas present, John?"
That Southern lilt was huffed out in hot breath right against his ear, and Abruzzi shivered. He felt T-Bag's hips pressed against his own, but the other man wasn't hard. Just the heat of the two of them had Abruzzi wanting to roll over, take T-Bag with him, press the shorter man into the sheets and fuck him until he was begging.
No. It was manning up time. Abruzzi clenched his teeth and lay still.
T-Bag moved down, shifted until hot breath was puffing over Abruzzi's ass. The mobster tensed. This again. That he, apparently, loved having done to him despite being so ashamed it nearly killed him.
"Grab yaself a pillow, John. Tilt up for me."
Abruzzi did as he was told; he got to his knees, grabbed a pillow - not one of the good ones; the ratty, uneven one neither of them slept on - and folded it up as much as he could, then put that underneath himself. He managed to not squash anything important when he laid back down.
The angle was awkward. A little uncomfortable.
T-Bag nipped gently at his ass cheek, and he gave a start. Then the other man began touching him, palming the flesh, running those agile fingers down his sides. Abruzzi shifted a little. He could do this.
T-Bag spread him open and began licking right there, and Abruzzi tensed all over. Then T-Bag's dirty, clever mouth began working its wonders, and Abruzzi melted into the mattress.
It was so good. That tongue, pressing against his skin, pressing very nearly into him. The knowledge of what T-Bag was doing, how far he was willing to go. The slick sounds and the panting breaths of the man straining his neck to make Abruzzi feel good.
Abruzzi groaned and pressed back, felt himself harden.
"Wanna come first?" T-Bag murmured between swipes of his tongue. "Wanna take the edge off a lil'?"
Abruzzi shook his head, shaking. "No, just get going."
T-Bag paused for a second, then Abruzzi heard the snick of the lube being opened. "Aight. Keep breathin' for me, now."
One finger, slick and slippery, joined T-Bag's tongue and began rubbing over what Abruzzi was suddenly realising was extremely tight muscle. Certainly the firmest muscle he had, judging by how he felt his entire body tighten up at the feeling of a finger probing there.
"Relax, an' breathe," T-Bag instructed, and that finger pressed inside.
Abruzzi felt his jaw ache, and realised he was clenching his teeth so tightly it hurt. He grabbed the nearest pillow and bit into the fabric, determined not to ruin this for T-Bag.
That finger pushed deeper and Abruzzi hissed into the pillow. It hurt, a little. He couldn't stop thinking about how he really didn't like it. It was weird; the feeling was entirely invasive and uncomfortable. Why the hell did T-Bag enjoy this?
T-Bag removed his damnable finger, and Abruzzi heaved a sigh of relief. Then something pushed back into him, and from the way it stretched and hurt just a little more, Abruzzi could deduce the bastard was using more fingers. He held still, fighting the urge to turn around and punch the other man in the face. Then the fingers inside him began trying to wiggle around, and his entire body tensed up like a bear trap.
"John? How ya doin'?"
Fuck. Abruzzi would have to lie. He was going to have to tell T-Bag that he was fine, just go ahead, and then just try and breathe through the pain until it was over. And to stop his head spinning around the fact that this felt wrong all over.
"I only ask 'cause ya 'bout to cut off circulation to my fingers, an' I kinda need those for later."
Abruzzi opened his mouth to tell T-Bag to just get on with it, but his stupid mouth betrayed him, because what came out was, "I can't. I can't do it. Fuck, get your hand out of me right the fuck now. I gotta..."
And T-Bag pulled his fingers out, and it felt as if his whole body was about to invert itself through that space, and Abruzzi felt - for some bizarre reason - a brief touch of gag reflex. As soon as he felt T-Bag's touch leave him, he rolled over and got off the bed, grabbing for his bathrobe to cover up a little. He pulled it on and tied it uncomfortably tight.
When he turned to face the bed again, T-Bag was wiping his hand on a washcloth that had mysteriously appeared - maybe T-Bag had one ready before they even started, he kept a stash of them in the bedside cabinet - and staring at Abruzzi, wide-eyed and apprehensive.
"John? What I do?"
Abruzzi turned around, scrubbed a hand over his face, took a deep breath. "Nothing. It wasn't you. I just... I can't."
Fuck, fuck, fuck. There went all his manning up credentials.
T-Bag shrugged easily and got off the bed, too. "I figured as much, John. We tried, ya don' like it. Now tell me why ya look like ya wanna deck me."
Abruzzi grit his teeth. The other man was not supposed to see that.
"I don't. Christ, Theodore, it's not your fault, I'm just... Okay, so it pisses me off that I can't just do this, but that's on me, not you," Abruzzi said, and looked away. "Sorry."
