Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It’s almost high noon.” The comment makes Jack idly roll his gaze towards the clock tower looming over the prison courtyard and behind the coiled barbed wire.

“And? What’s so special about it, gatito?” His eyes inevitably drift back to the man sat across from him, watching him lazily chew on a bubble gum, lips occasionally smacking with a loud, wet sound and not a care in the world. Quite the sign of wealth and status within the high security prison walls, as it was generally considered a serious choking hazard and most inmates were forbidden this form of indulgement. Jack aches to taste it and taste the lips undoubtedly sticky with the strawberry flavour.

“It’s delivery time…” the kid points with his chin towards a newly arrived guard, a midday shift change and although the man is short, chubby and with a persistent blush of a scared virgin crawling over round cheeks, the prisoners part around him with some sort of begrudging respect as if they knew a secret privy just to them and the guard.

“And what is being delivered here?” A gum balloon pops with an obnoxious noise before it is pinched on one end between two fingers, a string of it stretched from between pouty lips and nonchalantly twirled around an index finger.

“Various stuff, whatever I get an order for. Today it’s mostly smokes, some woman’s panties and a few packs of oreo. Whatever my fellow inmates’ hearts desire. Ask for Rhys if you need anything.” Stuffing the gum back into his mouth, Rhys licks his fingers clean, not once moving his intent gaze away from Jack. Oh he knows who the kid is quite well, his infamous reputation one of the first things newcomers learned here. Don’t mess with the resident hoe if you don’t want a nasty run in with a gang of thirsty thugs with more tattoos than brains, keep your secrets close but your toothbrush closer and never, ever insult those doing janitorial work if you care for keeping your belongings unsullied by the dirty mop water. Those are the three rules for making it through your sentence without much troubles. Some of them were a hard learned lesson for Jack.

“Jack Lawrence,” he knows how to get around, knows someone important the second he sets his eyes on them, and right here, he sees a kid that carries himself with enough air of experience and confidence that even the guards give him some space. That is an alliance worth making, the slim hand slotting into his leaving a tingling sensation in the wake of fingers drawing a few light circles against the inside of his wrist before they slide away. “Is there anything you -couldn’t- get smuggled in here?”

“No. But it all depends on the price my clients are willing to pay. Lawrence, huh? So, is there anything special someone like you would need?” A smug grin shot his way does wonderful things to Jack and maybe, just maybe, with the help of this eager little slut, his freedom can slowly drift back within his greedy reach. “I charge double for ‘special’. So, theoretically speaking, what would you be willing to offer in exchange?”

Mismatched eyes take a wide sweep over their perimeter, taking in the scattered groups of tough looking men, some indulging in a basketball game, some working out on nearby equipment while others simply seem to be basking in the late summer sun. There is no one within hearing range, but just to be sure, Jack lowers his voice.

“How about an escape plan?”

That gets him a snotty snort and a nose clearly turned up on his offer, “that would have to be a really good plan, heard that offer plenty times, fell for it only once, I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”

“Trust me guapo, this is one hell of a plan, keep on playing that wanton whore role you’re so good at and I might consider giving you something better to play with once we’re outta here doll.”

“We?” A crooked smirk he’s sending Rhys’ way is mirrored, something more devious if still playful crinkling in the corners of brown and blue eyes. “I’ll tell you what, meet me in the chapel just before bedtime to discuss the details.” The words are nearly purred at him one last balloon popped before the gum is plucked from between pouty lips. “I have heard about you prior to landing here, so, consider this a trust loan, you manage to get me out of this shithole, I might even enjoy riding your dick to Seattle and back handsome.” A wink and the chewed over gum is pressed to Jack’s lips. “Now if you excuse me, I have to go make a scene…”

With a curt nod towards a short guy with a thin line of awful moustache over his upper lip, Rhys makes his way to the center of the courtyard, other inmates sensing something brewing in the still summer air start crowding around the two. A curled fist catches the pornstache in the nose and a brief scuffle breaks out before a blaring horn sends everyone to lay face down while the chubby guard tackles down the man currently having a meltdown in the middle of the courtyard. Amidst the screams of protest

He can just about catch Rhys’ backside not so subtly grinding against the guard’s crotch, making the tips of the man’s ears burn a bright shade of red. As the cuffed prisoner and his supposed ‘victim’, face still smeared with red, are escorted out, there is a toothy grin briefly shot over squared shoulders and suddenly, the obnoxious orange jumpsuit Jack still has to wear, is that little bit more bearable.

The strawberry taste is nearly gone and the gum has slowly began to harden but Jack can’t help the smug smirk blooming on his face when other inmates notice him flaunting around his freshly obtained sign of power.

