It never went that far with Oscar Shales.
Granted, it went pretty far with Oscar Shales – he killed the guy, didn’t he? – but not that far. And definitely not that way. For all his cunning, Shales never had Michael’s brain. For all his preponderance in Alex’s cases and life, he never was as pivotal as Michael is now. For all his taunting and brashness, he never sent Alex seething with... something Alex isn’t sure he wants to identify, whatever it might be.
He wants Michael... Well, he wants Michael to help him getting out of here. But he also wants to get Michael, to see how his mind works, watch him as he plans and thinks and plots. The kind of stuff Alex couldn’t really observe when they had this hunter/hunted dynamic. Should be interesting now they’re locked up together, relying on each other – no matter how Michael may feel about it, they will have to rely on each other.
He wants Michael to quit this damn smug attitude; he wants him to show some helplessness, some vulnerability. The expression on his face right after the fight in the yard has been a real power trip to Alex as well as a surge of relief – a blatant, obvious proof that Michael indeed needs his help. He craves to hear him ask and plead and beg in ten different ways. He can almost make up the harshly whispered words and the angry little snorts following them.
He wants to seize him and feel him. He has to make sure Michael won’t escape him this time around, either physically or intellectually. He wants to get inside of him – and at this point, Alex doesn’t bother anymore to try and disregard the double entendre of his own thoughts. He’s not absolutely sure, but he has a hunch he means that in both metaphorical and literal ways.
He isn’t naïve. He’s a lot of things, but naïve hasn’t been one of them for a long time, so he doesn’t fool himself into believing this is anything more than a hate/fascination sort of appeal. Doesn’t make the sensation go away, though. It’s still lingering in the back of his brain, in the pit of his stomach, on his fingertips. It makes him want to grasp, shove and bend Michael to his will. He needs to show some domination over him, and that’s not good – needing something is never good, it always, always, puts you in the weaker position.
But he does grab Michael, because Michael is right here, tantalizing and smirking, and Alex can’t get a hold on the urge – it may be because of Michael himself, or because of the med withdrawal, or a mixture of both: it makes no difference, truly. He pushes him in the darker corner of his cell, against the wall, and pins him there, his hands painfully holding Michael’s wrists to his sides. He’s astonished to meet no resistance at all, not even a hint of struggle or a slight protest, and for a few seconds, he thinks Michael is still dazed by the fight that just happened in the yard, unable to react. He releases his left wrist and Michael doesn’t move, doesn’t blink; he just looks at him and waits. Before he can process that he’s actually doing it, Alex grips his jaw in a tight hold and kisses him – lips roughly crushing lips and teeth viciously biting flesh. Michael’s breathing gets harsher, but he doesn’t try to fight or even to pull away. On the contrary, he opens his mouth and lets Alex’s tongue in; he lays his free hand on Alex’s hip and curls his fingers, digging hard into the flesh. He doesn’t reciprocate the kiss, he doesn’t really participate, but he’s a hair’s breadth away from it. He’s holding back, and Alex knows it’s deliberate; he’s teasing him, baiting him to demand more. His hand on Alex’s hip brings them closer and closer again, until Alex is pressing him into the wall, muscles tensing and rippling against each other’s. He can taste and smell dirt and sweat on Michael’s skin – nothing that should be enjoyable, really – and he dips deeper into his mouth, chasing for another flavor.
There’s a change in Michael’s demeanor, and he angles up his chin and presses his lips back to Alex’s. It’s subtle and restrained, but Alex revels in the sensation. He has physically caught him; this is at least a victory, even though he doesn’t get where this sudden compliance comes from.
When he steps back, he raises his head and meets Michael’s gaze. The half smirk, as characteristic as a trademark, is back – it has hardly been wiped off for a short moment – and Michael’s eyes are sparkling with amusement.
“Is that all, Alex? Will that be enough of a thank you? Or is there anything else you want, or need?”
Right now, there’s a whole bunch of things he wants and needs. None of them he’s willing to acknowledge. He clenches his fists, purses his lips and stares hard at Michael.
“I’ll let you know,” he shoots back; both of them are aware he has lost that particular battle, however, no point in denying it.
Needing something is never good.