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5 minutes, in and out. That’s all the time George needs. He’ll get into the doctor’s office, get his shot, distract them long enough to check the grate. It should be easy, theoretically. If they catch him staring and acting suspicious, he could just play it off as fear of needles or something else he could get away with, being a new inmate and all. But this is Pandora’s vault, maximum security. Maybe the doctor would know something’s off and report him to the dean, maybe a guard will come into the room with them and won’t give him a chance to look at the grate. It was a crucial part of the plan to escape, without it the whole thing could flop and he’ll never be able to get Sapnap out. Or maybe-
George was snapped out of his thoughts with a loud ringing of his cell door reverberating through the tiny room. Both he and his cellmate instinctively stiffened, god he just hopes everything will go smoothly.
“Davidson. Doctor’s appointment.” The bulky guard bellows, big enough to engulf George with no effort.
His cellmate bores his eyes into his skill and gives him a look that screams ‘what the fuck did you do now?’. Nothing this time, George retorts to the non-existent comment from his roommate in his head. Reciting the plan in his mind like a mantra; get into the doctor’s office, receive his diabetes shot (which is the only thing getting him in the office, to begin with), locate and prep the grate he needs to break through to get into the office at night, which gets him to the window, which gets him out of this prison.
George stands up meekly, shuffling forwards with his wrists out and together, waiting to be handcuffed. At this point, the ritual is burned into his brain. Door opens, head down, stand up, wrists out, listen, and don’t respond. It was the best course of action for someone of his caliber, he was shorter and smaller than most of his counterparts. This was maximum security, after all, filled to the brim with robbers, murderers, and rapists. The fear of being backed into a corner one day was paralyzing, eating away at his resolve. Or worse, getting propositions, getting assaulted was one thing, maybe he could scrape away from that alive, but getting raped. George doesn’t think he could survive that, more mentally than physically.
You have to get through this , he’d repeat to himself every time the prickling tingles of indication that someone was nearby, spread through his spine, for Nick.
Sapnap or Nick, as they call him here, was like a brother to him, both legally and figuratively. He’d for sure been dead a long time ago if it wasn’t for him. He’d die to make sure he got out of this hell hole, and the thought of him was the only thing keeping him sane at this point.
“You don’t talk much Davidson.” The guard spits out, snapping George out of his trance.
He hadn’t even realized they had started walking to the medical wing, he was tuning out the hollering of the other inmates banging on the bars and whistling at the new meat walking past them. George tried to focus on the grime crushing underneath his feet as he stalks with the guards on the disgustingly unkempt floor, deciding on formulating an answer instead.
“I’m sorry.” He squeaks.
God, it was degrading, humiliating. Apologizing to the greasy slime balls that were the guards with their horrid breath and food-filled beards. Pathetic excuses for humans who got off on making others feel weaker, lesser than, just so they could make it through daily life. But it was safer than contesting and George can’t afford to get a guard on his bad side.
“So the little one speaks.” Calls another guard from behind the first two.
He was taller and new, and just from his first few words, George instantly despised him.
“Yeah, obedient little one, huh?” Chuckles another guard.
They all laugh and continue to make crude comments, one guard actually having the audacity to poke and prod George’s hip to get a reaction. But no- he won’t give them one. He holds his head down and bites his tongue until he tastes the metallic crimson flavor mix with his spit. Just eight weeks, just eight weeks, just eight weeks, just-
“Alright, Georgie.” The newbie guard beckons when they push through the metal door to reveal a green spackled hallway.
“This is you little one, office at the end.”
George releases a breath of relief he wasn’t aware he was holding, moving his shackled hands to brush away the tufts of hair in front of his face as they walk up to face the Doctor’s door. He wipes his clammy hands on his prison trousers and holds out his wrists to be uncuffed when he suddenly feels a calloused finger dip under his chin to lift his face up.
“No funny business-” The guard whispers, putrid breath ghosting his ears, making George grimace in disgust and back away from the invasion of personal space.
“Pretty thing like you won’t be able to take a beating, don’t make me give you one or you’ll be visiting this wing more often.”
George refrains the painstaking urge to plunge his knee into his crotch and hear his glorious whines of pain, king of self-control really. Then suddenly, the nasty intrusion wasn’t there anymore. His gaze finally coming up from the tiled floor to see what happened. There, the green door with a clear window had been swung open, a tall man leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. The brunet heard the tattered coughing of the guard next to him and presents his wrists to the man who quickly unlocked the chains.
He rubs at the red marks starting to form on his slender wrists and pulls his sleeve to cover them, a useless reminder. George looks up to eye the godsend who just got him out of that situation, these blistering cuffs and the one that’ll help him get him and Nick get out of the prison (just without knowing or meaning to, of course).
He analyses him quickly, eyes slipping from one facial feature to the next, then his clothes to his hands and-
“Come in.” The Doctor offers.
George reacts quickly, striding in just enough to let the man close the door behind him. Inspecting the room he was working with and the man he’d be tricking. He feels an ounce of guilt when he remembers he’d be abusing this doctor’s time to commit illegal acts. He can’t help but think about how angry or dejected the man might feel after he escapes with Nick just to realize he’d been used, useless thinking.
