Fake Fan Fiction ❯ The Messenger Boy ❯ The Messenger Boy ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own FAKE and I make no money from this or any other story I write.

Pairing: OCxOC

Category: General

Rating: R

Warning: Language, mild sexual content

Title: The Messenger Boy

Author: yellowhorde

Status: Finished

Note: This was for the 2004-09-21 Daily Challenge at Webefanfiction ML

Challenge: "Write a prison story. Have the character development focus on relationships, establishing trust, a sexual partnership, or possibly a simple live and let live attitude."

*****

"I feel like the fucking walls are closing in around me." Jack 'the Hammer' Pilon grunted as he slowly curled his right arm in which he held a massive dumbbell. It was his twentieth repetition, the last of his sets. It was hot and stuffy in the prison gym and beads of sweat dotted his pale forehead and glistened along his bare torso. "And, Christ! It STINKS in here."

"I feel you." Andy McGivens, replied, setting down his own weights and using the white towel draped around his narrow shoulders to wipe sweat from his face. "This place seems to get smaller with each passing year. And I highly doubt any these guys have ever heard of showers let alone soap."

Jack set his weights down on the ground near his feet and laughed at his friend's response. "More likely that they're afraid to take showers!" He smirked. "Though I can't blame 'em for that. Too many fucking queers around here, if you ask me."

"Yeah, well, it takes one to know one." Andy kidded and playfully snapped his towel at the man besides him. He was probably the only man in the entire prison who could get away with doing something like that, and he knew it and took advantage of the privilege. The towel, damp with sweat, snapped loudly and he grinned as Jack roared out loud as the end came into contact with his skin, more from surprise than any actual pain.

Jack swung one massive paw at the smaller man besides him in a mock-punch. He then reached out and pulled Andy to his side in a gruff hug that ended with him delivering a noogie to his friend's noggin as he squirmed uselessly in an attempt to get away, his face red from laughter.

"Pretty soon you aren't gonna have to worry about any of that, eh?" Jack said, his voice low and rough as sandpaper. He released Andy before the man fainted from lack of oxygen. "You're a lucky dog, you know that? Getting paroled tomorrow, I hear."

Andy hitched his breath and struggled to restore some of his lost dignity. Out of pure habit he glanced about to see who might have witnessed the playful roughhousing between him and his protector. It was a rabbit-like gesture that embarrassed him, but he just couldn't change a life time habit that easily. Fortunately, the gym was deserted and only an uninterested guard sat in a metal folding chair over by the door, his face buried in some girlie magazine.

"It's about damned time." Andy said with a nod, his voice slow. "I paid for my crime...and then some." His eyes had a peculiar far away look in them as if he were remembering less pleasant things.

Jack nodded his head slowly, completely understanding that spaced out look that was in his best bud's eyes. Five years ago, the eighteen-year-old Andy had been thrown into the slammer when he was busted for a convenience store robbery gone wrong. It had been the kid's first - and only - job and in his nervousness he had accidentally shot and killed the clerk. The judge in charge of the case had been a real hard ass and when the guilty verdict had been handed down, he had refused to cut Andy any slack.

Andrew James McGivens, who had been raised by his grandparents after his own father was imprisoned for the murder of his mother when he was four, had always been short and underweight for his age. He was a timid boy with black hair, pale white skin, and thick glasses. Because of this, he was often picked on by the local bullies. His clothes always seemed to bellow around him as he walked and any stiff breeze was likely to knock him off of his feet. His only defense had been his speed. And that boy could run like quick lightning when he was in the right mind, which was often.

He was a geek, a social outcast, and virtually alone. No one but the local baddies ever paid any attention to him and no one, not even his aging grandparents, seemed to care whether he lived or died. Needless to say, these real life disadvantage took on a whole new dimensions when, just three months after his eighteenth birthday, the boy was thrown into jail for murder. Trapped within the confines of the prison, there was no place safe for Andy to run to, though there were certainly plenty of people he needed to run from. But the guards didn't give a tin shit about some gawky teenage murderer and the higher-ups refused his numerous requests to serve the remainder of his sentence in solitary confinement.

