"That sucks. More. Hit it, come on!" Daniel, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his forearm, the sweat pouring from his eyes, feeling his overworked muscles shaking tiredly, got back into his stance and began pounding the void. His breath was hitching, his lungs were burning, sweat was pouring down, his legs were trembling, and he could no longer feel his hands. But he kept pounding and waited for Sennoy to get away from him. Hurry up, hurry up, he had no strength left. Finally, Sennoy reluctantly gave up, "All right, that's enough. You hit like a dough kneader. Fucking brainiac."

"What do you expect from him?" Vlad said reasonably. "He's never fought anyone in America, or here either. He must have experience, and practice. What's the point of fighting with nothing?"

Daniel was relieved to get his breath back in order. He should have gone to the washbasin, washed himself, changed his clothes, but he had no strength to take a step. After a long hard day, the intensified exercise program was trampling. Sennoy had set himself and him an impossible task and was only making things worse.

"Practice, you say?" Sennoy squinted his eyes gamblingly. "Why not?"

"And who will you put him against?" Andron revived unpleasantly. "Maybe against Sonka?"

"Sonka will wipe him out in one or two," Sennoy waved him away, concentrating his thoughts. "Katka or Natashka would do."

Daniel stirred, gaining perspective and tensing. It was one thing to hammer a void, another to hammer a living person. And for what? To please the cons?

"Maybe I'll just keep practicing alone after all," Daniel swallowed nervously. "I'd rather not..."

"What I say is what you'll do, understand?" Sennoy glared menacingly, crouched down, reading the reaction, and Daniel nodded slowly, moving toward his bunk. How could he not understand - if Sennoy said to beat him, he would be beaten. Disgusting. Allegedly looking out for his best interests, trying to make him tougher and stronger, fucking Pygmalion. But really he's just having fun out of boredom.

Daniel grabbed his washcloths and clean clothes and wandered tiredly to the washbasin. He stripped naked, ignoring the heavy, lustful stares and sarcastic comments about his ass. He soaked in cold water a piece of waffle towel, adapted for such rubbing, and began to rub hot muscles with sharp, quick movements, washing away the tart, sour sweat. He noted to himself that over the last few months he had grown stronger, had built up a rigid muscular frame - the muscles rolled elastically under his skin: hard, embossed. He'd never had a frame like this before. Not a lumpy Hulk, of course, but no longer a pampered white-collar boy who made sure his body was healthy and trim. His legs remained the same-they'd always been strong but dry, like any marathon runner's should be - but his torso had been transformed, as had his arms. It seemed to Daniel that even in the shoulders he'd gotten wider - at least the prison robe at work was pressing slightly at the seam.

Without delaying the process of public ablution, he rubbed himself a few times, finally washing away the sweat, put his head under the faucet, raising the temperature of the water to lukewarm. And, sniffing under the water, he straightened up, wiping his hair vigorously. It had already grown back into elastic, tight curls - almost to the length it had been before the prison. Sennoy had ordered Bannick not to cut it too short, which was disgusting. Apparently, the curls made Daniel more feminine, and it was more pleasant for Sennoy to fuck him that way.

Daniel stumbled at the entrance to the house, almost hitting Sennoy. There was a towel hanging from his shoulder - the same towel. The signal. Daniel looked down for a moment.

"Go to the corner," Sennoy said quietly, and Daniel turned around, holding back a dejected sigh. He tossed the wet roll on the nightstand - he'd sort it out later - picked up another smaller roll and went into their cubbyhole, preparing mentally and abstracting himself as he went.

Sennoy followed him step by step, almost touching their bodies - almost, because Sennoy would never risk finishing himself like that, he valued his status too much. But apparently, he liked walking on the edge of the blade, missed the thrill he was used to, so he often shortened the distance between them, provoking those around him. A couple of times the fools, deprived of the instinct of self-preservation, yelled rashly that Sennoy was interested in fucking the rooster, that he had softened, that maybe he was already contacted, but kept silent about, that... Both times the fools failed to finish - they choked not only on their words, but also on their own teeth, howling with pain. Sennoy once again emphasized his supremacy, the highest place in the food chain. The hound pack, sensitive to nonverbal cues, crouched obediently to the ground in awe and admiration. Daniel alone had nothing to gain from this transaction - the extra attention he received was dangerous. As it was, he was different from the other downgraded: he ate sweetly, slept in safety, served only one, did light work. Favoritism hit the favored first - an immutable truism.

"Blowjob or from behind?" Daniel paused in the cubbyhole, looking down at Sennoy's felt boots.

'Suck it,' Sennoy's voice was hoarse. "Take your time."

