The next day, Mo Zimu sensed something was off. It felt like every man in the block with an appetite for male flesh was watching him, waiting for a chance to strike.

Their eyes were hungry, like ravenous wolves ready to drag him into the shadows at any moment. By midday, he had already been sexually harassed several times. At one point, a prisoner even had the audacity to reach into his pants.

Watching Mo Zimu dodge in embarrassment, Teabag chuckled. “Pretty boy, wanna hide in my arms?”

Mo Zimu kept a stoic expression, ignoring him as he turned to leave with Tom, who had his back. Teabag sneered coldly at his back.

As they walked, Tom muttered, “Fuck, you better lay low in the cell for a few days. Now that bastard’s set you up, every pervert in here’s itching to rip your pants off—”

He turned his head and saw Mo Zimu heading toward A Block. Stunned, he asked, “Where are you going?”

“Going to find Ivan,” Mo Zimu said calmly as he walked to A Block.

Ivan’s cell looked much more comfortable than the others. Although the layout was the same, it was slightly larger and had its own bathroom. Unlike the others, it only had one bed, since he lived alone.

When Mo Zimu walked in, Ivan was drinking and playing cards with Sticks and the others. At the sound of footsteps, he lifted his wide, double-lidded eyes, his silver irises sweeping over Mo Zimu before he frowned and turned back to his cards.

“What do you want?”

Mo Zimu lowered his head for a moment, then suddenly seemed to make up his mind. “I need to speak with you alone.”

Ivan glanced at his cards again, then snapped them shut. “Fuck, lousy hand. We’ll play next time.”

Sticks and the others tossed their cards onto the table. After giving Mo Zimu a quick look, they swaggered out the door.

Ivan leaned back. “Alright, talk. What is it?”

Mo Zimu walked to the doorway, looking through the bars at the eyes watching him from outside. Then, he turned back, yanked the white bedsheet off the bed, and draped it over the bars of the door to block the view.

“Hey, hey!” Ivan shouted, “What the hell are you doing? Don’t you get what this means?”

Mo Zimu turned his head, took off his glasses, and said, “I get what this means. I want to be your partner.”

“I seem to remember telling you that I don’t like men, and I’m not lacking women either,” Ivan said with a smile.

Mo Zimu walked up to him, hesitated for a few seconds, then straddled his lap, eyes lowered. “Why don’t you try it?”

Ivan’s gaze remained as cold as ever, hovering between a smirk and indifference. His eyes were fixed on the other’s slightly parted lips, watching as they slowly moved toward him.

The pace was agonizingly slow, almost painfully so, but Ivan didn’t rush it.

Mo Zimu’s lips paused just before touching Ivan’s, as though hesitating, before finally pressing against them.

His lips were soft, carrying the freshness of youth. Ivan had noticed it the first time he kissed him. But now, beyond that softness, he could also feel the tremor, the heat, like a small, warm creature trembling in his grasp, making him want to seize it and ravage it completely.

Mo Zimu’s kiss was light, barely grazing, but the moan that slipped from his lips was anything but.

Ivan let him kiss for a moment before suddenly grabbing the back of his neck, crushing their lips together. His tongue pushed in, sweeping through like a storm, claiming its territory with swift, decisive force, tangling with Mo Zimu’s.

Mo Zimu’s lashes fluttered open in surprise.

Held firmly in his grasp, Ivan gave Mo Zimu no chance to escape. He kept their lips locked, devouring the kiss with fierce hunger, leaving no room for resistance and stealing every breath Mo Zimu had. Only when he felt him trembling on the verge of breathlessness did he finally pull away, lingering for a moment before reluctantly letting go.

Mo Zimu gasped for air, staring at him.

Ivan admired the panic and confusion in his eyes.

Still panting, Mo Zimu’s voice trembled. “If Boss Ivan really isn’t interested in men, then forget it.”

He made a move to get up, but Ivan tugged him back down onto his lap. His hand landed on Ivan’s thigh, then immediately recoiled as if burned.

“Feels hard, doesn’t it?” Ivan licked his ear. “I don’t like men, but it seems… you might be an exception.”

Mo Zimu was lifted and pushed onto the bed. The stark white sheets contrasted sharply with his dark hair and half-open shirt. The panic in his eyes, the raw fear flickering across his face, shattered the last of Ivan’s restraint. His gaze darkened as he stripped away Mo Zimu’s shirt.

A cold sweat clung to the tip of Mo Zimu’s nose. His chest tightened as his gaze flickered toward the door. Propping himself up, he stammered, his voice trembling with desperation. “No… no, Boss Ivan, I… I haven’t decided yet. Please… let me go back and think about it…”

“Who was moaning so loudly just now, huh? Everyone will think we did it. If you try to leave now, won’t they misunderstand and think I’m Uncle Norton? You left me with no choice!” Ivan pressed down on him, like a bear pouncing on a rabbit.

Rabbits could run fast, but no rabbit could carry a bear.

Mo Zimu was completely pinned down, unable to move.