Lacking the physical strength and necessary aura of bad-assness necessary to defend himself from those who wanted to hurt and take advantage of him, Andy's first three years in prison had been a living hell as he was passed from one inmate to the next like some sort of sexual peace pipe. He lost so much weight he became almost literally a living skeleton. Just another convict existing from one miserable day to the next, waiting to be paroled...or die.

That is, until Jack had shown up on the scene.

"Are you still having those dreams?" Andy asked, his eyes now focused and full of concern.

"Every fucking night." Jack snarled as he threw his sweaty towel into the hamper and retrieved a fresh one from the nearby shelves.

"Wanna talk about them?"

"Not really. It doesn't do me any good to remember those things." Jack said as he gathered up his dumbbells and carried them across the room to the weight rack against the far wall. "Those days are long gone."

"Yeah, you're right." Andy muttered as he picked up his own weights and followed his friend's lead.

Jack couldn't help smile when he saw how easily the young man handled the heavy weights. A year ago, this string bean of a man hadn't even been able to lift those same weights off of the floor. Though he had filled out considerably since they had become lovers last year, Andy would never be a large or powerful man. At least not in appearance. He had just naturally been blessed - or cursed, depended upon how you looked at it - with a reed-thin body that would simply never bulk up no matter how many sets and repetitions he did.

The two left the gym and walked side by side in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Though he would never say it out loud to anyone, Jack missed his home. Not the rinky-dink apartment he had had in New York, but his family's farm, which had been willed to him after his father had died just after his only son had been arrested for murder. He dreamed of it every night and each morning that he awoke trapped behind cement walls and steel bars killed something deep inside, a small piece of his heart that had stubbornly remained good and pure.

He missed the wide, open fields of corn that stretched out as far to an endless sky the color of faded denim. He missed the whisper of the wind as it played its invisible fingers through his hair. The dry scent of the air and the golden dance dust motes through the rafters taunted him nights without end. Cherished memories of a simpler place, a better time before he had become the killer he was today.

As the two friends made their way to the shower room, their fellow inmates stopped and stood aside for them. There were no taunts, no back-biting comments, no threats by either word or gesture. No one was really crazy enough to start trouble with 'The Hammer' or his little bitch. They had learned that lesson the hard way after those two had become friends shortly after Jack had been arrested and imprisoned for the serial murders of fifteen prostitutes. He had beaten every one of his victims to death with an ordinary Craftsman hammer.

Whenever asked about these incidents, Jack merely responded that he had been doing the world a favor by 'taking out the trash.' He never had gone into much more detail than that and after awhile, the inmates had stopped asking. Jack had that kind of effect on people sometimes.

Now, as they striped and entered one of the large community shower, anyone with eyes and half a brain could see that Jack Pilon was as exact opposite of Andy as any man was likely to get. He was a mountain of a man with shoulders that seemed almost as wide as he was tall. Everything about him was larger than life: his long muscular limbs, kept in perfect condition by endless hours of manual labor on his family's farm while growing up, his voice, which boomed through the air as he laughed at some bit of wit Andy had heard during lunch. And as luck would have it, he was blessed with size in other areas as well. His penis was the envy of almost every man who knew him.

While Andy was shy and withdrawn, Jack was not afraid to be in the very thick of things. He size alone would have assured him any crowds attention. But size was not the only blessings he had received upon birth. He was also devilishly witty and charismatic as all hell. His face was ruggedly handsome, his deep set eyes the deepest blue. He loved being the life of the party and was on a first name basis with anyone who was anybody of importance.

But Heaven would one day weep at its generosity to a man with so much potential because Jack, who had been abnormally blessed in looks and brains, also had a cruel and sadistic nature that he had managed to hide behind his flashing white smile for thirty-four years.

Jack glanced over at the man standing in the steaming stream of water next to him and felt his heart constrict painfully. It was a relatively new sensation for the man, this caring about another human being. And it hurt him to think that tomorrow the last ray of sunlight that lit up his whole miserable existence here in prison would be gone. Perhaps forever.

