Work Text:
“You want some?”
Charles handed the large bag of warm French fries as an offering to Dex. A drop of melted cheese from the fry in his other hand dripped onto the table surface. Dex deftly avoided the ketchup splotch in order to pass his planner in exchange for the bag. Charles ate his fry and wiped his hands with a napkin before spritzing his hands with hand sanitizer, wiping them clean again before touching Dex’s planner. He was very cognizant of Dex’s things and the way he liked them.
I’m a considerate guy, he’d told Dex on his first week on the job, setting a box of live rounds next to him on the desk. I’m a good boss. I’ll pay you a nice living, I’ll give you full health benefits, I’ll wipe your record until it’s squeaky fucking clean. It works like this; it’s like I’m your manager. I’ll find you jobs and you’ll do them. I make ten percent, you take the rest. Comprende so far?
Dex had nodded. His fingers twitched with the desire to just start flicking bullets. Charles took a sip from coffee mug, pushing one over to Dex’s side along with a single mini powdered donut.
Down the line, you prove yourself after a few months, you’ll be very popular, and you can start booking your own jobs. That’s fine with me, as long as you can remember these three things: I still make ten percent on any job you take, I will know where you are at all times, and I am the single last person you want to fuck over. Cool?
Dex nodded again, picking up his coffee mug. He left the donut to the side. He didn’t like anything that would stick to his hands.
Any questions you have for me? I want to make sure you understand exactly what you’re here to do.
I got it.
Spoken like a real fuckin’ Quantico alum. Now, here’s your first job. I want him dead in 72 hours.
Okay, Dex said. He set his coffee down. Do you want me to track him?
No need. Charles smiled at him, wiping a fleck of cream off his mouth. He’s across the street, in his apartment. You up to work right now?
Yeah. I can do that.
You want to know what he did?
No.
Charles gave him a thumbs up and a bright smile. Atta boy.
“We’re needed back in Madripoor on the 17th,” Charles told Dex, flipping a page in his planner and writing down the meeting time in the little calendar box. “The gear will be in your hotel room when you get there, but they want to set up a logistics run with you beforehand.”
“Okay.”
“You got the next four days off. Enjoy ‘em, don’t care where you go as long as you’re at that meeting point on time. Madripoor is gonna be a two week gig. Your part is small, but they may need you to follow up on the job, depending on the fallout. Has the potential to turn into a clusterfuck if the other parts of the team lose grip on the situation.”
“Okay.” Dex ate another fry. The airport announcement reminded travelers to not accept any bags that weren’t theirs. Dex reached down to his bag with his free hand, silently feeling for his passport to make sure it was still there. He chewed as he watched Charles scan through his planner. “Anything else?”
“You gonna be in New York this time?” A quiet acknowledgement of I will always know where you are, buckaroo. Charles flexed that muscle every other job, but usually wasn’t a dick about it. It was just the way he was.
“Yeah.” Dex answered, nice and calm, flicking an errant crumb to the airport floor.
“Okay. Since you’ll be there I got a small gig I need from you,” Charles said off-hand, “Remnant from the DC job. Plague rat jumping ship. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean."
“I’ll pay you out of my pocket, no cut for me. I don’t wanna take too much out of your time off. It’ll just be easier for the boss and I if they stay quiet. Capisce?”
“Capisce.”
Charles smiled, passing the planner back across the table and accepting his bag of fries back. “Alrighty. Good talk. You got any other questions, comments, concerns?”
Dex slid his pen back into the spiral spine of his planner. “They bugged me during the Ohio job. Don’t ever let them do that again.”
Charles shook his head, chewing two fries at once. “I know, I know. So unprofessional of ‘em. I’ll have my people wire their people and handle it.”
“You should’ve let me kill them,” Dex said, folding his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “They broke their contract.”
“We’re in a goddamned airport,” Charles reminded him with a laugh, like Dex had forgotten. “And anyways, not my call, Poindexter. I’ll just have their arms deal canceled. That’ll hurt them more than a few dead grunt guys.” Charles wiped his mouth with a napkin. “But you were a class act, bud. I listened to the recording they took off you. You really don’t make a fucking sound on the job, do you?”
