Chapter 45 #2
Tugging up the shirt is a task Izz assists him in. As a team they discard the offensive object away in a flutter of grey fabric. And his access is granted, nothing in the way to block his view or his touch.
Frustration mounts over the pants clinging to his boy’s legs. It’s an easy solve, one swift yank and he has that offence gone. The socks and shoes coming right off in one fell swoop.
Then Izz is left bare to Sinn'ous’s eyes.
He eats in every detail, down to the small spots of ink. The small skull on his ankle is more cute than threatening. And the snake skeleton interwoven in vines around his biceps is something on the opposite ends of the scales to Sinn'ous’s own ink.
Where Sinn'ous’s ink is murals of skeletal death, Izz’s ink is more a delicate reminder of how soft life is. How easy it is to snuff out the small spark in someone’s eyes and watch their soul leave their body forever.
He’s not entirely sure what the significance of the date inked into the nape of Izz’s neck is, but he will be sure to find out. Later. When he isn’t in the middle of something of far greater importance.
He strips off his own clothes, removing the last barrier between them.
His blood red ink flashing in and out of his view while his sole focus remains pinned to his boy.
His pants are next, revealing his blood splattered inner thighs, the ink-work making it look as though he is covered in fresh blood.
Movement has Sinn'ous briefly pausing. Izz’s tucking his arms under himself, and pushing his upper body off the bunk to turn over—
“No,” the sharp order cracks the air, a deathly warning Sinn'ous will follow through with pain, should it not be heeded to. It does what it’s intended to, shoving Izz back down sharper than any hand could, not that it stops him from using his hand to push his boy down and pin him there.
There are times when some pain is required to obtain obedience.
“I want you like this.” Sinn'ous adds on.
His preference is from behind, that way he doesn’t have to school his features. He can let go and give in to every emotional reaction. Not that he has many that aren’t brutal. There are no soft kisses of empathetic emotions to pull from him. His soul holds nothing but dry ice and molten magma.
“O-okay. . .” Izz surrenders fully, stretching his arms out once more. Keeping himself in the position Sinn'ous wants him in.
Completely naked, butt out and exposed to whomever lives in the cells across the Wing. Should they be in their cell and happen to look this way. It matters not to Sinn'ous.
They can look, but not touch. Never touch.
He tugs Izz’s hips off the mattresses and his boy obediently keeps his chest pressed firmly down. He has Izz on full display to him. Open and vulnerable to whatever whim strikes him.
Being prepared for this he already has lube within reach, a hand up to the overhanging shelf above his bunk brings back the bottle.
The top clicks and he squeezes out a generous amount.
He isn’t sure if his boy has taken cock up the ass before—he sure will be now—so prep and generosity with the lube is a must. Tearing his boy isn’t on the cards, he’s well versed in the kind of pain an injury such as that entails.
He may be a sadistic sadist of inflicting pain, but even he wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy, much less the boy he’s trying to break down and gain trust in.
His slick fingers make quick work of slicking Izz’s entrance, lubing the way to push a finger in. But the very brush of his fingertip has his boy tensing, entire body going rigid.
“Relax,” Sinn'ous orders softly, his other hand massaging Izz’s hip to calm him.
It takes a little work, and some soft petting over delicate hipbones, but eventually he is rewarded when he manages to work a finger into the tight hole.
It immediately clamps around his digit, squeezing him all the way to the knuckle.
Hot heat engulfs the digit in a way that wraps his entire body in tingling sensations of heat.
The slow methodical way he presses his finger in and out works to loosen the tightly contracting muscles.
It’s all smooth and warm inside, and he can practically already feel it squeezing around his cock.
It’s going to be a strangling fit.
When Izz’s back arches and his ass opens further Sinn'ous knows he has Izz right where he wants him. A second finger is added encountering little resistance, he delves that finger right in to join the first. And when his prey tries to pull away, he simply grips his hip and holds him in place. Sliding and twisting and spreading his fingers inside to the echoed noises breaching Izz’s lips.
“Don’t stop. Feels good,” Izz gasps, shifting his knees, widening his legs in a way that gives Sinn'ous more access to his squirming body.
And he’s lost for it, he needs in now. Right the fuck now.
He pops his fingers free, shuffling his knees in closer to line his body up to his target. Closing the gap between them, he lubes his cock real fast. Wasting no time to get it slick for what comes next.