"Okay," Daniel knelt down, frozen in anticipation - Sennoy was in no hurry to expose his cock, standing over him with a slight fuzzy smile.

"Pull it out yourself," Senenny smiled more clearly and glittered his eyes warningly at his uncertain hands. "Not with your fucking hands! With your mouth."

Daniel gritted his teeth, catching his breath - this was the kind of game Sennoy had never played before. He accepted the terms of the game and, carefully hooking his teeth into the waistband of his soft flannel pants, pulled them down. It was lucky, perhaps, that after lights out Sennoy changed into his home clothes, the stiff prison pants would have been much harder to unbutton and pull down with his teeth.

"Eyes on me," Sennoy spread his legs wider, breathing more heavily. Daniel obediently fixed his gaze on his steely eyes, pulling the elastic band of his underwear, which, unlike his stretched old pants, was harder to pull down, resisting stubbornly, but Daniel tugged harder, feeling his jaw ache from the strain.

His erection throbbed with anticipation, a bead of pre-cum glistening on the tip, emanating a scent of spicy musk and faint sweat. Daniel paid little heed to the stiffening cock, deliberately lowering his briefs slowly - urging himself to maintain composure, to not rush. Yet, Sennoy's impatience grew evident as he grumbled.

"That's enough, let's get on with it!"

Daniel, maintaining an inscrutable gaze, enveloped the slick head with his mouth, swirling it around his palate, pressing it with his tongue. Without taking it deep, he began to tease the head with gentle strokes of his tongue, like licking a lollipop - he needed to be cautious, to avoid any mishaps. Judging by Sennoy's voracious gaze, he was thoroughly aroused by the foreplay and could come sooner than expected. Daniel worked his mouth skillfully, circling the head with his tongue, applying pressure with his palate, swallowing saliva mixed with the salty fluid - he had grown accustomed to the taste and scent. Sennoy, barely restraining himself from thrusting deeper into Daniel's throat, displayed tension through clenched teeth and tense jaw muscles. Patience. He savored the tantalizing sensations, albeit insufficient.

Daniel, on the edge of consciousness, realized he had mastered the art of pulling away while maintaining focus. It was a precarious balance, one that could easily overwhelm him mentally - better to compartmentalize, to stay sane. But his rational thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the slap of a towel. Sennoy wrapped the towel around the back of Daniel's head and began to thrust vigorously, never breaking eye contact, intensifying his assault with each movement, growling with each thrust. Daniel whimpered, trembling on strained knees, clutching the hot radiator tightly to prevent himself from collapsing onto Sennoy. Though his throat reflexively constricted as the cock penetrated deeper, Daniel suppressed the urge to gag through sheer willpower. After a few more thrusts, a meager stream of semen shot down his throat. Daniel swallowed quickly, his throat inflamed, his mouth salty and sour - all slightly more intense than usual.

"How come you never shed a tear?" The question caught Daniel off guard, snapping him out of his reverie.

"What do you mean?" Daniel muttered, getting up with a grunt.

"Well, it's common for roosters to tear up during blowjobs - a natural response to the gag reflex," Sennoy explained, pulling up his pants and underwear and fetching a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "But I've never seen it happen with you."

"I hardly cry at all," Daniel replied quietly. "It's just not in me."

"Boys don't cry?" Sennoy smirked, blowing a stream of smoke out the partially open window. "You can't control your body's natural reactions, no one can."

"No, it's just how it is," Daniel shrugged, feeling irritated despite himself. "I haven't shed a tear since my dad died, when I was eighteen."

"Ah," Sennoy's tone shifted, and he coughed awkwardly. "Was it really that traumatic?"

"Yes," Daniel replied tersely, sensing an unspoken directive to continue. "Very. It was a sudden accident. I haven't cried since then, maybe I have some sort of tear duct issue."

"I see," Sennoy, losing interest, turned to stare out the window into the gloomy blue beyond. "Go back to the house, I'll stay here a bit longer."

As Daniel returned to the house, Sennoy approached the headboard of the bed, leaning down and asking cautiously,

"Did you love your father a lot?"

Daniel, barely awake, struggled to open his heavy eyelids, meeting Sennoy's expectant gaze. Abiding by the unspoken rule to always speak truthfully in the zone, he replied hoarsely.

"I despised him."

Sennoy raised his eyebrows in surprise, humming thoughtfully, but didn't press further, silently retreating with the poise of a seasoned athlete to his own space. Daniel turned onto his side, hoping the subject wouldn't be revisited. He had long ago forbidden himself from dwelling on thoughts of his father, and he had no desire to be reminded. There was no need - that chapter of his life had been closed and buried beneath the weight of others: normal, bright, and pure. And eventually, the chapter of prison life would be buried as well.