"'s just, ya said ya wanted -"
"I lied. I didn't want to. I hate this, I hate the whole fucking idea of this. I just thought I should -"
T-Bag made an impatient sound. "I told ya, I don't care! Why you insistin' on makin' thangs all equal, John, if'n ya know ya ain't gon' enjoy it?"
Abruzzi had no good answers for that, either, so he just grit his teeth some more.
"I asked ya," T-Bag insisted, and the shorter man was glaring now. "I asked ya, whatcha want when ya look at me? An' I told ya, I ain't hankerin' to fuck ya, long as ya fuck me. Why ya gotta mess with this when it don't need messin' with?"
Abruzzi couldn't take the other man's anger. He knew it was all his own fault, but to have T-Bag glaring and yelling at him when Abruzzi had just felt the other man's fingers in his goddamn ass? It was too much for him. It riled him up like he was back in prison. Instinct told him to lash out, to beat the other man into submission to stop him from bringing attention to the fact that Abruzzi had submitted like a prison bitch.
"Shut up!" Abruzzi snapped, and strode out. He went to the other bedroom - the spare bedroom they slept in when they fought worse than usual - and slammed the door behind him. He got in the bed, fully aware that he hadn't even brushed his teeth, like some animal, and stewed in his impotent rage.
Impotent, that was the word. He'd gone soft the second T-Bag had touched him there with anything more substantial than a tongue. And now he was furious, fully aware that he was only mad at himself, and alone in a narrow, less comfortable bed without the scent of the Alabamian clinging to the sheets.
John Abruzzi spent a miserable night in the spare bedroom, tossing and turning, and mulling over every single way in which he was a failure.
***
Abruzzi woke up to the scent of coffee and fresh bread, and his stomach rumbled at him until he forced himself out of bed. He stuck his head out into the hallway - empty. He could hear T-Bag clattering around in the kitchen downstairs. Drawing a deep breath, he hurried into their bedroom, grabbed enough clothing for the day, and then went to the bathroom.
He was man enough to admit that he needed to be dressed, showered, and have his teeth brushed before he even contemplated facing T-Bag. He felt bad enough as it was; the least he could do was show up like a proper human being.
The shower and tooth paste helped a little. Not enough to ease the dread that filled him as he headed downstairs.
The way T-Bag's head shot up at the sound of the taller man in the hallway sent a shard of shame through Abruzzi. Like a hunted animal. One who had made coffee, heated fresh breakfast rolls, and laid out a really nice looking table.
Abruzzi had to look away. Occasionally, when T-Bag got worried that Abruzzi might reconsider their whole thing, he began... pleasing. Being too polite, too useful, acting like some sort of housewife. Abruzzi thought they had managed to work that out weeks ago, at midsummer. Apparently not.
"Theodore."
T-Bag seemed to somehow stand to attention, despite still slicing breakfast rolls in half. "Yeah."
"Last night, that was all... my bad. Sorry. Could you please stop... stressing with breakfast?"
T-Bag turned, apparently finished anyway, and put a basket of breadrolls on the table. "I ain't stressin', 's all done."
"I thought you stopped fawning over me when I got unreasonable," Abruzzi muttered, and looked sideways at the other man as he sat down. "Thought we worked that out."
T-Bag's face twisted up for a second before settling into stony neutrality again. "Well, maybe I need somethin' to do while waitin' on ya to get up. Ya sleep late."
Deciding this was not a conversation to be had on an empty stomach, Abruzzi nodded to the breakfast spread. "This looks great. Thanks."
They ate in awkward, uncomfortable silence. Abruzzi wished T-Bag would start yelling at him again, because he was ready to hear it now. But the other man just sat there, picking at a bread roll, drinking coffee.
"Can we... go for a walk?" Abruzzi finally asked, when he'd had some nutrition and he couldn't take the strained silence anymore. "Just outside?"
It was so much easier to say the shit that needed said if they were moving rather than sitting there, awkwardly staring at each other from across the table. Abruzzi knew he cleared his head much better when he went for a walk. So he asked T-Bag to go walk with him.
T-Bag made an effort at a smile, but it failed entirely. "Sure, I could do with a walk."
So they rinsed off their plates and mugs, double-checked the coffee maker was off, and set off for a stroll in the woods. The weather was shaping up to be ironically sunny and glorious.
It took Abruzzi more than ten minutes of tense silence under the spruce branches to work up the nerve to start talking.
"Teddy..."
At the sound of the pet name, T-Bag gave a jolt, hesitated, but pushed on.
"Teddy, look. I'm sorry."
T-Bag gave him a little sidelong glance as they stepped over a fallen branch aross the path. "I know. Ya said."
