Chapter 45
SINN'OUS
His boy is on a sugar rush. No other way to describe it. During his groping of Izz, and the boy’s workload, he had observed Izz eating the stolen chocolate treats.
Now Izz’s a boisterous ball of energy, bouncing off the corridor walls on their walk back to A-Wing. A hyper collection of restless energy. It’s a fight for Sinn'ous not to grab him and force the boy into stillness.
He quirks a brow when Izz decides to run up the stairs, stomping up them two at a time, scrambling onto the second-floor platform only to take off down it.
He practically sprints over to Sinn'ous’s cell on the end.
Throwing his arms wide and half bellowing, “I’m home,” at the inanimate wall of scripture and Satanic art.
Sinn'ous steps to Izz’s back, peering over the boy’s shoulder at his cell. It has never felt so empty before. None of the paintings or drawings or pages have felt so coldly void of life. Until now. Standing so close to Izz’s warmth he can see just what he’s been missing in his cell all this time.
A warm body to play with.
His boy doesn’t flinch away, or push Sinn'ous out of his personal space. In fact Izz comes off as having his guard completely dropped. An invitation Sinn'ous will be sure to bite into.
The fast foot tapping, however, is anything but appeasing. “Remind me not to feed you chocolate.”
“You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m having fun, while you brood around all . . . broody,” Izz quips back, spinning to face Sinn'ous, a wide grin splitting his cheeks.
A mischievous glint flickers over deep green irises, and Izz steps backwards into the cell. The aura beckoning him is at a strength that Sinn'ous cannot refuse.
He prowls after his boy. Chasing the oxygen from the room. The sounds from his ears. He can swear he catches the frantic fluttering of Izz’s heart, beating away behind his delicate ribcage.
Oh, how easily Sinn'ous could crush him. It wouldn’t take much. A casual squeeze, and Izz would be added to the long list of sacrifices.
“I’m going to call you Sinie,” Izz declares. Practically bellowing the name in his obvious excitement.
The word has ice crushing Sinn'ous’s chest, and memories flooding over the carefully constructed walls of his mind.
‘Good boy, Sinnie. Be a good boy for daddy—’
Sinn'ous bites into his cheeks and grinds his molars, using the pain to mop and sponge those particular memories back over the wall. The carefully constructed wall preventing his past from messing with his present.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
“You will not.” He snaps the words, having a hard time stifling the murder from his face. He has seen his face in the mirror enough times, when the memories consume him, to know he looks positively murderous when it happens.
Keeping everything locked away from Izz has to be a testimony to his strength. As well as a shock to his system. This is the first time he has ever wanted to snuff out his unintentional lax in stoic facade.
And it must work, because Izz carries on talking none the wiser to Sinn'ous’s inner battle. “Ugh, fine. How about . . .” Izz taps his chin in thought, “. . . Sin? Yeah. That’s it. You are now officially Sin—”
He needs the boy to stop talking.
Sinn'ous moves in the blink of an eye, shoving Izz up against the wall. Pinning his boy there by a hand to the chest. The sharp exhale the boy lets out can be felt under his fingertips.
Izz’s throat bobs on a swallow, his head tilting back, opening his darkening eyes to Sinn'ous. The green is such a deep shade it’s bordering on black, and ringing fully dilated pupils.
“Are—” Izz’s voice wavers on a shuddered breath, “are you going to kill me?”
Sinn'ous’s head tilts to the side ever so slightly. A spark of excitement flashing down his spine. “Perhaps.” He leans in, bringing his chest flush with Izz’s. “Or perhaps . . . I’ll do this . . .”
Sinn'ous closes the space between them, deliberately moving slowly to give Izz the opportunity to pull away. His boy doesn’t move, he stays right there, ready to receive Sinn'ous’s advances.
The contact is soft. A brush of lips on lips. It’s an explosion behind his eyes, a roaring of volcanic energy crashing into his self-control. The urge to shove his tongue in, to dig his hands past Izz’s waistband. It’s strong enough to crack his composure.
And when Izz hums against his lips and deepens the kiss, he’s lost. His tongue snakes into the invitation. He explores every inch of Izz’s mouth. The honey sweet taste of him is something Sinn'ous will die to get to.
Their tempo matches to an addictive degree. Their lips match. Their soul’s match.
Thank you, Satan, for this gift.
Izz breaks the kiss, lips skirting over Sinn'ous’s own as he speaks. “I want it. With you.” The breathless confession sends a responding fire to Sinn'ous’s cock.
