Fic: "Why We Fight," Inception, Cobb/Nash, NC-17
ETA: Found a perfect picture of Lukas Haas as they practically jailbait Nash I imagine for this story:
We now return you to your regularly scheduled fic :D
Wait a minute . . . this isn't homework!
Why We Fight
Author: _beetle_
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Cobb/Nash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Approx. 3800
Disclaimer: I pick things up and put them down.
Notes: AU. Title from Buffy: the Vampire Slayer.
Summary: Written for the inception_kink prompt: Shh, just come. In my ass., and inspired by kirstenlouise’s Office AU.
“. . . and I’ll drink all the motherfucking coffee I want, whenever I motherfucking want!”
There’s dead silence in the bedroom. Dom has paused in the act of drawing down the covers on his side of the bed and he blinks at Nash as if he’s gone insane. For a moment, Nash can see this fight from his lover’s point of view, clear as day, and wonders himself if he is in fact losing his marbles.
Finally, Dom sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. (Nash wishes him luck, because Nash? Is out for blood, tonight. He can’t tell if it’s because he’s had a bad day at work or if he’s just in the mood for rough hate-sex sex: the kind they never have.) “Wait-why are you mad at me? You said you were sick of waking up tired in the morning, and I just said that if you drank less coffee, you’d get to sleep earlier and wake up feeling better. That’s all.”
Nash fights the urge to stick his tongue out. “No, that’s not all, Dominic-you’re treating me like a child, again!”
Now, Dom looks confused. “When do I treat you like a child, Nash?”
Nash huffs, trying to cover the fact that he’s drawing a blank. Despite the way he acts sometimes, Dom never treats him like anything less than an equal.
Like less than a partner.
“When you said all that . . . stuff . . . about . . . the coffee!” Nash stands arms akimbo because-if it worked for Yul Brenner, the same principle should apply to him.
Theoretically.
But evidently not in practice because now, Dom looks downright baffled. “You mean the stuff I said just now? For the first time ever?”
Nash’s eyes narrow challengingly and Dom sighs again, walking around the bed to stand patiently before Nash. “Okay, what are we really fighting about, this time?”
“Not a damn thing, Dominic.” Nash laughs angrily. “Fighting about shit would imply that we’re some kind of couple, or something.”
“Uh . . . aren’t we?”
Nash snorts. “Not according to you, Mr. Good-to-see-you-again-Brian-this-is-my-friend-Nash-Yosman.”
The befuddlement deepens then clears. “You mean Brian Stearns from last month? My old racquetball partner-that Brian?”
Turning a blotchy, angry red, Nash nods, crossing his arms defensively, wondering where in the hell that'd come from. “That’d be the one.”
Dom rolls his eyes. He’s been picking up Nash’s bad habits, lately. “You mean Brian Stearns, the guy I once saw hurl a slur at a gay couple he didn’t even know-that Brian?”
Pursing his mouth, Nash says nothing, sensing-rightly-that he’s lost the upper hand. If ever he had it.
“Brian Stearns, who I stopped playing racquetball with because of that incident, and whom I still have the strong urge to punch out-never mind if he decides to open his fat, homophobic mouth about the man I love-that Brian?”
Biting his lip, Nash looks anywhere but into Dom’s intent gaze. Granted, he’s suspected for a while now that Dom loves him, but they’ve never talked about it-never said anything, although it should go without saying that Nash is absolutely nuts about Dom. “Could be.”
“Ah. I see.” Dom nods then says something that’s completely out of leftfield. “I’m guessing it’s not that you have a burning urge for me to tell random bigots that we’re lovers so much as you want me to start telling people I know . . . friends and colleagues?”
His anger draining away, at least his anger at Dom, Nash bites his lip again and studies Dom’s stupid wallpaper. “Maybe.”
Dom exhales heavily.
“Look, I . . . no one knows I’m with you. Not even my father. God, especially not my father. You have no idea how mortifying telling him is gonna be.” When Nash’s face falls, Dom’ quickly backtracks. “God, I’m not good at explaining myself at all-I didn’t mean telling him about you-”
“Oh, no, I get what you mean,” Nash says softly, kicking himself for his own gullibility. Had he really entertained the idea that someone like Dom could love him? His own stupidity and sense of embarrassment make him want to lash out; and since he’s not big on impulse control, he does. “You mean the only person you’re more ashamed of than me is you.”
“No, Nash-“ Dom paces to the window, then back. But he stops short, as if afraid to approach Nash and he looks conflicted in a way Nash has never seen him. “Listen, my father and I haven’t had a real conversation since he gave me The Talk, and told me not to knock up my first girlfriend. So I wouldn’t even begin to know where to start-“
“How about: ‘Hiya, dad, I’m gay.’” But despite his flippancy, Nash realizes he’s the last person who should be giving anyone advice on coming out for the first time. After all, the first time he came out, at the ripe old age of fifteen, his folks had kicked him out-not that that had been such a great loss for either party.
And though Nash knows Dom’s relationship with his father isn’t a close or necessarily loving one, and that Dom hasn’t been dependent on his father in over fifteen years, he wouldn’t wish getting disowned on anyone. Especially not on Dom.