Eyes circling the room to finally land on the man behind him. He was tall, god why the fuck was everyone so tall? Fluffy blonde hair covers his- what George guesses are- emerald eyes. The taller man sports a tight black button-up and black dress pants, his doctor’s coat and his ID badge, and a couple of mismatched pens. If they’d met in different circumstances he’d probably ask him out cause damn he’s pretty.
“Was he bothering you?”
Hmm, so the guy has a moral compass, good to know. George studies the room, he would describe it as organized chaos, stacks of papers and pens quite literally everywhere. Golden sunlight being filtered through the window, right beside the window stood a lone sink and George’s eyes widen as he spots the grate on the floor right in front of it.
“Mr. Davidson.”
“Huh oh-” He really has to remember to say his responses out loud and not in his head.
“No he wasn’t, don’t worry..” He flashes the man a genuine smile.
“Okay, take a seat.” The doctor smiles uncomfortably.
Right. He forgot he was technically a criminal, people don’t really like those here. Although, this person just cared for his well-being for a hot second and George will do anything to have a normal conversation with someone who couldn’t possibly kill him. He plants himself on the grey leather seat and follows the Doctor’s frantic movements to presumably find his medical file. The doctor shuffles through the folders with his bottom lip drawn under his teeth and brows furrowed with a cute look of concentration. Charming. George just can’t help but comment on it.
“You don’t have to rush, I’m not going anywhere,” George sneers, encapsulated by the other.
He chuckles, well more exhales really loudly to create a syllable sound but his lips-upturn and George wants to make that happen more. The doctor’s hands go quicker, veins bulging out from the stress.
“Seriously, you’re going to get a paper cut -”
Almost comically quick, the man hisses cutting off George, shaking his finger in pain. Bringing the pointer in his mouth to ease the cut, he finally pulls out the correct file while sucking on his digit.
“I told you so,” George announces, vindicated.
Following the man around the room with his gaze as he retrieves a bandaid.
“Yeah, you predicted the future, how cool.” The doctor quips, unimpressed.
So he has some personality, that’s nice. George grins widely for the first time in a while; he’s only spoken and been spoken to in cryptic messages and gruesome threats for the past few days so this was a welcome change. The doctor’s eyes were trained to the floor as he unpackaged the syringe to administer the insulin, not meeting the other’s gaze that often, like he was medusa.
“I am wise beyond my years.” George smiles.
“So wise that you say ‘I told you so’ like a 3rd grader. -Arm” The blonde replies, wiggling the syringe in his hand with insulin as an indication.
George starts rolling up his sleeves and really hopes that the pills he took to mess up his blood sugar levels work because he’d rather not faint from taking insulin when he wasn’t actually a diabetic. Faking diabetes would get him into this office so it was a necessary risk. The intricate lines of tattoo he had spanning from his wrist all the way up to his collarbones caught the blonde’s attention.
“Well, I did tell you so-” He interrupts himself with his own hissing from the pain of the needle.
“Yes, you did…” The doctor responds, slowly and casually. Cheeks puffing out from his content smile and eyes sparkling in fondness. His frost-bitten gaze starts to melt before he quickly pulls away when he realizes how close he was to the other when giving him the shot. George just smiles knowingly.
“Don’t like know-it-alls?” George offers.
“Don’t like criminals.” The blonde jokes.
“Ack- that’s uncalled for.” George scoffs in mock betrayal, grasping his hurt heart.
The other simply smirks, amused by the patient’s antics but not enough to be unprofessional and laugh full on.
“I’m George-” He smirks.
“-Davidson, I know. I read your file.” The blonde acknowledged.
“And you are?” George looks up, doe-eyed pupils dilating as the other rubs the cotton on his arm.
They share a quick glance of silence, the taller man seemingly forgetting his train of thought as George’s blush lips part to say something.
“Dr. Dream is fine.” Dream denotes, he gets up from his seat to write something about the dosage in his file at the other end of the room, leaning against the exam table.
A light bulb springs in George’s head before he could cut the power chord.
“Like the governor?” He blurts.
“-tattoo looks fresh.” Dream interrupts, dropping his smile for a thin-lipped expression.
Sensitive subject. Okay, noted.
“I guess being a diabetic you don’t mind needles.” Dream finishes the words he was writing to look straight at George coldly.
Great George, 3 minutes in and you managed to fuck it up. He racks his brain to find a way to salvage this situation before it delves into the realm of awkwardness.
“I’m a sucker for pain.” George chimes.
“Heh put pressure on that, I’ll be right back,” Dream calls before setting the file and pen down to leave the room.
The silence snaps George into action, almost forgetting what he’s here to do. Slowly, he tip-toes to the window to check if the tall blonde is nowhere to be seen. After confirming this, he quickly runs to the grate by the sink. The rusted metal is coarse against his fingertips, he squints down from his position on his knees to get a good look inside before rummaging through his waistband to find the toothpaste bottle he prepared and hid in there. His pale skin growing redder from the fear of being caught and the beaming sunlight, heartbeat running rampant like he just ran a marathon.
