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MANIAC #1: Chris Bang (Extended Preview)
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LEGEND 📓Release status/Rating · 🖤Pairing · 🪐Universe · 🏷️Genre/Trope · 🚨 Warnings
WOLF BY THE TAIL
📜1.5K words (preview) 📓Explicit, Upcoming 🖤Bang Chan x (afab) Reader 🪐Prison AU, Inmate/Gangster!Chan 🏷️Angst, Smut, Psychological, Crime 🚨Story warnings (that majorly do not pertain to this preview): Self-harm, Machiavellianism, themes of cheating, crime of passion, organized murder, prison violence, breaking and entering & attempted assault, desacralization (sexual acts taking place in a confessional), fully charged vibrators will be recommended per usual. 📻Accompanying soundtrack 💭Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel.
The charmer of the Aussies. Jewel of the Crown Street Cartel. Fucking pride of his area code and his pack with a gigantic “Kia Kaha” tattoo on his back. Inmate Christopher Bang.
[...]
This was his third time in the infirmary within a span of two weeks. How this man functioned in a cartel while hurting himself this much was appalling, really. Then again, maybe he didn’t and that was what landed his ass in prison in the first place.
"What is it this time, Bang? Tripped on a flat surface?"
His face lit up like a Christmas tree upon your sight, "I thought you'd like to see your favorite inmate."
You furrowed your brows with a mildly nauseated expression, "Yeah, that's not a thing, and don't say that ever again. What do you have for me today?"
Chris spread his legs for you to show you the cut on his inner thigh, blood oozing from it now dried.
"I wasn’t being careful with the knives during the kitchen duty. We gotta be fast to feed this many people on time, you know."
You put on your latex gloves, the supply of which was being frequently used for Chris nowadays, and examined the wound, "Looks like a clean cut, but you'll need stitches again." Then you retorted while preparing the suture, "Just bring a fucking design next time so I can tattoo it on you. At least it'll look pretty. Drop your pants."
Chris was tremendously grateful you were facing away from him as he gulped really thickly, experiencing a sudden case of cottonmouth. He knew the remedy to that was hidden between your lips of course, but that was neither here nor there, and certainly not to be brought up right that second. Nevertheless, he was still acutely aware of the fact that he was putting himself on display for you in some capacity.
You pulled a stool right in front of him to get to work, your instruments neatly placed on the surface right next to you. When you locked your eyes on your target, you got momentarily furious at yourself for wondering whether his thighs were always this sculpted or he shaped them out during his time here. Heaving a deep sigh, you penetrated his skin with a needle to proceed with stitching his wound, but that wasn’t when he hissed. Chris let out that sharp inhale when you placed your hand on his inner thigh instead.
"Am I hurting you?"
"A little, but it’s fine."
Of course he was going to lie his ass off. He wasn’t about to tell you how that contact went straight to the synapse connected to his X-rated inner mind theatre and prompted a chain reaction reaching all the way down to his crotch.
Control it.
You broke into a sarcastic smirk, "A little pussy of you to gasp at a little needle when you’re in a fucking prison, don’t you think?"
Chris chortled in slight surprise at your commentary, "You usually swear this much, doc?"
"On the regular," you replied with a firm voice, your eyes still glued to his thigh, "That’s how you motherfuckers learn to check yourselves around me. As you should." Then you briefly looked up at him.
"Doesn't seem to be working on you that much, though. You keep showing up here like this is a restaurant."
"So what?" he responded with a nonchalant smile, "I like how you take care of me. I don’t think that’s grounds for violating my parole chances."
Like you were the one to talk. You really wished you could help the smile he elicited out of you as if you were two people flirting over drinks in a goddamn restaurant.
Fucking charmer.
"Don't you think we got a little more than a Hippocratic relationship going on here, doc?"
His words landed like a nuclear bomb in your office and Chris noticed that pause in your movements even though it didn't take any longer than two nanoseconds.
"I see how you shudder when you touch me."
"Bang, stop."