And the boy’s hands gripping his hips to pull him closer is nearly his undoing. It’s everything in him not to lose it right here and cum in his pants
“You sure . . .” Sinn'ous lazily stretches his arms out, caging Izz in against the wall. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll protect you either way.”
He isn’t entirely sure why he’s offering an out, when he has been wanting to fully possess Izz from day one, but here he is, offering one regardless.
“I’m sure.” Izz huffs a half laugh. “Hell, the first time I saw you I thought you were hot as fuck. I would have introduced myself, only my cellmate told me . . .” He gestures vaguely around with his hand, to indicate Sinn'ous’s reputation within the prison. “. . . You know.”
Oh, he does. And he knows that those rumours pale in comparison to what he has actually done. And to whom he has done it to.
All in the name of Satan.
And I would do it all over again.
He regrets nothing. Every person he has killed he has done for a true cause. For a deity who is worthy of worship.
Hail Satan.
Sinn'ous makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. Neither giving a confession nor a denial. Let Izz make up his own mind and come to his own conclusions.
Need drips off Izz. It’s tangible enough to bite into. A racing of pulse you can see clear as a rushing flood under the skin.
The band controlling the last of his restraint snaps. Sinn'ous hefts Izz off his feet and unceremoniously throws him onto the bed, where the boy bounces twice. Shocked eyes snap up at Sinn'ous, and they’re not at all discouraging or disconcerting.
“Hey,” Izz yells, stuffing his elbows under himself to sit half upright, “what did you do that for—”
Sinn'ous silences his boy by wrapping a hand around his throat, and shoving him back into the bunk. He braces over Izz and pins the boy down. His hunger is on the surface and he has no control left in him to fight it off.
It’s time to say ‘fuck you’ to control.
“You’re mine,” Sinn'ous growls, his hand involuntarily tightening on Izz’s throat. “All mine. No one else can touch you.”
The wheezing shallow breaths of Izz trying so hard to suck air into his lungs is calling to Sinn'ous’s inner animal. A beckoning call to the wildest reaches of his psyche. Every twitching muscle under his bulk is massaging his own. A quivering presence he wants to take apart.
Sinn'ous bites Izz’s lip, relinquishing his hold on the boy’s neck just enough so the smaller inmate doesn’t pass out, “you’re gorgeous when you’re helpless.”
He has to tread carefully here, having someone so helpless under him usually ends in blood.
And he doesn’t want Izz dead. Bloodied, yes.
But dead? No. Not anymore. He isn’t entirely sure when that changed for him, but he acknowledges the overwhelming desire to keep Izz.
To consume everything that is Jasper Marcelo.
“Please,” Izz moans, his body arching off the mattress to press into Sinn'ous. A blatant invitation if there ever is one. Blunt nails dig into Sinn'ous’s sides, giving sharp licks of pain he relishes.
Give me all you have.
My Izz.
Shoving Izz’s face to the side he takes the opportunity to run his tongue over the salty tang that is infused with Izz’s hot flesh.
“Roll onto your stomach,” Sinn'ous murmurs into his boy’s ear.
He fights off a savage smirk when Izz hastily complies, not an ounce of hesitation to follow the order.
You’re all mine.
He offers no help, staying put, not budging an inch to give Izz room to move. It doesn’t deter his boy, only creates a delicious friction between them from all the squirming manoeuvring.
The feel of this. The dominance he has over another.
It’s intoxicating. Being on top and in complete control is the only way he can have any form of intimacy with another.
The days of him being the weaker body pinned below another are long since dead.
And he will never go back, he would sooner slit his own throat than subject himself to the whims of another ever again. And he isn’t in the least bit suicidal.
Never again.
He starts on his boy’s pants, tugging the crunchy material down to Izz’s thighs. The stiff prison pants are an insult to his sense of touch, subjecting his fingertips to a rough sanding which is a sensory nightmare. You can’t say the prison system doesn’t torture them in their material objects.
Izz’s hands are white-knuckled in the sheeting above his head. His ribs expanding so rapidly Sinn'ous can see them moving under the boy’s shirt.
And the ass exposed to him . . . Rounded globes of perfection. He digs the pads of his fingertips into the tanned flesh, kneading them roughly. Each bitten off cry coming from his boy is a squeeze to his own cock. The thing is so hard it could be used as a weapon to bludgeon someone to death.
He’d give anything to hear those noises unobstructed and screaming his name so the whole prison knows who Izz belongs to. The loud voices from the crowded wing are already bouncing off the cell’s walls’, he can add his boy’s cries to them. But first, he needs Izz naked.