Resting his head upon the square pillow, the young man made his final attempt at finding comfort on what seemed to be the poorest excuse for a bed. His pillow and sheets were bleached and of a clinical white, the kind which you might find in a hospital. Or indeed a prison. They were cushioned, warm and unlike anything else here - a small, yet, important reminder of the outside world. If only his bed itself could have shared a similar quality. He might as well have been sleeping on the floor, for all that it was worth. But what did he think he was going to get here at Fox River? A luxury spa retreat?
It was his own choice to be put away here, in any hope of being able to free his brother Lincoln, who was a death row inmate. Being one of the maximum security prisons in the country, its halls were filled with some of the highest profile killers in the world today, packed to the rafters with murderers, rapists and those with personality disorders of the worst kind. Not the kind of people you would willingly mix with, certainly not if you didn't have to. He hardly expected it to be an easy ride.
Michael Scofield once again laid back on his bunk, realising that it would be at least a good long while until he fell asleep. Wriggling upon the surface of sheets, he re-adjusted his pillow and worked his way into every postion known to man. At this rate, he would never drop off. It was at this point he noticed that there was something sticking out from under the mattress above. "What's that?" he thought to himself, mouthing the words silently.
Whatever it was, it belonged to his cellmate Sucre - the one true friend he had made since he came here. During these long and sleepless nights, Michael often thought of Fernando and what it would be like explore the notion of 'prison sexuality' with him, seeing him above always tossing and turning, sticky and glistening with sweat in nothing but his boxer shorts, flaunting that perfect tanned body at him all the while. Hell - the word 'sucre' didn't translate to 'sugar' for nothing. Having been locked away for robbery, the Latino may have had his faults - true - but he was nonetheless a good man.
Though still, even he had to have his secrets. Could this be his secret pornography stash? Did he maybe need a little extra something between his sessions with Mari-Cruz?
A light sleeper, the younger man awoke at even the lightest touch and could feel the magazine being slid from underneath him. Still dazed from having being in slumber, it took him a moment or two to process what was currently happening. He decided for the meantime to remain silent, at least until he knew what was going on and why. Michael however, had chosen to take an altogether more direct approach, knowing that Sucre was clearly awake. "What's this then?" he called up to him between the bunks, rather loudly. No longer needing subtlety, he quickly took it from out of the beams above, taking advantage of the fact that his friend couldn't quite yet get there himself. But by now, the fast-moving inmate had nearly caught up with Michael, Fernando rolling over onto his chest.
"Hey," he tried to hush him, "Do you mind?" Not only had his sleep been cruelly interrupted, but even he knew a potential humiliation when he saw it. He spied the front cover, the magazine being held out beside his bed, waved gently in front of his face.
"Biker Chicks?" the question came. Sucre shot out of the covers, snatching at the magazine and retrieving it from his grasp. During the tussle, the closed booklet fell open at the centrefold, due to the staples in the spine. It revealed a photograph of a scantily clad woman, dressed only in a bikini, which was cerise in colour. She was sat on top of a motocycle, stretched out in the most erotic of all poses.
"That's the Pink Boa she's riding," he pointed out, "That's their bike of the month - it's a beauty, don't you think?"
His fellow prisoner tried to show a keen interest, nodding in response. "I didn't take you for a biking man," he said with surprise.
"I love them," Sucre replied, "I used to go out on my hog all the time when I was younger. That was before I had my accident, though. They thought it was just a sprain, but when they told me my arm was broken, I vowed never to go out again. I wouldn't have been able to put my arm around Mari-Cruz no more!"
Taking the magazine from off of his knee, Michael flicked to another page, this time to one which displayed another motocycle, the Bearskin Pro. "And what about the girls in this?" he asked him, his eyes wandering to a team of topless women.
Scofield watched over Sucre with great intrigue as he retrieved the booklet and skimmed over the glossy pages, reading each of them for only a few seconds at a time. If you'd have asked Michael to begin with, he would not have guessed that Fernando was the bike-riding type. Though it certainly wasn't difficult, nor was it unpleasant to imagine the man out there on his hog, dressed in tight black leathers. In fact, it was probably the most appealing notion he had thought of all day. His cellmate was handsome, an attractive muscular figure, who he fantasised about often.
He then thought how wonderful it was that even when in a place like this, someone could still get so excited over what they enjoyed doing prior to being here - you know, past hobbies. It gave great hope to all of them, and the strength and patience to carry out their sentence. Hopefully, the six of them would be escaping within the week, shortening their time here at the prison by a considerable amount. All they had to do was hope, and wait for the right moment.
"Alright then, Papi," he relented, tired of his mocking, "What do you do for fun around here?" Reaching out for his hand, the shaven-headed man wrapped his fingers around the magazine and slowly pulled it away from him, claiming it as his own. Though at this time, his inner thoughts were a mystery - at least to Fernando - he was soon to make his intentions clear. He tossed it aside and onto the floor, allowing the pages to unfold themselves, now sprawled out in a messy heap. When confronted by Sucre, he simply looked up towards him and smiled back, with no regret.
"Now that I've taken care of that, I might be able to show you," he told him, once again taking his hand. Lifting his bare foot a little, he stamped down gently on the publication, pinning it to the floor. And with that he leaned into his top bunk, sliding his favourite issue of 'Biker Chicks' away from them and across the cold concrete with his foot, before finally placing a tender and deep kiss upon his friend's lips. With one hand upon Sucre's bare, bronzed chest, he pulled back from the kiss, "Why don't you let me take you for a ride instead?" For the hogs and the girls were outside, out there in the real world, but Michael was here and in the present, ready to give Fernando the thrill he needed now.