Chapter 41
SINN'OUS
“It suits you, Beautiful.” And it does. The ink. The mark. The prospect of what it all means.
All mine.
Seated on Izz’s bunk. The sounds of the active prison Wing forgotten for the raging heartbeat he can hear in his ears and feel in his body. His skin is abuzz in a sensation rivalling that of an adrenaline hit.
“Thank you,” Izz shifts rocking the mattresses which dips him closer to Sinn'ous, body heat crashing into him.
I need to kiss him.
The thought is fleeting, new and welcome. The origin of it may be unknown, he has never wanted to kiss another, but it is not unwelcome.
“I like it—” Izz’s words roll off his back and he doesn’t let them stop him. In fact, he scarcely hears them over the drumming noise between his ears.
The kiss is sharp and brief. A peck more than anything else. A snap in his always controlled state. A crack that leeks and the result is breath taking. Robbing his long-term memory and turning everything into a short burst of the here and now.
Over in a second when his thin reserve of control snaps back in place, and he breaks away from the connection. Missing the smooth press of lips as soon as it’s gone.
The dazed, heated flush to Izz’s cheeks nearly has him folding and giving in.
He stamps the urge down.
“Forgive me. You’re perched there delectably, I couldn’t help myself.”
Izz’s eyes dart, wild and lust torn, pupils dilated and locked on Sinn'ous.
The lean in is instigated by the boy, and their mouths find each other in a danced tangle of delectable fulfilment.
Hands dig into his hair, deepening the kiss, and it’s everything in him not to take the offered hunger and match it to his own.
He could so easily throw Izz to the mattress, tug down his pants and shove his cock in.
And why should I resist?
The startled gasp is all Izz does when Sinn'ous flips them, shoving Izz down into the mattresses. Their chests flush, their lips locked in a deepening battle, Sinn'ous’s tongue delving in to explore. Tasting the sweet heat of Izz. Eating his soul through his mouth.
Satan, have mercy.
The smaller pliant body below his is hot and needy, and begging for him to take it. Take everything.
Sinn'ous breaks their lip lock in favour of tasting Izz’s skin.
The soft subtle way it flushes. Delicate shivers he can see rippling under skin just as breakable.
He works his lips over Izz’s neck, sucking, licking, and then nipping.
Each touch of teeth to skin drives him wild.
Drives him to the point of ravenous hunger.
I will have him, I will own all of him. Mind. Body. And soul.
His next nip is anything but gentle, it’s not cute and soft, it’s sharp and backed by a hand gripping Izz’s chin. Holding him open to Sinn'ous’s teeth. He bites down so hard it threatens to break skin. And all the while his needy little prey is moaning and grinding up into him.
The reactions travel straight to his cock. He’s so hard it’s a painful, throbbing demand.
He rushes to get his hands under Izz’s grey shirt, needing more. More contact, more skin on skin. More. More. More.
He needs them both naked. Right. The. Fuck. Now.
The way Izz sucks in his stomach to make room for Sinn'ous to stuff his hands down his scratchy prison pants, is answer in itself. The boy needs this just as badly.
Oh, it drives Sinn'ous crazy. As does the way sharp licks of pain dig into his hips, the boy’s desperate hands gripping him to hold him close. To stop him from moving away.
Don’t worry, little prey, I’m not going anywhere.
He bites down on the junction of Izz’s neck, where it meets his collarbone, marking him right above the bone. And the boy goes insane for it, whole body jolting off the bunk, pressing right up into Sinn'ous’s body.
There is too much in the way. Too many layers. They’re both overdressed.
He needs unobstructed contact.
Hands dig further in trying to blindly find his way past the briefs, searching for what he has to have, has to touch.
First contact is hot, but not his goal, though that doesn’t stop him from digging his fingers into the heat of the boy’s inner thigh.
Welcomed contact to tide him over for the moment, until he can get at Izz’s dick.
His fingers tingle, which is new and strange, but not all bad. It’s as though his body is zapping with untapped energy. Sparks that rake down his arm, and into his own thighs.
Fuck he needs this. And he is going to get it.
Everything shifts at once. It’s not subtle, it’s strong. A stiffening in Izz that is immediately recognisable, and for a moment Sinn'ous worries he broke skin on a bite. He knows the boy isn’t mentally ready to handle that type of attention yet.
Izz cries out in what can only be described as fear, and scrambles away, his back hitting the wall, legs curling in tight to his chest. He hugs his legs like a wounded bird.
A ball of shaking fear. His eyes are doing that thing again, the thing where they glaze over and the life in them drifts away.
It’s not as bad as it was after the attack but it’s close.
It has to be some form of disassociation.