Charles was like that. He would give real compliments and pay dinner tabs and pretend to look the other way when Dex took his time off. He’d pay Dex’s airfare and his supply bill and put a new tooth in his mouth to replace the one Matt knocked out of his skull. He made sure Dex got what he was contracted for and never let anyone cheap out on him. He never lied about what the work was and never didn’t hold up his end of the bargain. Everything had clear instructions and clear rewards and the occasional weekend off. It was structure, and Dex needed structure, and Charles knew Dex needed that structure. He was a good boss.
Now boarding: Flight 237 to Denver, Colorado. (2 + 3 + 7 = 12 = 1 + 2 = 3. Divisible by 3.)
“Shit, that’s me,” Charles said, mouth full. He left the bag of fries on the table as he stood up. He didn’t need to run. The plane wouldn’t get off the ground without him. “Hey, if you’re in Manhattan, you gotta stop by Antonio’s, that place is great. I’ll set up your reservation for you if you want.”
Dex shook his head. Charles nodded, picking up his own suitcase. Dex instinctively patted his own suitcase pocket for his passport again. He kept his hand there as Charles finished sending a text. His own phone buzzed.
“Sent you the mark’s name, photo, home and work address,” Charles told him, putting his own phone away. “Do me a favor, make the job open and shut, okay? I got a patsy ready to go once you get it done.”
Dex looked at the brunette in the white sweater in the photo, then shut his phone off. “Easy enough.”
Charles smiled, gave a little wave. “See ya in Madripoor.”
Dex left the table once Charles was out of sight, walking down the opposite side of the hallway towards his gate. He ate another few cold fries at the bar he stopped at and watched people struggle with their luggage and children as they searched for where they were supposed to go. His phone buzzed with his latest account transfer as he drank a beer, making some notes in his planner about his expenses; ammunition and prescription pain meds and ointments and dry cleaning. He took a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and folded into a paper football, flicking it clear across the bar into the tip jar as he pinpointed his target’s location on his tablet. The flight wouldn’t land until ten that night, and it would be another hour before he could get to his hotel. Morning job would be easier and he could get it done before the continental breakfast stopped being served.
When the plane started boarding, Dex flashed his boarding pass and had the brief thought it wouldn’t scan through. It did, and the flight attendant waved him on with a smile. He sat in his business class window seat, sticking his personal bag underneath the spare seat next to him. He usually had two booked, sometimes Charles next to him, sometimes not. I know you hate people in your space, amigo.
“Welcome aboard, sir. Can I get you something to drink?” The flight attendant greeted him, subtly moving his bag strap out of the aisle with his foot.
“Just coffee. Two sugars.”
“Regular or decaf?”
“Regular is fine.” It wouldn’t keep him up anyways. The flight attendant left and came back with his coffee in the amount of time Dex had to retrieve his tablet from his bag and slipped on his headphones. He was reminded to not leave his tray down during takeoff and he smiled as best as he could as he nodded in agreement.
As soon as he was left alone in his row he tapped through his saved files of various jobs and their visual proof, choosing the file for a particularly gruesome incident in Ensett and lazily swiping through the crime scene photos until he got to the video. He stirred his coffee as he tapped on the video.
It actually wasn’t of what happened in Ensett. It was a security recording of the chow hall incident in Ryker’s a week ago. There was no audio, but Dex still put on his headphones to block out the quiet bustling of the plane as he pressed play. In the video, Matt Murdock calmly walked up to Powell during chow time and broke his tray over his face, and didn’t let him get up or get help from the other men at the table trying to pry him off. He smashed an inmate’s forehead open on the corner of the table, blood spraying out over his unconscious friend next to him. There was teeth and hair and droplets of blood all over the floor before the guards finally managed to push through the cheering crowd.
“Please fasten your seatbelt, sir.”
Dex smiled, holding his coffee stirrer between his teeth as adjusted his seatbelt for his three hour flight before pressing play again. When the video ended he pulled the shade down over the sunset and pressed play again. He got a refill of his coffee before pressing play again. And again. And again. And again.
The chow hall tray landed in the door slot without much more comment than than a “dinner time.” It was exactly five PM. Which meant there were twelve hours until seven AM breakfasts. There had been exactly seven five AM breakfasts and seven five PM dinners. There was no ticking clock in the cell, no hum from any sort of digital clock, not that it would’ve been that helpful to use. Matt had only the regular mealtime deliveries to keep a sense of time consistent in this cell.
