“. . . Skin . . .” he finishes his sentence, and stills his wandering hand. Cupping Izz between the legs, grinding his palm into Izz’s hard length.
The heat of his boy’s cock has Sinn'ous’s hand squeezing around the shaft, moving in lazy strokes up and down. A rhythm he knows will not be enough to bring Izz to climax.
No. His boy will only cum when he allows it.
“You want to cum don’t you. Want me to work you over in my hand. But why should I. Why should I give you what you want. Do you think you deserve it.” He words everything so Izz knows it’s all rhetorical.
There is no bargaining to be had here. No pleading. No begging. No mercy.
Sinn'ous catches Izz’s lips in his own, eating in the noise of shock his boy squeaks. Delving his tongue inside, he takes whatever he wants. Driving in the stake of coercing an open acceptance within Izz, for the role his boy has to accept. His boy will learn his place. And during that training, he will learn to take Sinn'ous’s knives.
Naive as his boy is, Sinn'ous knows he is eating away at the ability his prey has to mentally combat the control Sinn'ous is consuming him with.
He increases the speed in which he jerks Izz’s cock. Twisting on the head to play over the nerve endings. Precum smears over his palm, it heightens the slick sound until it’s very obvious, from an outside perspective, what they are doing in Sinn'ous’s cell.
Not one to take satisfaction in allowing someone else to be the only one taking pleasure from Sinn'ous’s body, he doesn’t drag this out. And Izz obeys the unspoken commend, cumming after a few more pulls to his cock.
The way his boy locks in tight, moaning and convulsing in time to the pulsing of his cock shooting cum onto the prison floor. Has Sinn'ous’s skin crawling. And not in a good way. In a way that threatens to drag him under the surface of memories. Memories from when he would give another what they want. A time when he couldn’t do anything. When he was the weaker one.
Sinn'ous breaks their mouths apart on a growl. He knows his eyes are blazing in fury. It’s a good thing Izz’s are closed, or there is no telling what would happen. What would break.
There is a blissed-out haze over his boy’s features, one that does not dampen Sinn'ous’s fire.
He takes a large step back, then several more to put distance between them. It’s a blessing when the cell’s door opens on an electronic clunk. Putting a lid back onto whatever that just was. The total out of control he just was. Sinn'ous stuffs his limbs into a fresh set of prison greys. Using the added time of busying himself to close off every emotion that may have leaked into his features.
“I’ll drop you off at your cell, you can walk with Reni to breakfast.” He doesn’t wait for a reply. Just leaves his cell to wait further down the platform. And close the last doors of his past, adding extra locks to stop them opening again.
Though, he twitches uncharacteristically at the knowledge that the locks he is trying to use might be new, but the hinges holding the doors’ up are rusted beyond repair. It’s only a matter of time until they give under the added pressure.
47
SINN'OUS
Returning to his cell after depositing Izz into the yard to join Reni’s little clique, he was not expecting to find another inmate hunched over and rifling through his belongings.
He had needed to collect some items for his lawyer that he’d glazed over due to a very tantalisingdistraction. But now his interest is set on why Sinj of all people is in his cell.
Okay, so that’s a lie. Heknowswhy. He just wants to knowwhy.
“Did you get lost?” Sinn'ous chastises, allowing a small level of bemusement to drip into his tone.
Sinj jumps skyward, swivelling around so hard he nearly topples over, hand going straight to the small of his back. And looking every bit like the kid who’s been busted trying to sneak a cookie before dinner. Not at all like the seasoned undercover FBI agent that he is. Someone who should know how to hide their reactions.
Sinj’s hand is still hidden behind him, on a weapon no doubt. Not that that would stop Sinn'ous from killing the cop.
“I, ah.” The man stammers. His scruff of long, layered dyed-red hair hanging in his eyes. He flicks a hand back to corral it into place, only for it to fall back to wherever it wants.
A predatory grin pulls Sinn'ous’s lips in a way he knows is a mockery of this whole scene. And it only grows as the cop sweats, tense and ready to fight for his life.
This image is going in the vault of favourite moments before a kill.
Well, it would usually be leading up to a kill. Except this time there won’t be any killing. And not because Sinj is an undercover cop. No. It’s because Sinj is in a position to give Sinn'ous what he wants. Plus there is that’s small fact of Sinj being the one to alert him when Izz was pulled into B-Wing.
“I want the boy.” Sinn'ous’s tone brooks no argument. There will be no negotiation in this.
“What boy?—Izz” Sinj asks and answers his own question. His hazel eyes narrowing and flickering in a calculation only years undercover could have given him—the ability to race over plans, and change up lies at the drop of a hat.
“I have my lawyer working on his early release, you’re going to ensure it goes through without any delays.” It can’t hurt to have an extra ace up his sleeve. And he has nothing to fear from this particular cop. There is nothing incriminating in his cell to link him to any murders, and he knows he isn’t who Sinj is running his undercover web of lies to catch.
