And more he will give.
Grunts clash to the pained whines of a wounded man taking what it’s given. What it knows it owes.
And Izz owes Sinn'ous everything. His entire body. His mind. His soul.
Mine.
It’s the last thought to come to him, then he’s sinking his teeth into a new patch of skin, and muffling his own voice as he cums. White hot, breath robbing, release. The intensity of which has him slumping. Covering Izz as he presses the smaller body into the bunk. Taking his time to roll around in the sensations of waves zapping up and down his spine.
They stay like that, with Sinn'ous draped over Izz, and Izz releasing content sounds under him. Noises that slowly change in pitch.
Until a huff—half annoyance and half exasperation—slots between them. “Can you, like . . .” Izz shoves up a bit, indicating that Sinn'ous’s weight has become too much to bear.
He gives in. Not wanting to suffocate his boy. And rolls off onto his back. Content to lay here and bask in it a little longer. Cock be damned where it hangs out in full view of anyone. Slowly cooling now that it’s not shoved inside a warm body. A shame really. He wouldn’t mind planting himself in Izz, and staying there.
52
SINN'OUS
The yard has a particularly harsh chill today, huddling in on himself Sinn'ous stands at a distance from the phones. Watching Izz make a call to his family using Sinn'ous’s phone credits. It’s not as though he has anyone he needs those credits for. And Izz would be on the phone with that sister of his every day if he could.
Their conversation is as dull as ever, too many emotions sprinkled in. It’s nauseating to say the least.
A bemused noise leaves his lips when he spots Rogers by the fence. Leaning back against the chain-link, looking sombre, and caught deep in thought.
Sinn'ous gives Izz a calculated glance, deciding he will be on the phone a while, and makes his way over to the guard. Who shows no signs he registers Sinn'ous’s approach.
Chain links dig into his back, the thin shirt doing nothing to keep it from imbedding in. He ignores it in favour of settling in beside Rogers. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an ear on the phone calls.”
“Jesus.” Rogers snaps out of his daze, hand clutching his chest above the heart. “Why must you always do that?” His reprimand carries no real bite to it.
“You should probably stay more alert in here. After the last time.”
Rogers winces at the mention of the time he was jumped, shivved, and would have died if not for Sinn'ous stepping in. “Those inmates are dead. And everyone thinks you fuck me, so they stay away.”
“You don’t correct them?” It comes out as a question in his mild surprise, and he kicks himself for showing any kind of vulnerability. Even if it is something others shouldn’t pick up on.
In theory, anyway.
“Fuck no. I’d rather be called a bottom and all the creative terms they come up with, than have that shit happen again. Names are nothing compared to the near-death experience. The scars still ache on cold days.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t quit.”
It would have made his saving the guard pointless had he quit.
“Me too.” A heavy sigh follows. “But it’s not like I have a university degree, or many job choices in this town other than being a waiter. At least here if thecustomerspiss me off I can throw them in solitary, or ask you to deal with them.”
Sinn'ous smirks at that.
The yard is bustling with inmates, clustered in their gangs, and groups. Games being played on the basketball court. Card games divvied out on the benches. Smokers not so discreetly smoking by the back of J-Wing—the separate building that contains The Hole. Large block letters over its doors announcing to the world its purpose of solitary confinement.
His eyes flick over to where Izz’s still huddle by the phone, old receiver clutched in hand. He mentally checks over his expression, correcting anything that may give away what he is thinking to Izz. In case the smaller inmate were to look up.
Rogers follows Sinn'ous’s eye line to Izz. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
“Know what.” He feigns as if he doesn’t know what Rogersis talking about. Keeping the words clipped and uninviting to stave off any answer.
“That you kill people and enjoy it.” Rogers bears him no mind, continuing on like Sinn'ous’s brittle attitude is nothing new. And he’s not wrong. It’s not new.
