Lockdown

Guards Tommy Blade and Derek Foster live for the boss's lockdown calls. Finally, they pin down Matt Cole and Owen Hawk—those inmates who've burned in their sights for too damn long. The cell block falls silent, save for the click of locks and the heavy rasp of breaths. Tommy grabs Matt's wrist, yanks him against the cold bars, his free hand already tearing at the orange jumpsuit's zipper. Fabric rips open, exposing Matt's taut chest, nipples hardening in the chill. Derek corners Owen in the shadows, rough palms shoving him face-first to the wall, grinding his hips forward with a growl that promises no mercy. They strip them bare—jumpsuits pooling at ankles, cocks springing free, thick and ready. Tommy's mouth claims Matt's neck, biting just hard enough to mark, while his fingers wrap around that pulsing shaft, stroking with deliberate, teasing pulls. Derek spins Owen around, drops to his knees, and swallows him deep, throat working like a vice, saliva slicking every inch. The air thickens with moans, the guards' belts unbuckling in unison, unleashing their own straining lengths. No words needed; just raw, pent-up need exploding in the lockdown's grip.