“. . . not that easy for me, babe,” Dom is saying apologetically, his hands held out like he’s reasoning with an obstreperous client. “My father’s never approved of a damn thing I’ve ever done with my life, and it . . . hurts. But to have him level that disapproval at the best thing in my life . . . I don’t know that I could forgive him for that. I love you too much to have him-or anyone-say anything bad about us.”
Nash uncrosses his arms to tug on his too-long hair. “Stop it, Dom!”
“Stop what?” Dom takes a step closer and Nash takes a step back, his own hands held out.
“Stop saying you love me!” he growls, and Dom looks both befuddled and miserable, now. “I’m not a goddamn girl! You can’t just fling the l-word around to make me forget you’re too fucking much of a coward to tell people about us!”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Nash just glares and Dom glares right back. “Well, I’m not. I love you more than anything in the world, and I would never just say something like that to you and not mean it.” He’s still holding his hands out, but now, it’s in supplication. “Please believe me: I love you-love being with you, love everything about you.”
“Yeah, well, if you love it so much, then maybe you should put a ring on it, champ,” Nash says sarcastically, crossing his arms again, trying to figure out whether he wants to make Dom suffer more, or whether he just wants to go back to his own place and brood for a few days. Though the idea of being away from Dom for that long after nearly a year attached at the hip is . . . disconcerting.
In fact, Nash is wondering if he shouldn’t just let this whole thing slide, and skip straight to the make-up sex. After all, can he really blame Dom for not wanting to tell people-especially his fucking father-that he’s pity-fucking some scruffy, too-young, foul-mouthed, GED drop-out?
So he couldn’t be more shocked when Dom smiles a little, ironically, and moves closer. Till they’re only inches apart and he’s looking down into Nash’s eyes as gravely as he ever has.
Then, oh, then, he goes down smoothly on one knee, as if he’s about to give Nash a blowjob. But instead he takes his class ring off his pinky, takes Nash’s left hand, and slides the slightly too large ring on Nash’s ring finger.
“I’ve got about fifty-jillion vacation days saved up,” he says quietly, hopefully, kissing Nash’s knuckles and meeting his gob-smacked gaze. “Wanna run away to Vancouver with me, gorgeous, and make it legal?”
Nash blinks. Like, a lot. Looks at the big ring on his finger, then looks down into Dom’s unguarded eyes again.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks numbly, wondering how the hell an argument about his caffeine intake had gotten so completely derailed. Dom tilts his head, still smiling that wry smile.
“I have no sense of humor, Nash. You know that.” Dom’s smile turns hapless and pleading, and he stands up, pulling Nash into his arms. “I can’t promise that I’ll be telling my dad any time soon. I’m just not ready. But if you want, we can start telling our friends whenever you want. Tomorrow, even. Is that enough-at least for now?”
Too dazed to think or speak-for once-Nash looks around their bedroom. Well, Dom’s bedroom, but Nash’s spent more time in it over the past eleven months than he’s spent in his apartment since he moved into it.
Maybe it’s because of that that Dom’s bedroom, and Dom’s bed in particular, feels more like home than anyplace he’s ever lived.
Or maybe it’s just Dom that feels like home, and everything else-even Dom’s expensive, insanely comfortable mattress-is just incidental.
Which is absurd and sentimental, two things Nash never is. Or wasn’t, until he met Dominic Cobb. Now, he’s . . . Jesus, now he’s the kind of guy who remembers stupid things, like the date of the night they first met, the night they first sixty-nined, and the first time he rimmed Dom (which was also the night Dom first rimmed him back).
He also remembers the first time Dom invited him over to spend the night, the first time Dom made him breakfast, the first time they slept together . . . just fell asleep together, too tired to do more than cuddle. . . .
Now, Nash is the kind of guy who dates a man like Dom . . . a man who’s too handsome and gallant and good to even exist. Now, Nash is the kind of guy who let said good-guy-boyfriend-type person get him a job as a mailroom drone, for the express purpose of being near his honey all day long (with the more-than-occasional-nooner thrown in).
Now, Nash is the kind of guy who gets proposed to by a man who’s ten times more than he’ll ever deserve.
But fortunately for Nash, he’s also the kind of guy who’s smart enough to say yes, because let’s face it-he may not be good enough for Dom, but he damn sure ain’t gonna be the one to let Dom in on that little secret.
Grinning, he slides off the ring and places it on the night table, his heart jumping at the way light reflects off the sapphire, embedded in silver . . . and when he turns to face Dom again, Dom’s frowning, Nash shakes his head quickly. “No, baby, I just don’t wanna lose it till I can get it sized. You’ve got hulk-fingers, like, whoa.”
That wry smile comes back. “Ahh. So is that a yes?”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Nash puts his hands on Dom’s chest and slides them up to his broad shoulders. He’s afraid to meet those electric-blue eyes, so he stares, instead, at the uptight pattern on Dom’s Republican-red wallpaper. “You sure you’re not just . . . proposing to shut me up, are you?”
Dom puts a finger under Nash’s chin and turns his face till their eyes meet. His own gaze is so earnest, intense, and sincere. “You know I wouldn’t. I don’t base major life decisions on how much you yell at me.”
Nash laughs anxiously. “Then boy are you not prepared for marriage, pal.”
Which is worth a slight widening of that quintessential Dom-smile. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re flustered?”