“Ivan, I promise I won’t go and tell anyone. I swear!” He realize he was in a dead end, but he still tried to struggle and escape.

“Seven… Thank you, but I’d rather you go out and say that I’m great and that you love having sex with me!” Ivan looked at Mo Zimu with a greedy gaze, his breath growing shallow and heavy with desire.

He licked the back of Mo Zimu’s neck, pulling open his shirt, completely ignoring his refusals and struggles. He kissed the smooth part of his back from top to bottom, then began to tug at the waistband of Mo Zimu’s pants.

This time, Mo Zimu was truly panicked. “Ivan, calm down. You’re not gay. Remember? You like women with big breasts. Think about their curves…”

But Ivan had already pulled down his pants. His eyes lingered on the tattoo along the curve of Mo Zimu’s ass. A soft murmur escaped his lips, “Heaven…”

He pressed down on Mo Zimu’s waist, took a bottle of lubricant from under the pillow, and used his index finger to apply it into his entrance.

The indescribably cool sensation seemed to snap Mo Zimu awake. He stopped his futile struggles.

Ivan’s mind wandered back to the library, to the moment when the halo of light shone on Seven’s head. The sight had caught him off guard, searing itself into his memory, refusing to fade.

When he was little, the nuns in the church said that angels live in everyone’s heart. As long as you believe, they will stay there until one day you no longer believe.

Eight-year-old Ivan had only one word for that. Bullshit.

But that day in the library, for the first time in his life, it felt like he had really seen an angel. His heart pounded, fast and unsteady, like a boy experiencing his first stirrings of emotion.

Or at least, that was the closest he could describe it. Whether he had ever truly been a boy in that sense, he could no longer remember.

People treated angels differently. Some sought their company, some their blessings, but for Ivan, an angel who could make his heart race was something to conquer and possess.

Yet he understood Seven’s attitude toward him all too well. Indifference tinged with a hint of disdain.

That should have been frustrating, but Ivan was a man who cared about results. He had patience, and he knew how to play the long game.

No matter his current predicament, Seven had a sharp mind and a strong sense of justice. He gravitated toward people like himself, those he could relate to. Ivan recognized this and knew better than to provoke someone so resolute.

He understood that in the wild, the most dangerous creature wasn’t a tiger. It was a buffalo. If you failed to kill a buffalo outright, it would turn and hunt you down. To Ivan, Seven’s personality was that of a buffalo through and through. Clever, strong-willed, and fiercely determined.

Yet even the fiercest buffalo could fall into a well-laid trap. Seven had made a fatal mistake. Prey should never look down on a hunter, especially one as experienced as Ivan.

Ivan was the kind of hunter who set the perfect trap and waited patiently for his prey to walk in on its own. And once it did, there would be no escape.

As Ivan savored the preparation, he said, “Seven, don’t be afraid. You’re going to enjoy this. This isn’t anything like those two pathetic rape you remember.”

“How is this any different from rape?!” Mo Zimu snapped, his face flushing with anger and humiliation at the sight of the lube Ivan had prepared in advance.

Ivan’s expression remained calm, almost amused. “Of course it’s different. You’re willing,” he replied smoothly. “Who ran into my room and said he wanted to sleep with me? You. Who asked to be my bed partner? You. Who hung the sheets on the door so everyone would think we were having sex? You.”

His sharp brow arched slightly, and his deep-set eyes lifted, dark with something unspeakably wicked. “I love the way you tempt me, baby. You’ve done a damn good job.”

Mo Zimu’s heart sank. He shut his eyes, realizing too late that he had walked right into this man’s trap.

Ivan kissed the tattoo on Mo Zimu’s skin, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles over it. Though everything was prepared, he moved with calculated patience, refusing to rush his own satisfaction.

His hand slid to the front, but before he could go further, Mo Zimu grabbed his wrist. “Just get on with it.”

Ivan chuckled. “I am getting on with it. The most important part is making sure you enjoy it.”

Unlike Norton’s seductive approach, Ivan was the type who always stayed in control. He didn’t just coax desire out of Mo Zimu. He commanded it, leading the pace of their sex with precise dominance.

Not too fast. Not too slow. Just enough to draw him deeper and deeper into the haze.

Only after Mo Zimu settled into the rhythm did Ivan carefully enter, but not deeply. His movements were deliberate, with shallow, measured thrusts that kept a steady, unhurried pace.

His fingers found Mo Zimu’s nipple, pinching and rolling it with the same calculated rhythm. Ivan watched closely, observing how deeply Mo Zimu was sinking into his own desire.

Mo Zimu’s lips remained tightly pressed together, a last act of defiance against the pleasure overwhelming him. Yet, he couldn’t control his body’s natural responses, each movement drawing him further into the sensation.

When Ivan gradually deepened, hitting his sensitive spot, Mo Zimu couldn’t help but moan. He buried his face in the blankets, gripping them tightly, trying to restrain himself from giving in to the sensation of being overwhelmed.

Ivan didn’t force him to release this defensive posture, instead intensifying his own movements.