He uncaps the tube and sticks the bottle between the openings of the grate, fine white powder pours out and pitter-patters onto the metal at the bottom, what George calculates as half a meter of distance according to the sound and speed of the powder. When all the substance is dumped, he stuffs the toothpaste back in his pants and leaps up to find a bottle of saline in the cupboard, leaning back down to pour the liquid into the grate and hearing faint fizzing, indicating the reaction was working and the metal was melting.
George’s soul almost left his body when he heard the clicking footsteps of Dream’s wingtips on the tiles, he rushes to put everything back in place and get to his seat.
Click, the door opens, Dream’s broad shoulders walk back in with his hand pocketed. He suddenly stops to scrunch his nose, noticing the change in smell from the gas products being released from the reaction. George doesn’t give him a chance to think or question it.
“So doc, are you gonna gimme a supply or….?” George teases sarcastically.
“Nice try, no drugs on the floor, you’ll come here every day for your administration.” Dream verifies.
“So we’ll be seeing more of each other?”
“I guess so.” Dream smiles.
George looks forward to that, who wouldn’t like a nice few jokes to brighten the mood? It’s the best this horrid place has to offer. They exchange goodbyes and George holds his breath as he exits the room, presenting his wrists to the guards and resuming what once was. This time tomorrow he could relax again, but more importantly, the first step of many more of his plan was completed successfully.
----
It had been a few days since the incident, 3 weeks since they first met. Their daily banter was the only thing distracting him from the heinous things happening every day. George tries to recall the ‘incident’.
“So we’re even now?” Niki probed.
Handing George the card he asked her to give him. He’d helped Niki out of a sticky situation involving a green card before so she kind of owed him a lot, not everyone just marries a stranger to give them a green card and get them out of their abuser’s hands. But George didn’t do it so she owed him, he just felt like he had to. He needed the card for a specific step in his plan to get out and she was the only way.
“We’re even Niki.” He consoled, expressing guilt in his eyes because he truly is sorry for dragging her into this mess.
“Okay...now what?”
They both sat on a bed in a tiny, dimly lit conjugal room. The only reason he qualified for one is that she was legally his wife.
“We wait…”
After waiting for 30 minutes, they both stood up and ruffled their hair, bedsheets, and clothes to make them more believable. As George waved goodbye and began getting cuffed, he silently thanked the gods above for being nice to him for the past week because finally, some things were going right. Well, that is until he looked up and spotted a certain blonde on the other side of the bars.
Shit. shit. shit. His eyes widen in realization as he watches Dream’s tender smile melt off of his face. He had just seen George getting re-chained outside the conjugal rooms with his hair ruffled up and a woman being led away. 3 weeks of getting to know each other, trusting each other, laughing with each other, down the drain over a misunderstanding. Dream reassured him that he didn’t care, it’s just that George didn’t believe him. He’d tried to explain, but all he could say without giving away his less than illegal plans was that ‘it was nothing, she was doing me a favor’. The blonde nodded, but George recognized that look from their short time together as the ‘you’re full of shit’ look. But why did George care? He doesn’t know. Just the thought of the blonde thinking he wasn’t available was sicking. That’s all.
“We really did nothing,” George recalls saying the appointment after he saw him.
“It’s none of my business even if you did, you don’t have to say anything, I don’t care.” Dream lied through his teeth.
His freckles more prominent when he’s a little mad, faint blush pinching the apples of his cheeks. These Broken down lightbulbs in the Doctor’s office did no justice for his features. He plunged the insulin shot in his upper arm, silently admiring the black and white tattooed arches and shaded monsters on his skin.
“It’s just-”
“It’s just what?” George interrupted.
He laced his fingers around the taller’s thick wrists, pulling him back before he could turn away, skin ice cold to the touch and jaw almost crashing into the brown tufts of hair from the force. They were mere inches away. Dream’s eyes were locked to the floor, occasionally sneaking a glance at the hand wrapping around his forearms. His skin burned where he touched him and ached where he didn’t. They were silent, George was patient.
“I just, I dunno, assumed-no...thought...you were a little...fruity.”
Always one to deflect with humor, well George would take humor over ice-cold stares any day. He chuckled, grinning widely, and grasped the arm he held onto closer so the man would come with, finally looking up so viridian could meet honey. Dream’s cheeks resembled strawberries, skin painted with goosebumps from where the pale slender fingers caressed his arms. George could read him like a book, it’s like he simultaneously loved the touch but also wanted to yank it away. The brunet looked over it though and continued.
“I am…-just, why not have both?” His gaze dropped from his eyes to land on the plush lips centimeters away from him.
He dragged them back up but not before seeing the doctor do the same. Lips millimeters apart. And it was as if something clicked or a bell rang, well more like a blaring red siren but whatever it was; Dream’s glazed dark eyes became crystal clear in a second, and the wave of fog between them cleared.
“Appointments over,” Dream whispered.
