Metal screeches as the Patron collapses, an empty vessel once more. The fighting grinds to a halt. Shiv spits blood on the pavement and watches their rivals walk away. He could do something about it, but the bloodlust has dwindled to a bland simmer under his skin. Defeat settles like a lead blanket across his shoulders. Now more than anything he wants a smoke and maybe a drink or seven.
“Shit,” mutters Fairfax beside him. As if they read his mind, they offer him a cigarette. Their own is already lit and dangling from their lips; it doesn’t do much to dispel their dead-eyed expression.
“Yeah. Shit.” His eyes burn when he lights up.
“I thought we did alright.” It sounds like there’s something stuck in the kid’s throat. Their smoke escapes on a reedy, uneven exhale.
“More than alright. Don’t matter though. They were better.” They don’t ask what now? Shiv’s grateful; he wouldn’t have an answer. Tomorrow he’ll start hunting for another way to solve his problem. Tonight, though… “Wanna drink?”
“God, yes.”
He prepped for that fucking ritual for months. He’s known Fairfax — Pocket — for less than half that time, but the kid is tolerable company. Quiet, sardonic. Got that haunted look about them, but Shiv knows enough of that story to understand.
Even without smiling much, they’re easy on the eyes. Not that it should matter. They’re too young for him, too serious for his tastes even if they weren’t. Probably the type to get attached.
Shiv shouldn’t have brought them here. He ought to turn them away. The beast likes them, but that’s all the more reason to send them packing. Instead, he’s let them into his home, let them drink his bourbon. He’d blame the beast for that too, but more than anything else, he doesn’t want to be alone right now. Solitude would give him time to dwell on it.
“Is it rude to ask what you were gonna wish for?” they ask. It’s taken them two fingers of bourbon to work up the nerve — or to get past their own failure long enough to care about his.
“No, but it ain’t your business either.”
Their wide mouth tics up, barely, like they’re tempted to smile. Their eyes are too intense for that though. “You called yourself a beast. When you were… doing whatever you were doing.”
Shiv snorts. “You never heard of a metaphor? Or, what’s it, a simile?”
There it is again, that almost-smile. “I don’t remember the difference. I didn’t finish school.”
“Me neither. Probably different reasons though.”
“Probably,” they say dryly.
“Bet you were a teacher’s pet though.”
“Only if the teacher wanted something from my parents. I was an average student.”
They probably never expected their future to require more than wealth to be exceptional. Shiv’s got no idea what that’s like; he’s better off now than he’s ever been, and he’s still certain Max Fairfax makes more money in his sleep than Shiv makes in a year.
He’s got nothing in common with Pocket past today’s colossal loss.
It doesn’t stop the kid from throwing him that look. They probably think they’re being subtle, but Shiv’s on the receiving end of it often enough. He knows what it signifies.
Whatever else might be on their mind, what they say is: “It was some kind of magic though, wasn’t it? I saw that relic you carry around.”
“Can’t give away trade secrets, kid.” Shiv tips back the last of his drink, sets it down too loudly on the table. “It’s gettin’ late. Want me to call you a cab?”
“No.” Their dark eyes flash and their mouth curves in a way that makes the beast take notice. Maybe those glances weren’t ever meant to be subtle. He should have learned by now not to underestimate them.
It doesn’t stop him from getting to his feet. “Would you rather walk home?”
“No.” They meet his eye for a moment, and he keeps his face as still as he knows how. Then they stand too, shoulders drooping. “Did you really invite me over just for a drink?”
“Guess so. Anybody ever tell you that you ask too many questions?”
“A few times, yeah,” they scoff, and their hand twitches subtly. Shiv’s spine prickles with paranoia before he realizes they’re not trying to hurt him; it’s some instinct, maybe reaching for the wound that should have killed them years ago.
Deflating, Shiv says, “You don’t have to go. Just… quit bein’ so nosy.”
“I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“Yeah? Is conversation what you’re here for?”
Their cheeks bloom with sudden pink, as if they didn’t ask him nearly the same thing only moments ago. “Maybe. Some of it. I don’t know.” They won’t look him in the eye now. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
Sympathy twists in his gut. He could play it cool, or he could do the responsible thing and send them on their way anyway. They’ve survived worse; they’ll do it again. But he’s grown a soft spot for them since they met, and that’s without accounting for everything the beast wants. “Me neither,” he says simply.
