Notes: We couldnít resist tweaking the confrontation scene to make it go the way we wanted to see.


Orithain and Rina

October 2007

Disclaimers: We only wish they were ours. Sadly, this is as close as weíre going to get.

Michael Scofield wasnít quite sure when things had gotten so out of control, even more so than normal for being trapped inside the hellhole that was the Panamanian prison Sona, but here he was, pressed up against the wall of his own cell with Alex Mahone trapping him there and holding the hilt of a knife that heíd slammed into the wall next to Michaelís head. Sweat beaded on both men, the heat as intense as if the flames painted on the cell walls were real, and they locked gazes, neither willing to yield.

Each was the only worthy adversary either had ever faced, the only one to be able to outthink the other, and both men knew it, even if neither was willing to admit it.

Michael had made one small mistake, an oversight, and Mahone, even strung out, had picked up on it, and now here they were.

"Do you understand me, Michael?" Mahone rasped, leaning in, his dilated eyes never losing their focus on Michaelís face.

Michael tilted his head down slightly, trying to defuse Mahoneís anger, but he continued watching the other man through his eyelashes, gauging his mood.

"Not answering me isnít doing much for my confidence in you." Mahone pushed closer, the makeshift knife grating against the wall beside Michaelís head.

"Youíre misunderstanding," Michael said carefully, his eyes darting to the knife before returning to Mahoneís face.

"And what am I misunderstanding?" Mahone asked, his breath ghosting over Michaelís face, bringing a momentarily coolness to his sweat-soaked skin.

"I didnít give you a make-work project," Michael said earnestly, trying to convince Alex.

"I hope for your sake you didnít."

Michaelís gaze shot up to meet Mahoneís. "That sounded like a threat, Alex."

"Only if youíre using me. I need you to get out of here, and I think you need me as well." Mahoneís voice was a hoarse whisper as he pressed against Michael, the hand holding the knife pressed against his shoulder.

"Of course," Michael said soothingly, glancing at the knife again as he felt the heat of Mahoneís body from head to toe. At that admission, Mahone closed his eyes and let loose a deep breath, the action pressing him closer against Michael, who sucked in a startled breath.

"What are you doing, Alex?"

"Securing my options, Michael, what does it look like Iím doing?" The blue of Mahoneís eyes was lost in the black of his pupils when he opened them again.

"This isnít necessary, Alex." Michael tried to put more space between them, but pressed up against the wall as he was, there was nowhere to go.

"Oh, I assure you that it is, because like it or not, weíre in this together; youíll be rid of me once youíve testified as to my innocence."

Michaelís eyes shot up to Mahoneís, and he licked his lips, a tiny sign of uncertainty that Mahone took note of, a small smile twisting his mouth though none of the intensity left his expression. "Iím going to be there whenever you turn around, Michael."

Michael stared at him, staying completely motionless. "You should get a hobby, Alex."

"I have one: keeping you alive to get me out of here."

Michaelís eyes narrowed. "If youíll recall, I managed to keep myself and my brother alive and get us both out of Fox River."

"Oh, I remember that very well." A drop of sweat rolled down Michaelís face, and Mahoneís dilated eyes flicked to the side as they tracked it. "Just remember, Iím the one who does the things you canít or wonítóremember your friend with the chicken foot?"

Michael frowned. "And I was grateful for your help, but telling me youíre a killer doesnít exactly build confidence, Alex." He shifted a little, hoping it would make Mahone move.

"Oh? Then why donít you ask me what I did to get you that pen that was so crucial to your plans?" Mahoneís voice dropped to a rough whisper, and he held his ground so that the small movements Michael made rubbed their bodies together.

Michael stilled, his eyes widening slightly and his nostrils flaring as he inhaled. "What did you do?" he asked, his voice lower than normal.

"I used the currency I had on hand."

"You..." Michaelís eyes flinched, and Mahone leaned back just enough to study him intently.

"Did what was necessary to get the pen that was crucial to your plan."

Michael couldnít meet Mahoneís gaze, and he shifted uncomfortably. "I didnít ask you to do that."

"No, you never ask, do you," Mahone murmured. "You just work people to get the results you want."

Michaelís eyes shot up to meet Mahoneís. "And you donít?" he snapped.

"Never said I didnít."

Michael frowned. "What do you want, Alex?"

