The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphors (halfshellvenus) wrote in pbfic_exchange2,
The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphors
halfshellvenus
pbfic_exchange2

"Diversion Tactics" for almostforgiven

Title: Diversion Tactics
Rating: R
Requested by: almostforgiven
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Veronica
Summary: Veronica needs to stall and she’s got the equipment to get
the job done.
Author’s Notes: The request was dark with denim short shorts, matches and a Sara cameo. Dark? Alas, it didn’t quite work out that way. Black humor at best. And Sara does make a cameo… just not all of her. Thanks to lissa_bear for the speedy beta job, any mistakes are my fault.
Note: The original pbficexchange posting of this story is here.



Her ass was sticking to the barstool. She should have known better than to let Lincoln pick a disguise for her. Sure, he was at the center of agovernment conspiracy, had escaped the electric chair, had a child, aged decades… but when it came down to it Lincoln Burrows was as much of an assman as he’d been when he was 18. He’d held up the frayed denim shorts with a lopsided grin. ‘These are perfect.’

‘What are they?’ Veronica had asked.

‘Shorts?’

‘Short shorts,’ offered Michael from his seat on the floor in front of the TV.

‘I’ve had crotch-less panties that covered more.’

A goofy grin swam over Lincoln’s face, ‘Yeah, I remember those… the white ones with the little pink-’ She’d snatched the shorts and the rest of the outfit from him before storming out of the room.

She took a sip of her coke, she was pretending it was coke and rum, she had an image to uphold. A skanky, desperate, drunken image. If Lincoln’s neck wasn’t so thick she would have been entertaining thoughts of wringing it.

Oh, sure, the red push-up bra under the open cotton shirt was a nice touch. Really took her whole look from ‘easy’ to ‘hooker’. And the wig? A blonde bob? Obviously Lincoln had let all the porn of his youth guide his decision.

She didn’t doubt that it was for a good cause. If they could bring down Bagwell they’d been promised a reduced sentence for Michael. That was the deal: they didn’t go to the press with their information, they recovered Bagwell and Lincoln’s convictions and Michael’s sentence would just vanish. None of it had hit the headlines, not Lincoln’s exoneration, not even the real motivations behind the President’s removal from office. It would come out eventually, she was sure, just not from their mouths.

She was mentally burning Lincoln in effigy when she felt a sticky leather glove smack down on her thigh. He gave a quick squeeze before vaulting onto the stool beside her. She wasn’t sure if the squeeze was deliberate, his hand was quite weak and very shaky. Part of Veronica wanted to run around screaming ‘Ew’, she could practically feel the dead cooties jumping off his hand and onto her thigh. He ordered a club soda and sat beside her in silence for a long time.

‘Pretty girl like you, alone at a bar, now that ain’t right.’

Veronica figured that so much about her current situation (namely the shorts) wasn’t right and yet, she managed to turn to Bagwell, cross her legs and lean forward in a cleavage maximizing move. ‘I’m not alone now you’re here.’ Yuck, yuck, yuck. Ok, maybe not totally yuck, he did have a certain something. Not that she was thinking about that something. In fact, from that point on she went out of her way to think absolutely nothing about Theodore Bagwell’s something.

He smiled into his drink, ‘Now, maybe you can help me. Tell me you aren’t the little girly who’s been shootin’ off her mouth about a group of escaped convicts.’

‘I wish I could,’ she exclaimed with mock distress, ‘It was just dreadful! I live at a park, just t’other side of the highway and they’ve been holed up in a caravan three down from mine! They’re scary beasts!’

‘Well, fancy that. I’m involved with the law myself, sure would be helpful if you could give me some directions. I might be able to take those boys off your hands.’

She sipped her drink. Any time now. Yep. The idea was Bagwell would show up, the police would bust in and it would all be over.

Any. Time. Now.

Except, obviously not quite now.

She had to drag it out, ‘Well, you understand a woman like myself fears for her safety, I don’t want to cross some dangerous men like that. Not without… compensation.’

Bagwell leaned back on his stool and surveyed Veronica, ‘Money? You want money? What’s to stop me doing the foot work all by my lonesome and finding this trailer myself?’

‘There are sixteen parks along that drag, you gonna canvas them all yourself, Sweetheart?’

‘Alright, Cupcake. I got cash. In my car, you come along with me now and we’ll see you’re taken care of.’

Veronica didn’t need to summon all her brain cells into action to figure that going to Bagwell’s car was a Bad Idea™. Of course that didn’t stop Bagwell from taking her by the hand and tugging her from the barstool. ‘How do I know this isn’t a trick?’ she tried stalling. Surely, the guys were going to show up at any second and do their manly thing and put this creep away for a very long time… right?

Veronica scanned the bar but saw no sign of Lincoln, Michael or anything resembling a police officer. What the hell was happening?

‘You wound me. I ain’t never been so offended in my life.’

