Note: Once the basic idea of this story came to me, I told my co-writer that we should do a smut one-shot from it. Yeah… we and one-shots XD Of course the story grew itself out into a much bigger monster with its 95+ pages! ;) Enjoy!

Note 2: The title comes from Slipknot’s “Skin Ticket”.

Disclaimer: This is a product of our imagination and was written only for entertainment and fun. We don’t profit from this fanfiction and we mean no harm or disrespect against any real person, culture or custom that might appear in the story.

Fandom/characters/rating/category: Slipknot, Korn, Corey Taylor/Jim Root, Mick Thomson, Jay Weinberg, Shawn Crahan, Craig Jones, Sid Wilson, Chris Fehn, Alessandro Venturella, Jonathan Davis, James “Munky” Shaffer, prison AU, R, slash, M/M, light BDSM, light D/s relationship, daddy kink, drama, romance, hurt/comfort, angst, dark, violence, injustice, cutting, anxiety attacks, smut, some (kinda manly) fluff.

 
Full sized picture HERE

Come See My Cage
By S.M.A. & Useless-girl

Chapter 1

The bus hit a bump on the road, making the chains rattle on his hands and ankles. That reminded him on the moment the handcuffs clicked onto his wrists. Sadly not during some kinky sex scene. It happened after the judge announced his sentence. That asshole gave him 30 fucking years!

What the fucking fuck will he do inside for so long? He had to be clever about this and not let his short temper and big mouth put him into trouble. Or at least he should try...

As the two buses stopped, he grimaced.

"Move it, Taylor!"

He pressed his lips together to keep the not too nice comment in. "Remember..." he mumbled to himself then followed the other inmates in orange jump suits.

"Fresh meat!" some asshole shouted from behind the fence, a few wolf whistles following as the inmates were watching the chained group walk towards a guarded door.

For fucks sake… The last thing he wanted to become was the temporary "crush" of some though guy here. Not that he was against males, oh no... He was quite okay and believed in the "it doesn't matter as long as they love me" slogan. Had relationships with other men too, the problem was with the "love" part. He doubted in such facility actual emotions gets involved. And he wasn’t interested in obeying and going on all fours at command for anyone. He may look like a small kid on the outside but he is strong and a fighter.

As the little caravan of chained men walked through the check in points and examine offices, the guards sorted the people out into smaller groups as Corey kept his bravery up with such self-inspiring thoughts as he got his towels and bag of stuff to use, like a plastic mug and toothbrush and shit like that.

The huge guard escorted him to his new "home" and slammed the bars loudly behind him as he stepped into the cell. Corey jumped a little and swallowed. The place was like in the document footages and movies, and a bearded biker-looking dude looked up at him with a dirty smirk, just like in those movies...

Said man was lying in his bottom bed and sized up the newcomer. What a handsome little dude… He got the memo from a guard he sometimes made business with that today he was gonna get a new cell mate. He had mixed feelings about that, because frankly, it was nice to be alone for a while since the last cellmate was removed… with the help of said big guard.

The lying man put down the book he was reading and sat up on his bed. All long limbs and a pair of hazel eyes, observing the much, much smaller man standing there by the bars like a sheep brought before the slaughter. Although… there was a certain fire in those blue eyes.

“Well, well… I’m Jim. You get the top bunk,” he said on a rumbling voice, keeping his eyes on the guy. He found him pretty and quite his type. Only time could tell how long this one would last.

“Okay, right... Err… I'm Corey,” he mumbled. What's the etiquette for meeting your cellmate in prison anyways??? Fuck knows... The guy seemed fucking tall, though and quite interested in sizing him up. His face was hid mostly in the (quite badass, admit it!) huge beard, the type bikers grow. The hazel eyes shined playful and a bit of sadness seemed to glisten deep in them. Someone who got used to loneliness and accepted his fate.

Corey packed his new few belongings to the top bed and climbed up watching the ceiling. Again... What is the way to make these types of social connections??? He should rather just stay quiet and out of the "older one's" way. Yeah that's probably the way to survive those thirty fucking goddamned years...

Minutes passed in silence, only the noises from outside the cell could be heard. Inmates chatting, laughing, yelling or making some kind of noise in a way to compromise for being forced to stay in a tiny fucking cell. Jim picked up his book, the silence getting heavier in the cell as he kept reading the lines for a while.