Shoving his arm out of George’s hand and wrapping his own to calms the tingles on the skin. And that was it. Their moment was done. He’d left George blubbering for a second before collecting himself and eventually leaving, Dream looked as guilty as ever.
But that was then and this was now, they got over their close call, well more like mutually agreed to never talk about it or bring it up. But the air grew stale and the tension grew white-hot. George convinced himself the next time he’d see the other, he’d clear the air, apologize, and get it over and done with for real. But right now all he could think about was focussing on the agonizing pain in his foot. Who would’ve thought getting your toes partially cut off would hurt this much? Any sane person, that’s who.
“AHHAHHHH.” George shreaks.
He wails and wails, hot tears running down his cheeks, the pain was unimaginable. Hopping on one foot with both his arms slung over a guard’s shoulder.
“Put him in here.” Dream bellows from across the hall, face gone pale with worry.
The guards lifted the frail man onto the exam table, blood dripping onto the floor. George drops his head in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.
“You can leave now.” Dream glares at the guards.
As soon as they left he, reached for the bandages before a shaking pair of hands stopped him. His heart broke when he saw the usually cheery man whimper in fear and pain.
“it’s okay, I’ve got you.” He reassures, after a second or two his grip eases, and he starts to slowly slip off the bandages.
George leans into the backrest, clutching the sides of the table in a white-knuckle grip. His toes looked like someone took a knife to them and butchered the flesh.
“What happened George?” Dream inquires as he gets to work.
“...Nothing.” George sniffs loudly, throat sore from screaming and nose stuffy from sobbing.
“This isn’t nothing George. Now tell me what happened.” Dream presses on firmly.
“Don’t make me lie to you.” George mewls.
The taller’s death stare softens at that.
“I can help, I can do something. I have some power in this place, I can-”
“Dream, you can’t! I’m sorry, I know you want to….but-you j-just can’t.” George sputters.
Puffy red eyes wide and pleading. Dream looks at him dejectedly, trying his hardest to swallow the lump in his throat before he breaks down himself.
“Clay…”
“W-what?” George makes out between his sobbing.
“My name is Clay...a-and-this is...-everything is gonna be okay.” He began.
“I have to report this, you know? Prison misconduct, you didn’t just trip over a rock.” Clay grovels.
Wrapping the last piece of gauze on his foot and securing it.
“I’ve made some enemies,” George explains, swinging his feet off to the side to sit on the exam table.
“You can’t just ignore this.” Clay reasons.
“You know, when I was little, whenever something bad happened in the house or someone was getting harassed on the street. My brother would just turn to me and tell me to close my eyes, plug my ears and just...sing.” George starts.
Clay smiles sweetly.
“And that’s what I would do, every time he told me to, up until I was 11. He’d go away and handle the situation and keep me from it so I wouldn’t have to go through the pain of having that memory.”
“He sounds like a good man.” The blonde offers.
“He is...just the world wasn’t good to him. But I don’t have him by my side anymore, I have to face this myself.”
“I don’t unders-” Clay hesitates in confusion.
“Just trust me.”
As much as Clay wanted to find the bastards who did this to him, he couldn’t in his right mind go against George’s wishes.
----
They grew protective of each other from that point on, 7 weeks into knowing each other. Clay would stare daggers into anyone who dared get close to George when he saw him through the fence in the prison yard. After the lockdown and riot, when George risked his entire plan to get Clay out of harm’s way of the prisoners ravaging the medical wing, sneering at the doctor, waiting to get a taste of blood while bashing the windows. He knew he could ask questions about how he ‘found’ a vent that led into the office and how he just ‘happened’ to know the pathway through them. He knew the blonde could report him, and Nick would be left to rot here until his execution date and he would’ve failed. But something told him he wouldn’t, and he was right. He just embraced him and cried a little into his shoulder when they got out of there before the red lasers from the windows appeared on George’s chest. They got out of it alive, barely. They didn’t even try to hide how much they cared now, it was no use.
“Just come here!” Clay chuckles, making grabby hands at George’s arm so he could get his damn shot.
“Jeez buy me dinner first, don’t have to make everything sexual,” George smirks slyly.
“George,” Clay warns, unimpressed.
George’s heart’s squeezed when he said his name like that, with so much fondness, although his tone was annoyed, he was blushing profusely at the crude comment and George couldn’t get enough of it.
“Just tell me who gave you the flowers!” George eggs on.
In the corner of the room on the counter, the beams of sunlight reflected beautifully on a vase of crimson red roses. The glaze was ornate with golden accents and looked extremely expensive.
“Give me your arm or I’ll assault you!” Clay threatens, grabbing George’s wriggling wrist and pulling closer to him.
“GUAR-” George shouts.