At this hint of sentimentality in normally stolid Dom, Nash rolls his eyes and shoves him away with a manly little jab to the shoulder. “Yeah, right, I’m beautiful like a baby’s laugh, or sunrise on a summer day. Don’t be such a puss, Dom. Shut up and undress me like you mean it.”
And Dom does.
Reverently, even, removing each article of clothing like it’s the shroud of fucking Turin: sweatpants, t-shirt, socks, underwear. His eyes catalogue every bit of Nash-as if he hasn’t seen him naked in years, as opposed to over their lunch break, in the janitor’s closet near the mailroom.
(Well. Partially naked. From the waist down.)
When Nash is undressed, he sprawls on their bed, stroking himself hard partly because he’s ridiculously horny, but mostly because Dom loves to watch him masturbate. And right now, what Dom wants, Dom gets. “Now you, baby. And put on a show for the future-wifey, huh?”
Dom rolls his eyes again, but does as Nash asks with the same gravity that he does damn near everything: pajama top, pajama bottoms, and socks. He reveals every inch of skin like he’s savoring the actions. When he gets to his boxers he smirks a little-he knows how much Nash likes his dick . . . likes to look at it, touch it, take it-and removes them extra slow. . . .
Then he’s tossing the boxers over his shoulder with unusual élan and grinning like an idiot. His dick’s already standing completely at attention, already wet at the tip and a deep brick-red.
“Would you take my name?” he asks, all hope and haplessness again. For a few moments, Nash has no idea what Dom’s talking about. Then it dawns on him, and he chuckles, crooking his finger, beckoning Dom over.
“Shh, baby, just come . . . in my ass.”
Dom sighs, looking very put-upon, but a smile is tugging the corners of his mouth and he kneels on the bed between Nash’s immediately spread legs. “We’ve been doing this for how long, now? I think I know when and where you want me to come without you writing me instructions and drawing me a roadmap.”
“It was a joke, Captain Sense-of-Humorlessness. You know-a joke, haha? Sheesh.” Nash quirks an eyebrow and rolls onto his stomach, feeling quite smug when Dom immediately palms the cheeks of his ass, murmuring his appreciation. Some guys are dick-men, sure, but Dom? Is an ass-man, all the way. And Nash just happens to be a dick-man, himself-and something of a size-queen, to boot. Luckily for them both, Dom’s got size to spare.
It’s like we were made for each other, he thinks wonderingly, anticipating the delicious burn-stretch of Dom’s big, thick cock pushing into him. Just the thought breaks him out in goosebumps all over. I could literally do this forever with him.
Not that, at twenty-two, Nash knows dick about forever. He and Dom have been fucking for a less than a year-since the night they met, in fact. And it wasn’t exactly the most romantic starts . . . Dom had been just another drunken suit spending his paycheck at the karaoke bar Nash’d been working at. Nash had served Dom and his friends’ table for the whole night, noting that as the table got drunker, Dom’s electric-blue eyes lingered on him more and more.
Nash honestly hadn’t thought anything would come of it-he occasionally got the ol’ hairy eyeball from drunken closet-cases: one of the hazards of being a non-hideous waiter in San Francisco.
But fast forward to Nash’s fifteen minute break and the coatroom, to find said drunken suit with the electric-blue eyes, on his knees, giving Nash the worst, sloppiest, most enthusiastic blowjob he’d ever received in his young life. Nash hadn’t even minded that at the end, the suit’d done more choking and spitting than swallowing.
Fast forward another twenty minutes and one aging, easily broken condom later and he and The Best Customer Ever were stepping out of the coatroom-Nash slipping Tori, the coatcheck girl, another fiver-Nash, grinning big and walking funny. The Customer was holding onto his fingers, letting himself be led like a happily shell-shocked puppy.
Unfortunately the manager had been lying in wait just around the corner from the coatroom.
Fast forward again, about three minutes into Ethan’s apology-slash-tirade at The Customer and Nash, respectively, and Nash had held up his hand, the one that The Customer wasn’t clutching at, to halt the kissing up and dressing down.
Surprised, Ethan had stopped ranting.
“Dude,” Nash had said, laughing. “You so need to get laid more often. But in lieu of that, go fuck yourself. I quit.”
And he’d walked away while Ethan was still gaping. Sauntered to the coatroom to grab his jacket-wished Tori a bitchin’ evening-and let himself into the cool night air.
It wasn’t until he’d gone to put his jacket on, that he realized The Customer was still glommed onto him, still dazedly wide-eyed.
And he’d had come on his chin. It was a weirdly adorable look on such an angelically handsome face.
“Sorry about your job,” The Customer had said, sounding like he meant it. Nash had smiled a bit, and pulled him close for a kiss-their first. He tasted his own come and Jack Daniels. It was a strangely compelling taste.
“Easy come, easy go. I hated that fucking place, anyway.” Nash had shrugged, though he was already dreading facing the want-ads in the morning. “Say, what’s your name, baby?”
“Uh-Dom,” Dom had answered, and Nash’s smile had turned into a full-on grin.
“Dom as in Dominant?”
“Um-no-as in Dominic,” Dom had all but squeaked as Nash licked the come off his chin. He’d been glancing around at passersby, who couldn’t have cared less if they tried. They were in San Francisco, after all.