Jim himself was kinda at a loss too. It’s been a while that he got a new cellmate and had to do these rounds of feeling out what kind of a guy the newbie was. Well, probably a bad one since only that type ended up in a restricted facility like this. Mainly killers. Like Jim.

Running his free hand down his long beard, Jim hummed to himself, one brow rising as he looked up from his book he’d picked up again meanwhile. “What did you do, handsome?” he suddenly asked on a calm and neutral tone, although a little playful undertone could be heard from his voice.

Was the guy scared? He should. Not specifically from Jim, but in general. Such a pretty face was bound to draw attention to him. Maybe Jim should offer him his help some time. For a price of course. But it was still too soon. First he had to see what this Corey was made of. Maybe he’s gonna have to slit his throat in two days. Maybe not.

“Killed an asshole. He had it coming for years,” Corey said on a dangerously calm tone. In the one that made it clear that he hunted down his victim in revenge and with cold blooded precision. “You?”

“Killed four assholes that threatened my MC. They had it coming for years too,” Jim said after a pausing for a moment. Yeah, that cold tone spoke volumes to him. It was the kind that tried to hide emotions that ran very fucking deep in someone. He’d heard it more than once during his years. Especially since he was here. “How many did you get for yours, handsome?”

Corey gritted his teeth from the title Jim used on him again. That was exactly the kinda shit he wanted to avoid. “Thirty years. So you're in a biker gang? How much did you get?” he asked moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He has to get some infos on how to live here for those thirty fucking years… Might as well chat with this killer.

Jim put the bookmark into his book and laid it on his pillow again, a small smile hiding under his blondish-brown moustache. He stroked along his beard once more then his smile faded a bit as he stared at the opposite grayish-blue wall. “Thirty fucking years for one kill? Nice… Yeah. Or at least I was a member until I got a life sentence for those four fuckers,” he snorted, making sure that his real feelings didn’t surface about this topic. After all, you couldn’t show any weakness around here. That might be your last mistake in a place like this.

Climbing off his bed he got up and straightened himself out, his broad shoulders easily over the top of the bed where Corey was sitting. Glimpsing at the other man for a sec Jim smirked under his beard again. “I have nothing much to lose, right handsome?” and with that he went to the corner to take a piss.

“Yeah… I guess not…” Corey nodded. Life sentence... Wow… “Well the motherfucker ran into the knife I held… Accidentally... For fourteen times. And somehow got his hands cut off,” he said in a matter of fact tone with a shrug.

His cell mate was even taller than he thought at first, probably hitting 6,6-6,7. For his teenager-like built it was kinda funny to end up with such a… giraffe. He chuckled to himself.

“Look… I know we're no best buds or anything. But can you give me some heads up with this place? Please.”

Jim flushed the toilet chuckling and stepped to the tiny sink to wash his hands while glimpsing up at Corey through the small built-in mirror over it. “You’ve got balls, kid. I like that,” he said then as he took the hand towel, he turned around to face his new cellmate.

A brow slowly climbed up again hearing that “please” at the end. It was kinda nice hearing it from the kid, but Jim could imagine other scenarios which would make that word sound even better. But later about that…

“What are you willing to offer in exchange for the information? Because… you might be new, but you surely know that absolutely no fucking thing is free in a place like this, handsome.”

“Yeah… What you want?” he asked jumping down next to Jim, looking up at him determined. “Until I don't know how shit goes here I can't help you or offer much.”

Jim watched the guy jump off from his bunk and he had to smile just how tiny he was compared to him. Somewhere he found it cute, but he had also learned a fucking long time ago that someone being small didn’t mean they were weak too. This little shit definitely had some muscle and strength in him, Jim could tell that from the first few glimpses.

“Fair enough. I’m in need of an errand boy. The last one was… let’s say put out of order recently and I’m one man short. You see, like in every prison, smuggling of shit happens here too. I have my own business and men too. I like to think such business makes life inside a bit easier for many. The groups in this prison aren’t much different like in any other,” he explained, putting an elbow on the edge of the top bunk to lean on it while looking down at Corey. “Blacks, Yellows, Mexicans, Arias… etc. And then there are other smaller groups and categories like the neutrals, loners, twinks and so on,” he shrugged. “You’ll learn soon enough. But if you ask me… it’s not healthy to stay alone for long in here. Especially not with your build and colors,” he nodded towards the blue eyes and strawberry blond hair that was shaved short on the sides of Corey’s head and slicked back on top, its end slightly curling… which was another thing Jim kinda found cute on the guy.