“SHhh, George!” Clay frantically slaps the hand not holding the syringe and on top of George’s mouth shutting him up. Faces mere inches away from the force. Clay panted heavily, cheeks and ears beat red when he whips his head back and forth from the door to George to see if someone would be alerted. Thankfully no one heard and Clay exhaled deeply when no one came in. It was only when he looked back to see George smirking bashfully through his thick eyelashes did he realize what he did. And of course how close they were to each other. Clay gawked, brain buffering as George slid his pale fingers around his wrist to slowly pull off the hand clasping his mouth shut. Clay watched intently as the pads of his fingers felt the soft pink lips, dragging the bottom lip down a little as George brought his hand down. Whilst Clay was trying to remember how to breathe, George was busy having a field day, basking in the way Clay fell apart at the smallest sign of closeness.
“You got a secret admirer or something?” George broke the unfiltered silence.
Clay quickly snapped out of his trance, viridian meeting honey.
“They’re from my father, not even- probably just from his secretary,” Clay explains, pulling away.
He gestures for George’s arm who finally complies, quickly plunging the needle in and rubbing a cotton swab on the puncture wound.
“What’s the occasion?” George questions as Clay’s eyes stay locked on the floor.
“...It’s- it’s my birthday,” Clay adds, unenthusiastically. George’s eyes light up in wonder.
“Oh-happy birthday!”
His well-wishes are met with silence and a weak fake smile.
“Not a birthday person, I see.”
“It isn’t even my favorite, you’d think a father that hasn’t talked to you on your birthday since you were six would at least have the brain to send your favorites.” Clay rants, slapping his pen on the table.
George pouts a little, what a shitty father , he thinks.
“What’s your favorite?” He questions instead, trying to cheer the other up.
“Primrose…” Clay whispers slowly, snapping his rubber gloves off.
The brunet quirks an eyebrow with a soft smirk, a little surprised at the odd and less common choice.
“I read a lot of books about flowers when I was younger, okay? I was a flower kid.”
Cute, George internally awed at that. He vouches for replying instead of thinking about a baby Clay running around a flower garden.
“They’re still pretty.”
“I’m gonna throw them out,” Clay says threateningly to the innocent roses.
“Don’t take it out on the flowers, what did they ever do to you?” George scoffs.
He swings his legs off the leather, rolling his sleeves back down, cheeks puffing out brightly from smiling too hard.
“Very funny, sit tight I’ll be back.”
As the door closes, signaling he left. George takes a deep breath, last time he was on work duty he saw a guard walk into the boiler room which was directly underneath this one, he hopes to god he didn’t notice a gaping hole in the metal pipe in the ceiling he burned with acid. Cause if he did, the whole plan goes bust, he needs that opening because there isn’t any other plausible way into the office and the window, the window in this office is the only way out. He slowly walks over towards the gate with his eyes close, he knows it’s useless and he curses himself as he opens his eyes to see a new piece of reinforced metal plastered on top of the broken one.
Shit Shit. Fuck. Dammit! How the hell is gonna find another way out? The acid won’t work again on this type of metal, it’s too thick. There’s of course one obvious way to get into this room, that would be the door. But Clay locks his door whenever he clocks out for the night. Five days, that’s all the time he has, in five days they’ll strap sapnap to an electric chair and I have to do anything I can to not let that happen. He’ll try, try and find a way to do get in here without involving Clay, he’ll try.
He whips his head around quickly, his face going pale when he hears the footsteps.
“Why do you have a British accent? I just realized I never really asked.” Clay’s questions, walking back into the room with a tray for the next patient, hosting that lovable goofy smile.
“Luck I guess.” George confides.
He walks up to Clay who’s fidgeting around with the contents of the tray and laces his hand with the top of hiss. Clay jumps slightly from surprise, the blood already rushing to his cheeks.
“Have a good birthday Clay,” George whispers, right into his ear, which also turns crimson.
“You too- uhhh- I mean- have a good day, -I mean.” Clay stutters, wincing at his stupid response.
George merely chuckles and lets go, they both leave an audible gasp from the lack of touch and George leaves to get re-cuffed.
The next day Clay found an origami primrose on top of George’s file after their appointment with a white note attached.
Don’t throw this out, flower kid.
- A tall ass mf
Maybe he did throw out the - not even close to wilting - roses. Maybe he did keep the origami on his top shelf, next to his diploma and other accolades. His heart warmed whenever he thought of the small gesture and his birthday became just a little more bearable.
---
It was late, George knew it was wrong and dangerous, but he had to, for more than one reason. He sneaked through the hole in his cell and the vents to get through to the medical wing, he could’ve been caught, shot and the whole 8-week operation would go bust, but he has to see him and he has to convince him. George tip-toes the dark halls of the medical wing, it was deserted, would be pitch black if it wasn’t for the one doctor who hadn’t left yet. The bird’s nest of blonde hair visible from the little window on the door. He knocked, was noticed, and was instantly dragged in by force that was only a little bit painful. Oh, and promptly screamed at.
“Just tell me! Is it true?” Clay explodes.
“...Clay-” George reasons.
“Don’t Clay me, is Nick Armstrong your brother?”
George thinks, he thinks hard. He really can’t bear to lie to him, not like it’s an option anyway.
“...Yes.”