Matt Murdock had been in Ryker’s solitary confinement for the last seven days.
The last two days had been the hardest, not that any of it had been a walk in the park. It was cold in the cell, no window in the hallway or cell to be found. The air was constantly damp, the AC on the blitz making everything slightly sticky to the touch. It wasn’t quiet at all in the solitary wing. Every sound traveled down the hall, metal bars clanging and people talking out loud to themselves to break up the monotony. Except for the exact same awful breakfast and dinner the last seven days, there was nothing in Matt’s cell. He’d ran his fingers over every single surface in the first two days, every nook and cranny and soggy surface. There was grime buried under each fingernail. He picked at the dinner, breaking off a piece and bringing it to his mouth. Everything was the exact same texture and tasted like nothing. A crumb fell onto the slab of a bed frame, and he ran it between his fingers before flicking it to the ground. Things were bleak.
But then again, Powell was currently missing three teeth and had no connection with the prison dentist. When God slams one metal cell door shut, he opens one curtain to let the dingy sunlight in. Matt smiled at the thought, breaking off another piece of dinner.
Seven breakfasts, seven dinners. If he lost count of those, he’d be fucked. The other twenty-two hours of little stimulation were bad enough. If he held onto the moments he still had real interaction he could stay sane.
How sane were you when you went in here? Karen would ask that. Or Jess.
The chow fight was nothing. It really didn’t matter in the scheme of things. Powell was bullshitting. Big fish in a big pond, desperately trying to make waves. He was going to get out of here before his trial and everyone knew it. All he was trying to do was make everyone else rankled so he could feel like he was worth something. Matt heard everything he was saying across the hall. It could’ve been anything that set him off that day, honestly. So maybe Powell was rambling about AVTF disclosures and protections. Maybe he was mentioning some names on the shit list. Maybe he was making plans to roll over for immunity. Or maybe he was just talking too loud, consonants clicking and vowels being dragged out too long. Or worst of all, maybe Matt had just wanted to hit him so hard he finally stopped fucking talking. Picking up his tray and breaking it across Powell’s jaw, splintering the plastic and sending shards that scraped his face. Slamming him into the bench and hitting him and hitting him until he didn’t come back up. Powell had tried to hit him, at least at first, then tried to scoot away on the filthy floor. And really, that had been what pissed Matt even more, him scurrying away and not even swinging back with his heart in it. He wanted Powell to hit back so bad and the son of a bitch couldn’t even do it. His cronies at the table weren’t much of backup, easily dispatched with a corner table to the teeth or nose, using a spare tray just to knock one down to size so Matt could drag him close enough to really beat down on his face until he was screaming for him to stop. He’d barely been able to hear him over the jeering crowd and the roar of his blood in his own ears. He would’ve gotten all six of them at the table down on the fucking ground if the guards hadn’t used two separate tasers on him until he physically couldn’t move his legs. Matt had gotten immediate solitary punishment with no indication of when it would be over. Whatever. He could deal with it. It had only been eight days.
No. Seven. Seven breakfasts, seven dinners. Don’t start counting ahead.
Matt put another piece of bland textured dinner in his mouth and sat back on his cold cot and tried to picture what time it was. A guard took his tray a half hour after it was brought to him, eaten or not. He guessed it had been five minutes. Then again, it could’ve been twenty. Shrugging, he poked at a bruise on his collarbone from the fight to feel how it healed. He ate another piece and listened past the sounds of other inmates talking to the empty spaces around them, listening down the hall for any sign of a guard. Guards had walkies dispatching bits of information or phones with videos playing. Even an insurance jingle was something new to listen to, something that wasn’t the exact same sounds playing over and over.
And yes, one guard tonight had a news podcast playing from his phone. Thank you, God. It’s least you could do for me.
The mayor was passing new subway legislation. There were court cases on metahumans that were possibly heading to the Supreme Court. The United States was looking to strengthen their relationship with Estrella during their rush election after the mysterious death of their previous prime minister.
Matt chewed the bite of dinner in his mouth, swallowed, and then put the tray by the door, the other half of dinner left uneaten. He wasn’t hungry before and was less hungry now.
Where are they sending you next?
Estrella. It’s hot there. I don’t like the humidity.
Dex.
Dex’s work wasn’t supposed to make the news. Even if there was shadow of a doubt around every part of the assassination, Matt knew Dex had done that and so did the CIA and whoever they made a deal with to pull this off.
