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“Did you get them?” Cain asks, already full of impatience the second Abel sits down across from him and picks up the handset, holding it to his ear.
“Yeah I got them,” Abel mutters, rolling his eyes, and digs around inside his pocket. He pulls out the crumpled little packet of cigarettes and pushes them through the small opening in the thick plexiglass, barely large enough to fit a hand through.
Cain’s relief is instantaneous. He stops jittering and snatches up the packet, tearing it open with his teeth and sticking a cigarette between his lips before he waves a guard over to light it for him.
“They don’t let you have lighters in here?” Abel asks when the guard returns to his position against the wall, just so he can have something to say.
He visits Cain every Thursday and has done so for the past two months, but the first few minutes are usually tense between them. Cain is always so suspicious of what Abel's been getting up to in his absence, frequently demanding to let him inspect Abel's neck for hickies and accusing Abel of cheating at least twice every visit. Abel's constantly afraid his presence here only makes things worse for Cain and yet he can't stay away.
Cain snorts. “What do you think, princess?” He drags deeply on his cigarette and exhales a thick cloud of smoke, leaning back in his chair and regarding Abel with a lazy smirk. “So what’d you have to do to get your hands on these, then?”
“Nothing,” Abel says too quickly, feeling the blood suddenly rush to his face, and he inwardly admonishes himself for being such a bad liar.
Cain’s smirk quickly fades. Jaw set, he leans forward, elbows rested on the smudged metal bench, and quietly hisses, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Abel? What happened—you let someone touch you up for these?” He jerks his head at the cigarettes and Abel looks at them guiltily.
“I didn’t let anyone touch me up,” Abel tells him, skin throbbing hotly under Cain’s unrelenting glare. “I..." He pauses and swallows hard, suddenly on the verge of an anxiety attack. "He said he’d give me as many cigarettes as I wanted if I let him have my singlet," he blurts all at once, staring down at his lap. "And no one's laid a finger on me since you've been gone, Cain, I swear."
"Good. Better stay that way," Cain grunts. There's a long moment of silence, and then: "Hold up, you gave him your singlet?" Abel flushes all over again and slowly nods. Cain makes a loud noise of disgust and adds, "Hope you're not planning on asking for it back. You got any idea what that pervert's doing with it? Probably sniffing it and using it to jerk off. What the fuck, Abel?"
"I only did it to get the stupid cigarettes," Abel mumbles. "I knew you needed them and it's not like it cost me anything. Not really. It was just a stupid singlet..." He wishes now he'd gone about getting the cigarettes some other way but all he'd been thinking of was Cain, and making Cain happy.
Cain releases a low sigh. "I know, baby, forget it." He pushes his hand through the small opening in the glass. "Hey. Look at me."
Abel lifts his head to find Cain watching him, eyes lingering on Abel's lips. Cain flicks his tongue out over his own and looks left and right to ensure they aren't being overheard. "You alright?" he asks quietly. "Tell me if someone's fucking with you and I'll sort something out. I don't give a fuck if I'm in here, I'll find some way to work it out—"
Abel shakes his head and covers Cain's bruised hand with his own. "Everything's fine. You don't have to worry about me, just concentrate on looking after yourself."
He's heard the horror stories about the brig of course, everyone has, and the thought of Cain locked up in here and left to fend for himself keeps Abel awake all night, tossing and turning in a bed that's too big without Cain in it. But all he wants Cain to do is worry about keeping himself safe and not making any trouble. Abel knows if Cain continues fighting and running his mouth he'll just keep having his sentence extended and then they'll be apart for even longer.
Cain looks unconvinced. "I'm gonna be out real soon, alright? One more month."
Abel slowly nods his head. “I miss you so much,” he offers then, casting Cain a wistful look from beneath lowered lashes. He does miss him, so badly it aches, and it can’t hurt to remind Cain that someone is thinking of him while he’s locked up in here all alone.
Cain stares hard at him. "I know," he says finally. He takes a deep breath and rubs at his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Listen, I want you to do something for me, alright?"
"Of course, Cain, what is it?" Abel whispers back at him. He squeezes Cain's hand and gently brushes his thumb back and forth over the grazes and bruises on Cain's knuckles. He's been fighting again. Abel won't say anything about it because he knows it's not going to make Cain stop, but he wishes he had the room to lift Cain's hand to his lips and kiss every mark on his skin.
"I want you to stop visiting me." Cain won't look at him now, and Abel feels as good as if Cain has backhanded him across the face.
He blinks. Tries to calm his breathing. "Why?" is all he can manage. He racks his brains for what he's done wrong this time and comes up empty. He'd thought things were getting better between them, that Cain was starting to trust him more, but obviously not. It's always two steps forward with Cain and another three back.
"Because I can't touch you, I can't kiss you, I can't fuck you," Cain snaps, and Abel flinches back from him. "You think it's easy to have you sitting there, right the fuck in front of me and know that?"
Abel tries not to show how deeply Cain's words have affected him, and replies, "Alright then, I understand. I won't come anymore if that's what you want."
"Don't do that. Don't fucking look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I just kicked you in the guts."
Abel looks down at their intertwined hands, Cain's skin mottled with bruises and so much darker than his. He takes an uneven breath, playing with the silver ring on Cain's thumb, and says in a small voice, "It's hard for me too, you know."
"I know that."
"No you don't. You think I like sitting across from you and knowing I can't touch you either? Do you think I want to go to sleep alone every night and make—"
"Abel," Cain warns, quickly looking around himself to check whether any of the other prisoners or their visitors are listening. They're not, all of them too wrapped up in their own conversations, but Abel knows Cain has a reputation to uphold—that if any of the other prisoners catch him sweet-talking with his navigator he'll likely get the shit kicked out of him later—so Abel shuts up.
Cain sighs and leans forward, hanging his head. "It's only another month, alright? We can wait that long, can't we?"
Abel nods for him even if he knows a month without seeing Cain is going to be awful. "Promise me you'll stay out of trouble; I don't want you getting any more time," he whispers, and Cain grunts his reluctant agreement.
They sit there for a while in silence, fingers twisted together. Cain's grip is too firm but Abel doesn't say anything.
"I'm gonna fuck you so hard when I get out of here," Cain murmurs after a while, a distant sort of look on his face. He squeezes Abel's wrist and presses the pad of his thumb deep into the softest part of Abel's inner-wrist, so hard that it hurts. Abel lets him, and privately hopes it'll bruise so he can look at it later, when it's all he's got left of Cain for another month.
The buzzer signalling the end of visitation goes off and there's a sudden scraping of chairs. A guard appears behind Cain and clamps hands down on his shoulders. "Time's up, princess, let's move it. Say goodbye to your little girlfriend."
"Fuck you, asshole," Cain mutters, snatching up the cigarettes and stuffing them into his pocket. He grits his teeth and quickly says, "I'll see you in a month, alright, baby?" A month. He hangs up the handset and Abel watches him from behind the glass, trying not to look as if he's going to cry as Cain is hauled away from him and out of sight.