Nash had chuckled, winding his fingers into the lapel of Dom’s very expensive suit.
“You’re lucky I have a soft spot for closet-cases, butch.” He’d slid his hands down Dom’s chest, and liked the definition he felt: not crazy buff, but definitely in shape. “I’m Nash.”
“Pleased to, uh, meet you.” Dom had blushed, and Nash had suddenly felt both possessive and generous. He’d kissed Dom again, long enough for the whole world to get an eyeful . . . long enough for Dom to finally lose his sense of modesty and kiss back just as hungrily, his hands roaming over Nash’s back and ass, rubbing and squeezing.
When Dom had started grinding against him, the beginnings of another hard-on poking Nash in the hip, he’d finally broken the kiss, laughing.
“Wanna come back to my place and fuck, Dom-as-in-Dominic?”
Dom had blushed again, deeper than before. It made him look even younger than Nash. “I, uh . . . you don’t beat around the bush,” he’d noted, but without anything like disapproval. No, it was more surprise and wariness, as if he thought Nash was just screwing around with him.
“I don’t believe in wasting time.” Nash had worked his hand between them to squeeze Dom’s cock. There was more than a handful, which was nice. “Now, I’m two months behind on my rent, unemployed, and horny. And I can only take care of one of those things tonight, capishce?”
Dom’d winced and looked guilty. “I really am sorry about your job-“
Nash’d cut him off by way of pecking him on the cheek, something they’d both seemed to be surprised by. “Don’t be, okay? That place was driving me ape-shit, anyway. If it weren’t you, it would’ve been something else a lot less fun. And speaking of fun . . . the offer to spend the rest of the night fucking me still stands. Hey, wanna know a secret?” He’d leaned in to nuzzle Dom’s neck. “I’m really bendy.”
Dom had swallowed, cleared his throat then dragged Nash to the curb. He’d held up his free hand and a taxi had stopped almost immediately. Dom had opened the door for Nash and handed him into the cab, like some kind of gentleman, or something, which’d made Nash blush.
“God, you’re so sexy,” Dom’d said, with drunken, flattering sincerity. Nash’d smirked his sexiest smirk.
“Show, baby, don’t tell.”
And he’d sat back, entirely too self-satisfied with the way Dom hustled around to the other side of the cab and slid in, practically gluing himself to Nash’s side again.
He’d asked Nash where he lived, and when Nash told him, he’d told the driver in a voice that sounded remarkably steady. He’d even promised the driver a hefty tip if he could get them there within ten minutes.
All this with his hand creeping up Nash’s thigh.
“Yes, sir!” The driver had said, peeling out into traffic with little regard for it. Dom’s hand on Nash’s thigh had tightened pleasantly and he’d leaned close to kiss Nash’s ear and whisper.
“Gonna bend you every which way, all night long.”
And Dom had.
All night long.
(If there was one thing Nash’d always liked, besides a man with a big dick, was a man who said he’d fuck all night, and actually lived up to that promise. . . .)
Since that first night, they’d actually never slept apart.
It’s kinda weird, but in a good way. And he’s learned the hard way to never look a gift horse in the mouth. Life had taught him from early on to take everything as it came: enjoying the good and weathering the bad.
He means to keep doing that until the only thing he's weathering is six feet of dirt.
In the meantime, Dom is preparing him. Too slowly, as always, the fucking cock-tease.
“Will you hurry up?” Nash demands irritably, more than a little embarrassed at his bout of nostalgia, even though Dom couldn’t possibly know what he was thinking. “You need to be inside me, like, ten minutes ago!”
“Calm down, sweetheart,” Dom soothes, still fingering him, his other hand sweeping down Nash’s lower back. “You know I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, maybe sometimes I want you to hurt me! Maybe I like a little pain with my pleasure!” Nash blurts out then bites his tongue too late.
Silence and stillness makes him look over his shoulder. Dom is regarding him thoughtfully.
“You’re serious?”
Nash shrugs and blushes. “Well . . . yeah. It's not that I don't fucking love what we do, but sometimes . . . I wanna be fucked hard. I mean, don’t fucking split me in two with that monster, but . . . you can stand to be a little rougher, you know? I won’t break.”
Dom’s eyelids lower to half-mast, his eyes shuttered by dark-blond lashes. “Maybe . . . m-maybe I want you broken.” Electric-blue eyes meet his own for a brief moment before apparently studying the slight curve of Nash’s ass. Dom adds a fourth finger and all but forces them past the first ring of muscle, rotating them slowly, till Nash is hissing and moaning. “Maybe I want you b-broken open under me, begging and crying like a shameless whore to let you come.”
Shocked into silence-Nash is the one who does the dirty-talk in their relationship, and it is filthy dirty-talk, the likes of which makes Dom blush and get hard faster than even a good hand-job-and white-noise of the brain, Nash can only stare, gape-mouthed and suddenly hard enough to pound nails.
Then he’s grinning like an idiot . . . like a man whose dreams all just came true.
“C’mere, hubby.” He crooks his finger again then gets on his knees and grips the headboard, well aware of the sight he makes, pale and built somewhat frail . . . and utterly at Dom’s mercy. He can all but hear Dom’s dick go sproing! And when Dom’s large hands find his ass again and begin to grip, he practically purrs. “Thaaaaat's it. Now make wifey howl.”