“Fuck. . .” Izz breathes out, his body undulating like a stretching cat in heat. His boy is so ready for this, the panting need is written in every sharp exhale and every visible twitch of muscles in his thighs.
Absolutely nothing will stop Sinn'ous from taking everything this boy has on offer. Absolutely nothing. He is not leaving this bunk until he has left his mark inside Izz.
Yes, Sinn'ous is aware he should be wrapping up, but fuck that. This boy is his and his alone. He will be taking him bare. Marking him.
Satan gave me this boy for a reason.
And he will not tarnish this experience by coating it in latex.
He spreads the pert asscheeks, nudging the head of his engorged cock on the winking hole. Ready to take everything.
And by Satan if it isn’t the tightest entrance he has ever been inside, the mushroom head pops past the first ring and it’s like an eruption in his cock. So intense he half thought he came from it. But no, he is still hard as granite and in need of relief.
Sinn'ous spreads Izz’s cheeks wide to watch his cock sink deeper into the willing body.
An inferno of heat constricting him to the point of pain, it teeters right on the edge.
He’s not usually one to go for pain—the receiving end of pain that is—but this, this type of pain he can lie down and submit to.
“You alright.” Sinn'ous chokes out, eyeing the way Izz has a white-knuckle grip on the sheets.
“It burns. Can you—can you give me a minute?”
“Take your time. Relax. You’re doing exceptionally,” Sinn'ous flexes, shifting his position, which results in pushing him a little further in. He’s not even halfway inside and his boy’s body has broken out into a cold sweat.
The way he’s trying to expel Sinn'ous’s cock from his anal canal only serves to suck more of it in.
Satan, give me strength.
How easy it would be to shove a hand between Izz’s shoulder blades, pin him down and fuck straight into him. It wouldn’t even be a challenge to take what he wants. Absolutely nothing his boy could do would stop him. He wouldn’t stand a chance against Sinn'ous’s strength.
Izz rocks forward to escape, to prevent Sinn'ous sinking deeper—but Sinn'ous just tightens the grip he has on Izz’s hips, locking him in place. His ass muscles are contracting and fluttering in a way that has Sinn'ous biting back a moan.
“You’re taking me so well,” Sinn'ous praises. His cock is being compressed so tightly he may lose circulation in it if he’s not careful.
Although, it’s still worth it.
He presses forward with his hips to slide further in. And the velvet heat which welcomes him is heaven—
Sinn'ous frowns at that thought, because, gross. Nothing is heaven, only Hell. Hell is where the party is at. And this right here, is what life is all about. The fiery pits of Hell all wrapped up in a petite body all for Sinn'ous’s taking.
Jasper Marcelo is my Hell.
“D-doesn’t feel like I am.” Izz grits out, his arm muscles shaking with how hard he’s gripping the mattresses.
Sinn'ous chuckles, a genuine sound of amusement that startles himself. Because damn if this isn’t his kind of Hell. And to top it off, the sound vibrates down his body and into his cock. He can literally feel the pulsing responses coming from his cock.
He fists his hands by Izz’s head, holding his weight off Izz’s back as he leans over him. The skin on skin, half body contact driving the whole experience home.
Thank you, Satan.
“Get up on all fours. The angle change will help you adjust.” It won’t, but Sinn'ous needs the full body contact.
Izz does as ordered. His back hitting Sinn'ous’s chest and the height difference becomes screamingly obvious. As does the sheer vulnerability of his boy. Izz has no defences, his muscles are more a delicate decoration to lure in a partner not to fight off a threat.
Not that Sinn'ous is one of those—a threat, not anymore. He hasn’t thought of killing Izz once since he started this encounter.
Usually when he fucks he has to remind himself not to kill his sex partner.
Now though, his only struggle is with the need to cum.
And he cannot do that until he’s planted so deep inside Izz there will be no way to wash his spunk out.
“It’s not helping, Sin . . .” Izz whines, tugging Sinn'ous back into the conversation. But also serving to deepen their connection, more of his cock slipping inside.
This is Satan’s reward, a gift for all the years Sinn'ous has wholeheartedly worked for Him.
“Helps take your mind off it.”
Izz scoffs, clearly catching onto how much this is—dare he say—amusing him. He’s never bantered with a sex partner before. It’s . . . different.
“Liar,” Izz accuses, letting his head hang on his shoulders, too weak to hold it up any longer. Skin glistening in a clear coat of sweat.