He reluctantly stiflesthe urge.
The inactivity stretches long enough for sweat to bead down the peddler’s face. “Here, you can—here.” He places the whole bag onto the cupboard’s top, leaning over in a way that keeps his body as far out of Sinn'ous’s reach as possible. “Take it all.” He cowers back to the cell’s far corner, hands tucking under his armpits to still their tremors and eyes glued to the floor.
Sinn'ous does just that. He takes the bag of weed, the rolling paper, and a couple lighters. Leaving the pre-rolled to their own devices.
To further enact his superiority, he stands perfectly still for several heartbeats, to watch the squirming bag of blood sweat under his scrutiny. And he devours every second of it. His darker cravings front and centre.
Satan, give me strength.
He doesn’t have time to draw blood, to inflict pain, and prolong a death. Not right now, anyway. And not out in the open like this. He can feel fleeting glances cast their way from outside the cell. The crowded Wing waiting on bated breath to see the destruction that is Sinn'ous.
It’s in great reluctance that he backs out ofthe cell, waved off by a hefty sigh of relief from the peddler’s trembling lips.
7
SINN'OUS
Opportunities are few and far between. In such a crowded environment every fleeting second of opportunity is one you have to tackle to the ground and beat into submission. If you give even an inch you will miss it.
Sinn'ous isn’t one to pass on a beautifully laid out chance. So when Jasper leaves the cafeteria alone, he is riding the boy’s shadow hard.
His prey ascends the stairs of A-Wing to their cells with Sinn'ous five steps behind him. The boy hasn’t so much as glanced over his shoulder once, he has no surroundings awareness whatsoever. And Sinn'ous is all for it.
The boy enters his shared cell and Sinn'ous stops three cells down, leaning back against the railing. His instincts tell him to wait, he’s not sure why but they have never led him astray before, so he listens to them now.
He passes the time by people watching. Eyes roaming the lingering inmates who don’t have an assigned prison job or have an assigned rest day. There aren’t many, a dozen or so, but it’s something to occupy the time.
Guards march out of the locked side door, passing through the Wing and into the corridor, doing their rounds between Wings. He takes gratification in how grossly understaffed this minimum security prison is. It gives him all the access in the world to kill and relish in it. Taking his time to savour every secondhe has someone pinned under him gasping their last breaths. To see their eyes roll and their pupils dilate in death.
Praise Satan.
Moving in on his prey’s cell Sinn'ous pauses in the open door. Jasper is curled up under the thin sheet, chest rising and falling in sleep. His back to the wall, his features soft and slack, hair mushed against the paper-thin pillow.
Sinn'ous steps inside, his shoes landing in a way that carriesno sound. And with the utmost care he sits down on the edge of the bunk by the boy’s hip, his eyes never leaving the flickering eyelids of dreams racing.
Unable to resist the pull he delicately runs his hands over the slenderbody, brows drawn tight. The heat and softness is mesmerising. Even while there is no blood pressed into each pore or crevice in the skin.
The sheet is sliding down his prey’s form before he has the chance to control his actions. Revealing more until the entirety of his upper half is on display, granted it is still covered in a prison shirt. But that too can be remedied.
So defenceless. So clueless. His prey is perfect.
And the skin, Sinn’ous’s fingers brush over the smooth tanned arm, while his other hand lifts the shirt’s hem. He clicks his tongue quietlywhen the near smooth abdomen is unclothed. There is no overabundance of fat, no heavy muscles, only the idealcombination to create padding. Like the curve of his hip and ass. The exact right amount.
Sinn'ous bites back a groan at the plump ass, it would over flow his hands should he grab it. Each globe behind the orange pants are teasing to be touched, to be gripped and rolled in his palms.
Blinking back the weird impulse, Sinn'ous stands, throwing the sheet back over Jasper a little more hastily than he meant to.
He’s briefly aware of the shuffling clothes of passing inmates, they neither stop nor pause as they hustle past. He ignores them, hovering in limbo between the bunk and the door, his mind lurching.
What was that?
He hadn’t once looked at places his razor would look the best sinking into. Hadn’t once tracked an expanse of skin a Satanic symbol would stand out the best on when it’s carved into flesh.
Sinn'ous leaves the cell on a silent curse. He’s not sure what he wanted to accomplish there. So he promptly shoves what happened aside. He’ll rehash it later when he lies in his bunk and sleep alludes him.
On the ground floor he grabs a junkie by the scruff of his neck, spinning him to get face to chest. The thin inmate is scratching his arms of bugs only he can see, eyes pin pricks of unfocused marbles in his head. He has the hallmarks of someone who will do and say anything for a fix. He won’t retain information past what his dealer’s name is, so he is a safe bet to send on this errand.
Sinn'ous gives him a quick once over, then activates his plan. “Go tell the Whytesthey’re time is best spent in A-Wing.” He grabs the junkie’s face, forcing eye contact. “You hear me? Repeat it.”
