“Sorry, be right with you—ahh, got it.” The inmate’s plump ass wiggles as he scoots himself back, some unimportant item clutched in his hand. Sinn'ous’s disinterest is surely written on his face, if someone were to look. “You can never find these when you need them . . .” his voice trails off when he finally takes in who is sharing his cell.
Trevor is your typical looking blue-eyed blond-haired white man. The innocent until proven guilty kind the cops don’t even give a once over. Unlike Sinn'ous’s six-four bulk covered in satanic ink that gets him side-eyed even in seedy bars.
Trevorwas transferred here not too long ago when the men at his previous penitentiary got too rough with him. Then the inmates here got too rough with him, and Sinn'ous had another stack of leverage to get something he needs.
Trevorstill hasvisitors. He gets what he wants out of it.Giftsgiven to cushion his stay. And giving Sinn'ous what he wants ensures a layer of protection to scare off anyone who steps over theboundaries. Whatever boundaries those might be for an escort stuck behind bars.
The cellmate is out, which is a relief, Sinn'ous is not a fan of Vince.And he isn’t shy about his dislike, which is why Vincemakes himself scarce at the start of breakfast when Sinn'ous is known for visiting.
Visitsis a loose term. These little drop ins are not a visit. More a transaction of services. A payment collection, in a way.
He steps all the way into the cell, between the two neatly made bunks. C-Wing cells are the same as his own, only without the tiny lopsided windows. This Wing is located in the centre of Sandstone Correctional’s largest section of interlocking buildings, and is not connected to any exterior walls. Which means no outside view, not that the cells’ with access have much of a view out their tiny barred windows.
He stands close to the metal lidless toilet and its metal sink counterpart. There aren’t many options on where one can stand. And waits on Trevor to finish gathering a sheet and hanging it over the cell’s doorway to cut off prying eyes. The guards don’t step in when inmates fuck, only if someone submits a report to the warden. Then they deliberately get in everyone’s business out of petty revenge for someone daring to complain to their boss that they aren’t upholding the prison’s rules of no sex among inmates. The rat usually ends up in the Medical Wing after copping a beating by both guards and prisoners alike.
No one likes a rat.
And the guards’ would rather not deal with sexually frustrated, pissed off inmates. Letting them blow off steam so they’re less likely to start shit that will involve paperwork. The main threat around here is, ‘you better dothisorthatwill happen, and if I have to do paperwork then you will be eating off the floor in solitary confinement.’
If the guards are allergic to anything, it’s paperwork. You want to take out a guard, just throw a pile of papers at them and watch them self-combust.
Trevorclears his throat and throws on a face of bravado they both know is fake.
Sinn'ous has no care of making a show out of this, he doesn’t come here to have his ego stroked. He comes here to fuck and that is it.
He flicks his chin to the bed, pulling his own grey shirt over his head, and dropping it onto the other bunk. Trevorpulls his pants down enough to present his ass and bends over his bunk, bracing on his forearms and spreading his legs.
A condom is collected and broken open, Sinn'ous’s fingers working it over his cock while he steps in behind the object he will be using to get off into. And he isn’t gentle about it. He grips the base of his cock, tightens a hold on Trevor’ship, lines up, andplunges in. Hilting his cock on an explosive breath. He closes his eyes and focuses on himself. On the tight grip fluttering over his shaft. On the calm swimming from his pelvis to his chest and radiating down his spine.
He allows himself time to adjust to the sensations consuming his cock. Giving his body the time it needs to distinguish this pleasure is purely sexual in nature and not linked to death. If he loses the carefully constructed control he checks himself into while fucking he is liable to pull a knife and start stabbing. And he isn’t a monster, he doesn’t partake in necrophilia.
His pants scratching over his thighs helps to ground him, and gives him the strength to begin thrusting. Pounding his cock into a tight body that bares down on him and takes it. His hands tighten, squeezing fleshy hips to drive them towards him and spear his cock in. Vague noises seep into his bubble of calm. Grunted curses and cries associated to pain, noises he shoves away. This is his time, and the outside world is not welcome.
His eyes flutter open, his mind screaming to take more. To own every cell and destroy anything in his way to a release his body craves. His hand snaps out of its own volition, gripping short hair and using that as leverage to spin them. Taking the other man down onto the floor, he shoves the object’s face harshly into the concrete. And drives deeper in, skin slapping skin while he gives over to his full strength, driving pain filled whimpers from the body he uses.
There will be marks left behind. Bruises on the skin scraping over the floor. And Sinn'ous doesn’t care, he pays for this. Both in cash and his protection. And Trevoragreed to it.
The solid ground makes it easier for Sinn'ous to drive his cock harder into the ever-tightening heat. The more the body hurts, the more it tightens, and the more pleasure it gives to him. He was taught a long time ago by his father that those who takehave the right to take as much as they please. If you cannot stop yourself from being bent over than you are there for their use.
It’s effortless to pull out and flip the body below him. To shove back between spread legs and drive right back inside. And now, he can have fun. He doesn’t need knives to enjoy himself. Pulling back a fist Sinn'ous snaps it forward, driving his knuckles into the object below him. The ribs, the face, the chest, again and again. Each hit constricting the tight heat around his cock and driving him closer to his edge.
A croaked word passes over his red haze, but doesn’t penetrate. A few times it passes until it sticks and his mind recognises it.
“. . . Red.”
Sinn'ous stays his fist, forcing it into the ground by the object’s head. He is not a monster. He will never be his father. He heeds to the safe word. Driving his palms into the concrete to support his weight while his hips continue to piston. He’s right on the edge, right at the cusp, but unable to pass it.
He grits his teeth and lays a hand over the fluttering throat being pummelled into the floor. A single nod is all it takes and he squeezes his fingers closed, tightening them around the soft neck to cut off the air supply.
A groan breaches his lips when his cock is squeezed. Hot heat clamping down hard enough to break his cock in two. The licks of pain coupled in the friction of each plunge forward is all it takes.
Sinn'ous crashes over the edge, hips losing their rhythm, his climax hits him hard, driving his hips into the body below him over and over again. He rides the waves down until he is stilling, panting over the still form.
Reluctantly, and after forcing his body to relent, his hand releases the throat it choked to the point of bruising. Angry marks cover red blotchy skin.
Trevoris unmoving under him. And after Sinn'ous takes the time to discard the condom into the bin by the bunk, and tuck himself back in, he presses a finger to the pulse point to check he hadn’t taken it too far.
A fluttering heartbeat usually isn’t what he wants when he has a body on the floor, but for this case he is reassuredby it. He isn’t a rapist, and he is pretty sure killing the one you just fucked would be grounds to class it under rape.
