Chapter 1 #2
“You’re not even thirty. Ease up on the acting.” She wrote something in her notes before giving him a drink of water. “All right. You’re looking better than ever, so I’m going to let you go. I will see you again on Monday.”
“Will you? Aren’t my pills done?”
“A final check-in to be sure you’re healed. It’s all I can offer.”
“Ah. Then I will treat it as the treasure it is. Thank you.” Caspar smiled, though it hurt. “I’ll miss your tender touch until then.”
Ms. Patricia rolled her eyes. She signalled for the guard. After the doors unlocked, Caspar’s arm was grabbed at the elbow and he was escorted down a long corridor toward the showers.
Caspar’s solo nurse visit and shower routine had been consistent since the eye incident.
Once he had recovered in the hospital infirmary and been told his vision was fine in the remaining eye, he’d built himself up to getting an eye patch.
He could talk in funny voices and keep up the pseudo-curses he used to keep himself safe.
He was almost looking forward to the next attack, where obviously he’d lose a hand or a leg and continue this cosplay to pass the time.
He’d been shocked when Ms. Patricia presented him with a glass eye that matched his old one in colour.
He’d also been shocked by the daily escorts and sudden privacy in the showers.
Anthony Swanson, Caspar’s lawyer, explained that the prison was nervous about an uprising from the Chaos Mages and Caspar’s possible lawsuit for cruel and unusual punishment, so this was its attempt at damage control.
It wasn’t just the gang leaders who were superstitious, but the guards and prison owners, too.
Soak up as much of it as you can, Anthony had told him during their last meeting through the glass. It may be the last perk you have in here, aside from parole in another twenty years.
So maybe an extra blood test was just another safety measure.
A just-in-case check to be sure nothing had manifested in the weeks since the attack.
Caspar had convinced himself of this by the time the new guard led him to the shower.
The guard’s baby blues and cherubic cheeks made him look especially new on the job.
I bet I could jerk off, Caspar thought. He’d be too ashamed and would look away.
Just the thought of having the privacy to touch himself gave Caspar a casual thrill.
Oh, it has been too, too long. May as well soak up all the incident perks, too.
When they arrived, the showers were already on and Gregory, Caspar’s normal guard, stood just outside the open doorway.
“What’s going on?” Caspar asked. “Why am I not alone?”
Gregory gave Caspar a disdainful look, but didn’t tell him to shut up. “You’re sharing today. So be nice. No curses.”
“No, thank you. I’ve learned my fucking lesson there. But what if he’s part of the same gang? You don’t exactly want a blood bath on your hands.”
“He’s not part of the Mages—”
“No offense, but the Mages weren’t even part of the Mages. How do you know they’re not in cahoots—”
“Because,” Gregory said, staring Caspar down. “He’s a newbie, and he’s harmless. He’s here on drug crimes. Nothing.”
“Drug crimes are still gang crimes.” Caspar wanted to argue more, but Gregory’s gaze told him to shut it. In a huff, Caspar disrobed and headed into the showers, only to see the familiar dark skin marked with bright tattoos that had been checking him out for days.
Caspar stopped in his tracks. His heart hammered in his chest.
This couldn’t be a coincidence.
This had to be a trap.
This guy must be working for the cartels, sent in to finish the job.
Maybe the fucking Chaos Mages had dissected Caspar’s eye by now and wanted more than a body part he could live without.
Maybe they thought he was magic, even though Caspar was nothing but a fucking lowly Lebanese kid from an immigrant family who was in the wrong place at the wrong time seven years ago when his parents were killed.
Or maybe that’s exactly what they found out.
No magic. No nothing. And everyone—guards included—wanted him gone for fooling them with fake curses for nearly eight years.
Caspar’s palms began to sweat from fear and the heat of the shower.
He was about to turn around and run out of the area, but the new guard stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Caspar wasn’t going anywhere.
He tried to swallow and control his fear.
Maybe, just maybe, there was a reason beyond Caspar’s imminent death that this random guy was showering alone, too.
Caspar picked a shower nozzle close enough to see the stranger out of the corner of his eye, but far enough away that if he pounced, Caspar would notice before it was too late.
Steam rose off the guy’s skin each time the water cascaded over him.
He was so tall his shower head only reached to his nipples, and he had to cup the water and bring it up to his face in order to scrub himself clean.
The moisture in the room made his curls fall flat against his forehead and down his shoulders.
He craned his head back and washed under his neck and collarbones, and then scrubbed down his torso.
His chest hair was spaced out in tight curls between his nipples and trailed down to his navel, where even darker, thicker hair gathered.
Caspar hated himself for looking, but he glimpsed at the man’s flaccid, uncut cock.
Fuck. Uncut. Caspar loved uncut cocks, since they were fun to play with and so different from his own.
Caspar’s gaze shot to his own golden brown skin turning pink under the hot water and the dark pubic hair that framed his circumcised cock, now growing hard.
Shit. Not the time or the place. Caspar washed himself in a hurry.
He wished he could masturbate, but not with this guy so close or with the new guard over his shoulder.
When the new prisoner turned around in the shower, now showing Caspar his back, Caspar gasped.
Oh, he wanted to run his tongue around each notch of the tall guy’s spine and search out all the hidden meanings of his tattoos.
Because those tattoos. The hidden ones under his uniform were even more gorgeous than the ones already visible in the light of day.
It was hard to make out all of the intricate details so far away and with so much steam, but Caspar was sure he saw something that looked like a family crest on the man’s back.
The piece had a thick golden frame around it and was divided into four different sections with symbols inside.
Something ornate sat on top of the crest itself, which was bookended by black script along the man’s shoulder blades.
On the back of the man’s thighs were large swords and twigs framed by similar black script.
The back of his arms held a triptych that circled around his bicep, all done in immaculate colours and thick bold lines.
Every inch was so, so beautiful. Definitely not the average prison tattoo or gang affiliated mark; the man was covered in pure art.
In spite of not knowing the designs, they were also deeply familiar to Caspar in a way he couldn’t articulate.
“Hurry it up, guys.” Gregory smacked his palm against the wall to get their attention. “Time is of the essence here.”
The prisoner glanced over his shoulder and caught Caspar’s gaze. Caspar snapped his head back to his body and his half-shampooed hair. His dick was getting hard again, and he didn’t want it to. He tried to think of everything unsexy, like the feeling of his eye being removed from his body.
That was enough.
The memory of pain made his dick go soft, and no one was the wiser to his indiscretion. The other shower turned off, and the tall man grabbed a towel to sling across his waist. He walked by Caspar without a word—and without even looking at him.
Caspar’s water went cold. The new guard waited patiently as he dried off and put on his uniform again without saying another word. As he walked down the hallway, the new guard still silent at his side, he realized how much he needed the stranger to watch him.
Otherwise, it was like he didn’t exist.