“About what?” He plays coy, and even to his own ears he can hear the life in his voice. The suggestive teasing tone he is completely unfamiliar with.
“Youknow what,” Izz pegs Sinn'ous with a knowingstare. Rolling his eyes when all of Sinn'ous’s walls crumple, and a delighted smirk falls free.
The fact that murder is on the table, and the boy doesn’t flinch. It’s a reaction to die for.
If this leads to them both seated at a not so proverbial table dining on death, he is all for it. It’s a craving Sinn'ous hadn’t fully acknowledged he wants. Until now.
Eventually. He reminds himself. Izz will need time to be coaxed into accepting that side of him.
Izz purses his lips, a show that does little to hide the bemusement. “What are you even doing here? I thought you didn’t work.”
“Got bored. Thought I’d come help you out,” Sinn'ous leans back against the dryer Izz’s loading. Eyes scanning the room as he studies Izz clicking at the controls.
They are out of the way here, no prying eyes. He has the boy all to himself in this quiet corner.
Well, it was quiet, right up until the point where the machine’s spin cycle—or whatever the fuck it’s doing—kicks in. The whirring noise it puts out is enough to send a deaf man deaf.
Only he finds he is content to stand here and watch Izz work. Outside of killing he might say that this is his next favourite activity. Watching Izz.
Although, touching the boy is somewhat better.
On the next pass Izz makes, Sinn'ous snakes a hand out and squeezes his proportionallyplump ass. The spark of life in the boy’s eyes has Sinn'ous repeating the action numerous times throughout Izz’s work.
Yeah, touching is better than watching.
So much better.
45
SINN'OUS
His boy is on a sugar rush. No other way to describe it. During his groping of Izz, and the boy’s workload, he had observed Izz eating the stolen chocolate treats.
Now Izz’s a boisterous ball of energy, bouncing off the corridor walls on their walk back to A-Wing. A hyper collectionof restless energy. It’s a fight for Sinn'ous not to grab him and force the boy into stillness.
He quirks a brow when Izz decides to run up the stairs, stomping up them two at a time, scrambling onto the second-floor platform only to take off down it. He practically sprints overto Sinn'ous’s cell on the end. Throwing his arms wide and half bellowing, “I’m home,” at the inanimate wall of scripture and Satanic art.
Sinn'ous steps to Izz’s back, peering over the boy’s shoulder at his cell. It has never felt so empty before. None of the paintings or drawings or pages have felt so coldly void of life. Until now.Standing so close to Izz’s warmth he can see just what he’s been missing in his cell all this time.
A warm body to play with.
His boy doesn’t flinch away, or push Sinn'ous out of his personal space. In fact Izz comes off as having his guard completely dropped. An invitation Sinn'ous will be sure to bite into.
The fast foot tapping, however, is anything but appeasing. “Remind me not to feed you chocolate.”
“You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m having fun, while you brood around all . . . broody,” Izz quipsback, spinning to face Sinn'ous, a wide grin splitting his cheeks.
A mischievous glint flickers over deep green irises, and Izz steps backwards into the cell. The aura beckoning him is at a strength that Sinn'ous cannot refuse.
He prowls after his boy. Chasing the oxygen from the room. The sounds from his ears. He can swear he catches the frantic fluttering of Izz’s heart, beating away behind his delicateribcage.
Oh, how easily Sinn'ous could crush him. It wouldn’t take much. A casualsqueeze, and Izz would be added to the long list of sacrifices.
“I’m going to call you Sinie,” Izz declares. Practically bellowing the name in his obvious excitement.
The word has ice crushing Sinn'ous’s chest, and memories flooding over the carefully constructed walls of his mind.
‘Good boy, Sinnie. Be a good boy for daddy—’
