“Who? The lawyer or Dante.”
He can hear the smile in Zayne’s voice, it’s deep and laced in the promise of death. “Either.”
~~~
To test a theory he’d avoided Izz from sunup all the way past lunch. In order to determine how close he is to his goal. Whether or not he has dug his way under the boy’s skin yet. He will have his answer if Izz comes looking for him.
Spending his time running over plans, calling his brother, and back in his cell to re-evaluate those plans. It has to consist of not only a foolproof plan, but to be backed up by a whole arsenal of contingencies.
The moment his eyes catch on a familiar head of hazelnut hair on the ground floor, he’s stepping away from the rails to fetch a joint. He’s in the process of slipping the lighter into his pocket, and taking the first drag, when Izz tumbles up the stairs.
A light energy is rolling off the boy in waves. He’s noticed the change over the days, but here and now, it’s glaringly obvious. The boy’s posture is relaxed, how he carries himself is different. It’s less hunched, less meekly reserved. Like he’s no longer stepping on eggshells in fear of the ground swallowing him whole. More of a personality is peeking out.
Deliberately relaxing his stance, Sinn'ous leans his back against the wall outside his cell. And waits to see what the boy does.
A powerful grin spreads Izz’s lips, and he skips—literally skips—forward. A frickin’ puppy in prison greys.
“Don’t you work?” Izz asks in a tone dripping incuriosity, stopping just shy of colliding with Sinn'ous.
“No.” Sinn'ous answers dryly.
“How come you get away with it?”
Well, it’s clear his grooming, and tryst building is working. Otherwise this bold display of questioning wouldn’t be happening.
Sinn'ous sighs internally, he’s not sure he managed to hold the reaction in completely. And the way Izz widens his eyes, in an effort to coax Sinn'ous into giving up information, has his dick twitching.
He has no fucking idea why. He doesn’t do submission. No one will be at his back. Never again. Total control is all he has to offer.
And yet, he gives in. “People are too scared to say anything against it.”
Sinn'ous Inhales half the joint to try to erase the ease in which this boy coaxed a response from him.
Did he even try to resist?
No. No he didn’t. And that there lies the problem.
Maybe if he fucks Izz over the mattress he can gain back the forfeited control?
And if not it will take him out of his mind long enough to not give a fuck.
Only, before he can broach the subject, Izz’s eyes are scanning his cell. And a blink later the boy is in the Satanic space moving around as if he has a right to belong there. Opening cupboard doors, and rifling through the stacks of chocolates and other commissary items. Stuffing his pockets with various selected goods.
He’s too taken aback by the three-sixty change in Izz’s personality that he just stands there dumbstruck. Perhaps a little awed by the boldness.
Is this who he is? Outside the scared boy in prison.
“By all means . . . help yourself,” Sinn'ous’s sarcastic tonefills the cell, and even to his own ears he can hear the underlying amusement. It’s fucking thick with it.
“Don’t worry, I am,” Izz’s laugh is light, freeing, and warms the entire cell.
Pockets bulging with the stolen treats, Izz rises from his crouch by the cupboard, doesn’t bother closing the door, and is coming at Sinn'ous in a weirdly affectionate way. So open and—
Sinn'ous’s mind fizzles, sprinting away from him at the brush of lips. It’s a light peck initiated by Izz, and gone in the next instant. But it rattles him, right down to his core.
Cause what the fuck.
And why didn’t I stop him?
