Page 9 of Endangered Species
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Cy kept Nicky close for the rest of the day, keeping him by his side at chow time and then inviting him to play cards with the boys until lights out. The boys ragged on Nicky about Cyrus punching him in the face, but they also seemed impressed he could take a punch from somebody Cy’s size. Nicky didn’t tell them that Cy had pulled his punch, and he felt no reason to enlighten them. The more dangerous Nicky seemed, the better. Honestly, if Nicky had the skills he said he did, it might be worthy of a show of force to keep them at bay, but that might also land Nicky in the hole with nobody to watch his back. Besides, Nicky was too new. The hole could make a newbie go crazy straight from the jump.
Once it was lights out, that was when the chaos truly began. Except, the lights never went out because inmates couldn’t be trusted in the dark. Before overcrowding, nights were almost peaceful. Cy hadn’t thought so back then, but the brick walls and steel doors had provided some level of insulation to the constant noise. Now that they were overcrowded and inmates were left free to roam the main room at night, it was overwhelming. Inmates running around the main room, slamming on doors, howling, whooping out war cries that echoed off the concrete, made it impossible to sleep for those who hadn’t learned to tune it out over the years. The guards didn’t give a fuck if none of them slept. Short of violence, they only entered for their rounds at three and six.
Cy could hear Nicky tossing and turning below, but he waited until he was certain it was about thirty minutes before rounds to slip from the bed. He lifted Nicky’s blanket and slid beneath. He jerked instinctively at Cyrus’s invasion of his space, body stiffening as he looked over his shoulder. His eyes were red and bloodshot. Cyrus’s heart clenched in his chest. The noise. Nicky hated noise, hated overstimulation, had since he was little. It caused him to flinch and fidget. Sometimes, it gave him migraines. Jesus, this place was going to kill him.
After looking at Cyrus for a long moment, he went back to facing the wall, dropping his head back down on the balled up t-shirt he was using as a pillow. Cyrus slid his large hand between Nicky’s head and the t-shirt before pressing his lips close to his other ear. “They’ll wear themselves out soon.”
When Nicky melted against him, Cy willed his body not to react, but it was hard. Nicky smelled like sun and home and all the good things Cy remembered, and he was warm and sweet and fit in his arms just right. When Cy covered Nicky’s other ear, he gave a shuddering cry. They stayed like that until all sounds abruptly stopped. The guards had entered.
Cy had spent the last twenty minutes trying to tell Nicky that he hadn’t found a way out of their current situation that didn’t involve hurting him, but he couldn’t even bring himself to say it. After twenty years, there was still something about him that made Cyrus want to protect Nicky from the world.
“It’s okay, you know,” Nicky finally whispered.
Cyrus inhaled Nicky’s scent, feeling like a creep, before whispering, “What is?”
“Whatever you came down here to do. I don’t mind. I’d rather it be you than anybody else. I’m not stupid. I know how things work here.”
Cyrus stared down at Nicky, but he just kept facing the wall. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“I thought straight men got a pass in prison?” Nicky said, his voice raw and throaty, maybe from fear, although there was a part of Cy’s lizard brain that hoped it was from desire.
“I’m not straight, and that’s not what I meant.”
He didn’t miss the catch in Nicky’s breath. “I… I’m not straight either,” he whispered.
“Yeah, I knew that when you were six,” Cy said with a smile.
There was almost the slightest hint of humor when he said, “Then what’s the problem? You’re not taking my virginity, I promise. If it’s you or them, I’d much rather it be you.”
“Jesus.” Preacher was right…again. The smug bastard.
Nicky ignored him. “But they need to think I’m an unwilling participant, so I think you need to be a little rough, make it hurt, leave bruises. It’s okay. I kind of like the pain. I won’t hold it against you or anything. It’s nothing I haven’t been through before.”
What the fuck was Cy supposed to say to that? What did that even mean? “Nicky…”
“Nobody calls me that anymore…nobody but you. You know that, right?” he whispered.
“What do they call you? Poindexter?” Cy asked with a hint of a smile.
“Webster. Just Webster.”
Cy shook his head, his lips trailing over the shell of Nicky’s ear almost without thought. “I’m not calling you that. You’ll always be Nicky to me.”
Nicky seemed to bury himself deeper into Cy’s arms, shifting to look up at him. “I like when you call me Nicky,” he confessed.
Every atom in Webster’s body was on high alert. Whatever the opposite of an out-of-body experience was, he was living it. He meant it when he said he wasn’t a virgin, but he had never been so aware of another person in his life. It was like his body remembered Cy’s. Just being near him brought a strange sense of peace and safety but also a newfound spark of awareness that made it almost hard to breathe in the otherwise frigid cell.
It felt like a strange fever dream, some surreal concoction of twenty plus years of guilt and four years of celibacy. He turned to look over his shoulder, and Cy was gazing at him with an intensity that melted Webster’s core. Cy’s lips were so close; it was nothing to lift up just the slightest bit and brush their mouths together in a kiss that lingered. Fuck. How could that be so hot? They were just lying there practically panting into each other’s mouths, breathing each other’s air, and Webster was sure it would take almost nothing for him to come.
A strange thumping noise started from a distance, moving rhythmically closer. “What’s that sound?”
“Kramer. He always taps his nightstick on the door when he does headcount.” The way Cy looked at him made him a little nauseated. “Do you trust me, Nicky?”
Webster nodded without hesitation. “Yeah.”
“Good. ‘Cause I’m sorry about this.”
