Kinktober Day 11: Prison AU
“Wick! Let’s go, your lawyer’s here.”
John blinks. Lunch is long over but dinner hasn’t been served. He isn’t hungry, which puts the time somewhere in the mid-afternoon. As far as he knew, his lawyer wasn’t supposed to meet with him today.
Still, he says nothing. An impromptu meeting won’t change his plans.
He knows the drill. John walks to the bars and turns around, placing his hands behind his back. The cuffs snap into place and the cell opens. He is led down the hall and to a private meeting room.
After two weeks at Attica Correctional, a week of which was spent in solitary, he was already feared by the guards and prisoners alike. One man had made the mistake of shoving him in the yard. John had broken both his hands and his nose before the guards came, at which point he held up his own hands in surrender and allowed himself to be escorted to confinement.
Now, no one approached him. Which was fine. Better than fine. He preferred to be alone, to work alone.
The door opens and John blinks.
“Would you like the cuffs left on, Miss Kingston?” The guard asks.
The guard undoes the cuffs and John walks over to sit across from her.
“We’ll be just outside if you need us.”
“Thank you.” She says and opens her briefcase.
The door closes and John speaks, “What happened to Sanders?”
“He’s on paternity leave. I’m Helen Kingston. I’ll be taking over his cases for the next three months.”
He takes it and rubs his thumb along the back of her hand. She is soft and clean and smells a bit like maple.
Her grip is firm and he is sure that he is not the first prisoner she’s worked with.
“I’ve gone over your file, Mister Wick, and we still have a couple of months before your trial, however, I want to ensure we are prepared for any eventuality. As of right now, the prosecution has a fair amount of evidence on you. Your fingerprint on the murder weapon, calls from a cellular device, registered to you. And a note in the victim’s day planner that they were scheduled to meet with you during the time of death.”
John says nothing, continuing to watch the new attorney.
She slides on glasses, and god help him, it only serves to make her more sweet. Cuter. Innocent.
No, Helen Kingston did not belong in a prison in any capacity.
John shifts, aware of the effect her presence was having on him.
Men on the inside joked about how even the ugliest of women would be beautiful to a locked-up man. John had always thought it bogus. He did not care about women or men, regardless of their beauty status. Not unless there was a price on their head.
But maybe it has been too long.
Or maybe his attorney was special.
He wonders what her mouth tastes like.
“Are you maintaining your innocence, Mister Wick?”
Not in so many words. He was far from innocent. “I am maintaining that I was framed.”
She nods, “So you have said. And it seems you have quite a past. Many charges filed on you but none have ever made it this far. It seems people are afraid of you, Mister Wick.”
“I cannot control others' reactions to me.”
“Indeed.” She runs her hand down a piece of paper in front of her, “Sanders tells me that you have been unwilling to disclose who is framing you. Do you not know?”
“Even at the cost of life in prison?”
Life in prison. With his skill sets, he would be out in months. With his contacts, he was counting down the hours. Innocent or not, John Wick would be leaving the prison soon enough.
“Even then.” He replies, “How long have you been a lawyer?”
“I can assure you, I have the experience to--”
“I don’t doubt your skill, Miss, or is it Mrs. Kingston?”
“Miss.” She tells him and John smiles, “but you can call me Helen.”
“Helen.” It sings off his lips and John imagines how it would feel to moan it. How it would feel pouring from his lips with her body wrapped around him. “I am sure you have the experience. I’m just curious.”
“Just over ten years.” She answers.
John nods, “Have you always worked defense?”
“Then I’m sure you understand that there are some people you do not testify against.”
Helen inclines her head, “Are you concerned for your life, Mister Wick?”
Not as such. But he wouldn't be here long enough for her to get through the red tape of both government and mafioso. He also had no intention of leaving prison with any sort of reputation for helping the government.
"It's in my best interest not to testify," John says instead.
“It does not answer my question.”
“No, but it does tell you what you came here to find out. I won’t testify, nor will I plead guilty.”
Helen nods, considering his words and her options. “Again, I would ask you to think about your circumstances. A life in prison is not something to dismiss so easily.”
“Man is born free; everywhere else he is in chains.”
"You've read The Social Contract?"
His lips twitch. He can picture her now, lying in bed late at night, a dim lamp lighting her face. Her glasses perched on her little nose, a book resting against her bare legs.
John leans forward, “And do you agree with Rousseau?”