"You know it's true, though."
His voice had become deeper all of a sudden like he was trying to get a message across. It didn't matter whether that message was in a glass bottle floating its way into obscurity without a proper address attached to it.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm married."
Chris' face dropped ever so slightly, barely noticeable to the naked eye, but he knew. He knew that was a formality. He knew you just stated a fact. He knew that wasn't an invitation for him to make himself scarce.
"Doesn't take a genius to conclude it's not a disgustingly happy one if you ask me," he declared, "Is it because he works so late? Doesn’t cherish you like you should be?"
"It's none of your business."
He kept examining your face as you kept stitching him up like the answer was written there somewhere.
"Or is it because he's out a little too much? Doesn't come home for dinner anymore?"
You involuntarily flinched at his words.
"Oh, so that's why," Chris tilted his head and continued, "Why do you fucking put up with that, doc? Knowing he was out, probably calling someone else a slut or whatever... Do you still let him go down on you with that mouth?"
You hysterically laughed in response, "Maybe it worked out for the best that I don't need to worry about anyone going down on me. Hold this," you handed him the antiseptic trying to brush away the interrogation over your failing marriage.
"What do you mean?"
"You need to know the taste of something to crave it, Bang," you heaved an annoyed sigh and blew on his wound, "This should heal nicely."
Chris’ eyes widened upon your words like you just told him he was getting out the following day.
"You… You mean you've never been…"
While you were putting your instruments away, you felt your face getting hot as if you stayed under the sun for five hours straight. You must have been beet red, but you kept your composure nevertheless. Chris, on the other hand, was very much amused.
"No shit, you really don't know what it's like to be eaten out, do you, doc?" he chuckled.
You didn’t answer. Not that there was anything to be replied to. His question was rhetorical after all, but he kept on pressing for a further comment.
"It's phenomenal. Nothing quite like it," he squinted his eyes and continued, "Especially when you eat pussy with enthusiasm. Takes a woman like you to induce that appetite."
You returned to the stool to clean around the wound without saying anything since you were almost sure nothing intelligible was going to come out of your mouth. He kept painting you this picture and forced you to look at it. Forced you to witness how tantalizing it was. Your mind was getting infested with the image of Chris between your legs, slowly killing you with curiosity to snap and find out whether it was true, whether it was really that hell of an experience like he was promising.
If you don't have something to retort with, then shut the fuck up.
"But you're not terribly upset with me, are you doc? This doesn't bother you as much as you believe it should."
You were wondering whether Chris somehow managed to install wires in your mind, narrating your own thoughts back to you shamelessly. He tugged at the stray hairs right in the intersection of your nape and your ear. You shuddered at the sensation.
"Why else would you close your eyes when I touch your hair?"
He placed his hand on your cheek that was warm to the touch, courtesy of his relentless flustering attempts. You found yourself leaning into it, not a shred of courage present in your soul to open your eyes and look at him. You didn't want to burst with anticipation and you were desperately looking for the whereabouts of your sanity but it was nowhere to be found. And then…
You felt his lips on yours, asking for permission to stay a while longer, begging you to not send him away. Soft but wet. Warm but intense. Tender but passionate. And it was gaining speed like a plane was about to take off with his fingers brushing your hair, his tongue clashing with yours, his lips consuming yours, and your hands trying to find their way to his face. If you didn't take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.
"No," you pulled away from him hurriedly like someone told you to cut it off, trying to catch your breath, "Go. We're done here."
"Are we, though?" he flashed the faintest but still a knowing smile.
"You don't have to come in every time you sneeze, Bang. Stay out of trouble," you quickly made your way to your desk to occupy yourself with filling out some patient forms.
Chris exhaled and got up to his feet to make his way back, "I would hold that thought if I were you. This is a fucking prison after all. The only place worse than here would be the third circle of hell." Then he stopped right behind you and whispered in your ear.
"We'll pick this up where we left off when I come in to get my stitches removed, doc," he placed the softest of kisses on your earlobe.
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