The room was filled with the rhythmic creaking of the metal bed, Ivan’s heavy breaths, and Mo Zimu’s muffled moans, stifled against the bedding.

After release, Mo Zimu’s body finally relaxed, his face flushed, and a fine layer of sweat clung to his smooth forehead. Ivan pressed down on his slender hand, guiding it over his thick length, coaxing him to move in sync. His voice was low, almost teasing. “A violinist should have nimble hands.”

Mo Zimu had kept his eyes shut the entire time, but now they snapped open. His voice was sharp with anger. “Don’t talk about the violin.”

“Okay, okay…” Ivan murmured, his lips brushing against Mo Zimu’s as he kissed him. Yet his hand didn’t stop. He continued to guide Mo Zimu’s nearly perfect fingers along his length, maintaining the rhythm.

The room grew thick with something intoxicating. It was like a rose in full bloom, its petals spilling in excess, releasing a rich, overripe scent that clung to the air.

—–

Ivan came out of the bathroom and saw Mo Zimu sitting on the bed, silently holding the bottle of premium lubricant. He smiled and said, “Do you like it? If not, I’ll switch to something else next time.”

Mo Zimu didn’t respond, instead getting up and walking toward the bathroom. As soon as he entered, Ivan followed him. Mo Zimu snapped, “Aren’t you done already?”

Ivan raised an eyebrow slightly. “Seven, as your partner, it’s my duty to undress you.” He said, gently but firmly removing Mo Zimu’s shirt, his eyes lingering on the marks scattered across his body.

Mo Zimu sighed, turning his back to him. He had set the dog after the rabbit, the wolf after the dog, and the bear after the wolf.

Yet somehow, he remained the prey.

Ivan pulled his pants down, and the two of them showered together, naked. He wrapped one arm around Mo Zimu’s waist, pressing close. For a moment, Mo Zimu didn’t dare to move, afraid that any action would ignite Ivan’s lust, but his thoughts were in vain.

The hard pressure against his back told him that, even if he didn’t move an inch, he couldn’t stop the bear’s lust.

Ivan turned him around, pinned him against the wall, and kissed him, his hands roaming over his body.

Mo Zimu struggled a few times before finally breaking free from Ivan’s lips and said, “Hey, I don’t want to do this anymore!”

“But I do. I really do…” Ivan’s lips curled into a half-smile, and from beneath his lowered eyelids, his silvery-gray eyes glinted.

His gaze was like a wolf’s, confident and cold, as though saying, “Once I’ve set my eyes on prey, it’s never escaped my grasp.”

“We’re partners?”

“You decide.”

Mo Zimu took a deep breath. “Shouldn’t partners only do this when both need it?”

Ivan stared at him, seemingly weighing the underlying meaning in his words.

Mo Zimu frowned and said, “I really can’t take it anymore. I’m not like you, you know.”

Ivan smiled. “True, I forgot you’re fragile…” His tone was lazy, laced with a teasing hint that was hard to pinpoint, whether it was mockery or affection.

He finally released Mo Zimu, who let out a relieved sigh. It seemed like things were at a temporary standstill, but Mo Zimu knew he was still trapped in Ivan’s grasp.

He quickly got dressed.

Ivan took his time pulling on his pants, his body muscular and impressive, a clear result of intense training. The showy muscles swayed in front of Mo Zimu’s eyes.

“Do you know any combat techniques?”

Ivan smiled faintly and said, “Do you want to learn?”

“Is it possible?”

Ivan pulled him close and lowered his head to look at his long, dark eyelashes. “One lesson, one time in bed.”

Mo Zimu lowered his gaze and said, “Aren’t we partners?”

Ivan burst into laughter. “Seven, are you trying to extort me? If you really want to be my partner, I’ll have you transferred to A Block to live with me. How about that?”

“Deal!” Mo Zimu quickly responded. “You said it earlier, one lesson for one time in bed. Teach me this lesson now.”

This time, even Ivan was taken aback.

When he said “deal,” Ivan felt a strange sense of pleasure, but the latter part of the sentence made him realize Seven was bargaining.

Seven was like a hunted target, coveted by many. He couldn’t play the role of a noble protector, nor did he want to sacrifice himself unnecessarily. Instead, he pursued the least harm and the greatest gain, advancing cautiously step by step.

Ivan thought this to himself, but spoke lightly, “Do you know about Chinese Jeet Kune Do?”

Mo Zimu lifted his head, never expecting Ivan to mention Chinese martial arts. He nodded in response.

“Come on, attack me!” Ivan said, and as soon as the words left his mouth, Mo Zimu swiftly raised his hand and slapped him across the face. The speed was so fast it was nearly impossible to avoid.

Ivan tilted his head back, his hand shooting upwards to strike at Mo Zimu’s joint. With a quick pull and twist, he locked Mo Zimu’s arm behind his back and slammed him onto the bed. He smiled lazily. “Baby, this is a joint lock from Jeet Kune Do. You can think of it as a back insertion.”

He held Mo Zimu there, letting the tension linger, as if wanting him to fully grasp the feeling of being overpowered before finally releasing his grip.