The taller knew the answer but hearing out loud was a different feat. He couldn’t help but fall into his downward spiral of questions, nothing was adding up. Too many things had no answers and he wants to believe that the man he’s known for 8 weeks is still there in front of him. He wants to ease the waves that are crashing within him, back to when it was just banter and tension, but the water burns like acid and he can’t calm them.
“You- w-what are you doing here?!” Clay barks.
“Cl-”
No, he can’t push the questions to the back of his mind anymore, he can’t look over them just because it’s George .
“No! It’s nighttime, how are you out of your cell, how did you get to my office?...you know...you had no priors before you robbed that bank, no one was hurt there, the crime was like you wanted to be caught. You used to help people before coming here, charity work, community work. I just-I how did you go from that to this in a day-” Clay rages.
His whole face gone tomato red from his yelling, eyes watery and throat growing scratchy. George steps closer, trying to ground the man in front of him but failing hard. His lips are bitten raw and he reaches a hand out to hold Clay’s arm but he backs away and into the wall of the office and George’s heart breaks.
“Why did your foot get butchered that day? Why did you need a favor from that woman? Wh-how did you know there was a vent here, how did you know the way? How are you here? How did your brother get a stay of execution out of nowhere? He killed the vice president!”
“He was framed!” George interjects.
And that’s it, that’s all he needs to say because Clay can guess what he’s getting at now. He looks at the brunet in pure hurt and betrayal, a startling difference to how they were a few days ago, but then the information about Nick and him got out and everything went downhill.
He thinks his brother was framed? Is that why he’s here? Is he gonna try to-? Has he just been using me? And those thoughts were the only things necessary to break the damn. Hot tears began to slowly run down Clay’s cheeks, eyes reddening from trying to fend them off for so long. His anger leaves him with the tears, being left with an empty feeling of hurt.
“What are you doing here Davidson?” Clay laments, he sounds broken.
“I can’t tell you. Just-”
“If you fucking say ‘trust me’.”
George’s heart is beating out of his chest, he has to fix this, he has to explain. He strides forward and grabs Clay’s arms firmly, showing him he was dead serious and not lying.
“Okay don’t trust me, believe me. He was framed.”
Viridian met honey like it always does, they mix and pull each other into a trance. Clay reasoned in his mind, was he telling the truth? He had looked into the case a little when he heard about the rumor of him being his brother and it was suspicious but he could just be lying again. Nevertheless, he played along.
“Then do this the right way, legally. I can talk to my father, he’s the governor, he can do something.” Clay infers.
“The frame job was clean, done by people way more powerful than your dad. He’ll only be in danger if he interferes. They’re going to kill him, Clay, for a crime he didn’t commit. I couldn’t just let him die.” George explains.
They go silent, the only sounds being Clay’s soft crying dying down and their heavy breaths from the exertion of yelling back and forth. George’s pale skin contrasts with his own, he doe-eyes pleads for him to understand and the way he’s looking at him. Like he doesn’t know what to do if he doesn’t hear him out. Their so close their breaths mingle with each other. Comfortable silence they both use to calm down, the strength in the waves falter.
“Please…” George hushes. Bringing their foreheads together.
Clay leans down to account for the high difference and George smells lavender in his hair.
And Clay thinks the unfathomable because he looks at him and can’t believe he trusts him after all of this. Maybe it’s a gut feeling, maybe he’s falling for some sick manipulation but he doesn’t think so, or at least hopes not.
“I believe you.”
George looks up, eyes widen and relief and bore his eyes through his soul.
“Tomorrow.” The brunet starts.
Moving his grasp on the taller’s shoulders to the back of his neck, wreaking shivers down his spine.
“I need you to leave this office, forget your keys tonight and unlock this door…” George continues.
“W-what?” Clay sputters in confusion.
“Your office door, I need you to forget to lock it...I won’t force you, it’s your decision. Go home and look at Nick’s case file and you’ll see he doesn’t deserve to be here.”
Clay understands what he’s asking of him, he’s going to escape, he’s going to break out. That was his endgame this entire time, that was the reason. He’d be aiding and abetting a crime, he’d commit a crime by helping him escape but the execution is tomorrow and he can’t let a possibly innocent man die let alone George’s brother. But it would go against everything he believes in but he can’t help but focus on something else he said.
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” The blonde sniffs.
George nods.
“This will be the last time I see you?”
He waits. Then nods again.
They look at each other knowingly. This will be the last time they see each other. Clay moves his hands up to cup George’s cheeks, the other leans into the touch. Eyes entangled in an endless loop of viridian and honey. Again. And again. And again. Like their seeing each other for the first time perpetually. Clay thinks the shitty light bulbs aren’t worthy enough to light George’s face. They stand there, in comfortable silence for an ungodly amount of time. George stands on his tiptoes and wraps his arms fully around the other neck. Their noses touch and their blush pink lips are millimeters apart but George waits for the other, Clay glances at his lips and gives in.
