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Big Dumb Stupidhead Drabble That Took Me All Day to Write
The challenge: Write a drabble in which the boys are
working out. I, um, was having trouble coming up with a title.
Whenever Aryans are around, the pace of Chris’s
workout usually increases by about a factor of five. Today it might
even be more than that. They take the next bench over, and Chris starts
clanking away on that machine so hard it sounds like it might start
popping screws.
“Hey, Bitcher! That’s a lot of weight for such a little
prag...”
Before I can respond, Chris is standing over me—a hard,
angry mass of slick muscle. He’s been itching for a fight all
day. Seeing him like this, part of me almost wishes I didn’t have to
stop him.
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Another Unsuccessful Con
The challenge: Write a drabble that takes place sometime
during seasons 1–4.
“So who is it? It’s a man, isn’t it? *Another* one.”
Bonnie’s face crumples in a way that’s all too familiar.
Chris moves closer and leans in, lips grazing her ear as he whispers in
it. “You’re crazy, baby.”
Her eyes squeeze shut. “You think I can’t tell by now?
You think I don’t know when you’re lying?” Her hands are clasped
tightly in front of her on the table; two intertwined, white-knuckled
fists... clasped the way Toby’s are when he prays in his pod at night.
Chris stares at them and is somewhere else completely, lost all over
again.
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Contested Property, continued
The challenge: Continue one of your previous drabbles.
This is a continuation of my entry for the Change Canon
challenge. (I changed the tense of the original.)
Original:
“You’re not scared of Keller...?”
“Fuck you.”
I watch Mondo force an unconvincing sneer. I lick my
lips and look down at the bulge in his pants.
“Why don’t you come here, and I’ll give you a hand with
that.”
“Keller said ‘hands off.’”
“Keller doesn’t fucking own me.”
He pauses. I can almost hear the gears turning.
“Adebisi will have my ass if there’s trouble.”
“It’ll be Keller’s ass, not yours.”
Apparently, I've made my point. He crosses the pod in
two strides and pulls my mouth hard against his. From above, Chris’s
stare burns straight through us both.
Sequel:
His kiss catches me off-guard; I hadn’t imagined Mondo
wanting my mouth anywhere but wrapped firmly around his cock. His
fingers dig into my face, immobilizing my jaw, but he doesn’t seem to
care. This kiss is all him. I’m practically a spectator.
He finally leans back and looks me over. What passes for
foreplay has ended.
“Suck me.”
I turn, letting my eyes stray to where Chris stands
frozen, watching, then turn back to see Mondo’s eyes sparkle in a
familiar, reptilian way.
Nobody’s bitch... The words are an internal
mantra I chant as I sink to my knees.
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Uprising
The challenge: Write a drabble in which Chris and/or
Toby is daydreaming about something.
Sometimes I use my hands— but that’s rare. Often, I’ll
just grab something handy lying around the pod. Sometimes I imagine
I’ve stolen a hack’s nightstick; that’s one of my favorite scenarios,
but unlikely, I’ll admit. Of course, from time to time I fantasize
about
doing it the old fashioned way. I guarantee I’d do a lot more damage
with
my cock than he was ever able to do with his.
“Beecher... please... stop...”
That part’s always the same. The begging. And see,
that’s when his pussy bitch, his property, his livestock just
laughs and fucks him that much harder.
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Come to Where the Flavor Is
Another drabble for the Daydream challenge. Takes place
in my Safari AU universe.
It slides in and makes itself at home like it was always
meant to be there, like it’s a crime that my mouth was
ever deprived of it. I close my eyes and suck, first tentatively, then
deeply, and a purring warmth crawls through my veins, comforting me,
like
a loving hand squeezing my shoulder…
No, wait. That part’s real.
My eyes open. Chris is leaning close, oozing sympathy—
or is that irritatingly smug pity?
“Beecher, don’t give me that look. I’m only trying to
help.”
I bite back a snotty reply and snatch the nicotine gum
from his hand.
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Reprisal
The challenge: Write a 200-word entry.
I watched him eat today, and his eyes were blank and
cold like a shark’s. Funny I never noticed it before, but a lot of
things suddenly made sense when I realized how Keller can paint emotion
into those eyes whenever he needs to. He’s a master at masquerading as
a
human being.
“Hey,” was all he said to me later, as we sat in front
of the TV, but it was the way he said it that made me see the true art
of it. His voice was soft and worried, like that of a creature with
deep feelings. I almost had to laugh— I almost did laugh,
although he probably thought I was going to cry. His hand touched my
knee, and I let it. I let it. Lying, murdering cocksucker. And
then I looked up at him and saw it again, that lie in his eyes I’ve
fallen for so many times. The one I woke up to after nightmares, the
one that told me he missed me and I was going to be all right. That
one. The one I’d mistaken for love.
And I thought: Tonight, those eyes will be the first
things to go.
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Cursed
The challenge: Write a drabble that takes place during season
2.
I should have been marked. If God were just, he
would have given her some warning when she first smiled at me, that
day in the law library. She would have looked in my eyes as I smiled
back
and seen her future: a husband’s slavish devotion to alcohol, the
hollow
ache of a failing marriage, an early death, the ruined lives of her
innocent
children.
Then she would have stood, and her beautiful smile would
have grown thin and tight, the way I’ve seen it look a million times.
And she would have turned around and walked away. Saved.
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The Healing Process
The challenge: Write a drabble in which something
is broken.
It was hardly noticeable at first— just a faint snap as
he bucked his hips and twisted one leg around Chris to pull him in
deeper.
Afterwards, when Chris lay leaden across his body, it
became a dull twinge, and he wondered whether he was imagining
it.
He shook Chris awake. “I think I popped a stitch.”
Chris yawned, slowly raised himself on elbows and knees
and crawled to the level of the wound.
“Yeah, but it’s okay. You don’t need ‘em
anymore.” He looked up and grinned, his eyes glittering.
“Maybe we’ll take care of the rest before count.”
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C.S.I.
The challenge: Write a drabble in which the inmates
are watching a new TV show.
“C.S.fuckin’I. What bullshit. Anyone dumb enough to
spatter blood everywhere like that deserves to be caught.”
“Yeah, he should’ve cleaned it up or something.”
“Nah, they got that luminol shit, they can see the blood
no matter what you do. The way this asshole went at it, he never had a
prayer.”
“Lumi-what? Keller, how do you even know this shit?”
Chris glanced at Toby, slouched in a chair one row up
and two seats over, arms folded, his entire demeanor a tense and
unsuccessful attempt at apathy.
“Guess I must’ve read it somewhere. Can we change the
fucking channel?”
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Two Birds, One Stone
The challenge: Write a drabble in which a conflict
(psychological or physical) takes place in the cafeteria.
Andy is sitting closer to Toby than Chris is ever
permitted to. Their thighs must almost be touching, Chris
thinks, and that thought is like fire burning him from the inside.
He chews a fish stick and watches— Toby’s mouth, grazing
Andy’s ear, whispering something that makes the kid laugh and spray
breadcrumbs everywhere; his hand, pressing against Andy’s shoulder as
he leans back to talk to O’Reily; his eyes, meeting Vern’s across the
room. His smile, full of cold promise.
Chris understands the calculation behind these gestures.
Vern is Toby’s primary target; Chris’s pain is simply welcome
collateral
damage.