Chapter Text
Somewhere between gloating that Arin came back and falling asleep with his dick out, Lash does eventually ask their name. When they say to call them Pocket, Lash goes right back to the pet names. They’re not sure if he forgets or what.
He also kisses them somewhere in there, and it’s kind of a relief to know he’s only okay at it. It’s not really a priority for either of them. Lash mostly uses his mouth for talking, but he also seems to love latching it onto Arin’s chest or between their legs or, one memorable time, between their ass cheeks, which is one of those things Arin vaguely knew one could do but never really gave much thought to. Now they probably think about it too much; it was the first time they came without anybody’s dick getting involved.
It seems stupid to pretend they’re not enjoying themself, at least privately, at least when it’s strictly about the sex. And they’re resilient; they’ve survived much worse things than Jacob Lash running his mouth, and those worse things haven’t been accompanied by orgasms and a free bed and someone else making breakfast.
They would not call Lash generous by any means, but now that they’re used to him, they can see he does speak his own peculiar language. There’s the food and coffee, obviously, which Lash makes without asking. He’s stopped saying he accidentally made too much, but they didn’t really believe that the first time anyway. It’s probably all in service to his own ego, but he also makes sure Arin gets off every time.
After their toothbrush migrates to a fixed position at the sink, Lash puts a razor there too. “You should remember to shave,” he says, which almost sounds like he cares about Arin taking care of themself until he adds, “Only pubes I like on your face are mine.” It’s somehow only the fourth most repulsive thing he’s said that day.
Arin fills their time trying to track down other people to work with and attempting to do research on the suitcase. It leaves a distressing gap in their schedule that they sometimes fill by going to Lash’s fights.
Their ideals about violence haven’t changed, but now they sit uncomfortably alongside the feelings Lash’s powerful body evokes when he’s in his element like this. The sex after a fight is better than other days, with Lash amped up after his inevitable win, which would be more annoying if they had any brainpower left when it’s over.
Tonight is another fight night. Arin is out on the sidewalk, half in shadow, waiting for Lash to finish showering and entertaining his adoring fans, when there’s a familiar voice behind them.
“Pocket? What are you doing down here?”
Detective Abrams is a blue-skinned Ixian who stands a full head and shoulders taller than Arin. Everything about him is larger than life, including the strange book he’s kept glued to his side for weeks now.
They don’t panic exactly. They know Abrams. They like Abrams. And they trust him well enough, at least as much as they can trust anybody these days. So they don’t panic, but maybe they don’t want to tell him what they’ve been up to lately either.
“Still recruiting,” they answer. Truthful enough, if only some of that truth.
“Had any luck with that?” The detective was first on Arin’s list, but he hasn’t given an answer yet, which they try not to find irritating.
“A little.”
“Who have you—” He stops abruptly, and Arin just knows what caused it.
Lash crowds in. “Detective! Finally come to see what a legend looks like?”
Abrams is not looking at Lash’s face. He’s looking down at where Lash has brought a proprietary hand to rest on Arin’s hip.
“Hardly.” Abrams’ wide mouth presses tight. “I need to speak with Pocket. Alone.”
Lash bristles in a way Arin feels, standing this close. Before he can say anything repugnant or simply deranged, Arin puts a hand on his chest and says, “I’ll just be a minute.”
Miraculously, Lash doesn’t argue. He only rolls his eyes, then he’s off to meet his fans again, loud and cocky as always.
Abrams has Arin by the wrist immediately, dragging them halfway down the block. “What are you doing?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Jacob Lash is a massive asshole. You can do better than that.”
They almost laugh, but only almost. “I needed a place to stay, and he’s putting me up. That’s all.”
Abrams does not look convinced. They’ve never been a great liar, so they just hope he doesn’t ask for further clarification.
“Lash doesn’t do anything out of the goodness of his heart.”
“This isn’t a case to solve, Detective. I’m fine.”
“How did you even meet?”
“I recruited him. He’s going to help me when the Maelstrom comes.”
Abrams’ mouth twists in disgust, which would be more insulting if it weren’t so clear it’s directed solely at Lash. “Why him?”
“Well, you turned me down. I didn’t know he was going to be… like that.” Their gesture is vague, but it does seem to capture a lot of the problem.
“I didn’t turn you down. I said there were intervening factors.”
“That’s still not a yes. I got one from him.”
“At what cost?”
Abrams’ disapproval seems to deepen with their blush. “Nothing I’m not willing to pay,” they say with as much dignity as they can rally.
Abrams pinches the bridge of his nose, briefly unsettling his glasses. “Listen, if you need a place to stay that badly, you can come stay with me. No, uh, cost. You don’t need to be tangled up with that mess.”
