Grant released Cliff's throat with a wet pop, lips glistening. "Better hustle, Officer." His palm slid down Cliff's tactical pants, smearing mixed fluids across the zipper. The camera's servo motor clicked — thirty seconds until live feed reactivated.
Cliff's breath hissed through clenched teeth as Grant's fingers lingered on his belt buckle. Static burst from his earpiece: Briggs, acknowledge. He grabbed Grant's wrist hard enough to bruise, shoving him toward the bunk just as the first surveillance light blinked green overhead.
The prisoner collapsed onto the thin mattress with a grunt, his spent cock twitching against his thigh. Cliff's gaze dropped to the fresh bite mark blooming on Grant's collarbone — a perfect match for the one throbbing under his own collar. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tasting salt and iron.
Static crackled louder in his earpiece. "Briggs, respond." Deckard's voice carried an edge Cliff hadn't heard since the riot last spring. Grant's fingers trailed through the mess on his abdomen, scooping up a glob of mixed fluids. He held Cliff's stare as he licked his fingers clean, the pink tip of his tongue catching a stray droplet at the corner of his mouth.
Cliff's boot squeaked against concrete as he stepped back, adjusting his tactical belt with jerky movements. The camera's red light blinked twice — ten seconds until full rotation. Grant stretched lazily on the bunk, the motion pulling taut the bite marks littering his inner thighs. "You forgot something," he murmured, nodding toward Cliff's discarded glove near the cell door.
Static screeched in Cliff's earpiece. Final call, Briggs. He lunged for the glove just as the camera mechanism whirred to life, fingers closing around latex slick with drying evidence. Grant's low chuckle followed him out the cell door, mixing with the electronic beep of the lock re-engaging.
The glove stuck to Cliff's palm like a second skin when he shoved it into his thigh pocket — still warm from Grant's mouth. His boots left damp prints down the corridor where semen had dripped into the treads. Around the corner, Deckard's flashlight beam painted jagged slices of light across the floor.
Cliff's earpiece crackled again. Briggs, status.
He inhaled sharply through his nose — the scent of Grant's musk still clinging to his uniform — before thumbing the mic. "C-wing secure. No irregularities." The lie burned his tongue like cheap whiskey.
Deckard's flashlight beam skittered across the puddle of semen Cliff's boot had smeared near the water pipe. The older guard's nostrils flared as he stepped closer, tactical light catching the glint of Grant's teeth through the cell bars behind them.
"Smells like a goddamn whorehouse back here," Deckard muttered, flashlight beam lingering on the damp spot spreading down Cliff's thigh. His knuckles whitened around the radio. "You forget how showers work, Briggs?"
Cliff's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Grant's chuckle resonated from the cell behind them, low and knowing. The emergency lights buzzed overhead, casting Deckard's suspicion in flickering strobes.
"My vest," Cliff rasped, thumbing the blood-smeared Kevlar where Grant had clawed through the fabric. "The inmate got aggressive during med check."
Deckard's flashlight beam crawled up Cliff's torso, pausing at the fresh mark peeking above his collar. Grant's bare foot scraped concrete behind them — a wet, sticky sound that made Deckard's nostrils flare. "Aggressive my ass," he muttered, nudging a semen-crusted latex glove half-hidden under the pipes with his boot.
Static screeched from Cliff's earpiece. All units, lockdown drill in progress — The announcement cut off as Deckard ripped the radio from Cliff's belt, his thumb hovering over the emergency trigger. The older guard's gaze flicked between Cliff's swollen lips and the damp patch spreading down Grant's jumpsuit where it gaped open.
"You're leaking," Deckard spat, shoving the radio against Cliff's chest. His flashlight beam caught the glint of saliva connecting Grant's teeth to Cliff's vest strap when the prisoner leaned forward against the bars.
Cliff's pulse hammered against the mark on his throat. The emergency lights flickered — two minutes until shift change. Deckard's fingers twitched near his taser, gaze locked on the semen pooling at Grant's feet.
"You got red on you," Grant murmured, tapping his own collarbone where Cliff's badge had left angry imprints. His tongue darted out to catch a droplet rolling down his pec. Deckard's flashlight beam jerked toward the movement, illuminating the mess streaked across Grant's abdomen like war paint.
Cliff's boot squeaked on semen-slick concrete as he shifted to block Deckard's view. The glove in his pocket clung to his thigh like a second skin, still warm from Grant's mouth. Static hissed in his abandoned earpiece where it dangled near his belt buckle.
Deckard's nostrils flared when Grant deliberately smeared a palmful of their mixed release across his own pectorals. The inmate's fingers lingered near his nipples, twisting in a way that made Cliff's jaw clench. "Medical supplies," Cliff blurted, throat raw. "Antifungal cream application. Protocol 9-D."
The flashlight beam trembled in Deckard's grip as it traveled between Cliff's stained uniform and Grant's glistening fingers. "Bullshit," Deckard hissed, thumb clicking the radio mic on. Static screeched in the confined space.
Grant stretched languidly against the bars, his spent cock twitching against his thigh. "Jealous, Deckard?" His tongue swiped a slow arc across his palm, collecting the last streaks Cliff had left there. The smack of his lips echoed obscenely.
Deckard's flashlight beam jerked from Grant's glistening torso to Cliff's skewed belt. "Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "You couldn't at least have the decency to invite me?" The edge in his voice cracked halfway through — something between disgust and raw hunger. His Adam's apple bobbed as Grant's fingers trailed lower, teasing the mess between his thighs.
