His prey’s eyes widen, his lips parting on a gasp too soft for Sinn'ous to hear. Then he is tripping over his own feet to scurry away from his table and out of the cafeteria’s side doors, into the bright light of the prison yard. Fleeing from Sinn'ous in a way that has him smirking.
Oh, this will be fun.
But before the chase, he has business to take care of in his shy prey’s cell.
~~~
The goal was to snoop. In the end he wound up sprawled out on his back on his prey’s bed. The single, thin mattress as uncomfortable as memory served. Like sleeping on a sheet of disintegrated fluff.
Righting himself, Sinn'ous inspects the still empty area. No pictures on the wall. No possessions in the cupboard,or on the shelf above the bunk. It still contains no clues into the likes or dislikes of his prey.
Reni’s side has a lot more life in it. It’s more lived in, and Sinn'ous is perfectly childish when he rearranges items. He fiddles with a razor the entire time he messes with Reni’s belongings. Flirting the razor between his fingers, playing the cool metal over his knuckles. He roots around in the cupboard, pulls multiple pairs of pants out, unfolding them enough to slice a hole in the ass of each one. Then he folds them back up and returns them.
Dusting off his clothes of the metaphoricaldirt that is Reni, Sinn'ous stalks back down the landing to his cell at the end of the second level. It’s covered from floor to ceiling in pages of Satanic text and images relating to the same. Some symbols he painted, others printed in black dripping ink.
The bunk is unlike that of his prey’s one mattress, his has a whole collection of flat mattresses. He messes his sheets, casting them aside to pull a mattress off the pile. Rolling it into a burrito to carry it easier, he lugs the thing back down to the other cell.
Whipping off the bedding he places his mattress on top, then carefully remakes the bed. Running his hands over the finished product to smooth out any wrinkles.
Then he promptly turns and upends Reni’s bed, leaving it in a messy pile on top of the bunk.
“Really?” Reni’s obnoxious whiny voice would suit him better layered in pained screams. “Is there a reason you’re in here fucking with my shit?”
Sinn'ous allows his smirk to grow, and delights in the way the other man glances over his shoulder nervously, looking back to check if anyone is lingering close by. No one is.
“You can take a hint, and take a hike.” Sinn'ous’s voice is devoid of anything resembling pleasantries. He’s done with Reni’s shit.
Reni scoffs in that uptight arrogant way of his. “Why should I? I got to him first.”
Ohhh, killing him will be satisfying. If only to wipe that smug self-assurance off his face.
Sinn'ous eases in closer, bringing his chest up against the shorter man. “If you don’t back down the least of your worries will be getting your dick sucked. In fact, it would be worrisome when you have no pulse.”
Reni backs up a few paces, now standing outside the cell looking in on Sinn'ous. “You can’t touch me, you know I’m good friends with Isco, right?”
“Isco knows better than to get in my way.” His chuckle is dark and edged in a dangerous growl, and his smile is anything but pleasant. “And he will step asideif I tell him to. You have no allies here,Romos, I suggest you remember your place in the food chain.”
Reni’s nostrils flare like he wants to argue, in the end he grits his teeth, pivots on his heelsand storms off. His feet clattering on the stairs as he descends rapidly.
Sinn'ous’s flat eyes watch him pushing through the unaware inmates mulling around on the ground floor. His retreating back stiff, and head hanging low. He’s gone in seconds, disappearing into the corridor. Out of sight and out of mind.
For now.
He will deal with Reni in due time.
A nagging voice fills his thoughts, questioning why he’s going to such lengths to procure this kill.
Is the boy really worth it? Or is Sinn'ous so bored in this cage he’ll throw every intelligentsense out to have this kill?
A few inmates’ teeter in the walkway,waiting for Sinn'ous to walk on so they don’t have to pass him to get to the stairs. He moves on, back to his own cell to sit on his unmade bunk. His ass doesn’t even notice the missing mattress, his mind does as it lingers on the notion of the boy sleeping in a bed that carries his scent.
It’s a foreignnotion, and it has him picturing a wolf rubbing all over its territory to mark what belongs to it. To mark the kill.
My kill.
And nothing and no one will get in his way. He will see to it.
A throat clearing brings his head to the cell door. Rogers is hovering on the periphery, a stack of papers in his hand.