Arin would like to protest that they’re an adult who doesn’t need to be babysat, but Abrams is unfortunately correct to call it a mess. They’ve known all along that Lash is a bad idea and a distraction, and they’ve simply been too enthralled by his cock to do what they should.
It’s bracing, like cold water to the face, if water was also a humbling confrontation with one’s own weaknesses. And there’s something freeing about offloading the decision onto Abrams.
Arin clears their throat. “Give me an address. I need to collect some things first.”
“Is he gonna give you trouble?”
“He’s an asshole, but he’s not that kind of asshole. I’ll be fine.”
Abrams nods. It’s nice to have their judgment easily trusted so soon after displaying how bad it can get.
“Got some business to finish up first,” Abrams says, handing them a scrap of paper with a hastily scribbled address on the back. “But meet me there.”
When Arin leaves, Lash is nowhere to be found. That he couldn’t be bothered to wait five minutes is a good reminder that this arrangement is nothing but a dead end. They make the short trip to Lash’s apartment alone.
The door is unlocked. Inside, Lash is seated at the table, having already poured himself a nightcap. He stands with an expression like he might say something of actual value, then says, “Finally, you’re here. The Lash needs to get his dick wet again.”
It’s uncharacteristically considerate of him to make things easy. “No,” Arin says firmly, which seems to shock him. “I just need to get my things, then I can be out of your hair.”
“Sure.” This is where Lash would normally say something else insulting or gross or arrogant or all of the above, and he doesn’t. “The detective put you up to this?”
“No. I need to focus, and you’re distracting.” Arin glances over to see Lash turning that one over in his dim head, so they add, “It’s not an insult. The opposite, kind of.”
“Dick so good you can’t think straight, huh? Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” Arin chooses not to dignify that one with a response, but that doesn’t stop them from blushing at the truth of it.
Gathering their things doesn’t take long. It’s really just the toothbrush and some spare clothes. “I think that’s everything,” they say. “Thank you for putting me up. Will I still see you at the Maelstrom?” Lash looks skeptical, so they preempt him with “Don’t worry. I’ll pull my weight.”
They’ve gotten good at noticing the silences with Lash, mostly because they’re so rare. Rarer still is the sense that he’s actually thinking about the words that come out of his mouth. In the end though, it’s just another joke. “Thought you were gonna make me do all the work there too.”
“I can’t do it alone, but that doesn’t mean I’m helpless.”
Lash moves in, places a big hand on Arin’s cheek, sprawling down their neck like he might try to shake them. “Yeah, I’ll be there. You better have cash in hand.”
They nod, then they swallow hard. Lash is close enough they can feel his body heat. They’ve grown accustomed to the size and shape and smell of him, and they’ve developed a habit of sorts. Arin’s body isn’t aware this is a goodbye; it’s just reacting to his proximity the way it has been conditioned to. They try to draw back, but then Lash’s hand is skimming down their side and across their waist.
“How about one for the road?” he asks. That hand slides into the crease of their ass, pulling them closer like he already knows the answer.
They’re here to cut out the distraction, quit wasting time and stop getting tangled up with someone they know is a bad idea. “Make it quick,” they say almost involuntarily. It comes out breathless, and then Lash’s whiskey-flavored mouth is trying to devour theirs.
Their coat lands heavily on the floor. Lash worms a hand down the back of their trousers, squeezing a handful of ass hard enough that it might bruise again. Arin might protest, but they’re too busy groaning into his mouth and yanking his belt open.
Lash steers them to the table, where he finally tears his mouth away from theirs to push them until they turn around. He seems to have taken the order to make it quick to heart; their trousers and underwear are down around their thighs in record time.
Wet fingers press in, and they brace themself against the table and spread their legs as wide as they can. It feels like it’s too fast, like it always does with Lash, and yet their body lets it happen anyway.
“Right as I’m getting you broken in too,” Lash is saying into Arin’s neck, fingers twisting as deep as they’ll go. His other hand is shoved up under their shirt, pinching at a nipple until they squirm.
He jerks his fingers free, then the head of his cock bounces against their tailbone. He slides it down, nudges the wide head into their hole, and it’s easier than the first time, but it still stretches too sharp, makes their breath stutter in their throat.
“Gonna miss this cute little ass,” Lash says. One of his typical slaps lands hard, and Arin gasps and writhes and feels him drive in deeper.
Lash works his way in with mean jabs of his cock, and their hands curl into fists on the table and they lean over it, trying to spread their thighs farther and trapped by their clothes. It doesn’t matter how many times they do this, they’re never going to get used to how much Lash’s cock stretches them open, how deep it sinks by the time his balls finally come to rest behind theirs.