Cliff's spit dried up when Deckard's taser clattered to the concrete. The older guard's boots squeaked in drying fluids as he stepped closer, nostrils flaring at the stench thickening between them. Grant's chuckle vibrated through the bars as Deckard's trembling fingers unclipped his own belt.
The emergency lights flickered — ninety seconds until shift change. Deckard's flashlight rolled under the pipes, casting jagged shadows up Grant's ruined jumpsuit. Cliff's glove crackled in his pocket when Deckard grabbed his wrist, shoving it against Grant's spit-slicked palm where it stuck to the bars.
"Disinfectant," Deckard growled, grinding their joined hands against Grant's cock through the fabric. His other hand fumbled with Cliff's belt buckle, his nails scraping the damp patch spreading down the guard's thigh. Grant's hips jerked forward with a wet sound, his spent cock thickening against their tangled fingers.
Cliff's breath hitched when Deckard's knuckles brushed his still-hard length beneath the tactical pants. The older guard's uniform reeked of stale coffee and gun oil — foreign against the musk clinging to Cliff's skin. Grant's mouth found Deckard's wrist, sucking hard enough to make him hiss. "Fucking animal," Deckard muttered, but his hips pressed forward.
The camera warning light blinked red overhead — sixty seconds. Cliff's trapped hand flexed against Grant's swollen cock, latex glove peeling away to reveal slick skin. Deckard's belt buckle dug into Cliff's hip as the older guard crowded him against the bars, his erection unmistakable through polyester slacks.
Grant's teeth flashed in the flickering emergency lights when he caught Deckard's thumb between them. "Christ," Deckard panted, his free hand fumbling Cliff's zipper down. The smell of gun oil and adrenaline mixed with sex as Deckard's fingers closed around Cliff's cock — dry and rough compared to Grant's practiced touch.
The camera mechanism whirred louder — forty-five seconds. Deckard's grip tightened, his thumb smearing precum across Cliff's slit in ragged circles. Grant's laughter vibrated against Deckard's trapped wrist as he watched the older guard's pupils dilate. "Look at you," Grant taunted, tongue darting out to lap at Deckard's pulse point. "Starved for it."
Cliff's hips jerked when Deckard's calloused fingers twisted roughly around his shaft. The older guard's breath came in ragged bursts against Cliff's neck, his uniform reeking of prison disinfectant. Grant's teeth scraped Deckard's knuckles as the inmate guided their joined hands lower, pressing Cliff's latex-slick fingers against his own leaking hole.
"Jesus fuck —" Deckard's curse dissolved into a groan as Grant clenched around Cliff's fingertips, warm muscle fluttering against the guard's probing touch. The camera warning light pulsed faster — thirty seconds — casting Deckard's sweat-sheened face in alternating washes of red and white. His grip on Cliff's cock turned punishing, his thumb digging into the slit with each upward stroke.
Grant arched off the bars with a wet sound, his spent cock twitching back to full hardness against Cliff's wrist. Deckard's breath hitched when Grant's free hand yanked his belt loose, the buckle clattering against concrete as polyester slacks pooled around his boots. The older guard's erection strained against boxer briefs darkened with precum, the fabric clinging to his shaft when Grant's nails hooked into the waistband.
Cliff's fingers pressed deeper into Grant's clenching heat just as Deckard's calloused palm dragged up his cock in three rough strokes. The conflicting sensations — Grant's molten tightness versus Deckard's brutal friction — made Cliff's thighs tremble. Deckard's teeth found Cliff's earlobe, biting down hard as Grant's hips pistoned onto Cliff's fingers.
The stench of sex thickened when Grant tore Deckard's briefs down with a single jerk. Deckard's cock sprang free — thick and flushed darker than Cliff's — already leaking onto Grant's waiting palm. The inmate's tongue swirled around the head before taking Deckard down in one fluid motion, his throat working around the intrusion. Cliff watched Deckard's fingers spasm against his own shaft, the older guard's hips stuttering forward involuntarily.
Camera servos whined overhead — twenty seconds. Deckard's choked curse echoed off concrete as Grant hollowed his cheeks, the wet slurps obscenely loud in the cramped space. Cliff's trapped fingers crooked inside Grant, scraping his prostate just as Deckard's knees buckled. Precum dripped from Deckard's cock onto Grant's forehead when the inmate pulled off with a filthy pop, his lips glistening.
"Fucking —" Deckard's snarl cut off as Grant's tongue lapped at his slit, catching the next salty bead. The older guard's calloused hand abandoned Cliff's cock to fist in Grant's hair, yanking him forward onto his erection with a wet slap. Cliff watched Grant's throat bulge around Deckard's girth, his own fingers still buried in the inmate's ass. Grant's sphincter fluttered around Cliff's digits when Deckard thrust deep, the vibration traveling up Cliff's arm.
Deckard's free hand scrambled for purchase on Cliff's vest, his blunt nails catching in the Kevlar weave where Grant had torn it earlier. The emergency lights pulsed — fifteen seconds — casting their panting mouths in hellish red. Grant gagged around Deckard's cock, spit dripping onto Cliff's trapped forearm as Deckard fucked into that tight heat with brutal, uneven snaps of his hips.