Chapter Text

Awkwardly shuffling his feet, Tim follows the annoyingly cheerful fellow inmate leading him to his temporary bunk, all the necessary, basic amenities tightly clutched in his arms. A blanket, a change of clothes and a bundle with his new mattress. Most of the time he doesn’t understand what’s going on, carefully piecing together scant information from the words he recognizes.

There comes a whistle from the crowd gathered to greet the ‘fresh meat’ but he can’t spot the man who did that.

He’s assigned the lower bunk bed and as he turns around to take in his new quarters, there are two people arguing in the entryway, and he can just about spot a hand darting to snatch a ziplock bag from the guy who has lead him here.

The face that soon pops in steals his breath away, hard features uncannily resembling his own except they look like a twisted version of the harsh cut of his jaw and where Tim is sporting a softer expression, those narrow lips curl into a tight, nasty line of a smirk. Another whistle, and now it’s clear who has tried catcalling him before.

“ Hey kitten, see I’ve heard the guards talking about bringing in someone special but damn, you sure do look handsome .” The man strikes him as a narcissistic prick the second he opens his mouth but at the very least he speaks Spanish, a different variant, more singsong, both due to a different accent and the guy’s apparent lilt of voice.

“I uh… how? Who are you?” Not only did he ended up locked here up but of course he had to run in into some asshole on the first day, so much for his plan of keeping his head low, getting through his sentence and forgetting the whole thing has ever happened.

“Well, it looks like I am -you-, or rather, you are -me-, just, a little bit less good looking, don’t you know? Chicks dig scars baby, we gotta rectify that somehow later…” a finger pointed towards the scar cutting across the man’s face clearly illustrates his point, the implication however… it leaves Tim shivering slightly. “And you, handsome, can call me Jack. ”

“Ah… Jack, I’m Timo…”

“Hush,” this time the finger drifts to roughly press against his lips, “I didn’t ask did I?”

Taking a step back so he can stop crowding Tim, Jack scores him with a curious glance.

“I don’t give a fuck what’s your name, you will answer to ‘errand boy’ and you -will- be grateful for that kitten.”

Trying to put on his best intimidating expression, Tim squares his shoulders and glares at the other man, “I don’t want to, I’m not here to cause troubles, let me be!”

“Damn, now I know what they’ve charged you with!” Jack can barely hold back the obnoxious laughter, bowing down and slapping both hands against his thighs. Only once  he calms down enough to speak again, wiping non-existent tears from the corners of his eyes does he answer the quizzical look Tim is shooting him, “ your face! My face! It looks so innocent it’s just -criminal-!” promptly followed by another bout of laughter.

Scrunching his nose with displeasure, Tim crosses his arms over his chest, wishing that the man was done with whatever he wants from him and then be gone to harass someone else.

“Anyways, here’s your ‘welcome to the devil’s ass’ packet, see the inmates here pitch in to get the newcomers something nice on their first day, let’s see, you’ve got here a toothbrush,” instead of passing the package to Tim, Jack opens it to quickly rummage through the content, “some tissues for when you start crying after your mommy and hmm… good old shortbread cookies so you can cheer up after your first breakdown, nice, they didn’t give me the cookies on my first day!” The wrapper crinkles when Jack unwraps it, promptly shoving the whole content into his mouth and as he speaks again, stray crumbs land on the front of Tim’s jumpsuit, “now, I’m a nice guy, you’ll soon learn how much I am in fact, so I’ll let you keep the toothbrush. See, I’ve been planning on ditching the gardening classes they made us attend lately and wanking in some private spot so the tissues will sure come in handy.”

“You really love monologuing, don’t you?”

“Yup kitten, now that’s another thing you gotta learn. Do. Not. Interrupt.” Tim almost, almost manages to catch the toothbrush before it’s dropped onto the floor and the other man mercilessly grinds the heel of his shoe into it, dirt sticking to the flattened bristle of it. That wasn’t very ‘nice guy’ of Jack and Tim only concludes that with a dejected sigh.

“ I’ll just get a new one I suppose…”

“Nu-huh, I don’t think so, you could buy one from the commissary, sure, but for that you’d need someone to send you money, eh? And if the money some pitiful fool decides to send you doesn’t end up in my pocket, then there’s plenty other people just waiting for a little inexperienced pup like yourself to get their hands on. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to help you but now you’ve made me mad so, I’ll give you a few days to figure out for yourself how much you really, -really- want to throw your lot and your pocket change in with me. Looking forward to hearing you beg~!” And with that and a two finger salute, Jack leaves him to sulk in peace.

It takes him a week and a dozen toes accidentally stepped on for Tim to finally give in and seek Jack out. He begs, on his knees and with shame burning the back of his neck, bruises from the ‘accidental’ elbows jammed into his sides making his ribs ache with every miserable word slipping him. Jack smooths his hand through Tim’s hair and tells him in a sweet voice that he knew Timothy would come around.