Geez, he should get laid soon. This was getting worse.

“What?? No Danish group? Shame…” Corey faked an outrage in respond to his mentioned height and fair colors. “Errand boy, you say? How such suppose to move around? With the time on outside or something? But yeah, I can do that,” he looked up at the tall guy, deep into those hazel eyes, showing no fear whatsoever. No. Corey learned a long, long time ago, especially because of said short built and reddish hair to stand up for himself and fight with all he had. Mostly with his loud mouth. And to use his smallness to his advance in fight and be fast. Though in such a place there weren’t many places to run to… Being "business partners" with such a guy who was also his cellmate can be useful to survive.

Jim just chuckled a bit again from that fake outrage and shook his longish and slightly wavy hair out from his eyes. His was shaved at the sides too, but he let the longer locks on top fall to one side. “Yes. We have walks usually outside on the yard. If the weather sucks, we stay in the block, but can move around a bit under supervision. But you’ll learn that a few of the guards like to sometimes look away for money or favors. This probably doesn’t come as a shock to you, though,” he smirked then looked at Corey with a contemplating expression.

“We’ll see how you’ll do. I’ll give you a test run. But if you can’t be discreet and a sneaky little shit and you endanger me, my business or my men, you won’t survive long in here. You’re my eight cellmate since I’ve got locked up. Others usually only have one or two in four years…”

“I will try my best. That's my number anyway,” Corey said with a smug grin and turned around, showing a huge 8 tattooed on the back of his neck, then turned back tilting his head. “So it's four years so far? You seem to be one of the main figures here doing business with the guards and stuff. What I can say is that I ain't no stoolpigeon. Have a big mouth and short temper but not giving up no one and can keep what has to be kept.”

A surprised expression appeared on Jim’s face seeing that tattoo on Corey’s neck. “No coincidences, huh?” He never believed in them anyways. Not even when he got here. He was atoning for his sins or some shit. And then again one could say the numbers just got added up now in some sense.

“Yep. Four years, two months and three days to be exact,” he shrugged again as if it didn’t matter to him, but obviously it did since he kept counting. But with a life sentence, he had no idea why.

“It’s true. I’m one of the big fishes around here. There are two others and some smaller ones too. If you ask me, finding the balance is the key. You know, keeping everyone happy. But that doesn’t mean that fights don’t break out. And they are usually bloody. There are some sick fucks in here you don’t want to cross paths with,” he kinda warned Corey as he straightened up and stepped towards his new cellmate as if he wanted to crawl into his face, but instead Jim passed him maybe a bit uncomfortably close to step to the bars and lean against the wall next to it, his eyes sizing up what the other inmates and the guards were doing. That wasn’t the only thing he was thinking about. The kid said he had a big mouth and short temper. That might become a problem, but Jim thought he could work on that once Corey proved himself. He already warned him and Jim didn’t like to repeat himself.

“I don't have anything to lose either. I'm not scared of no one,” Corey shrugged climbing up on his bunk and looking through the bag he got. “Is there a library or something here at least?”

Without protection you will be scared, Jim thought but he kept that to himself for now. Sooner or later the dude will learn. “Yeah, there’s a quite decent library here. Gym at the yard. And for good behavior you can gain access to the music room too,” he nodded. Personally that was his favorite place in this goddamned shithole.

“How are the new lovebirds?” they suddenly heard a deep voice, coming from a huge guard dressed in black uniform, his long black hair in a ponytail by his nape, electric blue eyes sizing the inmates up as his equally black beard framed a lopsided smirk on his face.

“Mick, hey,” Jim nodded to the guard. “We’re getting cozy.”

“Thought so,” he flashed a dirty smirk at them. “Alright, Taylor, get off your small ass, it’s time for work. You too, Jim,” he said then talked into his walkie-talkie attached to his uniform by his shoulder. “Open Block C, Cell 9.”

“Opening Block C, Cell 9,” a bodiless voice repeated then after an electric buzz the bars slid to the right.

“No funny business, Taylor,” Mick warned with an amused glare.

"Right… Mr. Thomson," Corey replied with a very fake smirk, reading the name tag on the huge guard as he passed the border of his cage.

"That's Officer Thomson for you, Taylor!" the guard grumbled on his low voice to the amusement of Jim as they got out and with the tall guy leading the way and Officer Thomson behind them, they moved along the corridor.