Cliff's fingers curled harder inside Grant, spreading him wider as Deckard's thrusts shoved the inmate forward against the bars. The metallic tang of blood mixed with sex when Grant's teeth skated along the length of Deckard's shaft — purposeful, cruel — making the older guard snarl and twist his fingers tighter in greasy hair. Cliff watched Deckard's Adams apple bob as he swallowed hard, felt the tremor in Deckard's thighs where they pressed against his own.
The camera's warning light pulsed faster — ten seconds — illuminating the obscene stretch of Grant's lips around Deckard's cock. Saliva dripped down Grant's chin in thick strands, swinging with each brutal thrust. Cliff's own neglected erection throbbed against his tactical pants, trapped between Deckard's hip and the bars where Grant's tongue now flickered against the older guard's frenulum with deliberate malice.
Deckard's knees buckled when Grant swallowed him whole, the inmate's throat muscles rippling visibly under floodlights. "Fucking Christ —" Deckard's curse cracked as his hips stuttered forward uncontrollably, his balls tightening against Grant's chin. Cliff watched the exact moment Deckard's control snapped — the flare of his nostrils, the white-knuckled grip on Grant's hair — before hot spurts of sperm painted the back of Grant's throat.
The servos overhead whined — five seconds — as Deckard milked himself dry with jagged thrusts, his release leaking from Grant's stretched lips. Grant's tongue lapped obscenely at the softening head, his own cock twitching against Cliff's thigh where it strained, ruddy and neglected. Cliff's fingers flexed inside Grant's clenching heat, drawing a punched-out groan that vibrated around Deckard's sensitive flesh.
Deckard staggered back with a wet pop, semen-streaked fingers fumbling for his radio just as the floodlights clicked on. The sudden brightness exposed everything — Deckard's untucked shirt, Cliff's open fly, the glistening mess connecting Grant's mouth to Deckard's softening cock. Grant wiped his chin with the back of his wrist, tongue darting out to catch a stray droplet at the corner of his smirk. "Happy shift change," he rasped, his voice ruined.
Cliff's fingers slid free from Grant's body with an obscene sound, the inmate's hole clenching around nothing. The scent of sex and gun oil hung thick enough to taste. Deckard's boot squeaked in drying semen as he backed toward the corridor, trembling hands adjusting his belt with jerky movements. His gaze flickered between Cliff's erect cock still jutting from his tactical pants and the cum dripping down Grant's thighs.
Static erupted from the fallen radio. Deckard, report to central. The older guard swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against his sweat-slicked collar. Grant wiped his mouth on his torn jumpsuit sleeve, the fabric sticking to his stubble with a wet sound. Deckard's nostrils flared when Grant deliberately smeared semen across his abdomen in slow circles.
Cliff's glove peeled away from Grant's hip with a sticky sound as he stepped back, his thighs trembling where Deckard's nails had dug in. The older guard's belt buckle clinked against concrete as he snatched his radio, his free hand lingering on his softening cock. Grant's smirk widened when Deckard's fingers came away glistening.
"Your turn," Grant murmured, dragging Cliff's hand back to his own aching erection. The guard's tactical pants were soaked through with precum, fabric clinging obscenely to his flushed skin. Deckard's breath hitched when Grant guided Cliff's fingers to his slit, smearing the gathered wetness across the head with deliberate slowness.
The floodlights buzzed overhead, mercilessly illuminating Deckard's semen glistening in Grant's stubble. Cliff's hips jerked forward involuntarily when Grant's tongue swirled around his fingertips, tasting the salt of Deckard's release still lingering there. Static crackled from Deckard's abandoned radio — Deckard, respond immediately — but the older guard didn't move, his pupils blown wide as he watched Grant suck Cliff's fingers clean.
Cliff's cock twitched against Grant's palm when the inmate abruptly changed angles, guiding Cliff's hand downward to smear precum across Deckard's softening shaft. Deckard hissed through clenched teeth as Grant worked Cliff's fingertips along his oversensitive flesh, mixing their fluids with slow, deliberate strokes. Grant's chuckle vibrated against Cliff's wrist when Deckard's hips stuttered forward against his will, his spent cock valiantly trying to harden again under their combined attention.
The radio screeched again — Code 18 in sector C — but Deckard's trembling hand remained pressed against the bars near Grant's head, knuckles white where they gripped the metal. Cliff watched a drop of sweat roll down Deckard's temple, catching in the stubble along his jaw before falling onto Grant's collarbone. The inmate's tongue darted out to catch it, his lips curling when Deckard shuddered.
Cliff's cock twitched against Grant's palm when the prisoner suddenly twisted their hands — forcing Deckard's fingers to brush against Cliff's aching length. The older guard's breath hitched audibly, his calloused fingertips jerking back before Grant viciously yanked them forward again. Deckard's nails scraped the sensitive underside of Cliff's shaft, drawing a ragged groan from the younger guard's throat.
The radio squawked again — closer now — boots pounding down the corridor. Grant grinned around Cliff's fingers still wedged between his teeth, biting down hard enough to make the guard hiss. Deckard's pupils dilated when Grant deliberately spat onto his own palm before wrapping it around Cliff's throbbing cock, mixing their spit with the precum leaking copiously from the tip.
"Deckard!" The shout came from around the corner, accompanied by the jangle of keys. Cliff's hips jerked forward into Grant's slick grip as Deckard frantically wiped his mouth on his sleeve — Grant's semen smearing across his stubble. Grant tightened his fist on Cliff's shaft, thumb digging into the slit just as the first flashlight beam hit the bars.