Dex.
Matt shut his eyes, ignoring the sound of his cell door opening enough to retrieve his tray. He worried his fingernail on his uniform, picking out the dirt. He needed a shower. He needed a clean jumpsuit. All luxuries seven days ago.
Dex’s clothes were always so clean that the smell of the laundry starch came off in waves. Everything was always pressed and ironed and shined. Even in Dex’s apartment, when he’d been waiting to catch him when he came back from his meltdown almost a year ago, when he’d told him what he wanted him to do, the whole place smelled clean. The shower, the sink, the floor reeked like fresh orange wax. Even the fridge was scrubbed down, only milk and water and leftover Chinese food on the shelves. So when he’d stepped on a broken ceramic dish in the kitchen, it had been a clear sign that no, Dex was not in a state he could be reasoned with.
Tray had been taken five minutes, twenty minutes, two hours ago.
Matt scratched his unshaven cheek at where Dex had stuck a razorblade in it almost a year ago, and thought about turning on the TV in Dex’s apartment and listening to a baseball game play on the channel Dex had left on while broken dishes littered his sink.
“Breakfast.”
Matt’s head snapped forward as he woke up. He hadn’t remembered even feeling tired and now it was almost twelve hours later. Or maybe he’d been running through the Estrella news for so long he’d lost track of the time and dozed off. He retrieved the tray when the door locked and picked at the breakfast that was the exact same as the last seven breakfasts and dinners. Bland, bland, bland. Same, same, same. Routine, routine, routine. It was Wednesday. No, Thursday. He went in solitary on a Wednesday, so that was seven and seven meals here, right? Now it was eight breakfasts, and seven dinners. Right. That’s right.
He set the tray by the door and resigned himself to his cot to wait for it to be taken away like all the rest. Then he could stretch, do push-ups, pull-ups, listen for any news on New York or Estrella or new shoes on a guard that changed their footstep pattern or-
“You cool, Murdock?” Peterson, the guard was in his cell now, but wasn’t picking up the tray. Matt didn’t answer him. “I need to know you’re not gonna swing on me.”
Matt shrugged. Plausible deniability.
“You’re going back to the normal block today if you can be cool.”
Thank you, God. On a roll these last two days. No, thank you, I really mean it.
“But not yet. Shower first, and then you got a visitor.” Peterson took a step into the cell, warning him about not swinging on him again, but Matt didn’t even listen. Aftershave. Aftershave.
Dex.
I’m taking one of my praises back, God. Didn’t realize you were also outsourcing your work to Dex along with the CIA.
The tepid shower that followed the walk from the solitary wing was a relief. Matt’s skin felt itchy and sore from seven days in the same space on the same metal cot. He scrubbed the soap under his nails and around his hairline to get all possible grease out of his system. He wasn’t given anything to shave with so he washed his face twice. There was a clean jumpsuit waiting for him outside.
Now for the fun part.
Matt was walked the way down to the usual meeting room, but they had to take a different route from the shower than from his normal cell. Which meant they had to pass by the other cells and listen to the threats and hollers from Powell’s buddies along the way. But not Powell’s voice, which was good, because that meant his mouth still hurt too much to open it. Matt smiled to himself, even as his fingers twisted into the makings of a fist in his cuffs.
“Jeeeesus, counselor. Where’d you get that shiner?”
And there went his smile. Matt worked his jaw and said nothing. Dex. Dex was mocking him, and he could hear the way he rocked back and forth on his heels in pure joy.
Peterson hissed that he was supposed to walk Matt back here before Evans brought Dex down. Evans made some sort of noise in his throat that meant how did you want me to stop him from walking alone?
“Stay here, we’ll lock him up.”
“Go right ahead, officer. By all means. You do what you gotta do.”
Dex sounded like the cat with the canary as Matt was sat in his chair and handcuffed with the cold table chains. Matt could feel his skin itching again, wanting to smack the smirk right off Dex’s face, right across his scarred cheek. It’s been seven days and eight breakfasts since he’s been alone in a room with another living soul for longer than sixty seconds and everything inside him was boiling. So much so he barely noticed the guards had left before the door swung shut.
“We bugged?”
