Guide To Surviving Prison Is Getting Screwed By General Lily! [BL]

The silence stretched. Ruaan could hear the faint, steady sound of Harolin’s breathing just on the other side of the wire coils. He pressed his hand hard against his mouth to even stop himself from breathing. He didn’t want to get caught. He had no idea what Harolin would do to him if that happened. His own heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying the darkness of the corner would swallow him whole just so Harolin wouldn’t see him.

Then, a hand closed around his ankle.

"Got you!"

Ruaan yelped, a sharp, startled sound that echoed in the cramped space. He was dragged out from his hiding spot in one smooth, powerful pull. His back scraped against the concrete floor, the rough material of his shirt riding up. He kicked out blindly, his heel connecting with something solid—Harolin’s thigh—but it was like kicking a wall.

Harolin didn’t even grunt. He just hauled Ruaan fully into the open aisle between the shelves and loomed over him, blocking the light from the open door. His expression was still that unsettling calm, but his eyes were blazing.

"Run," Harolin said, his voice a low rumble. "Go on. Run for the door."

For a second, they just stared at each other. Then, survival instinct, sharp and bright, overrode the paralysis. Ruaan scrambled to his feet and bolted.

He sprinted down the aisle, his shoes slapping against the concrete. The open door was a rectangle of brighter light, freedom just twenty feet away. He heard Harolin move behind him. He wasn’t even running, just walking with those long, deliberate strides. But he was faster, closing the distance with terrifying ease.

Ruaan’s fingers brushed the doorframe. He was almost there—

A strong arm hooked around his waist, yanking him backwards off his feet. He was spun around, his back slammed against the doorjamb, and then Harolin’s body was pressed against him, caging him in. Before Ruaan could scream, a hand clamped over his mouth.

"Shhh," Harolin murmured, his lips close to Ruaan’s ear. His breath was hot. "You made it exciting. I’ll give you that."

"Let go," Ruaan said, his voice a strained whisper against the metal shelf.

"No."

"Harolin I swear to God if you don’t let go of me right now I will scream this entire facility down and you will lose your job and your rank and every single thing you came here for and I mean every word of that."

Harolin looked at him, those pale grey eyes cold and steady.

"Go ahead," he said, his voice flat. "Scream."

Ruaan opened his mouth, ready to unleash a torrent of noise that would bring every officer running.

Harolin kissed him.

The kiss was nothing soft or gentle. It was like a collision. His mouth covered Ruaan’s completely, a hard, demanding pressure that stole the scream from his throat. One hand moved from Ruaan’s wrists to his jaw, holding him there, forcing the kiss deeper. Ruaan reacted instinctively as he bit him.

Hard.

He felt Harolin’s lip split under his teeth and tasted the sharp copper tang of blood. He pulled back, chest heaving, eyes wild with fury and panic.

Harolin touched the cut with two fingers. He looked at the blood smeared on his skin. Then he looked at Ruaan, his expression unchanging.

Then he took Ruaan’s face in both hands and kissed him again. This time he bit back, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make Ruaan gasp into his mouth. He tasted his own blood mixing with Harolin’s. It was like a brutal, intimate exchange. Something in his chest cracked open, a fissure of raw, unwanted sensation he was completely unprepared for.

Ruaan pushed against his chest, his hands fisting in Harolin’s uniform shirt, but the fight was already leaching out of him, replaced by a dizzying, unwanted heat. The kiss was brutal and skilled, and against his will, a small, traitorous moan vibrated in Ruaan’s throat.

Harolin pulled back just enough to look at him. Ruaan’s lip was swollen. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. His breathing was loud and ragged in the quiet of the storeroom.

"I hate you," Ruaan said, the words trembling.

"I know," Harolin said, and then he kissed him again, deeper, slower, a conquest that felt like a confession.

His hands moved from Ruaan’s face to his collar. He worked the buttons open with a focused precision that Ruaan couldn’t look away from. He watched Harolin’s fingers move down each button, felt the fabric fall open, and then those hands were on his chest, his stomach, mapping his skin with a rough, possessive touch. Ruaan’s head went back against the shelf, a dull thud of surrender.

"You were in that bathroom all night," Harolin said against his neck. It wasn’t a question. It was more of an accusation.

"That is none of your business," Ruaan said, which came out significantly less steady than intended because Harolin’s hand had just pressed flat against his stomach and was moving lower, dipping below the waistband of his trousers.

"You made those sounds," Harolin said, his voice a low growl. "In there, with him."

"They were not the sounds you think they were," Ruaan insisted, trying to twist away.

"What sounds were they?"

"I was just—"

Harolin’s hand found him through the fabric, a firm, encompassing grip around his hardening cock, and Ruaan stopped talking completely. His fingers gripped the shelf behind him, nails scraping against the metal. He heard himself make a sound, a choked, desperate gasp that he would have been mortified by under any other circumstances.

Harolin pressed his mouth to his ear, his breath hot. "Say that again."

"What other thing?"

"The sound."

"I am not doing that on command. Especially if it’s your command,

Harolin did something specific with his hand. And with a twist of his wrist and a squeeze, Ruaan made the sound again without permission. He moaned helplessly and it vibrated in his chest.