Chapter 30
SINN'OUS
“Hello, Beautiful.” Sinn'ous places a hand on Izz’s back, warm and wet to the touch.
He stalks around the boy to lean against the tiled wall, just as naked as the boy is. Openly watching. Eyes missing nothing of the bare body on display for him. All that is missing is the crimson drops of blood.
“Ahh—hi.” Soft voice, soft eyes, soft blush.
Sinn'ous drops his eyes, to leisurely drag them back up Izz’s frame. Making a show out of it. Let the boy know what he’s doing.
Taking what he wants is something he has no shame in. And he isn’t about to back down now.
The way the boy stands in the showers embrace, naked and unmoving, indicates he’s either really smart or really stupid.
And somehow Sinn'ous doesn’t peg the boy for working an angle to this.
He doesn’t strike him as the type to bend over for protection.
Too naive to know that’s an option many men take in here.
No one is currently bending for Sinn'ous, but there are many doing it for other influential inmates. It reminds him that he hasn’t fucked since Trevor, on the day Izz arrived at Sandstone Correctional.
A shudder rakes through Izz’s slender form. And Sinn'ous would give many things to know what just ran through the boy’s mind. Fear or anticipation? A combination?
“Heard you were looking for me.” Sinn'ous folds his arms over his broad chest. “You enjoy what I gifted you.” It’s not a question foresay. The answer is not important. The only importance right now is the way rivulets of crystal liquid are cutting down tailored hips to the curve of a sculpted ass.
Izz’s face flashes in curiosity, written in a million scattered questions he’s trying to piece together.
“The cards were a Godsend, I was going stir crazy. But my cellmate’s a terrible cheat, so there was that.
” It’s clear it isn’t what he was going to say, but Sinn'ous allows the withholding to slide.
Ignoring the use of a toxic term that should not exist. Needs to be puked from the English language, then forced to eat it so he won’t have to think about it, see it, touch it, smell it. The only deity who exists and should be spoken of is Satan.
Bless, Satan, purge me of that repulsive word.
He does, however, slightly narrow his eyes at Izz’s remark. Biting his cheek to contain the revolt threatening to dive out knives raised.
He addresses only the ending of the boy’s confession. “He didn’t cheat you out of anything—”
A blurted, “no, no, nothing like that,” spits out of Izz’s mouth. “We weren’t gambling with anything, just messing around.”
The deer in headlights look is mildly bemusing, like his mind subconsciously knows Sinn'ous is about to find Reni and kill him. It’s not a far stretch thought, he will be killing Reni, eventually. It’s on his to-do list. But before that he has other things to check off the list.
“Very well,” Sinn'ous relaxes against the wall, rolling out the tension in his muscles. His sleep schedule is for shit, and his body is taking on the results of this.
“You going to shower too? Or just stand there staring at me.”
A devilish smirk splits his lips. And he deliberately runs his dark eyes back down Izz’s body, from those bright doe-eyes to his slender thighs.
The boy turns his face into the spray, an obvious attempt to hide the amusement colouring his features.
“I missed my birthday,” Izz mutters, to redirect the conversation. He does that a lot. It’s a shame, really, that conversation direction had just gotten interesting.
Izz continues, undeterred, eyes cast away from Sinn'ous. “I overheard some guards on my way here. They mentioned it’s the ninth today. I wish I could have seen my sister on my birthday. First one I’ve had since she was born where she hasn’t been with me.”
He’s aware of the birthday part, not the other personal information. The records Rogers had dug up for him did not mention family traditions. Not that Sinn'ous cared to learn them. They bring nothing to the table. Help in no way for him to obtain what he wants.
Or perhaps they might. People open up to those who show interest in their lives, do they not?
It appears as though Sinn'ous will be participating in small talk. He often forgets that people care about trivial things. “When was it.”
“The sixth.” Izz peeks through the water’s clear flow, water droplets catching in his eyelashes.
“You’re what, twenty.” That sounded like a question, didn’t it? He’s already well aware how old the boy is. Along with many more details.
“Yes. How old are you?” Izz’s face lights up in a way that must mean he is genuinely enjoying this conversation.
I would rather pick up on the earlier hinted conversation, but if it means I get to stand here and eat my fill of this fine sight who am I really to complain?
“Twenty-eight,” Sinn'ous answers off-handedly, his mind racing.
Maybe I can cut him a little?
Get him on his knees, a small nick of a razor on the top lip, so he can watch the blood well and smear over his cock while the boy takes it down his throat.