Cliff's orgasm hit like a sledgehammer. His back arched violently, slamming Deckard against the bars as rope after rope of semen splattered across Grant's collarbones. Deckard's choked gasp warmed Cliff's neck where their sweat-slicked skin stuck together. Grant's tongue darted out to catch the first spurt, his other hand shoving down Deckard's slacks to milk the older guard's softening cock through aftershocks.
The approaching flashlight beams illuminated their tangled limbs in strobe-lit snapshots — Cliff's fingers knotted in Grant's hair, Deckard's semen dripping from Grant's bottom lip, the inmate's own neglected erection bobbing against Cliff's thigh. Grant licked a stripe up Deckard's palm, collecting the guard's spent release with deliberate slowness even as the first set of boots rounded the corner.
Cliff barely had time to yank his zipper up before Flood's shocked curse echoed off concrete. The rookie guard's flashlight beam trembled across Deckard's untucked shirt, the older guard's belt still gaping open where Grant's fingers had been buried seconds earlier. Grant smirked against Deckard's palm, pressing a wet kiss to the callouses as Flood's radio clattered to the floor.
"Fucking Christ," Flood whispered, his Adam's apple bobbing above his too-tight collar. His gaze jumped from Deckard's semen-streaked jaw to Cliff's ruined tactical pants, then down to Grant's glistening abdomen where their combined fluids glistened under the floodlights. Grant stretched languidly against the bars, deliberately flexing the marks peppering his inner thighs.
Static screeched from Deckard's abandoned radio. Cliff's glove crackled in his pocket when Flood's flashlight beam landed on the semen splattered across the concrete between them. The rookie's nostrils flared at the thick musk hanging in the humid air—gun oil and sweat and sex. Grant's tongue peeked out to catch a stray droplet rolling down his pec, the slurp obscenely loud in the sudden silence.
Flood's boots squeaked backward through drying fluids. His Adam's apple bobbed hard enough to strain his collar button when Deckard's zipper rasped upward, the sound punctuated by Grant's husky chuckle. The inmate stretched his arms overhead, making the bars creak as he displayed the love bites across his ribs.
"Evening," Grant purred, rolling his hips to smear Cliff's drying release down his thigh. Flood's flashlight trembled across the wet streaks glistening on the inmate's jumpsuit, catching the moment Deckard's spent cock twitched against his briefs at the display.
A radio squawked near Flood's feet — Code 18 repeating — but the rookie just stood there, lips parted, pupils blown wide under the flickering fluorescents. Grant's teeth flashed when he hooked two fingers into his own waistband, stretching the fabric to show Flood the mess leaking from his hole. "You missed the main event," he murmured, "but there's encore seating."
Deckard's boot scraped backward through drying semen. Cliff watched the older guard's throat work as Flood's gaze dropped to the wet spot darkening Deckard's slacks. Grant exhaled sharply through his nose — amused — when Flood's fingers twitched toward his own belt.
The rookie guard's radio crackled again. Cliff smelled the sharp tang of Flood's sweat cutting through the musk — citrus aftershave and panic. Grant stretched his arms wider, making the jumpsuit ride up his thighs to expose the bite marks Cliff had left earlier. Flood's swallow was audible.
Deckard's boot nudged his fallen taser toward the wall with a casual scrape of rubber on concrete. Too casual. Grant's smirk deepened when Flood's gaze followed the movement — then jerked back to the inmate's exposed hips. The rookie's fingers flexed around his flashlight, knuckles whitening.
Cliff's pulse hammered against the love bites Grant had left along his jugular. The floodlights buzzed louder, illuminating Flood's erection straining against regulation slacks.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Flood whispered, his flashlight beam quivering across Deckard's semen-smeared jawline. Grant exhaled sharply through his nose and deliberately rolled his hips against the bars, making wet sounds where his thighs stuck together. Flood's nostrils flared when Deckard's tongue darted out to catch Grant's lingering taste.
The rookie took an unsteady step forward — boots slipping in drying fluids — just as Grant hooked two fingers into his own waistband again. "See something you like?" Grant murmured, peeling the fabric down to expose the glistening mess between his thighs. Flood's breath hitched when Cliff's semen dripped onto the concrete with a thick plop.
Deckard wiped his mouth on his sleeve, the movement drawing Flood's gaze like a magnet. The rookie's throat bobbed as he watched Deckard's tongue dart out to catch a stray droplet at the corner of his lips. Grant chuckled darkly when Flood's fingers twitched toward his own belt buckle — the metal clinking loud in the humid air.
"Better hurry," Grant purred, spreading his thighs wider against the bars. The floodlights caught the viscous strand connecting his hole to Cliff's drying release. Flood's boot squeaked forward through the puddle near Deckard's feet, his flashlight beam trembling across Grant's spit-slicked palm where it rested on his own twitching cock.
Deckard's knuckles cracked when he shoved Flood against the bars, his meaty fingers already working the rookie's belt loose. The older guard's breath hitched against Flood's neck — "Ever fucked an inmate?" — before sucking hard on the rookie's exposed flesh. Grant's laughter vibrated through the metal when Flood's hips jerked forward involuntarily, his spit-slick cockhead catching on Grant's outstretched fingertips.
The radio screeched again — Code 18 repeating — drowned out by Flood's punched-out groan as Grant's tongue lapped up the precum beading at his slit. Cliff watched Grant's throat work around the rookie's girth, Flood's fingers scrabbling at the older inmate's buzzcut as Deckard's lips caressed his shoulder. Fluids smeared across Flood's regulation slacks when Grant pulled off with a wet pop, blowing cold air across the weeping head.