Matt listened carefully, then shook his head. Not even the sound of a camera whirring behind a fake tile. Dex set his briefcase on the floor, turning his keyring over in his hand like they had all the time in the world instead of only ninety minutes every blue moon. All dressed in his new suit and new shoes and new keys.
“Heard you were scrapping, counselor.” Another key sliding over the ring. “They’ll put you in the hole for that. Worst place to go in here. People start losing it in there pretty quick.” Another key slide. “But I guess you learned that.”
Matt still didn’t speak.
Another key slide, then the smell of aftershave was so close he could taste it as Dex leaned over him. Clean smell. Different smell. Familiar smell.
“If you’re gonna scrap again,” Dex said against his ear, his hands on the table chains and unlocking them, “at least finish him off next time. You were so close.”
As soon as the cuffs slid off his wrists, Matt was on his feet and swinging, hitting Dex right in the cheek scar the way he wanted. He could feel the blood rushing to the surface of Dex’s skin and the small uh sound that came out of his mouth. Good. Oh fuck, that felt good. Dex mumbled something surprised to himself, before immediately lashing out and striking Matt right in the bruise down his jaw. He could feel every blood vessel contract around where it started and ended on his face. It hurt like a son of a bitch. Right on target, as always. Matt laughed, real malice behind it.
“Don’t start, counselor,” Dex warned. His heart rate was rising. He wanted Matt to start so bad he could taste it along with his aftershave. “You don’t wanna start something you can’t finish.”
Matt laughed again. “Why?” He stepped up to Dex, hitting him in the same place again, getting another uh sound but this time breathier. “You can walk out of here bruised to hell and back and nobody could say a thing. but me?” He clicked his tongue in a nuh uh. “You start bruising me, suspect in federal jail, and people are gonna ask questions.”
“Are you threatening me?” Dex sounded pissed. Good. He shoved Matt hard away from him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Matt moved to swing and Dex caught it, yanking his arm down and away. It didn’t matter, because all Matt wanted to do was close the distance to crowd Dex against the table, pressing against him.
“If I was, you’d know,” Matt said, feeling the heat radiate off of him. Dex always ran too hot. His apartment had had the AC cranked all the way up. God, Matt could hear the blood rushing in his veins, feel the exhale from each breath. His hand was still ringing from the punch, at the raised skin from the scar against his knuckles. The scar he’d put there. Matt leaned in close, inhaling Dex’s breath and the air around his face.
Aftershave. Shampoo, conditioner, soap. Spearmint toothpaste. Medicated cream over sore muscles. Cologne his boss bought him for Christmas or a thank-you.
C’mon, c’mon, what else, what else…
Leather shoes. Detergent. He was huffing like a fucking dog. Dryer sheets. Fabric softener… something else…something else…
Mmm. There it was. Just barely there. So subtle. So plain. The softest hint of potassium nitrates and oils and sulfur, warm and smoky and sour.
“You killed someone today,” Matt breathed into Dex’s ear, feeling the skin heat against his lips.
“I-”
Matt brought Dex’s hand up to his face, nosing into his palm, inhaling deep. Dex’s knuckles caught on the edge of his glasses, his breath hitching. Gotcha. There you are. “There’s gunpowder residue all over your hands, even though you washed them.” He let Dex’s hand go only to press it back to the table with all his weight and Dex let him. He pressed his nose against Dex’s neck. “You showered before the job, not after. Did you do it right before you came here?”
“Yeah.” Dex’s voice was thick.
“What did you do?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Yeah, I do.” Matt leaned his weight over Dex, pinning him against the table so he couldn’t budge. “I want to know exactly what you were doing before you came here. I didn’t send you out to do anything. Was this one just for fun?”
Dex swallowed, shaking his head. Matt was so close to him he could feel the motion. “Client job.”
Matt sneered at the vagueness of his answer. Dex knew better than that. “Charles.”
“Who’s to know?”
“What’d he make you do?”
“Does it matter?”
Yes. Yes, it matters. It always matters. Everything you do matters to me. I can’t fucking stand it. “Anyone I know?”
“…Don’t think so,” Dex finally answered Matt. “DC runoff job.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know details, counselor. I didn’t ask.”
Matt slapped him for that and immediately Dex’s hips jerked up. Matt slapped him again, hearing sounds escape from Dex’s bitten-closed lips. “Why didn’t you ask?”