And Dom does.
All night long.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled fic :D
Wait a minute . . . this isn't homework!
Why We Fight
Author: _beetle_
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Cobb/Nash
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Approx. 3800
Disclaimer: I pick things up and put them down.
Notes: AU. Title from Buffy: the Vampire Slayer.
Summary: Written for the inception_kink prompt: Shh, just come. In my ass., and inspired by kirstenlouise’s Office AU.
“. . . and I’ll drink all the motherfucking coffee I want, whenever I motherfucking want!”
There’s dead silence in the bedroom. Dom has paused in the act of drawing down the covers on his side of the bed and he blinks at Nash as if he’s gone insane. For a moment, Nash can see this fight from his lover’s point of view, clear as day, and wonders himself if he is in fact losing his marbles.
Finally, Dom sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. (Nash wishes him luck, because Nash? Is out for blood, tonight. He can’t tell if it’s because he’s had a bad day at work or if he’s just in the mood for rough hate-sex sex: the kind they never have.) “Wait-why are you mad at me? You said you were sick of waking up tired in the morning, and I just said that if you drank less coffee, you’d get to sleep earlier and wake up feeling better. That’s all.”
Nash fights the urge to stick his tongue out. “No, that’s not all, Dominic-you’re treating me like a child, again!”
Now, Dom looks confused. “When do I treat you like a child, Nash?”
Nash huffs, trying to cover the fact that he’s drawing a blank. Despite the way he acts sometimes, Dom never treats him like anything less than an equal.
Like less than a partner.
“When you said all that . . . stuff . . . about . . . the coffee!” Nash stands arms akimbo because-if it worked for Yul Brenner, the same principle should apply to him.
Theoretically.
But evidently not in practice because now, Dom looks downright baffled. “You mean the stuff I said just now? For the first time ever?”
Nash’s eyes narrow challengingly and Dom sighs again, walking around the bed to stand patiently before Nash. “Okay, what are we really fighting about, this time?”
“Not a damn thing, Dominic.” Nash laughs angrily. “Fighting about shit would imply that we’re some kind of couple, or something.”
“Uh . . . aren’t we?”
Nash snorts. “Not according to you, Mr. Good-to-see-you-again-Brian-this-is-my-friend-Nash-Yosman.”
The befuddlement deepens then clears. “You mean Brian Stearns from last month? My old racquetball partner-that Brian?”
Turning a blotchy, angry red, Nash nods, crossing his arms defensively, wondering where in the hell that'd come from. “That’d be the one.”
Dom rolls his eyes. He’s been picking up Nash’s bad habits, lately. “You mean Brian Stearns, the guy I once saw hurl a slur at a gay couple he didn’t even know-that Brian?”
Pursing his mouth, Nash says nothing, sensing-rightly-that he’s lost the upper hand. If ever he had it.
“Brian Stearns, who I stopped playing racquetball with because of that incident, and whom I still have the strong urge to punch out-never mind if he decides to open his fat, homophobic mouth about the man I love-that Brian?”
Biting his lip, Nash looks anywhere but into Dom’s intent gaze. Granted, he’s suspected for a while now that Dom loves him, but they’ve never talked about it-never said anything, although it should go without saying that Nash is absolutely nuts about Dom. “Could be.”
“Ah. I see.” Dom nods then says something that’s completely out of leftfield. “I’m guessing it’s not that you have a burning urge for me to tell random bigots that we’re lovers so much as you want me to start telling people I know . . . friends and colleagues?”
His anger draining away, at least his anger at Dom, Nash bites his lip again and studies Dom’s stupid wallpaper. “Maybe.”
Dom exhales heavily.
“Look, I . . . no one knows I’m with you. Not even my father. God, especially not my father. You have no idea how mortifying telling him is gonna be.” When Nash’s face falls, Dom’ quickly backtracks. “God, I’m not good at explaining myself at all-I didn’t mean telling him about you-”
“Oh, no, I get what you mean,” Nash says softly, kicking himself for his own gullibility. Had he really entertained the idea that someone like Dom could love him? His own stupidity and sense of embarrassment make him want to lash out; and since he’s not big on impulse control, he does. “You mean the only person you’re more ashamed of than me is you.”
“No, Nash-“ Dom paces to the window, then back. But he stops short, as if afraid to approach Nash and he looks conflicted in a way Nash has never seen him. “Listen, my father and I haven’t had a real conversation since he gave me The Talk, and told me not to knock up my first girlfriend. So I wouldn’t even begin to know where to start-“
“How about: ‘Hiya, dad, I’m gay.’” But despite his flippancy, Nash realizes he’s the last person who should be giving anyone advice on coming out for the first time. After all, the first time he came out, at the ripe old age of fifteen, his folks had kicked him out-not that that had been such a great loss for either party.
And though Nash knows Dom’s relationship with his father isn’t a close or necessarily loving one, and that Dom hasn’t been dependent on his father in over fifteen years, he wouldn’t wish getting disowned on anyone. Especially not on Dom.
“. . . not that easy for me, babe,” Dom is saying apologetically, his hands held out like he’s reasoning with an obstreperous client. “My father’s never approved of a damn thing I’ve ever done with my life, and it . . . hurts. But to have him level that disapproval at the best thing in my life . . . I don’t know that I could forgive him for that. I love you too much to have him-or anyone-say anything bad about us.”