Mahoneís laughter was harsh and brittle. "A little consideration, thatís all, and for you not to fuck me over, got it?"

"I can assure you I have absolutely no intention of fucking youówith you." Michael hastily corrected himself.

Alex pulled back enough to look into Michaelís eyes, his lips curled in a sardonic smile as he shifted his weight enough to press a thigh against Michaelís groin. "Really?"

Michael gasped sharply, his eyes darting to Mahoneís and then away.

"That wasnít an answer." The growl was back in Mahoneís voice, and he stayed in position, pressed against Michael.

"You donít want to do this, Alex," Michael said, but the words lost much of their impact when his voice caught as Mahone moved against him.

"And what am I doing?"

"I have no fucking idea," Michael bit out, turning his head slightly to the side.

"Thatís a change," Mahone chuckled, the sound of his laughter as jagged as their nerves.

Michael barked a laugh in turn that held little of amusement. "There have been a hell of a lot of changes lately."

"Which is why itís better if we work together."

"I thought we were," Michael bit out, trying to ignore the way he was hardening against Alex.

"No, you were fucking me over; if we want to get out of here alive, we need to cooperate." The muscles of Alexís leg flexed against Michaelís groin.

"This is not cooperating," Michael retorted, trying not to groan.

"Really? Then what would you call it?"

"Fucked up," Michael rasped before his head moved forward and their mouths slammed together in a violent, angry kiss, the knife dropping from Alexís hand as he grabbed hold of Michaelís shirt to pull him closer, their bodies aligning to rub together, drawing a growl from his throat. Michaelís hand rose to push Alex away now that heíd released the blade, but instead he found himself fisting Alexís shirt and pulling him closer, Alexís hands rising to slide around the curve of Michaelís head so he could eat at his mouth as they ground together.

Michael groaned, his free hand sliding around to the back of Alexís neck, and he thrust against Alex, feeling both of their cocks jump.

"Good," Alex rasped against Michaelís mouth as they undulated together, the fabric of their clothes rasping together, creating a delicious friction between them.

Michael nodded jerkily, the sweat running down their faces as the already hot temperature rose even more, plastering their clothes against them. Alex pulled back enough to get a hand between them and fumbled with the button and zipper holding Michaelís jeans closed, searching for the bare flesh beneath.

Michael gasped again, stiffening and ready to pull away until the pleasure swamped his qualms, and he pushed into Alexís hand instead as it closed around his cock, the feel of smooth flesh drawing a grunt from Alexís throat as well. After a moment Michael tentatively reached for Alex, kneading him through his pants.

Mahone shuddered at the contact and rested his head against Michaelís shoulder, his hips rocking against the pressure as he continued to stroke Michaelís cock. Michael groaned again, rocking into Alexís grip while fumbling to unfasten his pants, and then he let out a low growl of satisfaction when he made contact with bare flesh, the touch drawing a gasp of pleasure before Alex bit down on his shoulder, his grip tightening even as he thrust into Michaelís hand.

The bite made Michael cry out, the sound quickly smothered for fear of drawing attention from other prisoners, and he thrust hard into Alexís hand, his body tightening.

"Yes..." Alex hissed, the word smothered against Michaelís throat, and he twisted his wrist, making Michael cry out as he came, warm liquid gouting over Alexís hand and arm, sliding downward to slick his grip as he grunted and thrust into Michaelís fist. After a moment, Michael tightened his fingers around Alex and stroked him rapidly, watching Mahoneís face even as the last tremors of his own climax rippled through him.

The faded blue eyes went half-lidded and lost concentration as Mahone thrust into Michaelís grip, and he let out a low groan as he came as well, Michael continuing to stroke him until the last spasm subsided.

As they caught their breath, the realization of what theyíd done seemed to strike them both, and Michael looked anywhere except at Mahone, who drew back, tucking himself into his pants negligently.

"We work together," he rasped. "Got it?"

Michael nodded silently, adjusting his clothes to cover himself again.

"Good." Mahone bent and picked something up, tossing it to Michael. "You dropped this."

Michael stared at the pen for a moment before reaching out and taking it. "Thanks."

Alex nodded, watching Michael levelly before stepping back toward the cell door, and Michael watched him go without saying another word, the scent of sex permeating the air of his cell.



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