Page 83 of Caged In

“This is Izz,” Sinn'ous continues, flicking his head back over his shoulder to indicate where Izz’s standing—without taking his eyes off the man he has pinned.

Guess Sinn'ous is true on his word, regarding the‘not needing to payfor protection’. He hadn’t given Sinn'ous anything, yet here the male is, protecting Izz’s honour.

Sinn'ous leans in, to breathe something into the other’s ear. Izz could have sworn it was, “and he’s mine,” but he’s sure his ears are interpretingit wrong. No way is Sinn'ous being possessive over him. That is too out of this world to believe. No serial killer is going to do that for anyone . . .

Sinn'ous backs off, and the other inmate straightens up. Skirting around Sinn'ous to a small stool next to the tattooing supplies. This must be the artist, he should have figured it out sooner, but his mind is a little preoccupied. He’s not entirely sure he trusted his body in the hands of someone who’d just been threatened. He’s liable to wind up with a dick, or something equally unpleasant, inked into his skin.

“Take a seat, please, Izz.” The guy’s attitude sure has changed—polite and then some.

Izz follows the instructions, perching on the edge of the bare bunk. Watching Sinn'ous pull a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket. Handing it over to the artist, who flattens it out on their thigh.

Izz can’t see what is on the page, the angle the artist is seated at keeping whatever is on it out of his sight. Guess it will be a surprise for him when it’s finished.

The artist scans over the paper as he clicks together various parts of the tattoo machine—or gun. “Easy enough. Where am I putting it?”

Izz opens his mouth to answer, only to find the artist hadn’t directed the question at him. Instead they are focused directlyon Sinn'ous.

“Above the hip, will suithim . . . Is that okay with you.” There’s a brief pause during which Izz takes his time studying the floor, the little rocks and dust clumps scattered over it.

“Izz?”

Izz blinked, peering up at Sinn'ous. “Huh?”

Both sets of eyes in the cell are staring at Izz, waiting—the last question must have been aimed at him. He’d thought Sinn'ous was talking with the artist. “Oh, yeah. The hip is fine. Yes.”

I mean I had been thinking the thigh or calf, but if Sinn'ous says it will suit me there . . . I’d like it there. I can always get another tattoo on my thigh later.

~~~

Turns out the ‘calling card’is Sinn'ous’s name. Red splatter ink highlighting the bare skin around the curving letters spelling out . . .

Sinn’ous.

It very much resembles a blood splatter. Quite similar to the tattoo Sinn'ous has at the small of his own back—a miniature version of it, and less masculine. Petite letters curling above Izz’s hip bone. Flowing perfectly with his body shape—

I feel like a girl, with the delicately written name of her boyfriend on her hip.

Izz can’t choke back the laugh. He is aware the others in the cell are no doubt considering him a crazy person, who’s lost any hope of presenting as normal. For him, and his weird thoughts, it’s the funniest thing in the world.

He has to physically beat his giggles into submission. Before Sinn'ous decides to leave him in I-Wing with the rest of the Psych inmates joining the prison population.

He smiles softly at Sinn'ous who is smirking at him. Maybe the male can actually read minds. At this point, it wouldn’tsurprise him if themysterious mohawked inmatecan enter his thoughts.

He turns towards the artist to break the eye contact, “you’re very skilled. How long have you been—never mind.” Izz doesn’t want to appear as if he’s prying.

“Don’t worry about it, and several years now. Was a hobby on the outside, became my thing in here.”

Izz nods. The inmate may have indulged his curiosity, but he doesn’t want to push it. He isn’t entirely sure the artist hadn’t answered in self-preservation. To not piss off the serial killer hovering close by.

He pulls his shirt back on after the artist places a patch over the new ink. He’s given a tube of something to apply to the fresh ink, to help with the healing process. He will be keeping this tattoo the cleanest he has ever kept one. He’s not messing up the ink work. Not when it means so much to him.

This new ink holds a power to it. A burning stinging shield against the world—the prison world. A reminder he does in fact have someone in here who is taking care of him. Who won’t allow anything bad to happen to him.

~~~

The walk back to A-Wing had been quiet and uneventful. His scratchy prison clothes irritating his skin—Izz’s weirdly conscious of his new tattoo even with the patch over it.

“It suits you, Beautiful.”

---