What the actual hell was with all the smug grins? He probably deserved it, though. Although the small guy was sure in his very core that his victim deserved what he got for molesting him and Corey's younger sister for years when they were kids. Then he looked at the other killers behind the bars as they high fived and greeted Jim, adding comments now like how his "new cocktease" was... Corey couldn't help but think that it was karma. He gets the verbal sexual molesting again, probably as he deserves it. Okay... Maybe this type of stuff is very common in prisons, but still… Looking down at the many levels of cages built upon each other seeming endlessly made his fate sink in heavily in his mind and soul.

Jim couldn’t help his half-smile under his moustache as they moved towards the kitchen. It was there partly from the comments the inmates he was on good terms with made, and partly because he had a name to maintain and appear confident and calm. Which he was, even if the small guy behind him was slightly intriguing him.

As they finally got to the kitchen, he moved to put on the necessary outfit, like an apron and hairnet then washed his hands while Mick stayed a few steps behind with Corey to explain things.

“You are on kitchen duty. Your task will be to work under the hands of the chefs. That means all the shitty work you can imagine. They’ll tell you what to do. Guards are always present and ready to kick your ass if you try anything,” he added as an afterthought. “Put some of those shits on. The inmates tend to get pissed if they find hair in their food,” Mick chuckled nodding towards some shelves in the corner then he walked off to do his usual rounds.

"Yes, Sir!" Corey mumbled putting on what he had to and looked at Jim, feeling a bit lost while his cell mate seemed to be at home, really. Corey just watched him going to the menu pinned to the wall and reading it over and measuring out onion and potato and other things and put the baskets to another kitchen helper prisoner to wash and peel it.

Jim was a boss around the kitchen too, as it seemed. The precision and confidence he radiated as he moved around and what Corey saw of him so far made the kid think about that deal they discussed. This guy probably can really get him privileges and protection. He had to admit that he 'might' need it to survive here for those decades.... Fuck...

Although Jim was busy with his usual tasks, concentrating on everything to be in order and running smoothly, from the corner of his eye he stole a few small glimpses of his new cellmate. Noticing the kinda lost expression and gestures on him once Mick had left, he turned and looked directly at him.

“Okay, kid. Time to make yourself useful,” he waved him over to a counter with a knife, cut board and some vegetables and plastic bowls. “We cook for the whole prison so you won’t be bored. These will go into the soup. Cut them up like this, in roughly this size…” he said picking up the knife and a carrot then chopped it up with practiced ease. “I hope it’s not too difficult for you,” he chuckled more to himself. “Have fun,” he grinned, looking at the huge pile of washed vegetables then left to check on how the potatoes were doing.

"I hope so too…" the small guy mumbled to himself as he was left with said mountain of vegetables. Better get started... Not being as practiced as Jim at all but Corey did try his best to cut the fucking carrots up, relatively fast and similar sizes.

Looking at the "boss" and the other guy he felt clumsy and slow. He probably was too.

It quickly became clear to Jim that the kid was quite inexperienced in the kitchen work. Maybe he should’ve put him to washing dishes first. Corey probably grew up on junk food and whatnot outside. Or had someone to cook for him. A family member or a girlfriend. Or boyfriend, for that matter. Not that Jim was interested in his family background. All he cared about was to get ready with everything in time and stay in the favor of Mick and a few other guards.

In the eagerness to keep up with the speed and precision of what he thought was needed from him, Corey ended up sliding the knife over his thumb, cursing out and jumping a bit, and with that knocking over the bowl of washed and peeled potatoes with a loud noise, along with more louder curses from him as he sucked on his heavily bleeding thumb.

Needless to say, the loud noise brought the attention of everyone to the scene.

“Fucking hell, man!” a second voice chimed in from a chubby bald guy called Ed. He was a nasty little fucker too and was already crawling into Corey’s face with a series of curses and threats. He wasn’t much taller than the new guy, but was nearly twice as wide and was packing some muscles under the fat.

Jim thought it was better to kinda literally step in before things got more… well, bloody. The arguing men probably didn’t even notice him until with his tattooed arms crossed in front of his chest, Jim stopped behind Corey, practically towering there with a silent and ice-cold glare piercing right through Ed. Who quickly zipped it and maybe suddenly looked a little pale too, which was a bit funny look on such a tough-looking guy. But he was a small fish in Jim’s pond and he knew his place.