Clay clashes into George’s lips harshly. This is the last time I’ll see him, make it worth it. His veiny tan fingers grasp at the brunet locks of hair, guiding him deeper and holding on for dear life. Like if he lets go, he’ll disappear and he’ll never see him again. The anger still simmers in him but the regret he’ll feel if he doesn’t do this is stronger. Lips bruise and they’re soft, but he isn’t. They’re plush, but he bites. Nips and nibbles at George’s bottom lip as the aforementioned pulls him down closer by the neck and his own respective grasp of the blonde curls. The taller moves one of his arms to the small of the other’s back and douses all the previous hurt and betrayal into George’s mouth with his tongue. He pushes his love and hate into the smaller man to make him whine for a breath of air.
Eventually parting to pant heavily into each other mouths, their lusting eyes share a quick glance and get pulled right back in by an unspoken pact. Clay flips them in one motion so George’s back is facing the wall, slowly shuffling on the tiled floor to reach the exam table. They grow frenzied, lack of time and patience will do that. Placing open-mouthed kisses on collarbones when intoxicating lips are being used to breathe. George gasps sharply when he feels the backs of his thighs hit something hard, the taller wasting no time by grabbing the soft thighs and hoisting George onto the table.
“Clay~” George whines in surprise from the manhandling.
Clay kisses the corners of his lips before moving to the jaw, George instinctively craning his neck to give him more area to cover. The taller picks a few spots to kiss, suck and abuse; George shudders at the cold air he blows on a newly formed hickey. But Clay wants more, he wants to drown in the other and he decides to do just that.
“Was everything you told me a lie?” The blonde whispers in the other’s ear before taking the lobe into his mouth.
“Ah No! Only about my being here, that was it. I promise.” George squeaks breathlessly.
Clay chuckles at his defensiveness, watching the usually intelligent, bold man fall desperate. The brunet pulls at the other’s dress shirt, untucking it from the other’s pants and exploring the skin underneath. They both shiver from the feeling of skin against exposed skin. The blonde pulls away with an embarrassing amount of effort, causing the other to whimper in protest but not for long as he grabbed the inmate’s jaw making his eyes fly wide open.
“And you’re not lying now?”
“No.”
“And I’m never going to see again?”
“Never.”
Clay pauses leaning his lips in ever so close but just not enough. He shouldn’t do this, but he’s going to leave and this is the last chance so-
“And you want this?”
“Yes.” George chimes meekly.
Something clicks between them, George closes the gap this time, immediately being met with tongue roughly swiping through his mouth, he moans at the intrusion. Clay drinks up the beautiful sound and strives to make more, pressing his chest against the other’s torso, he shoves a thigh between George’s legs and presses hard causing him to break the kiss to throw his head back and furrow his brows, mouth open and eyes fluttering in a silent moan. Ecstacy at its finest. No oils or paints could capture his beauty.
Clay moves his hands underneath the prisoner’s shirt, pressing his fingertips into his ribs, admiring the tone of his muscles and how they flex and quiver under his touch. Moving his hand expertly, and eventually landing on his nipples. Rubbing and pinching the pink nubs with both hands making George squirm and writhe underneath him. Purple splotches of color start to form on his collarbones, low enough so the shirt would be able to hide it. George burrows his head in the other’s shoulder and murmurs against the skin.
“I want you.” The vibrations tingle his pulse point.
“Then have me.” His cadence grows gravelly and oozes whiskey and lime.
They grow frenzied, low growls and heavy panting fill the room. Hands fly to zippers and waistbands, the sickeningly sweet rasping of cotton rubbing together before hitting the ground in soft flutters. George’s hands feel up the cold metal of the other’s belt and he leaves the lip lock to whisper a quick ‘can I?’. He’s met with enthusiastic nodding and an obscene moan when he shoves his hands into the other’s pants harshly, palming the other’s cock through his boxers before slipping underneath them as well. Clay’s hands tremble as he reaches to return the favor except more gently, hands teasing and snapping the prisoner’s trousers until he huffs with annoyance, only to catch him off-guard when he slipped underneath.
They stare, foreheads pinned together, holding each other in their hands, not daring to close their eyes as they want to see the expressions mold into pure pleasure. Clay moves first, firmly holding the base before tracing pulsing veins and smirking when his movements make it twitch in anticipation. Without warning he digs his thumb into the slit making George moan breathlessly, mouthing forming a faint ‘o’ shape. George follows suit, repeating his motions like Simon says, letting him lead, only receiving a husky grunt from the other end instead. They start lazily stroking, nose side by side as their faces morph into euphoria. George arches as Clay picks up the speed, hand holding the other’s cock mesmerizingly wet from precum, weeping from just how turned on he is. Not like Clay is any different.
“Ah, ah, ah Clay~” George whimpers as his toes curl.
Clay can tell he’s in deep, and close.
“I wanna fuck you before you leave.” Clay manages to slur between moans.
George’s knees dig into the other’s exposed hips and he places his hand on his chest, digging into the skin to leave red crescents.
“Fuck me, Clay,...like this is the last time,” George replies in a sultry tone.
Because it probably will be the very last time. They both ease their hold of each other’s dicks as Clay pushes Georges’s chest down to make the exposed skin of his back hit the cold leather, letting go completely of the body that amalgamates his skin to reach into a nearby draw, retrieving a bottle with clear liquid inside. He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband and pulls the orange jumpsuit and boxers fully off, George helping as he lifts his hips.
