Chapter Eight

Morning brought with it a kind of clarity. Angelo lay with his eyes shut, listening to Milo breathe. He felt something restless flutter in him. Something that wanted release. What was it?

He couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed touching Milo last night, feeling him tremble beneath his fingers. And it was painfully obvious that Milo had enjoyed it too.

Why had he done it? He’d wanted to. He’d felt that Milo wanted it. In the dark it had seemed to make sense. But now?

“Get up,” Angelo said, prodding Milo in the side. Milo obeyed instantly, rolling out of bed and rising, glancing back at Angelo. A blush rose in his cheeks.

He was remembering Angelo’s hands on him in the night. Angelo returned his look, and for a moment all they did was stare at one another.

“You good?” Angelo demanded after the time stretched out too long.

Milo’s face flushed a deep red, his eyes darting around the cell.

“Yes,” Milo said softly.

“What was that, putita?” Angelo said, pushing up off the bed and taking a step towards Milo. “Speak up. Or do you need me to teach you how to do that too?”

Milo’s eyes flicked up to meet Angelo’s, and for a moment, there was a spark of defiance there. But it was quickly snuffed out, replaced once again by fear and submission. “I’m good, Sir,” he said, his voice still shaky but louder.

“That’s better,” Angelo said. He took another step towards Milo, close enough now that he could see the individual flecks of gold in his eyes. “This place is getting to you, huh? Stuck in here with us animals.”

Milo’s face paled. Angelo knew he was being cruel, but he couldn’t help it. He liked the way Milo looked at him, the way he trembled beneath his gaze. He liked, if he was honest, the way Milo still clung to him regardless. Like Angelo was the only safe haven in this place.

“Don’t worry, princesa,” Angelo said, his voice low and taunting. “You’ve got me to protect you, right? You’re mine now. So you’re safe.”

Milo’s eyes closed, and Angelo could see the shame and embarrassment written plainly on his face. But he didn’t care. He was enjoying this, enjoying the way he could make Milo squirm with just a few words.

They showered as usual. Angelo was aware of the envious eyes that tracked Milo’s bare ass across the shower block. He crowded Milo against the wall, blocking those lustful gazes. Milo, for his part, seemed flustered by Angelo’s proximity, but Angelo ignored that.

After, he took his usual seat at the long table in the cafeteria, flanked by Rafael Medina and the other Latino inmates affiliated with Los Lagos and Los Hermanos cartels. Milo sat quietly by Angelo’s side. The men ignored him, greeting each other with nods and casual banter, their easy camaraderie a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere that permeated the rest of the room. They spoke in low tones, their conversation a mix of Spanish and English.

“You hear about that idiota, Caicedo?” Rafael asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Got caught trying to import pig pheromones.”

Angelo raised an eyebrow. “Pig pheromones? What the hell would he want those for?”

Rafael shrugged, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe he’s got a thing for pigs.”

Angelo snorted, shaking his head. “I’d believe it of him.”

Across the cafeteria, Sinclair and his Aryan cronies were laughing loudly about something. The sight of the wiry white man with his cold, blue eyes made Angelo’s blood boil. He hated Sinclair with a passion. The Aryan’s racist rhetoric was a constant source of tension in the prison, and Angelo had seen firsthand the ways in which Sinclair and his followers tormented the non-white inmates. It made his knuckles itch.

“We need to do something about that pendejo,” Angelo muttered to Rafael, his voice low and dangerous. “He’s a ticking time bomb.”

Rafael glanced over at Sinclair and his group, his expression grim. “I know. But what can we do? He’s got half the guards on his side, and we can’t afford to start a war right now.”

Angelo’s jaw clenched as he watched Sinclair holding court. “Maybe someone needs to put a knife in his ribs,” he said quietly.

“Someone like who?”

Angelo shrugged. “If you want something done…”

Rafael shook his head. “No. Not you. Your time is almost up. You don’t want to do anything that could fuck that up.”

Angelo’s eyes flicked over to Rafael, and he could see the concern in his friend’s dark eyes. He knew Rafael was right, but it was hard to sit back and do nothing when he saw the way Sinclair and his followers behaved like they owned the place.

Also, he didn’t like the way the Aryans looked at Milo.

While Angelo was a shield for him, Milo would be safe. But what about when he was released? Milo wasn’t able to take care of himself, and Angelo knew that Sinclair would see him as an easy target. The thought of Milo in Sinclair’s hands made Angelo’s stomach churn. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and one that he wasn’t sure how to deal with.

“Listen,” Rafael said, leaning in closer to Angelo. “Once you’re out, Sinclair won’t be your problem anymore. You have a chance at freedom, a life outside these walls. Don’t throw it away for one asshole.”

Angelo looked down at his plate, his appetite gone as he wrestled with his desire to take action against Sinclair. The temptation to make Sinclair pay was strong, but he also knew that Rafael had a point. He needed to focus on getting out of prison and putting this life behind him.

“Fine,” Angelo finally agreed, gritting his teeth. “But if I hear he’s hurt one of ours, I swear to God…”

“Let’s worry about that when it happens,” Rafael interrupted, clapping Angelo on the shoulder. “For now, just keep your head down and stay out of trouble, alright?”

“Alright,” Angelo conceded. It wasn’t easy, but he knew that Rafael’s advice was sound. For now, he would have to find a way to suppress his dissatisfaction and focus on his own survival.