Sinn'ous pulls back, he needs the boy’s trust. His dependency. Can’t push it now, it’s too soon, it’ll break if he shoves too much.
Build that connection. Build that dependence. Make it so he can never leave.
So, he does the only thing he can think of.
He speaks to him. Unsure exactly what he is saying.
It’s pretty much a vomit of anything he can think of to calm the boy.
“I’m with you. Relax.” “Breathe.” “It’ll pass.
” “You’re so brave.” “You’re fine, I’m right here.
” “I’m right with you. You’re not alone. ”
Ragged breath, cold sweat, a ball of terror rocking back and forth. The boy is beyond hauntingly detached, even for Sinn'ous, it’s weird.
He wants to touch him, to draw him in close, and never let go.
Where that thought came from he can’t say. It’s not something he does. At least, it wasn’t. Now he’s not so sure. Something is changing within him when it comes to Izz, and he doesn’t know why. Or what it is.
And just as fast as it hits, the panic attack subsides, Izz’s eyes click back on and the brightness shines inside them once more.
Insanity.
“I’m sorry—” Izz’s words are choked off and hollow, a residual effect of the attack his mind underwent. Some inner battle of wills. Or demonic possession. A combination of both?
“Don’t be. You can choose to stop any time you like.
It’s your choice. And I will respect it.
We can wait until you’re ready.” The words he offers are for Izz’s benefit.
They mean nothing to Sinn'ous. He will get this, one way or another he will have what he wants. Even if he has to play behind the scenes. He isn’t above a coercive game of manipulation.
“How are you so nice?” Izz mumbles into his knees, arms folded tight around his legs. “You’re a serial killer. How are you like this? So kind and gentle with me.”
Sinn'ous bristles at the title. Serial killer. It scrapes down his spine. Scratches the marrow of his bones. Nails over a chalk board.
Taking a deep, measured breath in a way that hides his reaction, is all he can do. If he lashes out now he’ll break the thin tether he’s finally gotten to stick. Once it’s stronger he’ll be able to bend the limits further.
He could come out and say what his intentions are. That the only reason they are here is because he wanted to kill Izz.
Wanted? Past tense? Not want?
When did that change?
Shoving those thoughts aside he deliberately ignores their presence and opts for an answer that can have a number of interpretations. “You intrigue me.”
There. It’s sort of an answer. It has empathy in it. Has morality etched into it.
Maybe?
Should he offer more? Add feelings to it?
He has this demanding need to explain himself. He knows less is more, and you shouldn’t offer more than the essentials when answering questions like these. Yet he doesn’t stop his mouth from continuing to speak.
“Closest I’ve come to feeling anything towards someone, outside of what it’s like for them to .
. .” Die, at my hands, “no longer be around . . .” and because he can’t deal with Izz ever saying that title again, he adds on, “but don’t call me that.
I am not a serial killer. I am only me. Who I have always been.
Not some make-believe-thing normal people invent to allow themselves to feel better about living boring sheltered lives. ”
His mounting irritation dissipates when Izz smirks, his lips quirking in amusement.
“Something amusing?” Sinn'ous quips, though there is no malice to it. It’s almost like Izz calms him? Smoothing down his sharp edges.
“You can live a perfectly eventful life without killing anyone,” Izz’s smile only grows wider, and it has Sinn'ous’s instincts flaring. A softer version of the driving force which overcomes his system when he’s about to kill a sacrifice.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
Why deny what feels so good? That’s not a life worth living. Killing people is way too much fun to give up.
And Satan deserves to be given His sacrifices.
Izz outright laughs. His body shaking, arms loosening to drop from their tight grip on his legs, red marks left behind in the skin.
The joviality doesn’t last. Gone as quickly as it flashed in. Silently slipping back away, making room for a weight to hover over the boy’s expression.
“You’re strange,” Izz playfully mocks, broad smile unfaltering. But the darkness there lingers.
Sinn'ous shows his own form of amusement, allowing his mask to crack and lets out a small glimpse of what being here by Izz’s side does to him. “Is it a good or bad thing.”
Whatever the answer, now that the subject has been touched on it will make the transition for Izz easier to swallow. Once Sinn'ous has the carefully constructed environment set to his liking, he’ll be able to ease the boy into accepting this part of him.
And the boy will be clueless to what Sinn'ous is doing to him, until it’s too late, and he’s already fully submerged in Sinn'ous’s whims.
If done right the boy will believe everything Sinn'ous does to him is his idea. He will believe he is in control. He will not see what seeds are being planted and nurtured in his psyche.
Sinn'ous will own his every fibre, down to the marrow of his very soul.
“Haven’t worked it out yet,” Izz murmurs in response, and Sinn'ous internally beams.
The seeds have already begun to sprout.