Nash uncrosses his arms to tug on his too-long hair. “Stop it, Dom!”
“Stop what?” Dom takes a step closer and Nash takes a step back, his own hands held out.
“Stop saying you love me!” he growls, and Dom looks both befuddled and miserable, now. “I’m not a goddamn girl! You can’t just fling the l-word around to make me forget you’re too fucking much of a coward to tell people about us!”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Nash just glares and Dom glares right back. “Well, I’m not. I love you more than anything in the world, and I would never just say something like that to you and not mean it.” He’s still holding his hands out, but now, it’s in supplication. “Please believe me: I love you-love being with you, love everything about you.”
“Yeah, well, if you love it so much, then maybe you should put a ring on it, champ,” Nash says sarcastically, crossing his arms again, trying to figure out whether he wants to make Dom suffer more, or whether he just wants to go back to his own place and brood for a few days. Though the idea of being away from Dom for that long after nearly a year attached at the hip is . . . disconcerting.
In fact, Nash is wondering if he shouldn’t just let this whole thing slide, and skip straight to the make-up sex. After all, can he really blame Dom for not wanting to tell people-especially his fucking father-that he’s pity-fucking some scruffy, too-young, foul-mouthed, GED drop-out?
So he couldn’t be more shocked when Dom smiles a little, ironically, and moves closer. Till they’re only inches apart and he’s looking down into Nash’s eyes as gravely as he ever has.
Then, oh, then, he goes down smoothly on one knee, as if he’s about to give Nash a blowjob. But instead he takes his class ring off his pinky, takes Nash’s left hand, and slides the slightly too large ring on Nash’s ring finger.
“I’ve got about fifty-jillion vacation days saved up,” he says quietly, hopefully, kissing Nash’s knuckles and meeting his gob-smacked gaze. “Wanna run away to Vancouver with me, gorgeous, and make it legal?”
Nash blinks. Like, a lot. Looks at the big ring on his finger, then looks down into Dom’s unguarded eyes again.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks numbly, wondering how the hell an argument about his caffeine intake had gotten so completely derailed. Dom tilts his head, still smiling that wry smile.
“I have no sense of humor, Nash. You know that.” Dom’s smile turns hapless and pleading, and he stands up, pulling Nash into his arms. “I can’t promise that I’ll be telling my dad any time soon. I’m just not ready. But if you want, we can start telling our friends whenever you want. Tomorrow, even. Is that enough-at least for now?”
Too dazed to think or speak-for once-Nash looks around their bedroom. Well, Dom’s bedroom, but Nash’s spent more time in it over the past eleven months than he’s spent in his apartment since he moved into it.
Maybe it’s because of that that Dom’s bedroom, and Dom’s bed in particular, feels more like home than anyplace he’s ever lived.
Or maybe it’s just Dom that feels like home, and everything else-even Dom’s expensive, insanely comfortable mattress-is just incidental.
Which is absurd and sentimental, two things Nash never is. Or wasn’t, until he met Dominic Cobb. Now, he’s . . . Jesus, now he’s the kind of guy who remembers stupid things, like the date of the night they first met, the night they first sixty-nined, and the first time he rimmed Dom (which was also the night Dom first rimmed him back).
He also remembers the first time Dom invited him over to spend the night, the first time Dom made him breakfast, the first time they slept together . . . just fell asleep together, too tired to do more than cuddle. . . .
Now, Nash is the kind of guy who dates a man like Dom . . . a man who’s too handsome and gallant and good to even exist. Now, Nash is the kind of guy who let said good-guy-boyfriend-type person get him a job as a mailroom drone, for the express purpose of being near his honey all day long (with the more-than-occasional-nooner thrown in).
Now, Nash is the kind of guy who gets proposed to by a man who’s ten times more than he’ll ever deserve.
But fortunately for Nash, he’s also the kind of guy who’s smart enough to say yes, because let’s face it-he may not be good enough for Dom, but he damn sure ain’t gonna be the one to let Dom in on that little secret.
Grinning, he slides off the ring and places it on the night table, his heart jumping at the way light reflects off the sapphire, embedded in silver . . . and when he turns to face Dom again, Dom’s frowning, Nash shakes his head quickly. “No, baby, I just don’t wanna lose it till I can get it sized. You’ve got hulk-fingers, like, whoa.”
That wry smile comes back. “Ahh. So is that a yes?”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Nash puts his hands on Dom’s chest and slides them up to his broad shoulders. He’s afraid to meet those electric-blue eyes, so he stares, instead, at the uptight pattern on Dom’s Republican-red wallpaper. “You sure you’re not just . . . proposing to shut me up, are you?”
Dom puts a finger under Nash’s chin and turns his face till their eyes meet. His own gaze is so earnest, intense, and sincere. “You know I wouldn’t. I don’t base major life decisions on how much you yell at me.”
Nash laughs anxiously. “Then boy are you not prepared for marriage, pal.”
Which is worth a slight widening of that quintessential Dom-smile. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re flustered?”