“Besides,” Rafael added with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “Once you’re out of here, you can put all your energy into finding a nice girl, settling down, and making a bunch of little Torres babies.”

“Ha! As if I’ll ever settle for just one woman,” Angelo laughed, momentarily distracted from his thoughts about Sinclair. “But I appreciate the sentiment, amigo.”

It still didn’t answer the question of what would happen to Milo when Angelo was gone.

After breakfast, Angelo and Milo had a work detail in the laundry, but as luck would have it they were assigned to distributing clean linen. It was an easy job, out of the heat. Angelo pushed the cart, unhurried. His eyes kept drifting to Milo, watching the way his slender body moved as he lifted the stacks of sheets and towels. He felt a twinge of arousal as he watched Milo bend over, his prison jumpsuit stretching across his ass. Angelo shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust himself without drawing attention.

He found himself getting more and more distracted by Milo’s presence. He couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen when they got back to their cell tonight. He imagined Milo’s soft body pressed against his, warm and pliant.

Angelo shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. That was just a game, a way of messing with Milo. It wasn’t something he should look forward to.

But as the shift wore on, it became harder and harder to ignore those thoughts. He found himself whispering suggestive comments to Milo, enjoying the way his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“I can see you thinking,” Angelo said, his voice low and husky. “Looking forward to tonight?”

Milo’s eyes widened, and he looked up at Angelo with a mixture of fear and arousal. “W-what do you mean?” he stammered.

Angelo leaned in close so that his breath tickled Milo’s ear. “I think you know what I mean,” he said.

Milo’s face turned bright red, and he looked away, trying to hide his obvious discomfort. Angelo enjoyed the way Milo squirmed under his gaze.

“Come on, princesa. You know what’s waiting for you. More chores,” he said with amusement.

Milo gave him an uncertain look. “You want me to scrub the floor again?” he asked tentatively.

“Do I want you on your knees? Sure.”

He watched Milo struggle with this, enjoying his discomfort. But the real pleasure came when Milo nodded, his eyes coming up to meet Angelo’s. “Okay, sir,” he said softly.

Man, that was a rush. Angelo rode that high for the rest of the day, anticipation building in him. He wasn’t intending to actually get Milo on his knees, of course, he just wanted to mess with him. And if the flush in Milo’s cheeks was anything to go by, he was certainly feeling messed with.

When they returned to the cell that night, Milo turned to him expectantly, and Angelo saw the light in his eyes. It was anticipatory, almost hungry. “Sir?” he said.

“Go kneel in the corner,” Angelo said, buoyed up on the feeling of power.

Milo did as he was told. Angelo left him there, kneeling with his eyes downcast, and read a book. It was hard to concentrate on the text. He was too aware of Milo silently kneeling, waiting, anticipating.

When the guards called lights out, Angelo cleared his throat. Milo looked up at once, his eyes huge and beseeching. Angelo didn’t say a word to Milo, merely gave him a meaningful jerk of his head.

Milo didn’t hesitate, slipping into the bunk with Angelo. His body trembled, but he lay still.

The lights went out, plunging the cell into darkness. For a moment, Angelo did nothing. He felt the tension go from Milo’s body.

That was when he slid his hand under Milo’s T-shirt. He felt Milo tense again and then go limp, submitting to the touch.

Good boy.

Angelo traced the contours of Milo’s chest, feeling the softness of his skin. Milo’s nipples were hard. Angelo teased them, pinching them lightly. Milo’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away, much to Angelo’s delight.

His hand continued its exploration of Milo’s body, stroking lower until it reached the waistband of Milo’s boxers. With a wicked grin, Angelo slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, brushing against the soft curls of hair at the base of Milo’s cock.

“Ah!” Milo gasped softly, his body tensing involuntarily as Angelo wrapped his fingers around the hardening length.

“Shhh,” Angelo hushed him. He breathed against Milo’s neck as he began to stroke him with slow, deliberate movements. It felt electric. Angelo pressed his cock against Milo’s ass, feeling himself hardening.

Mine, he thought fiercely, tightening his grip on Milo’s cock, eliciting a whimper from the younger man. Mine, if I want him.

He let go, his fingers drifting down to cup Milo’s balls. He rolled them in his palm, gauging Milo’s reactions with every movement. Milo whimpered, pressing back against him, and Angelo felt his cock throb.

“Such a good little putita,” Angelo murmured into Milo’s ear. His pulse ran hot, prickling with excitement. This was so forbidden, so intoxicating. “Remember, princesa,” Angelo growled, tightening his grip on Milo’s balls, “you’re mine now. And don’t you fucking forget it.”

Milo’s breath hitched, and he made a strangled moan as Angelo pressed closer, grinding his cock against Milo’s ass. Even though every rational part of his mind told him to stop, to remember that this was just for fun and didn’t mean anything, Angelo found himself unable to resist the allure of the moment.

I’m not a maricón,he told himself. I’m just using him because he’s weak and pretty, and it feels good.

But the more he touched Milo, the harder it became to convince himself of that.

Enough. Angelo forced himself to relax his hand, but left it curled around Milo’s balls. He couldn’t quite make himself let go. So he didn’t, closing his eyes and settling in to sleep with Milo’s balls still cupped in his palm.

He could stop this any time, he told himself as he drifted off. This was just a game. That was all.