Chapter Text

It’s movie night and whether it's due to some sort of begrudging respect or just to humour him , most of his fellow prisoners have learned to leave at least two empty spots in the back row so Rhys can sit there, make out with whoever needs to be made out with and lord over everyone else. And if there’s anybody to challenge his status, the clique of his most devoted…fans, let's call it like that, is always there to step in and teach the unfortunate soul some respect for their local, self-proclaimed, ‘best lay around the Pandora Penitentiary’.

Tonight it’s some classy horror movie on and Rhys is quite caught up into the plot, leaning forward and thumbing at the listening device in his hands, earbuds tightly plugged into his ears. That’s why he doesn’t at first register some commotion happening behind him, a latecomer trying to squirm their way towards the empty seat to his side

A gentle hand brushing along his forearm tears a surprised yelp out of Rhys, eyes wildly darting away from the suspenseful scene where the murderer is stalking the victim, a couple of inmates turning around to shush him with annoyed hisses. The view he’s met with however, quite easily manages to settle down his nerves despite a sudden spike in his heart rate, just the man he was waiting for, the lines of one strong jaw highlighted by the soft gleam of the projector. And here he was, doubting whether the man would show up, his hand instantly making a move to place itself over his new favourite spot over Jack’s thigh.

“Ah! Jack! Damn, finally,” a hiss of his own, not quite matched by a cheerful sparkle in his mismatched eyes. Good, he has been guarding this spot for far too long by now, and he eyes the other man, once again dressed in bright orange as he sidles closer. Haven’t Jack finally been allowed to dress like the other prisoners?

“Ahh, no?”

“No?” This time, fully facing him, Rhys pays closer attention to the man at his side, the dim lightning doing very little to help him figure out the somewhat uncertain pull of usually sharply angled eyebrows. He pulls his hand back, waiting for the impatient man to snatch it and place it back where it belonged or, knowing him, even a fraction higher than it would be considered decent in public. It doesn’t come.

“No me llamo Jack, soy Tim.”

What? The voice is thicker, laced with inlaid heavy accent and yet ultimately calmer and softer than Jack’s. A twin? A look alike? Whoever it is, this is not Jack, that much is certain, a flash of light from the far off screen not caught against the hard ridges of a scar but rather, gently kissing a flock of freckles scattered across the man’s face.

“Well Soytim, it’s Rhys,” whispered in a hushed voice, Rhys extends his hand in a moderately friendly offer of a handshake, “and I am the top dog here.”

The palm against his is more gentle than what he has ever experienced coming from Jack, and despite a shake of the head, the man still grins at him, “no Soytim chistoso, Tim.” Alright, that will be even easier to remember and Rhys wonders whether the man, Tim, wants something from him or just hasn’t caught the wind of Rhys’ reputation yet and ended up here by an accident. “Rys Topdog.” It’s his turn to chuckle, prolonging the contact for a few seconds longer, just because it feels nice but also because the tickle of his fingertips sliding against the inside of Tim’s palm makes the other man turn a lovely shade of red. Even more when Rhys casually stretches and subsequently, drapes his arm around the back of Tim’s chair. Plucking one of the earbuds out of his ear, he offers it to his new companion.

“So, Tim, what’cha in here for?” Customary, that’s not a question that should be asked on a first date. Nor second. Nor, according to the law, at all, but Tim, despite the uncanny resemblance to Jack, looks like a lost freshman amongst the hardened criminals around him.

“Not. Guilty.” His expression turns sour but before either of them can add anything else, two hands land heavily on their shoulders, a warning squeeze given as someone leans heavily, face pushed forcefully in between their bowed heads.

“¡Hola gatitos! Having fun without your best man Jack?”

The surprised yelp escaping Rhys, is mirrored.

Without much care for politeness or being stealthy, Jack makes a whole scene of kicking the man to Tim’s right out, snatching the listening device from him and then proceeds to rearrange everybody around until he’s sat between Rhys and Tim, sprawled like a king and with a satisfied smirk on his face. Whenever one of them wants to protest, they are only shushed because Jack clearly wants to watch the movie even though he showed up near the end of it.

Still willing to share the earbuds, they both need to lean over the man in the middle, the cord too short to keep any pretenses of distance and Jack basks in this even more, instantly making a move to have Rhys’ hand resting mere inches away from his crotch and giving Tim a rough ruffle to his hair like one would do to an obedient dog.

Once the credits begin rolling and other inmates start filtering out, Jack finally decides to pay some attention to the two men he currently has kept close with a tight grip on either of their necks.

“Now, I see you two got acquainted with each other before I arrived but just to make things clear, Rhysie, baby this is my new errand boy, Tim tam, this tight little butt here is my boytoy, you kids play nice and the three of us are gonna have so much fun together…” It sounds more like a threat than promise of fun.