"Camera reset in thirty," Deckard growled against Flood's jugular, his lips scraping stubble as his hand wormed between Grant's thighs. The inmate gasped around Flood's cock when Deckard's fingers sank back into his stretched hole, scooping Cliff's drying sperm to slick the rookie's shaft. Flood's flashlight clattered to the floor as Grant swallowed him again, his hips stuttering forward into that slick heat.
Cliff caught Deckard's wrist before the older guard could withdraw — forcing his semen-coated fingers against Flood's parted lips. The rookie choked but sucked instinctively, his tongue lapping at the bitter tang as Grant's teeth grazed his frenulum. Deckard's breath hitched when Flood moaned around his digits, hips jerking as Grant hollowed his cheeks.
Camera servos clicked overhead — twenty-five seconds. Flood's knees buckled when Grant swallowed him deeper, the inmate's throat muscles fluttering visibly against the rookie's cockhead. Cliff's glove squeaked against the bars where he gripped them, watching Deckard's semen dribble down Flood's chin as the rookie came untouched — thick spurts of sperm painting Grant's tongue before the inmate pulled off with a filthy gasp.
The floodlights hummed — fifteen seconds — casting Grant's spit-slick lips in harsh white light as he displayed Flood's release on his tongue. Deckard's ragged breath fogged the bars when he shoved Flood forward, grinding the rookie's twitching cock against Grant's saliva-smeared cheek. "Clean him up," Deckard ordered, his meaty fingers twisting in Flood's hair.
Grant's teeth flashed before he engulfed Flood again, his throat working obscenely around the rookie's oversensitive flesh. Cliff watched Flood's knees buckle — semen-streaked fingers scrabbling at Grant's buzzcut — as Deckard's free hand wormed between the inmate's thighs. The older guard's knuckles gleamed wetly when he shoved three fingers back into Grant's hole, scooping out Cliff's drying semen to smear across Flood's trembling abdomen.
The camera warning light pulsed — ten seconds — illuminating the way Grant deliberately choked himself on Flood's softening cock, tears cutting through the sweat on his cheeks. Deckard growled something crude into Flood's ear that made the rookie's hips jerk forward involuntarily, his spent cock twitching against Grant's tongue. Cliff's own arousal surged when Grant moaned around Flood's length, the vibration traveling up the rookie's thighs visibly enough to make his regulation slacks tremble.
Flood's fingers spasmed in Grant's hair as the inmate pulled off with a wet gasp, semen and saliva dripping from his swollen lips onto Deckard's knuckles still buried in Grant's ass. The older guard twisted his fingers deeper, making Grant arch against the bars with a punched-out groan that fogged the metal. Cliff watched Flood's gaze lock onto the obscene glide of Deckard's wrist — the way Grant's rim clung to the older guard's thrusting fingers.
"Cameras," Cliff rasped, but Deckard just dragged Flood closer by his belt loops, grinding the rookie's twitching cock against Grant's spit-slicked palm. The inmate's other hand rose to smear Flood's release across Deckard's stubble, his thumb catching on the older guard's bottom lip. Deckard's tongue darted out instinctively — tasting both their salt — just as the first servo motor whined overhead.
Flood's gasp fogged the bars when Grant abruptly twisted their hands, forcing the rookie's fingers into his own gaping hole. Cliff watched semen drip between Flood's knuckles where Deckard's earlier thrusts had loosened Grant's rim. The rookie's pupils blew wider when Grant clenched around his digits, his hips jerking forward against his will.
The first camera servo clicked — five seconds — illuminating Grant's spit-smeared lips stretched around Flood's renewed erection. Deckard's boot scraped backward through drying fluids as he shoved Flood's head down, grinding the rookie's face against Grant's twitching hole. Cliff's glove squeaked against the bars when Flood moaned directly into Grant's flesh, his tongue darting out instinctively to lap at Cliff's leftover semen.
Grant's thighs trembled under Flood's mouth, his cock pulsing against Deckard's palm where the older guard roughly stroked him. The inmate's breath hitched when Flood's teeth grazed his rim — precum dribbling down Deckard's wrist — just as the second camera whirred to life. Cliff watched Flood's fingers dig into Grant's hips, smearing their mixed fluids across the inmate's sweat-slicked skin.
Deckard's growl vibrated against Flood's neck when the rookie lapped too eagerly at Grant's hole, his tongue pressing deep enough to make the inmate's back arch. The older guard's thick fingers twisted tighter in Flood's hair, forcing the rookie's nose deeper into Grant's cleft as the third camera light blinked on above them. Cliff's glove squeaked against the bars when Grant suddenly came untouched — thick ropes of semen splattering across Deckard's forearm and Flood's flushed cheek.
The final camera servo whined to life just as Flood choked on Grant's release, his tongue still working frantically at the inmate's twitching rim. Cliff watched Deckard's free hand dart out to catch Grant's dripping cockhead, smearing the last pulses of cum across Flood's parted lips. The rookie's eyelashes fluttered when Grant's thumb pressed against his tongue, forcing him to taste their mixed salt as the floodlights fully illuminated their tangled forms.