They nod, eyes rising to search his face. Pocket’s eyes are always intense, but not like this. It’s unbearable how deep their gaze cuts, like it could peel back the flesh to find the beast that’s suddenly begging to get out. His skin hums and his gums tingle with the fangs that want to break through.
Pocket doesn’t know that. They’re closing in on him, and he’s done this shit too many times not to know what’s coming. Somehow it still surprises him.
They squeeze their eyes shut and kiss him.
It’s too much, too sweet. The beast inside won’t settle for something like that. He can only hold it at bay for so long. He breathes shakily through his nose once, twice, and then it claws its way out.
He snarls, lunges, makes that kiss harder and deeper than before. He’s cut Pocket’s lip on his teeth. Blood spills into his mouth, and all he can do is whine like a desperate dog and chase the taste of it.
He backs them into the wall. They grunt, but they don’t back out of it. No blood or dull pain is going to stop them.
They’re clinging, clawing, nails digging into the nape of his neck, tangling in the back of his shirt. Closer, closer. Now that he’s started, it’s all he wants. He presses in and in, first his body, then hips then a thigh. Pocket’s legs spread and Shiv’s knee knocks the wall between them, and now he can feel it, the hard, throbbing proof that Pocket wants it just like this.
The hand at his back circles to his waist, plucks at his belt. It’s too certain; it speaks of experience. Shiv wouldn’t care — shouldn’t — but the beast snarls again with the thought. God, he’s barely known them a month, but the creature doesn’t care. It’s staking its claim.
Their hand dives into his briefs, and he can’t think much at all. His teeth catch their lip again, this time on purpose, and his hips rut forward, and heat coils tightly in his core.
It’s like a dam breaking. All he wants, all he’s held back, it’s all right here, under his tongue, under his hands.
Pocket isn’t going to break. He crushes them harder against the wall and they bite right back against his mouth. Their fingers curl up and in, palm grinding against his dick, and he can’t keep kissing. Not now. Not like this. He’s going to bite their tongue off.
He pulls away with a growl, and then his teeth are in their neck. He can hear their pulse racing, their heart thudding heavy in their chest, and it only makes him fuck into their hand all the harder. Their head falls back, neck exposed. It should read as weakness, surrender, submission, but Shiv’s the one whose knees are turning to rubber.
Their other hand slips down, digging into the meat of his ass, using that grip to keep his hips thrusting into theirs.
His tongue slides over salty skin, and their blood pounds just beneath the surface, all of it offered freely. He thinks he could do anything, take anything, and Pocket would accept it.
He bites, but the skin doesn’t break. They shudder, hand working between his wet thighs, and they’re hard against him, straining desperately for his touch.
“Shiv, I—” They cut off as suddenly as they began, with Shiv’s hand stroking them through their trousers, his mouth trailing down their long neck, teeth scraping, the taste of their skin and the scent of their arousal sitting thick on his tongue.
It’s frantic. Messy. It’s exactly what he wanted and exactly what he feared — to lose himself in somebody, and to feel them clawing beneath his skin never to come out, as potent as the beast that overtakes him.
His teeth dig deeper, and he hears their shivery breath in his ear, and he can’t stop rutting into their hand, pressure and heat building and building until it finally explodes inside his body.
Pocket holds him close through it, pulling their hand away only when he winces. He eases his teeth out of their neck, shocked there’s no blood. But even the marks there are blunt, save for the incisors. Perfectly human.
His head spins. He’s come too close to losing control. He seizes the opportunity to take it back.
He nips at their ear, grinning fiercely at their gasp, then slides to his knees. “Don’t touch the hair,” he growls, and they nod, looking stunned and sweaty as he yanks open their trousers.
Once they’re exposed from waist to thigh, he doesn’t waste any time getting his mouth on their cock. Salt bursts over his tongue, and silky skin slips easily between his lips. It’s been a long time since he last did this, but the breathless cursing above him says his muscle memory ain’t bad.
Between his fist and his mouth he works up a lathery rhythm until Pocket is shaking, and their curses turn into muffled, wordless sounds. A glance up shows they’ve pressed a hand to their mouth, the same one they just had inside him, smearing his taste along their lips and cheek. Heat punches him in the gut again, pulses between his legs.
He’s tempted to draw this out, bring them to the brink again and again until they’re begging, but the beast is clawing at his throat again and he doesn’t have that kind of patience. His mouth pops off their cock, and they make a noise that almost forces him to reconsider.