“For the most part. I do not think there is anyone so evil they are incapable of redemption. I also do not think that prison serves as a place for rehabilitation, hence, why I would encourage you to consider testifying if you truly are innocent.”
Oh, sweet, sweet Helen. Naive and kind. It was a miracle the world had not eaten her alive, especially in her vocation.
“You’re a defense attorney and you still believe that all people are capable of good?”
What he wouldn’t do to argue such things with her, in a bed, with a dim lamp and a book in her hands and his head between her thighs.
“Yes.” She answers simply and John wonders what it would be like to keep such an exquisite creature.
His lips turn up at the thought.
Helen sees the smile and looks down at her papers quickly. That only makes his smile intensify.
John finds himself reaching across the table and places his hand on top of hers.
Helen looks up sharply and he notes the flush to her cheeks, the throbbing of her pulse in her neck. He wants to suck on it. His gaze flickers, if only for a second to her chest, and his suspicion is confirmed.
Helen Kingston is just as aroused by him as he is of her.
"This is highly inappropriate, Mister Wick."
"That is a wonderful assessment, but only an assessment. Do you wish me to stop, Helen? Do you want me to remove my hand from yours?"
Her breaths quicken and John feels victorious.
Sweet Helen, I'm going to corrupt you.
Moments pass and then, as if suddenly aware of his hand on hers, she slides it back to her lap. "I'm sorry, Mister Wick. I should not have allowed that to go on."
John rises to his feet and, oh, his sweet Helen's eyes widen. He walks around to the other side of the table, each step taken with purpose. He is close and Helen stands on the opposite side of her chair.
How cute. As if a chair and a few feet will keep her from his touch.
"Are you afraid, sweet Helen? I will not hurt you."
"You're fired." He backs her into a wall, "There. Problem solved."
A hand lands on either side of her, trapping her in place.
“I could scream.” She warns him and John smiles at her choice of words.
He leans down and whispers in her ear, “Yes. You could.” He inhales the scent of her perfume and finds himself growing impossibly harder.
“I should scream.” Helen whispers and John smiles against her neck. He presses a kiss to her pulse point and revels at the sharp intake of breath.
“Yes, you should.” He tells her and his hands slide down the wall and close in on her hips. His fingers sink into her flesh and he moves closer, rocking his body into her. "And later, you will."
Oh yes, he is keeping her.
He catches her lips with his own and rolls his hips as he kisses her. Her lips are soft and full and he cannot wait to see what she looks like sucking his fingers, his cock. He slips his tongue into her mouth and leans into him, her hands shaking in response.
His hands slip down and inch by inch, he pulls her skirt up her thighs.
He wants to sink to his knees and devour her but he worries that there will not be time to do as he wishes.
Instead, he pulls her skirt over her hips and slips a hand into her soft panties.
His innocent, sweet Helen is soaked. John growls as he coats his fingers in her, rubbing at her core. And Helen bites her lip to keep from calling out.
Clever girl. The guards would rush in if they knew what he was doing to his pretty little attorney.
“Aren't you glad you decided that I didn’t need handcuffs?” John whispers into her ear softly, sliding two soaked fingers into her sweet pussy. “I still could have done this but I prefer the freedom to move as I please.” He accentuates his point, dragging his free hand up the side of her body, his nails raking her skin, until he stops at her breast.
She whimpers and rolls her hips desperately.
If she wanted him, she would have him. Every day and every night.
She is his, John decides, using his palm to roll against her clit. He captures a moan with his mouth and nips at her bottom lip.
“I know, baby.” He whispers, “But you gotta be quiet here. I promise later, you can be as loud as you want. I’ll fill you up and fuck you until you can’t scream anymore.”
And she is so far gone, she doesn’t even understand the levity of those words. The idea of later, a reminder that he is a prisoner, it is all beyond her as his fingers curl inside her. She almost shrieks but he pulls her head forward, against his shoulder. It comes out as a high moan but is muffled enough that John isn’t worried.
John quickens his pace and feels her clench around his fingers.
Helen cums, shaking and grinding against his hand. She is almost boneless, falling into John as she continues to quake. His arms rise around her.
“Such a sweet, good girl.” John whispers to her, guiding her through the aftershocks.
Her breath comes out in pants as she tries to catch her breath and John smiles, utterly delighted.