Dex’s mouth was dry, his lips sticking together as he said, “I never ask.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re going to ask next time.” That wasn’t exactly what Matt had wanted to say, had just wanted to keep Dex riled up to keep snarking at him so he could hit him again, make those sounds again, feel his skin break under his hands. But instead he jabbed his hand hard into his lower ribcage, a dirty punch, sending Dex on his back on the table with a wheeze. His metallic spine clanked against the metal surface, clanked again when Matt stepped up, putting a knee between Dex’s legs. He kept a hand where he’d punched Dex, smiling as his spine rattled when he twitched.
Dex squirmed under him, trying to get comfortable when it would be impossible in this angle on this table. “It’ssss not the way it works, counselor,” he murmured, words running together. “It’d make me look bad.”
Matt found where the bruise was definitely starting to form on his skin under his starchy shirt, and pressed in. His own bruised knuckles ached with the flexing of his fingers. Dex was getting hard just from this. And so was he. “Well, guess we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Dex squirmed again. His jaw clicked as he held whatever he wanted to say back.
“Stop moving,” Matt told him, and Dex instantly stopped, head hitting the table with a thud. Fuck. Matt could break every bone in his body if he wanted to. He considered it as he moved his free hand into Dex’s hair. His hair was longer now, but Matt couldn't feel any bruising on the scalp like last time. Dex leaned in for Matt to do it again, spine scraping the surface of the table. Another hard pull, hard enough Dex’s cheek was against the table before Matt let him go. And predictably, he turned back for Matt to do it again.
There you go. Easy. Why do you keep coming here? You should stop this. We should stop this. I hate you for everything you’ve done. I hate you for killing someone an hour ago and coming here smelling like death and lust and detergent. I hate that I worried about you. I hate how much I like this. I hate how much you like this. I like that you always fight back. I like that you don’t pull your punches. I like that you turn your face back for another hit even when I’m winning. I want to hurt you. I want to kill you. I want to ruin this fucking suit. I want to hear you beg for mercy. I want you to scream my name. I want to keep you right here forever.
“You’re mine.”
The words slipped out of Matt’s mouth before he thought about what they meant. Dex’s body convulsed under him, an honest-to-God whine filling the room. He raised a hand to cover his mouth before Matt batted it away. I want to hear you. Don’t you dare shut up on me now.
“You’re mine,” Matt repeated, shifting his body so he was completely on top of him. "Doesn’t matter what money your clientele offers you, doesn’t matter what Charles tells you to do. you’re mine. You answer to me, sweetheart. Do you understand me?”
Dex was fucking quivering under him. There were sounds like words coming out of his mouth but nothing understandable. Matt had to force his hips back down with a hand when they jerked up against his, getting another whine of protest.
“I asked you a question.” Dex’s nails were skidding over the slippery surface as Matt directed into his ear. “Answer me.”
Dex swallowed. His sweat was dripping into his starchy collar. “What-” He had to swallow again. “What did you say?”
You want me to say it again. You want to push it. Good. I want you to push me.
Matt wrapped a hand around Dex’s throat and squeezed, keeping him unable to move from their tangled position. “You are only still able to breathe because of me. You do exactly as I say and you want to do what I ask you, right? You can go anywhere in the fucking world you want and you still come crawling back to me.” He wanted to drag this out, wanted to make him unravel for all ninety minutes of their time, but Matt was losing patience. He let go of his throat and moved his hand off Dex’s hip to his grope his dick through his pants, shoving Dex’s head back when he made a strangled sound. All he could smell or feel or hear was Dex.
“You’re mine,” Matt punctuated the words with a firm stroke, letting Dex moan and rock up against his palm. “Do you understand me?”
“Y-yes.” Dex sounded like his brain and his mouth had lost connection. Matt could smell saltwater on his face and hear his heart hammering so loud his pulse was rattling. The dam was broken and he was rambling. “I understaaahaaand, fuck, fuck, stop, stop, I’m gonna, wait, I wanna-”
Matt leaned over him, breathing into his mouth. “What, you want permission?” He stroked him again, feeling Dex crumble under him. “Is that all you wanted? Go ahead. I want you to. C’mon. For me, yeah?”
