Chapter 40 #2
“This is Izz,” Sinn'ous continues, raining in the aggression still threatening to erupt, and flicks his head back over his shoulder to indicate where Izz’s standing, not once breaking eye contact.
Sending every wave of displeasure he feels straight into Matvey, every ounce of his inner demand to kill.
And then he leans closer to drive the point home. “And he is mine.” He wasn’t sure what he had planned to say in the man’s ear, but that had not been it. Either way it’s said now, and he can’t say it isn’t true.
He drops his hold, the point made. And the faster this ink work happens the faster he can leave and take Izz back to his cell. He had savoured the sensations of the boy pressed up against him, and he wishes to have him unconscious in his arms again. To touch. To admire.
Fuck, he loves that the boy sleeps so deeply. And he plans on pushing to see how far he can get without waking him.
“Take a seat, please, Izz.” Matvey’s attitude is polite and professional, taking Sinn'ous’s warning to heart.
Izz follows the instructions, perching on the edge of the bare bunk. He looks so fragile, in this cell next to two inmates who dwarf him in strength and build.
Handing over a neatly folded piece of paper for the artist to reference.
A smaller, more, dare he say, feminine, version of Sinn'ous’s own tattoo at the small of his back.
The blood red ink that is tattooed in a way which resembles a blood splatter someone proceeded to finger smudge Sinn'ous’s name into.
Skin breaks through red ink to permanently show his name.
Something he and his brother did. A dare of sorts.
Zayne’s was slightly different and held not his own name, but the initials SK, in broken skin through the palms of a bloody handprint, one on each of his hips.
Like an invisible person is standing behind him and gripping on.
Matvey flattens the sheet over his thigh. Clicking various parts into the machine and setting out small caps for ink while studying the drawing.
“Easy enough,” Matvey grunts. “Where am I putting it?” He aims the question towards Sinn'ous.
It isn’t something he has to think over for more than a breath. “Above the hip, will suit him . . .” He trails off, knowing he might be pushing Izz too fast too soon if he doesn’t word this in a way that gives the illusion of it being the boy’s choice. “Is that okay with you.”
There. Now it’s phrased in a way that should give Izz the sense of independence.
The lack of instant acceptance ticks at Sinn'ous’s irritation. He grits his teeth and forces himself to remain stoic.
He barely manages to refrain his temper.
“Izz?” Sinn'ous presses, biting his tone to cut off anything more. Trying very hard to lighten his tone and add an uptick of enquiry.
Izz’s eyes blink rapidly, shocked green irises peering up at Sinn'ous. “Huh?” It’s almost as though his mind needed a minute to reboot. “Oh, yeah. The hip is fine. Yes.”
There is definitely an air of hesitation in the answer but Sinn'ous heeds it no mind. After all, Izz belongs to him and he will do what he pleases to the body that is his to possess.
~~~
Watching the needle penetrating Izz has Sinn'ous’s raging hard on straining to be freed. He wants to be in that. Wants to be stuffed inside Izz while he watches the needle penetrate again and again. His cum mixed in ink, marking Izz good and deep.
Good and permanent.
Each lift of machine to ink cap and back allows for an inky swill of blood to surface, before it’s scrubbed away leaving the skin red and raw.
He’s right at his breaking point. It’s taking everything in him not to kill Matvey and pounce on Izz.
He needs no witnesses when he cuts the clothes from Izz and replaces them with his own body.
Skin on skin. Moan for moan. The penetrations of his cock in that tight heat waiting for him. Him, and only him.
Fuck. It’s a gasped desperate sound even in his own head.
What he wouldn’t give to see Izz bending over of his own volition. Begging Sinn'ous to fuck him. To hurt him. To use his ass hard and deep. To cut his skin and make him bleed.
To bleed Izz while he fucks him . . . That is the dream.
No. Not dream. The future.
He’s so engrossed in his head that it’s as if he blinks and the tattoo is completed. The small laugh the boy lets out startles Sinn'ous back into the cell, washing down his sexual fantasies.
The boy sends him a smile in the way he seems to be fond of doing. And it has the effect of pressure in his chest, a tightening to his organs. A threat that they’ll be crushed. Whatever the feeling is, he stuffs it down and out of reach.
He misses the exchange between Matvey and Izz, but he does not miss the way the boy looks as his shirt pulls back on.
He’d rather the boy be completely nude, but at the same time he’s not in the mood to share the sight of Izz.
He wants to study every dip and curve before he allows others to see when he takes the boy.
They can look. But they can’t touch.