Static burst from the fallen radio — "Sector C clear?" — but the voice cut off when Grant deliberately flexed around Flood's fingers still buried inside him. The inmate's smirk twisted into a gasp when Deckard abruptly shoved Flood forward, grinding the rookie's semen-smeared face against Grant's oversensitive flesh. Cliff's own cock twitched at the wet sound of Flood's nose nudging against Grant's loosened hole, his tongue lapping weakly at the mess dripping down his chin.
The floodlights buzzed louder, mercilessly illuminating Deckard's belt buckle digging into Flood's spine. The older guard's knuckles whitened where he gripped Grant's bouncing cock, using it to slap against Flood's spit-sleeked lips. "Clean your mess," Deckard growled, his rough thumb pressing Grant's slit against the rookie's trembling mouth.
Cliff's glove squeaked against the bars when Flood moaned around Grant's girth, his nostrils flaring at the musk rising from the inmate's thighs. Grant's hips stuttered forward, his cockhead catching on Flood's teeth as Deckard tightened his grip. The rookie's whimper vibrated through Grant's shaft when Deckard forced his nose deeper into wiry pubes still damp with Cliff's earlier release.
Servos whined overhead — cameras panning left — as Grant's orgasm-dazed fingers tangled in Flood's hair. The inmate's thighs quivered when Deckard suddenly jerked Flood upward, grinding the rookie's sperm-streaked lips against his own. Cliff smelled the sharp tang of Flood's panic under the heavier musk — citrus aftershave gone sour with sweat.
The radio crackled again — All units, routine sweep in progress — drowned out when Deckard shoved Flood's face back between Grant's thighs. The rookie's choked gag echoed off concrete as Grant's cock pulsed against his tongue, another weak dribble of cum smearing across his flushed cheekbone. Deckard's knee nudged Flood's splayed legs wider apart, his regulation slacks darkening with sweat at the creases.
Grant's chuckle vibrated through Flood's skull when the rookie's hips jerked forward involuntarily, his neglected erection straining against rough fabric. Cliff watched Grant's spit-slick fingers trail down Flood's spine to hook in his belt loops, yanking the rookie backward until his twitching cock pressed against the inmate's bare foot. Flood's broken whimper fogged Grant's thigh when the inmate flexed his toes against damp cotton.
Deckard's fat fingers tightened in Flood's hair as the older guard leaned down, his breath hot against the rookie's ear. "Gonna fuck him proper now?" The taunt sent Flood's hips stuttering forward, his cock smearing precum across Grant's instep. Cliff's glove squeaked against the bars when Grant abruptly twisted Flood's head sideways, forcing the rookie's open mouth against his own leaking tip.
Flood's gag reflex kicked in as Grant's cockhead nudged past his uvula, the inmate's musk flooding his sinuses. Deckard's knee shoved between Flood's thighs as the older guard worked the rookie's belt loose with his free hand, the leather rasping loud enough to drown out the whirring cameras. Cliff watched Grant's spit-glazed fingers worm into Flood's slacks, scraping rough knuckles against the rookie's twitching shaft.
The radio squawked — Visual on Sector C — just as Deckard spat into his palm and wrapped it around Flood's cock in tandem with Grant's grip. The rookie's hips jerked violently, his choked scream muffled by Grant's thrusting hips. Cliff smelled Flood's precum mixing with Deckard's saliva when the older guard twisted his wrist on the upstroke, smearing the mess across Grant's squeezing fingers.
Grant groaned around the headset vibrating against his thigh — the warden's ID flashing — and deliberately arched to display Flood's tear-streaked face buried in his groin. Deckard's chuckle rumbled through the rookie's shoulders as he worked Flood's cock with one hand and palmed Grant's erection with the other. Cliff watched the inmate's orgasm build visibly — muscles fluttering around Flood's still-buried fingers — before Grant came across Deckard's wrist with a punched-out gasp.
The cameras whirred overhead, catching Deckard scooping Grant's release to smear across Flood's trembling lips. Cliff's glove creaked when he reached through the bars to cradle Grant's stubble-rough cheek — their first tender contact after years of furtive fucking. Flood's breath hitched as Grant turned into Cliff's touch, his lips grazing the guard's palm with unexpected gentleness.
Deckard's radio crackled with the warden's voice, but the older guard just chuckled and tossed it aside, using his free hand to unknot Flood's tie. "Relax, kid," he rasped, working the rookie's buttons loose with grimy fingers. Grant's thigh pressed warm against Flood's shoulder as Cliff's thumb traced the inmate's lower lip — a silent question. Grant's answering smile was brighter than prison floodlights.
*****
Three months later, Flood's boots no longer squeaked when he approached Grant's cell. His uniform smelled like Grant's musk now, the inmate's bite marks hidden beneath a fresh collar. Deckard's retirement paperwork sat, signed, on the warden's desk — future plans scribbled in the margins with Cliff's phone number. Grant's fingers twined through Cliff's belt loops as the guard leaned in, their foreheads touching through the bars for the first time without urgency.
Cliff's paperwork approving Grant's transfer to minimum security crinkled in Flood's back pocket. The rookie — not so rookie anymore — licked his lips at the sight of Deckard's callused fingers carding through Grant's hair. No alarms blared when Cliff finally kissed Grant properly, slow and deep, their tongues sliding together without the metallic aftertaste of fear. Deckard's chuckle rumbled against Flood's spine as the younger guard arched into his touch, their bodies slotting together like Grant's fingers between Cliff's.