As soon as Matt kissed him, slid his tongue into his mouth, and shifted his hips, Dex came right then and there in his pants, ruining them as the fabric under Matt’s hand went sticky. Matt couldn’t help but grin into his mouth, cupping his jaw to deepen the kiss through Dex’s gasps. He tasted like cheap coffee and pastry and chewing gum. If he tried hard enough, he could tell the pastry was strawberry cream cheese. Dex was making attempts to kiss him back even if he was flying high. Matt only pulled away once Dex’s stuttering hips slowed to a stop and his body went slack. A trail of saliva stuck their mouths to each other until Matt wiped it off.
“Jesus Christ,” Dex swore. He sounded more like he’d witnessed a bad car accident than had an orgasm. Matt let him take a few shuddering breaths and be able to string a thought together. Thinking he needed a minute for that, Matt shifted back, moving off of him and getting to his feet. He’d barely stood back on his feet when Dex was sitting straight up and shoving him into the abandoned chair. His breathing was getting harried again, and his clothes sounded damp as he slid off the table to put both hands on Matt’s shoulders, kissing him again. His teeth scraped against his, canines getting caught on his bottom lip.
“Can I-” Dex interrupted himself to kiss him again, like he couldn't stop. “Can I-”
Matt nodded into his mouth. Dex sighed in relief and sank to his knees, working his jumpsuit down and angling his mouth to take his dick all the way to the hilt. Jesus fucking Christ.
Like before, Matt wanted to drag this out. Dex liked sucking him off and was good at making it last, but maybe it was the seven days of isolation or the pang at the Estrella mention or the way Dex melted into a puddle at just his words but he wasn't going to last long for this. Dex didn’t want to be warned, just wanted Matt’s hand tearing at his hair until he had a headache when he walked out of here. Matt littered Dex’s ears with compliments of so good and just like that and don’t stop and one single perfect, sweetheart that made Dex choke. Matt felt wrecked after he came at that, wiping Dex’s mouth off with his own hand before wiping it off on Dex’s ruined shirt.
Matt’s fingers stroked the sweaty strands out of Dex’s face before going back to running through his hair. Dex let his head rest on Matt’s thigh, his heartbeat slowly returning to a normal pace. There you go. Stay down.
The isolation must have screwed with Matt’s sense of time, because he didn’t know how long they stayed like that until Dex’s watch beeped. Almost immediately, Dex’s head snapped up, a noise of disgust escaping his throat, before scrambling to his feet. “I need - I need to change.”
I need to vacuum the floor, right now. Matt remembered Dex saying that before the courthouse and the plane ride. Dex coming out of his postcoital bliss in his apartment and instantly jostling him on the bed as he fumbled for his clothes. It was impossible not to smile at just how human he sounded. They had both still been bleeding from where the razorblades had gotten stuck in their skin. A bruise had already formed on Matt’s shoulder.
Jesus. Dex sounded so human then.
Matt wiped his face and sending that memory back where it came from, adjusting himself to straighten out his jumpsuit. Dex’s briefcase was shut with a click and set back to the floor. Always so prepared. A paper folder was slid across the table towards Matt.
“Do you want the affidavit out of here or not?” Dex asked, zipping his clean pair of pants up.
Matt didn’t pick it up. “You know I don’t.”
Dex’s eyeroll was practically audible, even if the sound of his exasperated sigh gave it away. “Your funeral.”
His walls were coming back up. They never stayed down that long, even after they did this. Easy. Stay. Come here.
“Come here,” Matt repeated out loud, his arm on the table. He tapped on the metal, beckoning him towards him. He waited while Dex reached over to slide the folder back to the other side, and then for a few more beats before Dex’s hipbone grazed his bruised knuckles. These clothes had even more starch than the last ones.
“Estrella was in the news.” Matt looped his fingers in Dex’s belt loop and pulled him a few inches closer. “You destabilized their parliament.”
Dex shrugged, leaning against the edge and into the touch. “I haven't kept up.”
“It’s a pretty big news story.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“You really should.” Matt had pulled Dex towards him enough that he could reach out with his arm, put it around Dex’s waist. Dex’s skin flushed warm under the new shirt. “Where’re they sending you next?”
“Stop asking,” Dex said, laughing with nothing behind it. “You’re not gonna ever like the answer. And the answer isn’t ever gonna change to something better.”
“I’m going to keep asking. It still matters to me what happens.”
“And it doesn’t matter to me.”