His fingers are coated in her as he removes his hand from her pussy. She smells like heaven and he cannot resist licking his index finger. Helen truly is as sweet as he imagined.
He turns his hand and swipes her lip with her own juices before sliding his two fingers completely into her mouth.
His sweet girl does not disappoint, sucking at his fingers and licking him clean.
When she is done, John removes the fingers from her mouth, brushing along her cheek with her own spit.
Helen whimpers and John wonders if he can make her cum again before they run out of time.
And then the sirens sound.
There is a sharp intake of breath from Helen and John quickly yanks down her skirt to preserve her modesty. She hears a rattle from the other side of the door but John grabs her chin and tilts her face towards his. "No matter what happens, sweet Helen, do not part from my side."
The doors to the room fly open and the two guards enter, surprised to find Helen against the wall and Wick pressing against her.
"No." He says, admiring the way her eyes gaze up at him. "I don't think I will." He turns toward the two men, "Gentlemen, I will give you one opportunity to walk away and one alone."
They exchange a look with each other. The shorter, and braver, of the two says, "but Miss Kingston-"
"Will be far safer with me, I assure you." His voice has darkened and Helen understands the fear associated with the name John Wick. John looks back to her, and caresses her lips with his index finger. "If the prisoners find you with the guards, and know, sweet Helen, that they will find you, they will kill them, take one look at your plump lips and your tight skirt, and take you."
One of the guards starts to speak up but Wick silences him with a glare.
"Or, you can stay with me and I will get you out of here safely."
Helen trembles in his arms as he waits for her to reply.
She thinks there is a choice and he will allow her to think as much until she makes the wrong one. Then he will carry her through the riot kicking and screaming if necessary.
But she nods and he rewards her with a smile and a quiet, "good girl" that makes her breath hitch.
He turns to the guards. "Leave, with the door opened, and you have my word I will not hunt you."
John traces his hand down her neck, holding it in place at the base of his throat to highlight his point.
"You are the first woman that many of these men have seen in months. Some, longer. Do not leave my side. Do you understand?"
She nods and John steps forward, standing flush against her. He presses his mouth to hers, hard enough that Helen is certain her lips will bruise. She shudders as he breaks the kiss and carefully wraps a hand around her wrist.
“I mean it, Helen. Do not leave my side.”
She nods and John leads the way from the room and down the hall. Lights are flashing and the alarm continues to blare in the distance.
At the end of the hall, there are a handful of prisoners, and they have two batons from guards. She starts to slow, fear gripping her, but John gives her a gentle tug. A promise of sorts. Trust him, and he will get her through this.
“What do you got there, Wick?” One of the men asks, a leer rising on his face. He steps forward, walking towards them and Helen feels her heart start pounding. “Where did you find a sexy little thing like that?”
John lets go of her hand and she hardly sees him move. But suddenly, John is directly in front of the leering man. He throws his palm forward at his neck and the man throws his hands up, grabbing at his throat. Before she can blink, John has grabbed the man’s jumpsuit at the chest, punched him twice, and then thrown him back across the hall.
“Any other questions?” Wick asks, not even having broken a sweat.
No one says anything and they all look away, not even daring to spare her a glance after that display.
John reaches back to Helen. Her hand wraps in his tightly and he knows his sweet girl is wavering. She is overwhelmed, likely terrified.
She had gone to the prison to meet with her client. She had not known that chaos awaited her. That a riot awaited.
He makes a decision and releases her hand. She looks at him in surprise but John steps into her space and sweeps her up quickly.
“Keep your head down.” He tells her and she buries her face into his shoulder. “Good girl. Let’s not let anyone know what a sweet face you have.”
The riot will last a while. Hours, at least, but if it has started, that means his way out is here. He walks leisurely towards the dining hall. No one else is stupid enough to speak to him although he is well aware of the whispers that follow as the Baba Yaga carries a woman.
The kitchen has a receiving entrance and John had memorized the route long before he was arrested and tossed in prison.
Sure enough, a truck is backed and Charon is waiting. A few prisoners are knocked out by his feet.
Like the prisoners, he does not say anything at the woman John carries, he only opens the back to the truck. John climbs in and Charon quickly shuts the back.
There are boxes at the front, making it resemble a true supply truck. But John walks past them to the back.
The engine of the truck starts and John knows they are leaving this prison behind them.
In his arms, Helen shakes. He pets her hair. She is safe now and she will be safe forever.