“Help Jerry with the meats,” he barked calmly but just as coldly as his glare was.

“Yeah… sure, Jim,” he mumbled and with his tail between his legs headed towards the other side of the kitchen.

Corey was just about to pull his thumb out of his mouth and jump that 'Ed' when things turned. Him turning around too, still bleeding thumb in mouth, looked up at Jim’s intimidating figure, mumbling a 'sorry'. Only the dirty glint in the hazel eyes made him realize just how this scene probably looked like with him as a kid before a strict tall dad. And it made him blush and rather start getting the potatoes together and back into the bowl to wash again, and ignoring his boss's glare.

Damn… That’s all Jim could think from that look he got from the new kid. Because he was a man relying on his right hand for way too fucking long since his last cellmate was removed, his reaction was probably understandable. He sure as hell understood the stirring in his pants. But this wasn’t the time. Not yet.

“Once you cleaned that shit up, you’re gonna work under my close supervision. Wasting food or nearly doing so is highly frowned upon here cuz of the low budget. I don’t want to see something like this in the future,” he looked at the potato on the floor, but his voice was less icy as he said it.

With that he left Corey to finish what he was doing. To distract himself, he went to a shelf and picked up a thin rubber glove, some antiseptic and a band aid. Once the small guy came over to him, he pushed those into his good hand. “Take care of the wound and put that glove on. I don’t need your fucking blood to get on everything,” he mumbled, not even looking up from a clipboard he was reading and ticking some things on it with a pencil.

"Right... Sorry…" Corey mumbled as he went to treat the wound to the hand washing sink.

What the hell just got into him? This guy made his dirty thoughts wake up in the back of his mind, even now as he glimpsed at the towering figure and the kinda elegant moves Jim was making while doing his duty and moves around. Well, at least working under him means Corey gets to know what he is doing... Now that was so fucking kinky... Get a hold of yourself Taylor!!! Or just give up... Giving up sounded good ‘cause the thoughts and feels were getting worse…

"And now?" he asked on a lower voice than he wanted and with a slight blush standing beside Jim, all ready to learn the wonders of kitchen duty.

“Now…” Jim looked down at the kid along his nose and he kinda had to pause for a sec before continuing. “Now I’m gonna teach you the wonders of the prison inventory. Less sharp equipment there to make you bleed…” he murmured under his moustache and flipped a page on his clipboard before barking a few more orders to the others then walking up to a guard with Corey, informing him about his duty. The guard nodded and escorted them to one of the storage rooms, where they spent most of the afternoon. Corey counting and Jim scribbling down the numbers.

Later at night lying on his top bunk bed Corey just stared at the empty wall across, feeling exhausted. Not really physically but more mentally.

Jim actually helped him a lot and seeing the professionalism with what he did his job made Corey also feel at ease with being in the orange jumpsuit and follow his orders. The dirty thoughts stayed, though. He even sneaked a few glimpses at Jim naked under the shower before bed time.

He turned to his side with a sigh. He was just stupid for that too. But maybe his brain was just trying to adjust to this place. As far he saw and heard before and now, many things werw based on sex here as well. Jim was kinda his type. And maybe he just let go of all that norm that was outside. Jim was kinda nice and really knew everyone. He can also be useful to join in business. He started wondering when the tall guy would give him some duty... Or it is still testing time for now? During the kitchen duty and moving around he tried to size up the other prisoners and had to admit that his temper was not built for most of them. But he had to try…

Jim was lying awake for a while too. Once again he had to get used to not being alone in his cell anymore. But that wasn’t the only thing that was on his mind. Corey wasn’t an asshole so far. Jim could have gotten it worse. For example with getting another big guy with a horrible temper that would soon send them down on a bloody path. For now the small (and cute) guy was okay.

The bearded man kept an eye on him during the day mostly to keep him from fucking up royally. Not that Jim had to do it. It was just something that came naturally and he tried not to think too much into it. If he wanted to lie to himself, he could’ve said that it was to save his own face value. To maintain the name he’d earned in there during these years.

As he closed his eyes, that picture of Corey sucking on his bleeding thumb flashed in front of Jim’s eyes. The bloody lips… that look. Fuck.

If it wasn’t obvious so far, he was Jim’s type too. At least the kid could give him some jerking off material. For now. Then later, when the time will come – because it will, Jim knew it from experience – he could make it more and kill two birds with one stone. Find a new errand boy and someone to warm his bed too…

Next chapter

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