Chapter Text
Arin wakes to a metallic clatter and the smell of coffee. Regaining consciousness takes a real nosedive after that.
They’re sore, kind of all over, but especially their ass — inside and out. As a distant secondary concern, their hand has gone numb and tingly where the belt they looped around their wrist got too snug in the night. But worst is remembering why any of those problems exist in the first place.
The sun isn’t even out yet, and Lash is up and about. Arin can hear him moving around, but they haven’t yet decided if they’re ready to announce that they’re awake. It’s going to be unbearable.
They must have done something to catch his attention though, because the bed shakes — did Lash kick it? — and then he’s saying, “Hey, princess.”
Arin groans into the pillow. “Don’t call me that.”
“You like coffee?”
“What?” They lift up to look over their shoulder, and there’s Lash at the end of the bed — and yes, he’s jiggling the mattress with his foot, but he’s also holding mismatched mugs, one in each big hand.
With a great deal of suspicion and a heroic attempt not to wince, Arin untangles the belt from their wrist and eases upright. Sitting feels exactly as horrible as they thought it would, but they hide the shudder by yanking Lash’s frayed quilt over their lap.
“I do like coffee,” they say with as much composure as they can muster.
“Good. I made too much.”
Lash thrusts the cup at them. It’s either grab it or let it spill hot all over their lap, and Arin’s already in enough pain this morning.
“Thank you.” If it sounds like a question, that’s Lash’s fault for suddenly demonstrating a measure of hospitality. Lash grunts, and he stands there looking at them. “I’ll get out of your hair soon,” Arin promises.
“Kind of scrawny, aren’t you?”
Ah, there’s the Lash they met last night. “Okay?”
“There’s eggs.”
Arin sips at the coffee to buy themself a second. It could taste like mud and they’d probably still love the way it perks them up, but this is pretty good, actually. “Did you… make too many of those too?”
“Yep.”
“If you’re angling for another round, it’s not happening. I need to be able to walk today.”
Lash laughs, because playing to his ego will always work, and then he’s fetching a plateful of scrambled eggs and a fork. Arin’s stomach growls appreciatively, but that doesn’t make them less suspicious. Jacob Lash, serving breakfast in bed? There’s a catch here. It doesn’t stop them from scraping the plate clean.
The bill comes due after Lash has collected the dishes and dropped them into the sink. He says, “Roll over.”
“Did you hear me?” Arin asks, panicked but maybe a little turned on. Their voice is doing something weird that they do not want to think about. “You’re not putting that monster back inside me.”
Lash’s pants are already off again, and looking at it again, Arin’s really not sure how they didn’t die last night. “Aww, does the princess need time to recover?”
Desperate for some way to put him off, they ask, “Why princess? Is it because I told you not to?”
Lash grabs their wrist, pulls until their hand is flexed, palm up. “Don’t know what you’re doing in this part of town, baby, ’cause these hands haven’t seen a day of real work in their lives.” Next to Lash’s thick calluses and split-skinned knuckles, the point is pretty clear.
Panic, real panic this time, spikes cold in their stomach, and they pull their hand away. They’re supposed to be dead, and there are tons of well off people in this city, and what are the chances some guy from down at the docks even knows or cares about the name Fairfax? It’s fine. They’re going to be fine. Maybe the bigger shock is that Lash noticed something past the end of his own nose.
Lacking a better distraction, Arin rolls over.
“If I feel your dick, it’s getting cut off,” they say, but their heart’s not in it, not while it’s still pounding, sending that sick cold feeling through their veins.
Oblivious, Lash says, “Just trying to empty my balls before work, but I’m feeling generous this morning. You can pick where.”
It makes Arin’s face burn, but not as much as Lash’s hand skimming over their ass, pressing down on the marks he’s left there. They gasp, shocked at the sudden flood of desire that seems wired to the bruises there.
“Ooh, that looks like it hurts,” Lash says without an ounce of remorse. It is far too easy for him to get his thumb inside. It aches, the same bruised feeling inside as out, and Arin clenches reflexively.
They’re tempted to kick him, and they’re hard as a rock, digging into the mattress.
The thumb disappears, then Lash’s knee settles between their thighs, keeping them spread as he works two wet fingers back in, turns them so his knuckles are dragging over and over and over that spot that makes Arin see sparks.
“Slut,” he says, almost affectionately, and Arin’s breath blows humid against the pillow. “Not just anybody can take the Lash’s cock, but you did, didn’t you? Got you bruised up and wrecked and you’re still hungry for more. Such a mess back here. Would be so easy to slide right back in there. You’d take it and love it just like before.”
They can feel their hips moving in tiny flexes, dragging their cock through increasingly damp sheets. Even as they say, “Don’t you dare,” some part of them thinks Lash is right, that they would just let him and damn the consequences.
“I won’t. You gotta earn it next time. Gonna let the Lash fuck your throat first, and then you’re gonna ask for his dick real nice.”
There’s a wet sound, the sound of Lash’s other fist on his cock. He loses a little of the finesse in the fingers inside Arin, but not enough for it to matter.
It would be nice to deny any of it, but there are two fat fingers spreading them open and driving in hard, and no amount of soreness changes that they’re trying to fuck a hole through the mattress because of it.
“Where do you want it?” Lash demands, breathless.
“I don’t care. I don’t fucking care,” they groan, fists clenching into the pillow. They mean it too, even if they might regret it later.
Those fingers stop moving and Arin wants to shout at someone, but then there’s Lash grunting above them and a wet spill on their ass. There’s movement again soon enough, slower now, wetter, and it takes a second to realize Lash is working his come inside them, smearing it around with every filthy stroke. It’s disgusting in a way simply spilling inside them last night wasn’t, but they’re shivering all over because of it.
Lash’s fingers fuck in as deep as they’ll go, knuckles butting into bruised skin, building up momentum again, and then Arin’s gritting their teeth and moaning facedown in the pillow and coming all over the sheets.
Lash is predictably smug, whistling obnoxiously as he cleans up and gets dressed. He doesn’t bother to help Arin out, but he does toss a wet rag at them that nearly hits them in the face.
“Rise and shine, baby. Time to clear out. Some of us have to work for a living.”
Arin does not mention that they do technically have their own sort of work, because Lash doesn’t deserve that much explanation about their life. Besides, it takes more energy than they want to admit just to move, much less walk, even with Lash ushering them out the door.
Just because Lash doesn’t have any manners doesn’t mean Arin forgets theirs. They pause outside the apartment building, bracing against the chill morning air, and with at least some sincerity say, “Thank you for letting me stay the night.”
“You’re so welcome.” Lash looks them over, then groans at the sky like Arin has said something as insufferable as he does, regularly. “Ugh, I don’t normally do charity, but if you still need somewhere to crash, I’ll pound that ass anytime.”
There’s a woman on the sidewalk who’s suddenly walking much faster.
Arin stares, dead-eyed, because they are in fact grateful, but Lash doesn’t need to be given permission to be worse than he already is. “Unlikely,” they say.
“Sure it is, kid.” Lash shrugs. “But you should know I got another fight tonight, so don’t come around too early, yeah?” With that, he’s gone, leaving Arin to contemplate the string of bad choices that got them here. Jacob Lash is such an asshole.
They’ll struggle through the next few weeks, find a hostel or a nice old lady to stay with, see Lash again when the Maelstrom comes, then put this whole mess behind them.
It’s a good plan. Solid. They just need to refocus on the goal.
None of this gives them a way to explain how they wind up back at Lash’s place that night, eyes watering as they try to cram that huge cock down their throat.