Veronica found that hard to believe, but smiled apologetically. With one last desperate look around the bar, she slid from the stool and shrugged as she put one hand on her hip. ‘Lead the way, Handsome.’

His face formed into a sickening parody of trustworthiness as he stood and nodded towards a back entrance. ‘We’ll go this way. It’s all quiet.’

Veronica nearly wet her pants. Quiet. Yeah, quiet until he started cutting her up into little itty bitty pieces and… Dear God, she was actually going to follow that man through the back hall of the bar and out into the car lot. She was so stupid that she probably deserved to die.

Stall. She had to stall. If it were Lincoln she’d start a conversation about breasts, or blunt objects. While she imagined that the blunt objects might interest Bagwell, she just didn’t have him pegged as a boob-man.

They reached a poorly lit stretch of corridor that led past the restrooms, kitchen, coat room and on to the back door. Veronica knew that if they made it out into the unlit and car-littered lot out back, things would get a lot more complicated. She needed to keep him in the bar.

They passed the kitchen and Veronica spotted a dark alcove that housed a pay phone. She feigned a stumble on her three-inch patent red heels and grabbed out to catch his bare hand. The skin of his good hand seemed warm and normal and Veronica was reminded that whatever else Bagwell was, he was still a man. Veronica smiled up at him and bit her lip. He pulled her up and she deliberately stumbled a little closer, making sure to thrust her breasts against his chest.

He looked down and proved that, whatever else they may say, all men are boob-men.

Lincoln, she thought as she moved her mouth closer to Bagwell, You will spend the rest of your life on your knees.

She brushed her lips over his and waited for the repulsion that she was sure would come. Instead, she felt only warmish, supple skin and the tip of his hot tongue. She wasn’t sure whether he pushed or she pulled, but they found
themselves crammed into the small alcove beside the phone.

His weak, gloved hand crept up her thigh and toyed at the edge of her shorts. She shivered. This was bad. Bad, dirty, wrong, not Linc, wrong, wrong, for the cause, filthy, evil… and just a little sexy. Oh yeah, Veronica was going to need a lot of therapy after this.

She felt his strong grip run down the side of her arm and grasp her wrist, he pulled her hand towards his hip and whispered in her ear, ‘Hold the pocket, Sweetheart.’

Not exactly the obscene request she’d been expecting. It was really quite innocent, if a little abnormal. Her fingers dug into his trousers and sought out the soft fabric of the pocket’s lining. She pressed against his thigh through the pocket and leaned forward to nip at his bottom lip. His tongue darted out to pass across the straight line of her teeth and she opened her mouth fully to him. He tasted of spearmint gum and soda.

Their bodies pressed closer and further back into the space. His tongue slithered and slid slowly across hers, occasionally swiping at the top of her mouth. Her spare hand splayed across his chest under his jacket and slowly ran up and across. She applied pressure over his nipple and felt him hiss into her mouth… something in his jacket pocket brushed against the back of her wrist and she returned to sanity.

Uhm, yeah. That was all part of her devious plan. Ok, maybe not the tongue… but she had T-Bag holed up in the back end of the bar, did she not?

Her hand groped in the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a matchbox. The kiss ended and she pulled her hand from his pocket. She turned the match box over in her hand a few times; Bagwell grinned lazily and leaned back against the wall, in no hurry to stop her.

‘What have we here?’ she played the ditz and she opened the small box to reveal a lock of hair. It was the most unusual color, not quite red, not quite brown. It appeared to be clumped together with blood. Veronica dropped the hair back into the box and shut it before thrusting it back into his
pocket.

‘That there is a special present for a pretty boy who done crossed me more’n he should’ve.’ What that meant, Veronica didn’t know. But she was sure that it didn’t bode well for the owner of that hair.

Veronica offered up a nervous smile and tried to back away, but there was no room. She was surrounded by walls and phones and creeps. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. She glanced down the corridor to see police approaching from both the main bar and the back door. With a single shove, she pushed Bagwell back and out of the alcove. She ducked, covered her head and waited for an age.

For nearly a minute there was yelling and screaming and running, but she didn’t move, didn’t look. Even as things grew quiet around her she remained in position and prayed for it to just be over. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she felt a large hand wrap around her wrist and tug her up. Her arms fell to her sides and she found herself being pulled into Lincoln’s arms.

She smacked his shoulder, ‘Where the Hell were you?’ she hissed.

‘They had to check his trunk before they busted him.’

‘That makes no sense.’

‘Apparently he… did something before coming here. I can’t believe you were stupid enough to consider leaving with him.’

‘I was stalling.’

‘How?’

‘We talked.’

‘About?’

‘Blunt objects.’

He narrowed his eyes at her, uncomprehending. Veronica shuddered and stepped up close to Lincoln. ‘Next time you wear the fucking shorts,’ she said as she slipped her hand into his pocket and clutched at the lining for comfort.






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