“Fucking strangling my dick.” They can’t tell if it’s a complaint or a compliment, but Lash is moving again already, now at a punishing pace, hips smacking hard into theirs. The table creaks, rattles, but it holds even as Arin leans more and more weight onto it, down on their elbows and trying to fight the urge to rub their face over the smooth top.
“Yeah, you’re gonna miss the Lash’s dick, aren’t you, baby?” Lash says, barely out of breath even with the speed he’s going. Arin mumbles a mindless agreement, which is all he ever wants anyway. “Good luck finding another one like it.”
The worst part is they think he’s probably right. When he bottoms out, Lash’s cock hits so far inside that it hurts almost as much as it feels good, and it drives Arin crazy, leaves them thinking about it all day and feeling the ghost of it sometimes and yes, missing it when it’s not inside them, because the only ache worse than the one they feel afterward is the one they feel when they’ve gone a few days without.
“Tell me how much you love the Lash’s cock,” he demands, tangling a hand in Arin’s hair and pulling until their spine arches.
He’s so deep they can practically taste it, so deep they want to cry or shout or beg to keep it inside them all day long, but saying any of that out loud is mortifying. “God, shut up,” they say through gritted teeth, which makes Lash sputter and laugh, but it doesn’t slow him down at all.
He listens though, and now that he’s not directing any energy toward running his mouth, he seems more focused than ever. He’s got both hands on Arin’s waist, forcing them back to meet him as his hips jerk sharp and stinging against their ass.
Their body feels too hot, thighs shaking, and they reach down to touch themself only for Lash to slap their hand away. His callused hand scrapes over the sensitive skin of their cock, wringing roughly until they’re seizing all around him, shaking as they spill all over his fist and the table. Lash has never shown any mercy for their overstimulation, and that doesn’t change now. He keeps fucking relentlessly into them while they twitch in the aftermath, only stopping once he’s come inside Arin, in one final heave against them.
He thrusts a few more times, jerky and involuntary, then pulls out so quickly that it leaves them gasping. They’re still trembling, worried about standing up now, worried about how walking is going to feel, when the wet towel lands on the table in front of them.
“Heard you got places to be,” Lash says. “Better get cleaned up.” That’s all the help he offers.
Arin takes a few minutes to pull themself back together, cleaning as much of the mess off themself as they can. They count their blessings that there’s nothing on their clothing, then they tug all of it back into place.
Lash doesn’t pay them much attention during any of it, but he does meet them at the doorway. Arin isn’t sure what to say now, so they settle on, “Thanks again.” After a moment’s hesitation, they press a quick kiss to his stubbled cheek.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, quieter than usual as he opens the door. Then he barks out a laugh.
In the hallway, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, stands Abrams. The heat that floods Arin’s face has to show at least as bright as the color already staining the detective’s cheeks. They know exactly how thin these walls are.
Lash, meanwhile, seems extraordinarily proud of himself. He’s got one hand on Arin’s neck as he ushers them out into the hallway, and they’re reminded of nothing so much as a baby animal being carried by the scruff. That impression isn’t helped when Lash says, “You’re gonna need to feed and water them. They’ll forget to eat if you don’t.”
Once Arin’s out, they turn to say… something, anything else to ease the sudden awkwardness. Lash spares them the effort when he adds, “See you around, kid. You can be somebody else’s problem now.” Then he shuts the door in their face, the sound too loud in the narrow hallway.
Abrams clears his throat.
“How long have you been waiting, Detective?” Arin asks, although Abrams’ blush is telling enough. They can’t look at it again without feeling like they’re going to implode, themself, so they start walking. Maybe once they’re not in Lash’s apartment building, they’ll be able to breathe again.
“We do not have to discuss that.”
“Fair enough. Why are you here?”
“Finished up early and thought I’d see if you needed an escort. Better than you getting lost on the way.”
“Thanks, I guess.” The cold air outside does not make any of this less humiliating, but at least it’s distracting from all the other uncomfortable things their body is doing.
They walk in silence for a time before Abrams laughs quietly. At their glance, he asks, “What did you do to that guy?”
Arin flushes again, but they’re irritated enough that their tone is sharp when they say, “Thought we weren’t going to discuss that.”
Abrams coughs. “Not what I meant, but you’re right. It’s nothing. Come on, let’s get you somewhere warm.” He looks them over one last time. “Could use a bite to eat. My treat.”
They think again about being passed on like an unwanted pet, but it is true that they’ll forget if not occasionally reminded. So they sigh and say, “Sure,” and let the detective lead them to one of the dozens of shitty diners this neighborhood has to offer.