slashsmut serial jen adebisi

Bloodlust - part 2

by Jen


New winds had arrived. Adebisi felt the shift in his gut, always a reliable source. He wished he knew the exact cause. Knowledge led to control, control led to survival. Through two eyes he watched all around him, some more than others.

Ryan and the Russian cut eyes back and forth, smiling with bullshit-coated teeth. Tedious. Finished with discussing Mobay (finishing Mobay would be far more pleasurable), Adebisi sidled over to Ryan's side. He had no watch on today, but he had a strong feeling five minutes had passed. And the mick still hadn't acknowledged his presence. Settling for an old tactic, Adebisi pinched his butt. The angry reaction gave him a shark smile.

"Hands OFF."

"I got the wrong accent to turn you on, huh? Why don't you just fuck him already?"

O'Reily stalked away, most amusing moment of Adebisi's day. Back to business, Poet yapping at his heel.

"Torres fucker missed two payments."

"Cut him off."

"Yo man, thought that's what you'd say, how 'bout Beecher instead?"

"Instead of what?"

"Take Torres' place. White boy's loaded, and a user. Going through all that shit, how hard's it gonna be to resist those horsey kisses?"

Poet smacked his arm as he talked, making this another of those days when Adebisi regretted keeping the "artistic" mongrel alive. Adebisi swirled his toothpick a few times, counting the motions.

"Stay away from Beecher. Lawyer boy's ready to blow again. Offer him a tit and he'll tear the other off."

With a single hand motion, he brushed Poet away. Eyes trained on former Muslim leader and current Muslim leader, current prick making dagger marks on former hypocritical prick's back. Such blatant hatred was a man's undoing, unless you had the balls to act on it. And Arif didn't.

Hoyt brushed by, nearly toppling into him. The bandage clumsily placed over his wrist was as shaky and pale as he. Adebisi reflexively grabbed his arm.

"Did you have a visitor last night?"

The fear in his eyes gave him away before he opened his mouth.

"No. No...sorry..won't happen again."

Biker mouthed "motherfucker" as he walked away, but no matter. Some form crept in shadows of Hoyt's pod last night, a man. Probably a hack, unless the tunnel-digger lived a bunk above, prisoners didn't travel with ease at night. They didn't travel at all.

Maybe Murphy. No reason why. Mineo....no. The new hack. Again, no reason why, but no reason why not. Too bad he never worked during the day. Through dark vision of the past dozen nights, he saw the man had aged eyes for someone so young. Nothing to go on, since everyone in this shithole got dead eyes within their first five minutes.

After lunch, Adebisi took a seat beside the O'Reily brothers and Miss Sally's cleavage. Ryan eventually noticed him. Still not speaking.

"What do we know about the new hack?"

"Don't you mean what *I* know? Terry Emerson, 27, no college, no other prison experience, used to be a security guard." Voice dropped more to a whisper. "When are you gonna ice that Boris shitbag?"

Adebisi patted O'Reily's head, spreading his legs a little wider. "Not now. Don't want to deprive you of your playmate."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck me."

Only an hour before count (got a pretty new watch in exchange for a free snort), Adebisi swept over every part of Em City. From his center of the room table, his gaze covered much ground. Querns, interviewing a spic hack candidate, only a matter of time before Morales got to him. Beecher and Keller, not even bothering to cover affectionate glances in the midst of their usual soap opera traumas. Brave, but stupid. Rebadow eyefucking Busmalis. Huh, even old buzzards had the ability to change. Hoyt and Poet near the top of the stairs.....Poet tumbling as Hoyt pushed him down the flight. Murphy collared Hoyt for a Hole vacation as Mineo radioed for the medics. Looked like an infirmary stay for Poet. Had to get a new lieutenant for the near future, Guerra probably. Morales had spics to spare.

Not big enough for a lockdown, Mineo called the count, leaving prisoners to buzz about the latest prisoner violence before lights out. Adebisi laid back on his bunk, more busy with his plans for the next day.

*********************

Terry laughed along with Lopresti as the death row guard changed out of uniform. Too bad he wore underwear, his body was the only appealing quality he had. "What's so funny?"

"Did you hear what Hoyt did today?"

His head shook deceptively.

"He pushed a nigger down the stairs. I love it when our kind takes out the dregs."

A final smile before Terry left the locker room. Screw the color of his skin, Poet Jackson only took a tumble because he shared Adebisi's cell. Hoyt played his part well.

Several hours into the shift, Terry took a bathroom break that led him to Adebisi's half-occupied pod. His African was just as beautiful as he remembered, moreso once the covers were removed. Had to make this fast, but.....he still pulled those white shorts down, very pleased with what he saw. The dark skin brought back memories of forbidden pleasures from his past. Saltiness danced in his mouth when he flicked his tongue over the head of Adebisi's cock. Then the insides of his thighs, going over each groove in his belly. Nipples jutted out, independent of their owner's sleep, greedily sucked on. Adebisi began to stir, still not fully awake but obviously loving the sensation. Only when Terry began licking his neck did he wake. Their eyes met, Terry assuming both men knew who was now in charge.

Wrong. Hands gripped his throat...too stunned to immediately fight him off. His hand clamped over Adebisi's mouth, shutting off any yells. Slowly, slowly, the grip lessened. The anger still glimmering in Adebisi's eyes was more arousing than any experience he'd had in years.

Yanking his African up quickly, he paused, taking in those features a final time. Almost unfortunate, to tame a savage beast this quickly. Lips and teeth caressed the elongated neck slowly, arms holding Adebisi's own arms down when the sharp bite sank in. A primal cry came from his mouth, from his soul, the last gasp of self-control. Very sad. And very exciting. A slight reflection from the nearby mirror drew his eye, seeing this warrior staring angrily, helplessly at an invisible master.

A few trails of blood remained, Terry licked them away as they sloped down a broad black shoulder.

"Wh-why....ME..."

"Shh..." a finger brushed Adebisi's lips. "Don't worry Adebisi. We're going to be very happy together. I've been through this too, well not the staying alive part, but...anyway, just relax."

Confused features slowly cleared into a blank slate. Terry grabbed a big hand, a paw really, placing it on his uniform-covered crotch.

"I know you know what to do with that." The electricity in such rough manhandling nearly sent him off. "Fuck yeah. I'm not sure how much of this you'll remember tomorrow, but tonight, we're gonna have lots of fun." His own hands wrapped around Adebisi's monster, first stages of pumping.

Terry's godlike face changed from nothing to the beginnings of a smile, a sick smile. He knew what passed between them, he knew the true meaning of giving and taking. His tongue darted out from his lips, eager to shed the last vestiges of confusion. Words emerged, a deep-throated grunt to make lesser men (and even a few undead men) quiver.

"Lots of fun."

continued in Part 3


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