"You're right, I should never have said anything, and it was fucking stupid of me to leave when I..."
"Well, yeah, I ain't arguin' that," T-Bag agreed, but he was still keeping an extra step away. "But I shouldn't-a gotten pissed off, John, when ya freaked. Should-a given ya space."
"I did not freak!"
"Ya did, ya freaked worse than I did when ya tried bein' all tender an' shit, right at the beginnin'," T-Bag said firmly. "Ya think I don't know ya freakin' out face? We been livin' together for nearly a year, an' that ain't even countin' our time on the inside. Ya freaked."
Abruzzi grumbled. "Fine, I freaked. Again, my bad. Should have just... not started the whole thing."
"Ya wanted that equitable fuckin' again, didn't ya."
"I just wanted to let you... yeah, okay, I was trying for equitable again."
T-Bag sighed and pushed a branch out of the way as they passed under a particularly large pine tree. "Why?"
"You actually like it?" Abruzzi asked, rather than answering. "Seriously? You enjoy that? I mean, I know you do, but just... how?"
T-Bag stared straight ahead, but his cheeks took on the faintest tinge of red, and the corners of his mouth twitched a fraction upwards. "I guess the difference is all in the wantin', then. I want ya ta fuck me, John. I like it 'cause ya give me what I want. Ya don't want fucked, so ya don't enjoy it."
"Understatement," Abruzzi muttered, but he pressed on. "But you fucked other guys in prison. I refuse to believe you enjoyed having those boys fuck you."
"It ain't nothin' to do with them," T-Bag said firmly, and Abruzzi sensed they were approaching a topic on which T-Bag would refuse to speak. "It ain't a matter o' me always wantin' fucked. 's a matter o' me wantin' ta be fucked by you, specifically."
Abruzzi moved close enough that he could bump T-Bag's shoulder with his own. "Just me?"
"Ain't ya told me ya ain't gay, John? Ya don't even contemplate fuckin' men, save for lil' old me?" T-Bag demanded, and Abruzzi saw no reason to deny that. He had told T-Bag as much before.
"I'm straight, you just happen to be the exception that proves the rule."
T-Bag chuckled. "Well, same. I top, ya just happen to be my exception to that rule, too."
That... actually made a lot of sense. Before the escape, Abruzzi would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he would never fuck another man. Then T-Bag began sucking his dick, and he found out he liked the other man more than he liked his strict policy on heterosexuality. If T-Bag felt the same way about getting fucked...
"But it's painful, like that? Every time? I know you like a little hurt, but Theodore, come on -"
T-Bag interrupted him. "It don't hurt me, John. See, just 'cause you is as tightly wired as cattle fence, I am actually able to control my muscle much better. It don't hurt more'n I want it to."
Relief washed through Abruzzi. He knew T-Bag liked it, but he also knew T-Bag liked pain. He had been worried all night that he always hurt T-Bag horribly whenever they fucked.
"So, ya all done forcin' yaself to do shit ya don't like on my account? 'Cause I don't want ya doin' that, not ever," T-Bag stated firmly. "I ain't lookin' to upset the apple cart, I just wanna get fucked, cook us dinners, an' build some shit occasionally. With you."
"Done, yeah," Abruzzi promised. "Are you done treading on eggshells when you think I'm angry? Even when it's clearly me being an unreasonable asshole type angry?"
The shorter man pursed his lips, clearly thinking. "Depends. Will eggshells get me laid quicker?"
Abruzzi snorted. "Fair point. I'm a sucker for a good breakfast."
T-Bag grinned up at him, and by silent agreement, they turned back towards their little house. "Don't I know it. We get back to that there cabin, I'm-a bring ya coffee, have ya stretch out on our couch, an' then I'm-a stretch out right on top o' ya."
"Oh, really?"
"Mm, an' suck ya dick."
Abruzzi grinned back. "It is important to have enough protein with breakfast."
"Oh, I ain't finishin' ya off," T-Bag assured him. They were walking shoulder to shoulder now, pressed together on the narrow trail. "I'm just suckin' ya dick to get ya all riled up for me. I wanna get railed into them couch cushions, an' I wanna get railed now."
Abruzzi stopped the other man by grabbing his shoulder, then backed him up against the nearest tree and leaned in to kiss his neck. "Really."
"Mm, really. An' John? Want ya fuckin' me so hard I can't walk, to make up for last night."
Abruzzi ripped open the top buttons of T-Bag's shirt so he could suck a kiss into the still healing wound shaping his own initials on T-Bag's chest. The shorter man moaned shamelessly at the sensation.
"Okay, then, let's get back to our inequitable fucking."
T-Bag's laughter rang in the warm, sunny forest. "Yeah, John. Inequitable fuckin' it is."