Then he’s on his feet again and swallowing all their distressed sounds. He can taste himself on their lips and he’s sure they could say the same, and they moan high and desperate when he seizes their hair in one fist and their cock in the other.
They’re trembling again by the time he tears his mouth away. “I’m gonna fuck you,” he purrs, lips catching along their jawline.
It takes a few shaky breaths before they can say, “Please.”
He doesn’t laugh, but it’s a near thing. He yanks them along to the bedroom quick enough that they’re still dazed when they get there. Then he pushes, and they land hard on their ass on the bed. “Take your clothes off.”
Their hands shake as they do it. He didn’t bother turning a light on, but he can see that much by the glow from the window. They’re watching him too, though, and he can hear how fast their breathing is.
Panting like an animal at the state he’s put them in. He smirks. Yeah, this is exactly what he needed.
“On all fours,” he says once they’re naked. Maybe he’ll have time to linger on the sight of them later, but for now, he’ll instead appreciate how fast they do as he says, and how well they hold that pose while he gets everything he wants.
It may have been a while since he needed it, but the harness still fits the same. Leather bites just under his ass as he tugs and tightens, fitting his cock into place.
In no time, he’s on his knees on the bed, fingers slicked up and prying at Pocket’s hole. They shudder and tense up, but he doesn’t even have to say anything to get them to relax again. They do it on their own.
More than that, they groan when he pushes a second finger in, spine arching until they’re pressing into his hand. He rewards their eagerness by massaging into their prostate until they’re cursing again, pushing their sweaty face into his sheets to muffle the sound.
“You ready?” he asks, mostly as a formality. Whatever useless affirmation they mumble against the bedding is answer enough.
They open up almost as easily for his cock, but he’s nice enough to go slower on this one, working in careful thrusts until he can bury it to the hilt in one long slide.
Then he does it again, and again, fascinated by the bunch of their shoulders and the shiver in their spine and the twitch of their tight little ass around him. He digs his fingers in around their waist and squeezes, but the beast lurks under the surface and he has to pry his nails out of their skin. The metal hand can stay though.
Their hand snags on his hip to urge him on. Who knows when or how much the beast will try to come out now? He can’t let them feel it. He snatches their wrist and pins it in the small of their back, and they only moan, “Oh, God,” and writhe on his cock.
Slick drools down his thighs, and he throbs between his legs with every thrust. He can almost feel how Pocket trembles and squeezes along his cock, the same way he can still feel his right arm sometimes. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the feeling of their hole clinging hungrily around every inch.
The pressure builds there and in his thighs and stomach and spine, until the muscles want to lock and the only thing preventing it is fucking ruthlessly into them until his hips sting with the force.
“Fuck, fuck,” Pocket is mumbling, or something like it, high and pleading.
Shiv’s too far gone to answer, jaw clenched as he drives again and again into them. The pressure mounts until it threatens to overwhelm him, until his muscles clench and shake, until his whole body floods with euphoric heat.
His thrusts grow erratic as he rides the wave, then he finally releases Pocket’s wrist so he can grab their cock instead. It practically leaps into his hand at this point, desperate for release, and Pocket’s fingers tangle with his as together they jerk them off, with Shiv’s unflagging cock still buried deep inside. They sob one last time into his bedding, then they twitch and curse and spill all over it.
He’s careful as he eases out, clumsy as he pulls the sweaty leather straps off of his body. When he looks up again, Pocket’s staring. Shiv can’t risk a glance, so he balls his hand into a fist instead, and he finds only blunt nails. One is chipped and jagged from the action earlier today, but they’re all perfectly human.
The reminder of why they’re even here threatens to dampen his mood, but he shoves it aside and settles back on the bed.
Pocket has only moved enough that they’re not lying in their own mess, but otherwise they look boneless, satisfied. They’re quiet for a time before they work up whatever nerve they needed to ask, “Do you want me to go?”
Shiv should say yes. He got what he needed out of them. He hopes he gave them something they needed too. “I’m not a cuddler.” Their face tightens, bracing for the worst. “But you can stay if you make yourself useful,” he adds with a smirk.
“How’s that?”
As he guides them between his legs, as he feels the first sleepy slither of their tongue up the inside of his thigh, as his fingers thread into their thick hair, he holds the despair of today’s defeat at arm’s length a little longer. He’ll figure it out tomorrow. Tonight, right here, he still reigns.