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Caged	By : roxyfic Category: 1 through F > Fast And The Furious, The > Male/Male Views: 33284 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Fast and the Furious, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Caged
- 2-two
- 3-three
- 4-four
- 5-five
- 6-six
- 7-seven
- 8-eight
- 9-nine
- 10-ten
- 11-eleven
- 12-twelve
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 3
- 4
- 5
Caged - 4 - Dishwasher
Despite the early hour, they weren't the first ones in the kitchen. Brian recognized several of Dom's friends from the previous day already busy at work. Three cooks from the outside were supervising the inmates. There was also a tired-looking guard sitting in the corner. He was reading a magazine, smoking a cigarette, and paying not the slightest bit of attention to what was going on.

"Sit." Dom pointed to a stool next to the counter.

Brian tried not to notice the way the cooks looked away from him, and he ignored the curious gazes of the other inmates. They had all stopped what they had been doing and were openly, speculatively, curiously looking him and Dom over.

"What?" the big man demanded. He turned in a circle and glared around. His arched eyebrows rose in challenge. He dared anyone to question him.

"Nothing, Dom," Tookie was sure enough of his position as Dom's closest friend to dare a smirk. "We were just wondering how you and you're new cell-mate got along?"

Dom approached the small, mousy man and towered over him. His dark and heavy features took on such a threatening look that the little guy shuddered.

"What's the matter, Took? Do you want a turn with my pretty new toy?"

"N-no, Dom." Tookie's eyes blinked rapidly and the small man hunched over and scuttled away to a safer distance before continuing. "I was just joking."

Dom's laugh rumbled out. It was so deep and raspy that it caused the hanging pots and pans to hum in sympathetic vibration.

"So was I, Took." Dom looked around at the men gathered in his kitchen. "Just remember that," he pointed at Brian, "is mine until I get tired of it. He fucked me, my sister and my friends over royally." Dom's face was dark with promises of retribution as he glared at Brian. "It's going to be a long time until I'm through fuckin' with him. Got it?" he asked as he turned his attention to the other men. They nodded. "Good. When I'm done with him--if there's anything left--I'll get my rocks off watching you guys have your fun with him. Until then ... no one ... no one touches him." He raised his brows and waited. Silence was his answer. "Somebody stir that vat of oatmeal before it burns," he ordered. One of the cooks hurried over to the pot. Dom put on his apron and got to work readying the morning meal for the other inmates.

Brian had sat silently as the scene played out. For the most part, he had kept his head down as Dom had instructed, but he couldn't resist a quick peek as Dom set to work like a drill sergeant. He quickly took charge and organized the kitchen help into a smoothly flowing unit.

It was clear who was the boss. It wasn't the cooks. They may have officially been in charge, but it was Dominic who ran things.

Surprising swiftly, a massive amount of food was ready and the metal curtain that separated the kitchen from the cafeteria was raised. Prisoners filed past the steam table as scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and oatmeal were slapped into the pockets of their plastic trays.

"Slump down more," came a soft, raspy whisper. "Play up your injuries."

Brian closed his eyes and tried to look as miserable as his aching body felt. Dom knew what he was doing. Brian's best bet for accomplishing his latest undercover assignment, and earning Dom a reduced sentence in the process, was to do exactly as his friend told him.

Actually, looking miserable was easy--he hurt all over.

His head ached so bad he thought perhaps his jaw might be broken. He was hungry but the thought of using his loose teeth made him shudder. His chest hurt with every breath he took. His hands were swollen--the knuckles bruised and bleeding. His legs were covered with bruises from the kicks he had received. If Dom hadn't been there to help him out of bed this morning and play manservant as he dressed--Brian was sure that he'd never have been able to do it.

In fact, as long as everyone was occupied with dishing up breakfast, he might as well nap. He slumped even more and crossed his arms on the stainless steel worktable. He carefully laid his throbbing head down on them and shut his swollen eyes.

Five, perhaps ten, minutes went by before a driving force kicked the stool out from under him. Brian went down hard onto the tiled floor.

"Get up ya' lazy sack a' shit," came Dom's familiar voice. "What? Ya' think yer duties end in my bunk?" Brian curled up protectively as a booted foot caught him a glancing blow on his thigh. "Up, I said." Dom reached down and hauled the injured man to his feet. "Get your tight ass in gear and get to work in the deep sink."

Hoots and cheers greeted Dom's manhandling of the ex-cop. Colorful suggestions on how he should handle his lazy bitch were shouted from every corner of the mess hall. Brian didn't usually blush, but as Dom laughed and answered the catcalls, Brian felt himself doing just so.

The three cooks wandered over to the far corner and seemed to be in deep discussion over the hash browns. Their backs were noticeably turned in his direction.

He glanced at the guard and wasn't surprised to see an eager, hungry expression on his face.

The sick bastard would just sit there playing with himself while the entire kitchen staff raped me, Brian thought to himself in disgust. He'd probably even demand a turn.

He had heard and seen a lot while on the police force, but nothing like this. He said a silent prayer of thanks that he wasn't in here alone--that Dominic's powerful presence was nearby.

Brian found himself pushed toward the most dreaded job in the kitchen--the deep sink. It consisted of two deep tubs of scalding hot water that were used to wash and rinse the industrial sized cookware of the prison kitchen.

He looked at the huge pile of dirty pots.

He looked down at the steaming water.

He looked up at Dom.

He got to work.

He couldn't keep from moaning when he dipped his swollen hands into the steamy water.

"Best thing for them," Dom whispered as he nodded toward Brian's hands in the water before walking away and rejoining his friends.

~*~

Brian was sick.

He was sweating from standing over the steaming dishwater and light-headed from hunger. His mind had stopped working nearly an hour ago. It seemed that the more pans he washed, the more showed up on the dirty pile.

Breakfast was over and the metal curtain was again pulled down. Dom and his staff finally sat down for their own meal. Brian looked at the still huge stack of pots in dismay -- time for a break. He pulled his wrinkled hands out of the water and dried them off on a towel. He turned and approached the center island where the other men sat, laughing and joking as they munched down the breakfast leftovers.

"What d'ya want?" Dom growled. He leaned back on his stool. His dark eyes narrowed.

Brian wasn't sure what to do, so he just stood there and waited for a clue.

"Hungry?" Dom asked pleasantly.

Brian nodded, slowly, a bit cautiously.

"I got something for ya' to swallow down," Dom laid his large hand on his groin as his friends howled in glee.

Brian stood frozen and found his eyes helplessly glued to the dark, surprisingly elegant looking hand where it rested on the white apron.

"Fuck, Dom," shrieked the high pitch of JamJimmy's voice, "you got the bitch panting for you already."

Dom grinned smugly, showing his white teeth. "What can I say," he rasped softly. "When ya' got it, ya' got it."

"Go ahead and suck him off, bitch," someone called.

"Suck him. Suck him. Suck him." They began to chant.

Dom raised his hand to silence them. "Yeah, get down on your knees," he ordered. He rose and made a show of removing his apron. He paused in the act of pulling it over his head. He looked around as if a thought occurred to him. "But if sweetie here is occupied, who'll finish the pans?"

His friends looked at each other. Tookie started a new chant.

"Finish the dishes. Finish the dishes." They others joined in. "Finish the dishes."

Dom's raspy laugh broke out.

"Guess ya' better quit flirtin' and get your sweet ass back to the deep sink," he said to Brian.

Brian let out his breath in relief and eagerly made his way back to his chore. This time when he looked at the pile of dirty pots and pans, he felt gratitude. He understood that as long as he did the worst job in the kitchen, he would be safe here.
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Caged