Matt’s arm around Dex’s waist tightened, making Dex hum. Come down, come down. “They could set you up as a patsy for something major, Dex, think about it. You know you can’t trust Charles farther than you can throw him.”
“Then they’d have to find someone else after I’m gone that’s as good as me.” Dex was always too casual about these things, and it stressed Matt to hell and back. Fuck him for that. “Maybe two people. Maybe five. Government wheels turn slow.”
“If Charles takes a pension out of your checks, he’s skimming from you. He won’t ever let you retire from the job.”
“I don’t care about the money.” Dex moved again, slowly lowering his body from where he was leaning until he was seated in Matt’s lap.” “I don't care what happens to me.”
Do you care about anything? was the question Matt wanted to scream at him before splitting his forehead open on the metal corner. But he didn’t ask it because he didn’t like the options for what Dex’s answer might be. It could be another shrug, a simple no, I don’t care about anything at all and I never have and I never will. Or he could say yes, and he could name at least one thing in heaven, hell, or Earth that he cared about and Matt didn’t want to know what it was. That was a step too far to consider. Matt didn’t want either of them to say it.
Matt smoothed a hand through Dex’s hair and Dex fully turned into the side of Matt’s throat, humming close to a purr. He still smelled like gunpowder and semen and clean starch. “I want you to tell me where Charles takes you.”
“That’s classified, counselor.” Dex really was calming down if he was starting to sound like a brat again.
“So don’t write it down.” Mat punctuated the statement with a tug on his hair. “Does he go by the Senate?”
“Yeah.”
“Supreme Court?”
“Yeah.”
“White House?”
“Yeah.”
“International?”
“Interpol, Scotland Yard, Kremlin, the works.”
“Okay.” Come on, Dex. Come on. Go fetch. “I want to know exactly where he goes and what he does. I want you tell me everything you can about what strings he pulls.” Matt petted his hair back with each question and affirmation. “Can you do that?”
“Mm. Maybe.”
Not good enough. I want you desperate to say yes. I want you a fucking mess again. I want to sit in my cell alone for the next twenty-three hours with pieces you in all of my senses.
“I need you to do this for me.” Matt’s voice went lower in register, like he was back wearing the suit or in Dex’s piece of shit apartment. Dex’s weight was against Matt’s side, the metal in his spine straining against the cotton button-down. There. Right there. I got you. “I need to know what he’s doing, who he’s doing it with, and where he’s doing it.” Matt breathed deep, choosing his words carefully. “You’re the only person I can trust to do this for me, Dex. Okay?”
Dex’s head lolled on his shoulder, pressing his body close like he could crush him. His smile felt loose, almost too wide. Every muscle in his body relaxed and almost limp in Matt’s lap. If Matt shoved him off he’d hit the ground hard and wait for permission to get back up. So, so good. “Yeah?”
Matt smiled. “Yeah. That’s all I want you to do. Okay?”
Dex didn't speak for a few heartbeats, like he was letting the words soak into his bloodstream like spinal MRI dye. “Can’t make any promises.”
So yes. Can you say it again?
“I’m trusting you for this, Dex. Are gonna do what I asked?”
Dex shifted his face, sitting up so his scar grazed across Matt’s cheek, and sang whatever he had for a heart out. “Madripoor for two weeks, black ops CIA operation. Paper says it’s extradition.”
“Madripoor doesn’t extradite to the United States.”
“Mmmhmm. That’s why they hired me,” Dex grinned, the muscles around his lips scrunching up against his skin. “Team job. I hate those.”
“I can imagine that.”
“This one’s not gonna be on the news, so I’ll have to update you next time.”
Next time. God, why did that feel good to hear?
“And hey, you wanna knock more of Powell’s teeth out by the time I get back,” Dex laughed, real joy in his voice, “-get him put in general hospital. I can finish him off for you there.”
Matt smiled, turning so he and Dex were face to face. “No, Dex.”
Dex was still smiling when Matt cupped his chin in his hand, bringing him in for a kiss. It didn’t have the teeth or the force of the previous ones. It was slow, almost sweet if such things could be between them. Dex never broke the smile for the entire length of that kiss. Or the next one. Or the next one. Or the next one.
That smile was what Matt knew he would focus on back in his cell, even when he tried to steer his mind away from Dex. It was getting harder and harder to convince himself that he didn't want to focus on moments like these.