Abruptly, he strode over to the other man and pulled him into his arms and before Andy could even sound his surprise, Jack was kissing him hard, passionately, his mouth wanting to devour every inch of the man he held so close. His hands, full of foaming bubbles, slid over the pale, smooth torso then around to cup firm buttocks.

"Don't forget about me." He whispered hoarsely, as he pressed the full weight of his body against his lover, pinning him to the slick tile wall.

"Never!" Andy gasped. "How could I ever do something like that?"

Andy's unhesitant response calmed him down somewhat but the strength of his need astonished Jack. He cared deeply for the smaller man, but only now, with their inevitable separation looming, was he able to finally allow himself to express even the smallest weakness. But before he could allow himself to surrender to their passion completely, there was a very important matter he had to discuss with Andy. And it simply couldn't wait.

"You know," Jack began slowly, looking into Andy's dark brown eyes. "there is something you could do for me when you reach the outside. Something kinda personal."

Andy's hands, which had been tracing eager circles along Jack's back, ceased their motions to his side as he looked at his lover with a palpable air of expectation. From the way his lover held himself and how carefully he was choosing his words, he guessed that it was something rather important. But it didn't matter what Jack wanted, because he would literally do anything for this man who loved and protected him. Anything at all.

"Like what?"

"I want you to give someone a message."

Andy's brow furrowed briefly and he pulled away slightly. "Who am I giving this message to?"

Jack actually laughed out loud at the look of suspicious jealousy on his lover's face. "No one important. Really. Just an enemy I've wanted to get even with for a while now."

Andy nodded his head slowly now that it was understood that this 'message' was intended for an enemy. That made everything much clearer. He'd been around the prison system long enough to know that 'giving someone a message' involved a heck of a lot more than just saying,

"Howdy." It usually meant that there would be some form of physical retaliation to be made against the person directly or indirectly responsible for some slight or misfortune suffered by the person asking to send the message. Sometimes, though not very often, that 'message' was also sent to a close family member or other loved ones.

"'Kay. No problem." Andy replied, feeling not at all apprehensive about what he was about to agree to. This was, after all, Jack he was talking to. And he would walk off the edge of the world for Jack. He would gladly die for him. Even kill in cold blood for him.

"Who am I going to give this message to?"

"Do you remember that Detective and his partner who arrested me two years ago?"

"Sure I do." Andy answered promptly. "Chestnut brown hair, black eyes, kinda prissy? The one from the 27th Precinct that we saw on the news the other night answering questions on the latest strings of murders on the East Side?"

"That's the one. His name is Randy Maclean. But everyone in the Precinct calls him Ryo. And his partner's name is Laytner. Dee Laytner."

Jack glanced around to make sure there were no one close enough to overhear their conversation. There was, of course, no one else in the shower, but it never hurt to take extra precautions. Seeing that they would be assured their privacy, he slowly lowered his head and whispered into his lover's ear.

"I want you to send them both a message." He whispered hoarsely. "And I want them to know that it came from me personally."

"What should I say in this message?" Andy whispered back, his heart thudding in his ears as he felt Jack's hands stroking his length firmly, just the way he liked.

Jack smiled as his lover's eyes clouded over with desire and kissed him fully on the lips, savoring the softness of his lips, the warmth of his breath against his own skin. All of the things he may never be able to enjoy again.

"I'll leave that up to you." He murmured as he broke away and gazed down at the smaller man. "I'm sure you'll think of something... creative. Will you do that for me?"

"For you, anything."

"There's a good boy." Jack slowly fell to his knees, pulling Andy down with him. The water roared all around him, the noise of it bouncing against the walls, filling the whole world.

"Oh, how I'm going to miss you." Jack whispered.

Andy offered him a saucy smile and lowered himself to his knees. "No more talking now. Let's have one last fuck for old times sake."

"And tomorrow I'll be your messenger boy."

THE END

I kind of want to make this the beginning of a much larger story, but I haven't had much luck finishing those, so it will most likely remain a simple one-shot.