He’s aware of the birthday part, not the other personal information. The records Rogers had dug up for him did not mention family traditions. Not that Sinn'ous cared to learn them. They bring nothing to the table. Help in no way for him to obtain what he wants.
Or perhaps they might. People open up to those who show interest in their lives, do they not?
It appears as though Sinn'ous will be participating in small talk. He often forgets that people care about trivial things. “When was it.”
“The sixth.” Izz peeks through the water’s clear flow, water droplets catching in his eyelashes.
“You’re what, twenty.” That sounded like a question, didn’t it? He’s already well aware how old the boy is. Along with many more details.
“Yes. How old are you?” Izz’s face lights up in a way that must mean he is genuinely enjoying this conversation.
I would rather pick up on the earlier hinted conversation, but if it means I get to stand here and eat my fill of this fine sight who am I really to complain?
“Twenty-eight,” Sinn'ous answers off-handedly, his mind racing.
Maybe I can cut him a little?
Get him on his knees, a small nick of a razor on the top lip, so he can watch the blood well and smear over his cock while the boy takes it down his throat.
How deep would he take Sinn'ous before his gag reflex kicks in and he starts to choke?
How good would it feel to wrap his hands around that throat and cut off the air flow as he pumps his cock all the way down, over and over again?
“How long have you been here?”
The question pulls him from his deprived spiral. Shame. It was just starting to get good.
“Since last year.”
A lot has happened in that time. A lot of death—not nearly as much as he wants, but enough to get him by. Not to mention the gift Satan has placed before him.
A gift of which is still so naively innocent.
“Oh, the way everyone acts I just assumed you’d been here for years.” Izz drags a hand through his wet hair, trying to push it back from his face, huffing in frustration when it clings to his skin.
Hair long enough to grip while he takes a face pounding.
How would his moans sound? Broken and choked off? Or desperate and pleading?
Izz’s completely clueless to what is going on inside Sinn'ous’s mind. And stays on his mundane topic choice. “They’re terrified of you. Everyone told me to stay as far away from you as possible. And never be anywhere alone with you.”
Technically, they aren’t alone right now. But all it would take is a few direct glares and the room would clear out real fast.
“And you failed to listen.”
“Oh, I listened. I just don’t think they’re right about you. You don’t seem so bad . . . Don’t seem like you’ve done the things they say you have.”
Naive boy, I’ve done so much worse than rumours will ever tell.
“I’d never hurt you,” Sinn'ous sharpens his voice to have the words come off like a statement of fact. Not a fabrication of the truth.
I will break you down to the pointyouthink my hurting you was your idea. To the point where youwillcrave it.I will consume every inch of you and you will bend over andlet metake it.
And if not, well, there are other means to accomplish what he wants. Ways to pull Izz down into a state of voluntary submission, and trap him there.
At my beck and call.
He will live to serve me.