The warden's signature dried on Grant's parole forms under the dim glow of Flood's desk lamp. No cameras caught the way Deckard mouthed at the fresh love bites on Flood's shoulder — marks that matched Cliff's teeth on Grant's thighs. Grant's quiet laugh vibrated through Cliff's chest when Flood came apart between them, his release painting Grant's knuckles instead of prison concrete. Deckard's retirement badge gleamed on the nightstand, reflecting their tangled limbs in its polished surface.
Cliff traced the fading tattoo on Grant's ribs — prison ink blurred by time — as Flood's lips found the scar beneath Deckard's collarbone. Their breaths synchronized in the dark, Grant's callused fingers lacing through Cliff's where they rested on Flood's hip. No alarms pierced the quiet when Deckard pressed Grant's palm to his own erection, their shared gasp swallowed by Cliff's kiss. The sheets smelled like salt and skin, not industrial disinfectant.
Grant's teeth grazed Cliff's shoulder as Flood straddled him, their bodies blocking Deckard's view deliberately. The older guard chuckled against Flood's spine, his sausage-like fingers spreading Grant's thighs wider. "I've always wanted this since day one," Deckard admitted, his voice gravel-rough with want as he watched Flood sink onto Grant's cock with a broken moan. Cliff's grip tightened on Grant's wrists when the former inmate arched up, his hips meeting Flood's downward thrust with practiced ease.
The scent of sweat and musk thickened as Cliff finally entered Grant from behind, his thick length stretching the former inmate's abused rim. Flood's breath hitched when Grant clenched around Cliff instinctively, his own cock twitching where Deckard's thick fingers encircled it. The older guard licked a stripe up Flood's spine, whispering filth that made the younger man whimper and rock faster on Grant's shaft. Cliff watched Grant's teeth flash as he bit down lightly on Flood's collarbone — the same spot he'd claimed Cliff on their first furtive cellblock tryst.
Deckard's prosthetic knee clicked against the bedframe when he shifted to palm Cliff's ass, pressing him deeper into Grant's heat. The former inmate's groan vibrated through Flood when Cliff bottomed out, their bodies slotting together perfectly after years of rushed prison couplings. Flood's fingers scrabbled at Grant's shoulders when Deckard suddenly spat on his rim and worked a thumb inside alongside Cliff's cock — the stretch making Grant arch with a garbled cry that turned into a laugh when Flood came untouched between them.
The scent of sweat and sex thickened as Cliff rolled his hips in that slow, deep rhythm Grant had always craved behind bars. No cameras whirred to catch Deckard licking into Flood's mouth while fingering Grant open wider, no alarms interrupted when Cliff finally let go completely — mouthing Grant's trapezius as he came with a shudder that shook them all. Flood's answering moan when Deckard entered him was muffled by Grant's shoulder, their movements syncing naturally like cellblock shifts they'd shared for years.
Deckard's calloused thumb found Cliff's lower lip when Grant arched between them, his body taut as a bowstring. "Easy, big guy," Deckard rasped, pressing Cliff's teeth gently into Grant's throat where the old prison tattoo had once marked him. The ex-inmate's laugh turned into a gasp as Flood clenched around him, their sweat-slicked chests sliding together when Deckard increased his pace. Cliff inhaled sharply when Grant's fingers twisted in Flood's hair — the same possessive grip he'd used in solitary — but now with sunlight streaming across their tangled sheets instead of prison fluorescents.
Grant's stubble scraped against Cliff's palm when the former guard turned his face for a proper kiss, tasting decades of pent-up tenderness where desperation used to linger. Somewhere beyond the haze of musk and mattress creaks, Cliff registered Deckard murmuring filth into Flood's ear — real promises about kitchen counters and porch swings now instead of cellblock threats. Grant's bitten-off groan vibrated through Cliff's chest when Flood came untouched again, his release smearing across Grant's abdomen in a fulfillment of those first illicit encounters against concrete walls.
Deckard's prosthetic knee braced against the headboard as he pistoned into Flood with the same relentless rhythm he'd used in prison guard drills, his teeth flashing when Cliff reached back to grip his hip. The four of them moved like a single organism — Grant rocking into Cliff's hand while Cliff arched back against Deckard's thrusts, Flood's whimpers syncing with Grant's ragged breaths. Sunlight caught the silver in Deckard's stubble when he came with a growl, his forehead dropping against Cliff's shoulder blade as his hips stuttered through the aftershocks.
Grant's laughter filled the room when Flood suddenly pulled away, scrambling off the mattress with clumsy urgency. Cliff barely had time to register the cold absence before Flood returned, pressing an ice cube against Grant's overheated skin. The former inmate's shout melted into a moan as Flood traced the old prison tattoo with freezing precision, his tongue following the meltwater down Grant's ribs. Deckard's chuckle vibrated through Cliff when the older man murmured, "Bet they never taught you that in corrections academy," his calloused palm sliding between Cliff's thighs to find him still hard.
The ice cube clattered to the floorboards when Grant flipped Flood onto his back, pinning him with the same effortless strength that had once made cellblock rumors swirl. Cliff watched Deckard's teeth flash in the afternoon light as he reached for the bedside drawer — years of confiscated contraband yielding a half-empty bottle of lube with a security tag still dangling from the cap. Grant's breath hitched when Cliff spread it across his fingers, the scent of synthetic strawberries mingling with their sweat as he pressed against Flood's twitching hole.