Dropping the insulting fabric to the floor, George almost drools at the sight of Clay taking off his own pants to make it even, his defined muscles stiffen from where he stands. They’re both in the same predicament, tips flushed pink and purple from lack of release and from being basically edged. Clay hoists his knees onto the leather chair, caging George’s head between his elbows. They gawk shamelessly at the other, pearls of Clay’s precum rolling off his tip to meet the pool of George’s on his stomach.
“God, you’re so pretty.” Clay punctuates with a roll of his hips.
Grunting at the feeling of their cocks grinding together whilst George throws his back.
“I always thought that you know, since day one.” Clay gushes.
George swiftly falls into submission at the feeling of Clay slapping his thighs apart.
“But you were an inmate so I pushed those thoughts down.”
George keens at the sound of a cap being opened and the squelching of gel.
“But you were so sweet, so different.”
George’s eyes snap open, watching Clay warm the lube and circle a finger around his rim and he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Clay...please…” George begs.
And who was Clay to deny him? Doctors orders.
George buries his face in the other’s shoulder, focussing on relaxing and the kisses being left on his own. It’s foreign at first, but he grows accustomed to it, the subtle drag of the other’s thick fingers in all the right places, in and out, making him unravel quite quickly. Clay listens, when his pitch heightens, he adds another, when his breath hitches, he slows down, when moans, he presses harder, abusing the bundle of nerves that make him scream like a fidget cube until he’s 3 fingers deep. George grows impatient, pressing down on the digits, finger fucking himself to kingdom come until Clay pulls them out. His pink hole flutters from the lack of stimulation.
“Clay! Please f-fuck~” George begs, tears brimming his eyes, nails forming red scratches on the other’s back.
Clay shushes him and bends down to leave a trail of kisses going from his collarbones to his abdomen. George grabs a fistful of his hair for purchase and spreads his knees impossibly farther.
“Uhhah shit~” George moans pornographically when a tongue starts poking and prodding his rim.
He welcomes the feeling, moaning loudly as Clay eats him up like he’s his last meal, the aforementioned digging his nails into the other’s plush thighs and spreading him apart. His face grows hot and the coil in his gut starts forming, George wobbles from the pleasure, grinding down to get him deeper. His legs begin to tremble as Clay moves from his hole to kitten lick his tip.
“Clay! I- I can’t please, I’m close.” George whines.
And with that, the stimulation is gone and he almost loses his shit before he sees Clay lining himself up, impossibly wet from seeing George fall into utter shambles underneath him. Clay squeezes his hips and breaths heavily, sweat rolling off his hairline whilst he breaches and George is gone. He brings his neck down to smash their lips together as Clay slowly bottoms out, cock just grazing that sweet spot.
After George gives him the go-ahead, he wastes no time in setting a frantic pace, pouring all his emotions out where his hips meet George’s ass. He roughly slams into him, George screaming at this point, getting his tears kissed off his cheeks. They intertwine their fingers, gazing into each other’s eyes when their hearts break apart from the pleasure with a look of ‘I know, I’m here too, I’m right here.’ George getting the life pounded out of him as he reaches the edge of the cliff.
“God the sounds you make.” Clay growls, open-mouthed on George’s lips.
Breathing into each other’s mouths, they never close their eyes as they feel the end coming. George was crying, whining uncontrollably, and it didn’t help when Clay started moaning himself, unable to mask his sounds anymore. The table rocked vigorously, sounds of skin slapping and the aroma of sex filling the air. They didn’t care about anything anymore, no one else in the world just them and the man between their legs. All it took was one more push, and they fell, blissfully aware.
Their vision turned white as they came together, George untouched. Grunting, gasping, scratching as they rode their highs. Collapsing into each other in exhaustion.
After a while, Clay pulled out, eyeing the cum dripping down George’s thighs. He grabbed a few tissues to clean them both up, being sure to be gentle with George. After drinking some water and pulling their clothes back on, they just laid, curled up into each other, softly crying from the raw emotion. The silence grew comfortable, savoring each other’s presence with the little time they had left. Clay gave George the bracelet he wore to work every day after they shared their last kiss.
“Tomorrow.” George reminds before finally pulling away and opening the door, limping slightly.
He disappears down the dark hallway, to his cell. Leaving Clay standing in the middle of his office, crying and shaking. Just to leave the prison to go to his apartment and lie in bed, crying and shaking.
Then the next day he came and he went to work, his co-workers asked him if something happened since he looked like someone ran him over, he said nothing, like he always does. He comes to terms with the fact that he won’t see George that day and when night comes. He stands at his door, medical wing empty like the night before, crying and hands shaking with his keys in his hand as he contemplates.
He pockets them and leaves. Leaving the door unlocked.
When wakes up the next day to the news, he’s met with the headlines.
The media is now calling the 8 prisoners who escaped Pandora’s Petitionary, including Nick Armstrong and his adoptive brother George Davidson, The Pandora 8.