At this hint of sentimentality in normally stolid Dom, Nash rolls his eyes and shoves him away with a manly little jab to the shoulder. “Yeah, right, I’m beautiful like a baby’s laugh, or sunrise on a summer day. Don’t be such a puss, Dom. Shut up and undress me like you mean it.”
And Dom does.
Reverently, even, removing each article of clothing like it’s the shroud of fucking Turin: sweatpants, t-shirt, socks, underwear. His eyes catalogue every bit of Nash-as if he hasn’t seen him naked in years, as opposed to over their lunch break, in the janitor’s closet near the mailroom.
(Well. Partially naked. From the waist down.)
When Nash is undressed, he sprawls on their bed, stroking himself hard partly because he’s ridiculously horny, but mostly because Dom loves to watch him masturbate. And right now, what Dom wants, Dom gets. “Now you, baby. And put on a show for the future-wifey, huh?”
Dom rolls his eyes again, but does as Nash asks with the same gravity that he does damn near everything: pajama top, pajama bottoms, and socks. He reveals every inch of skin like he’s savoring the actions. When he gets to his boxers he smirks a little-he knows how much Nash likes his dick . . . likes to look at it, touch it, take it-and removes them extra slow. . . .
Then he’s tossing the boxers over his shoulder with unusual élan and grinning like an idiot. His dick’s already standing completely at attention, already wet at the tip and a deep brick-red.
“Would you take my name?” he asks, all hope and haplessness again. For a few moments, Nash has no idea what Dom’s talking about. Then it dawns on him, and he chuckles, crooking his finger, beckoning Dom over.
“Shh, baby, just come . . . in my ass.”
Dom sighs, looking very put-upon, but a smile is tugging the corners of his mouth and he kneels on the bed between Nash’s immediately spread legs. “We’ve been doing this for how long, now? I think I know when and where you want me to come without you writing me instructions and drawing me a roadmap.”
“It was a joke, Captain Sense-of-Humorlessness. You know-a joke, haha? Sheesh.” Nash quirks an eyebrow and rolls onto his stomach, feeling quite smug when Dom immediately palms the cheeks of his ass, murmuring his appreciation. Some guys are dick-men, sure, but Dom? Is an ass-man, all the way. And Nash just happens to be a dick-man, himself-and something of a size-queen, to boot. Luckily for them both, Dom’s got size to spare.
It’s like we were made for each other, he thinks wonderingly, anticipating the delicious burn-stretch of Dom’s big, thick cock pushing into him. Just the thought breaks him out in goosebumps all over. I could literally do this forever with him.
Not that, at twenty-two, Nash knows dick about forever. He and Dom have been fucking for a less than a year-since the night they met, in fact. And it wasn’t exactly the most romantic starts . . . Dom had been just another drunken suit spending his paycheck at the karaoke bar Nash’d been working at. Nash had served Dom and his friends’ table for the whole night, noting that as the table got drunker, Dom’s electric-blue eyes lingered on him more and more.
Nash honestly hadn’t thought anything would come of it-he occasionally got the ol’ hairy eyeball from drunken closet-cases: one of the hazards of being a non-hideous waiter in San Francisco.
But fast forward to Nash’s fifteen minute break and the coatroom, to find said drunken suit with the electric-blue eyes, on his knees, giving Nash the worst, sloppiest, most enthusiastic blowjob he’d ever received in his young life. Nash hadn’t even minded that at the end, the suit’d done more choking and spitting than swallowing.
Fast forward another twenty minutes and one aging, easily broken condom later and he and The Best Customer Ever were stepping out of the coatroom-Nash slipping Tori, the coatcheck girl, another fiver-Nash, grinning big and walking funny. The Customer was holding onto his fingers, letting himself be led like a happily shell-shocked puppy.
Unfortunately the manager had been lying in wait just around the corner from the coatroom.
Fast forward again, about three minutes into Ethan’s apology-slash-tirade at The Customer and Nash, respectively, and Nash had held up his hand, the one that The Customer wasn’t clutching at, to halt the kissing up and dressing down.
Surprised, Ethan had stopped ranting.
“Dude,” Nash had said, laughing. “You so need to get laid more often. But in lieu of that, go fuck yourself. I quit.”
And he’d walked away while Ethan was still gaping. Sauntered to the coatroom to grab his jacket-wished Tori a bitchin’ evening-and let himself into the cool night air.
It wasn’t until he’d gone to put his jacket on, that he realized The Customer was still glommed onto him, still dazedly wide-eyed.
And he’d had come on his chin. It was a weirdly adorable look on such an angelically handsome face.
“Sorry about your job,” The Customer had said, sounding like he meant it. Nash had smiled a bit, and pulled him close for a kiss-their first. He tasted his own come and Jack Daniels. It was a strangely compelling taste.
“Easy come, easy go. I hated that fucking place, anyway.” Nash had shrugged, though he was already dreading facing the want-ads in the morning. “Say, what’s your name, baby?”
“Uh-Dom,” Dom had answered, and Nash’s smile had turned into a full-on grin.
“Dom as in Dominant?”
“Um-no-as in Dominic,” Dom had all but squeaked as Nash licked the come off his chin. He’d been glancing around at passersby, who couldn’t have cared less if they tried. They were in San Francisco, after all.
Nash had chuckled, winding his fingers into the lapel of Dom’s very expensive suit.