How deep would he take Sinn'ous before his gag reflex kicks in and he starts to choke?
How good would it feel to wrap his hands around that throat and cut off the air flow as he pumps his cock all the way down, over and over again?
“How long have you been here?”
The question pulls him from his deprived spiral. Shame. It was just starting to get good.
“Since last year.”
A lot has happened in that time. A lot of death—not nearly as much as he wants, but enough to get him by. Not to mention the gift Satan has placed before him.
A gift of which is still so naively innocent.
“Oh, the way everyone acts I just assumed you’d been here for years.” Izz drags a hand through his wet hair, trying to push it back from his face, huffing in frustration when it clings to his skin.
Hair long enough to grip while he takes a face pounding.
How would his moans sound? Broken and choked off? Or desperate and pleading?
Izz’s completely clueless to what is going on inside Sinn'ous’s mind. And stays on his mundane topic choice. “They’re terrified of you. Everyone told me to stay as far away from you as possible. And never be anywhere alone with you.”
Technically, they aren’t alone right now. But all it would take is a few direct glares and the room would clear out real fast.
“And you failed to listen.”
“Oh, I listened. I just don’t think they’re right about you. You don’t seem so bad . . . Don’t seem like you’ve done the things they say you have.”
Naive boy, I’ve done so much worse than rumours will ever tell.
“I’d never hurt you,” Sinn'ous sharpens his voice to have the words come off like a statement of fact. Not a fabrication of the truth.
I will break you down to the point you think my hurting you was your idea. To the point where you will crave it. I will consume every inch of you and you will bend over and let me take it.
And if not, well, there are other means to accomplish what he wants. Ways to pull Izz down into a state of voluntary submission, and trap him there.
At my beck and call.
He will live to serve me.
The shower cuts off, and Izz pads his way over the tiles out to the changing area where fresh clothes are waiting.
Sinn'ous trails behind, which he can see boosts the boy’s confidence.
The swagger in his stride, head held high, back straight.
And the tiny smile he tries to hide by pulling his grey shirt over his head.
It’s different, seeing Izz out of the orange, and not in a bad way, the grey suits him better.
Tugging on his own set of scratchy prison greys, Sinn'ous is dressed well before Izz. Standing back to watch the show, the curve in the boy’s back as he shimmies into his pants.
They travel together back to A-Wing. His senses picking up many eyes following them. Including Sinj, long dyed-red hair left hanging loose over his shoulders, lurking in the thick of a group of men. He lets his peripheral vision track the man’s movements.
Then they’re gone, stepping behind a bend in the corridor and walking down the final stretch to their Wing. Where he escorts Izz back to the boy’s cell.
First thing the boy does is carelessly toss his towel to the bunk, then swivels to face Sinn'ous. Who is toeing the line at the edge of the cell, both in and out of the space, testing what Izz will do.
He could walk in, there is nothing the boy could do to prevent it.
No way for him to make Sinn'ous leave. It’s just the way he likes it, to be in complete control of every situation.
And it’s not as though this would be the first time he’s been inside the boy’s cell, regardless of whether the boy objects to it.
It’s just the first time Izz will be consciously aware of his presence here.
Izz visibly seems to ground himself, throat bobbing on a swallow, feet shifting from one to the other in an anxious shuffle. Looking anywhere but at Sinn'ous’s face. Nervous energy rolling off him in waves.
“I’m ah . . .” Izz’s eyes continue to dart everywhere, not catching in anything, “going to skip breakfast tomorrow to shower again . . . if you wanted to . . . do this again.” His jaw works as he bites his lip, Sinn'ous is sure the boy’s unaware of doing it.
It stirs all manner of thoughts in Sinn'ous.
Then the context of Izz’s words settle, and Sinn'ous is taken off guard by how forward the invitation was. To shower together. Where the boy is most vulnerable. Of course, he’d be doing it either way, but to be actually invited to do it.
It has him wanting to throw the boy to the bunk and fuck him raw right here and now.
Voice gone raw. He can’t answer. So he offers an uptick to his lips in a mockery of a smile, and gives a barely perceptible dip of his chin. He’s at a loss for anything, and if he stays here any longer he will break the rules of his own game.
So he leaves, gliding back down to the stairs platform and taking the metal steps two at a time. Retreating into the thick of men doing their own things.
That had all gone better than he planned when he went to find Izz in the showers. His long game of trust building is working.
Praise Satan.