Deckard's prosthetic knee dug into the mattress when he leaned over to suck Grant's shoulder, his voice rough as he guided Cliff's hand. "Deeper," he growled, and Cliff obeyed, watching Flood's toes curl when his fingers brushed that sweet spot. Grant's hips jerked forward involuntarily, his cock smearing precum across Flood's stomach in a glistening trail that Deckard licked away with deliberate slowness. The former head guard's moan vibrated through their tangled limbs when Grant suddenly pulled Cliff's fingers free and replaced them with his tongue, lapping at Flood's fluttering rim with the same precision he'd once used to clean semen from concrete floors.
Flood's thighs trembled when Deckard gripped them wider apart, his calloused thumbs pressing into tender skin. Cliff inhaled sharply as Grant's tongue delved deeper, the inmate's prison-honed breath control allowing him to stay buried between Flood's cheeks long enough to make the younger man sob. Deckard chuckled darkly when Grant finally surfaced for air, his stubble rasping against Flood's inner thigh. "Still remember his taste?" Deckard taunted, dragging Grant's face back down by the hair — just as Flood's hips bucked upward, his cockhead catching Grant's parted lips.
Cliff watched Grant swallow Flood effortlessly, his throat working around the younger man's length while Deckard's fingers dug into Grant's shoulders. The mattress springs creaked under Cliff's weight as he leaned forward, pressing Grant's face flush against Flood's pelvis. Grant's muffled groan vibrated up Flood's shaft when Cliff spat directly onto his tongue — a filthy echo of their first prison encounter — before forcing Grant's mouth downward again.
Flood's fingers scrabbled at the sheets when Grant's nose brushed his pelvis, the inmate's breath hitching through his nostrils loudly enough to echo. Deckard's prosthetic knee braced against the bedframe as he reached between Grant's spread thighs, his thick fingers swirling through the mess Cliff had left earlier. The former head guard's chuckle turned to a hiss when Grant abruptly arched backward, taking Cliff's fingers deeper into his own body while simultaneously swallowing Flood to the root.
The ice cube melted unnoticed on the floorboards as Flood cried out — Grant's teeth grazing his frenulum just as Deckard's thumb found Cliff's stretched rim. Cliff's hips jerked forward when Deckard pushed inside him unexpectedly, their combined weight pressing Flood deeper into Grant's throat. The younger man's thighs trembled violently, torn between thrusting upward into Grant's mouth and squirming away from the overwhelming sensation.
Grant's fingers dug into Flood's hips when the younger guard suddenly came, his release pulsing down Grant's throat in hot spurts that made Deckard groan aloud. The sound vibrated through Cliff's chest as his own climax hit — Grant clenching around his fingers while simultaneously swallowing Flood's sperm. Deckard's prosthetic knee creaked when his hips stuttered against Cliff's ass, his orgasm hitting hard enough to make his teeth click together mid-growl.
The scent of sweat and semen thickened as Grant finally pulled off Flood with an obscene pop, his tongue darting out to catch the last dribble on his chin. Deckard collapsed sideways onto the sweat-slick sheets, dragging Cliff down with him in a tangle of exhausted limbs. Flood whimpered when Grant rolled atop him, their sticky chests pressed together as the ex-inmate licked into his mouth, sharing his own bitter aftertaste.
Grant's teeth scraped Flood's lower lip as Cliff pressed against his back, their bodies forming a sweaty sandwich that pinned the younger man beneath them. Deckard chuckled hoarsely when Flood's hips twitched involuntarily, his oversensitive cock rubbing against Grant's equally spent length. The mattress springs creaked under their combined weight as Grant lazily palmed Flood's softening erection, his calloused fingers coaxing one last weak shudder from the younger man.
Cliff's breath hitched when Deckard's prosthetic knee nudged between his thighs, the older guard's thick fingers finding Cliff's spent cock still slick with Grant's saliva. Their mingled gasps filled the room as Deckard worked them all slowly — Grant's hand on Flood, Cliff's fingers in Grant's hair, Deckard's palm stroking Cliff in tandem with Grant's movements. Flood's broken whimper vibrated against Grant's collarbone when the ex-inmate suddenly bit down hard enough to mark, the sharp pain ricocheting through them all like a chain reaction.
Sleep took them in stages — first Flood, his sweat-damp lashes fluttering against Grant's shoulder as his breathing evened out. Then Grant, his grip slackening on Cliff's wrist even as his hips twitched weakly against Flood's thigh. Cliff lasted longest, watching Deckard's eyelids grow heavy until the older ex-guard's fingers stilled mid-stroke, his raspy snore puffing against Cliff's temple.
Moonlight painted silver stripes across tangled limbs — Grant's bite marks on Flood's shoulder, Deckard's fingerprints bruising Cliff's hips, the old prison tattoo peeking from beneath Grant's palm where it rested on Flood's ribs. Cliff traced the faded ink absently, remembering how those numbers had looked under fluorescents when Grant pressed against cell bars, all desperation and hungry teeth. Now the digits blurred in domestic dimness, softened by shared body heat and Deckard's thigh thrown possessively over Cliff's.
The ceiling fan stirred stale sex-humid air as Cliff inhaled musk and synthetic strawberry lube — foreign luxuries that would've meant solitary confinement six months prior. Grant's sleepy grunt vibrated against Flood's spine when Deckard shifted, his prosthetic knee clicking against Cliff's calf. No alarms blared to separate them. No radios squawked about perimeter breaches. Just four sets of lungs syncing in the dark, Flood's fingers twitching against Grant's hip like he was still reaching for duty belts in dreams.
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