“You’re lucky I have a soft spot for closet-cases, butch.” He’d slid his hands down Dom’s chest, and liked the definition he felt: not crazy buff, but definitely in shape. “I’m Nash.”
“Pleased to, uh, meet you.” Dom had blushed, and Nash had suddenly felt both possessive and generous. He’d kissed Dom again, long enough for the whole world to get an eyeful . . . long enough for Dom to finally lose his sense of modesty and kiss back just as hungrily, his hands roaming over Nash’s back and ass, rubbing and squeezing.
When Dom had started grinding against him, the beginnings of another hard-on poking Nash in the hip, he’d finally broken the kiss, laughing.
“Wanna come back to my place and fuck, Dom-as-in-Dominic?”
Dom had blushed again, deeper than before. It made him look even younger than Nash. “I, uh . . . you don’t beat around the bush,” he’d noted, but without anything like disapproval. No, it was more surprise and wariness, as if he thought Nash was just screwing around with him.
“I don’t believe in wasting time.” Nash had worked his hand between them to squeeze Dom’s cock. There was more than a handful, which was nice. “Now, I’m two months behind on my rent, unemployed, and horny. And I can only take care of one of those things tonight, capishce?”
Dom’d winced and looked guilty. “I really am sorry about your job-“
Nash’d cut him off by way of pecking him on the cheek, something they’d both seemed to be surprised by. “Don’t be, okay? That place was driving me ape-shit, anyway. If it weren’t you, it would’ve been something else a lot less fun. And speaking of fun . . . the offer to spend the rest of the night fucking me still stands. Hey, wanna know a secret?” He’d leaned in to nuzzle Dom’s neck. “I’m really bendy.”
Dom had swallowed, cleared his throat then dragged Nash to the curb. He’d held up his free hand and a taxi had stopped almost immediately. Dom had opened the door for Nash and handed him into the cab, like some kind of gentleman, or something, which’d made Nash blush.
“God, you’re so sexy,” Dom’d said, with drunken, flattering sincerity. Nash’d smirked his sexiest smirk.
“Show, baby, don’t tell.”
And he’d sat back, entirely too self-satisfied with the way Dom hustled around to the other side of the cab and slid in, practically gluing himself to Nash’s side again.
He’d asked Nash where he lived, and when Nash told him, he’d told the driver in a voice that sounded remarkably steady. He’d even promised the driver a hefty tip if he could get them there within ten minutes.
All this with his hand creeping up Nash’s thigh.
“Yes, sir!” The driver had said, peeling out into traffic with little regard for it. Dom’s hand on Nash’s thigh had tightened pleasantly and he’d leaned close to kiss Nash’s ear and whisper.
“Gonna bend you every which way, all night long.”
And Dom had.
All night long.
(If there was one thing Nash’d always liked, besides a man with a big dick, was a man who said he’d fuck all night, and actually lived up to that promise. . . .)
Since that first night, they’d actually never slept apart.
It’s kinda weird, but in a good way. And he’s learned the hard way to never look a gift horse in the mouth. Life had taught him from early on to take everything as it came: enjoying the good and weathering the bad.
He means to keep doing that until the only thing he's weathering is six feet of dirt.
In the meantime, Dom is preparing him. Too slowly, as always, the fucking cock-tease.
“Will you hurry up?” Nash demands irritably, more than a little embarrassed at his bout of nostalgia, even though Dom couldn’t possibly know what he was thinking. “You need to be inside me, like, ten minutes ago!”
“Calm down, sweetheart,” Dom soothes, still fingering him, his other hand sweeping down Nash’s lower back. “You know I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, maybe sometimes I want you to hurt me! Maybe I like a little pain with my pleasure!” Nash blurts out then bites his tongue too late.
Silence and stillness makes him look over his shoulder. Dom is regarding him thoughtfully.
“You’re serious?”
Nash shrugs and blushes. “Well . . . yeah. It's not that I don't fucking love what we do, but sometimes . . . I wanna be fucked hard. I mean, don’t fucking split me in two with that monster, but . . . you can stand to be a little rougher, you know? I won’t break.”
Dom’s eyelids lower to half-mast, his eyes shuttered by dark-blond lashes. “Maybe . . . m-maybe I want you broken.” Electric-blue eyes meet his own for a brief moment before apparently studying the slight curve of Nash’s ass. Dom adds a fourth finger and all but forces them past the first ring of muscle, rotating them slowly, till Nash is hissing and moaning. “Maybe I want you b-broken open under me, begging and crying like a shameless whore to let you come.”
Shocked into silence-Nash is the one who does the dirty-talk in their relationship, and it is filthy dirty-talk, the likes of which makes Dom blush and get hard faster than even a good hand-job-and white-noise of the brain, Nash can only stare, gape-mouthed and suddenly hard enough to pound nails.
Then he’s grinning like an idiot . . . like a man whose dreams all just came true.
“C’mere, hubby.” He crooks his finger again then gets on his knees and grips the headboard, well aware of the sight he makes, pale and built somewhat frail . . . and utterly at Dom’s mercy. He can all but hear Dom’s dick go sproing! And when Dom’s large hands find his ass again and begin to grip, he practically purrs. “Thaaaaat's it. Now make wifey howl.”
And Dom does.
All night long.