#368 - [FIC] Man's Best Friend (Saito/Nash)
Title: Man's Best Friend
Word Count: 1,638
Pairing: Saito/Nash
Rating: R
Summary: Pride is for men like Arthur and Cobb who can afford the vanity. Men like him have to survive.
Warnings: dub-con, humiliation, mentions of drug use
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be!
Author's Note: This is meant to be a sequel to/continuation of my Cobb/Nash story Cinders of Affection. The premise (Nash begging Saito for his life) is canonical, but it doesn't work very well as a standalone without the events prior.
“If you are here at the behest of Mr. Cobb, I am unimpressed. Perhaps even insulted.”
Nash’s head-shake is more of a jerk. “I got nothing to with that asshole.”
His head and chest pulse in rapid staccato, his mouth full of cotton. Sweat glistens on his skin with every shaky tremor. It’s not the blow, not anymore, just plain, old fear. Nash is scared shitless and Saito is only sitting there with his hands in his lap. It’s the way that he stares, impassive and unblinking, that Nash doesn’t like.
“I know your face,” he says, after a long moment, and Nash blurts out who he is and how he got there without Saito needing to ask. “You seem to believe very ardently that I will help you, though on what grounds I cannot be sure.”
It’s got fuck all to do with belief, hope, whatever you want to call it. Someone has to take the fall for Cobol and Nash knows it will be him if he doesn’t do something about it, because Arthur would never rat on Cobb. He doesn’t have a bone in his body that isn’t devoted that psychopath and it should have been Arthur getting fucked up against that wall, not him. Nash was paid for the big picture-Arthur’s the one with an eye for detail, and he’s the real fuck up here. He’s the one who should’ve known about the carpet.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he says. “Who hired us, anything about Cobb and Arthur.” Nash licks his lips, cracked and bleeding, and thinks as fast as he can. “There’s a price on both their heads in Mombasa. I know where they’re staying, what they’re planning next. Anything you want to know, all of it.”
“You waste my time, Mr. Nash, and yours. Whatever may be left of it.”
Nash can’t throw himself at Saito’s feet fast enough. “Please, man, you gotta-you gotta help me, please. Cobol’s gonna kill me when they find out we didn’t get those plans.” The tears rolling hot and salty down his cheeks are real, the same as the hysterical sobbing that’s bubbling forth from his lips. “Please, I don’t…. fuck, I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die, Saito, please.”
Saito smiles then and it feels like a punch in the gut. “Few vermin do.”
Nash sobs and his shoulders shake with the force of it, he’s so fucked, so fucked, and he wishes he’d thrown himself on Cobb’s mercy instead. Cobb doesn’t like him any more than Saito does, but his blood runs hot and his hate is angry and feeling. Nothing like this coldblooded bastard whose knees he’s clutching, begging for his life. Men like that, they don’t bleed hot or even red. They delight in watching you squirm and kick you to the curb without a second thought when they’re sick of you.
He gives a jerky start when he feels Saito touch his face, tilting up his chin until his eyes are boring into Nash’s, so dark a brown he’s having a hard time seeing the distinction between the iris and the pupil through the wall of tears. Saito’s eyes stare back at him, black and dead, and the shakes are worse than they have been the times he’s had to detox.
Saito’s thumb strokes his cheek and Nash wants nothing more than to jerk away before it jams into his eye and leaves him blind and screaming.
The pain he expects never comes. Instead, Saito addresses him. “Do you know why Mr. Cobb keeps Arthur close to him, Mr. Nash?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Arthur is like a dog,” Saito tells him as he brushes the long, matted strands of Nash’s hair behind his ears. “Dogs are loyal to their masters, and Arthur is no different. Cobb knows that Arthur will come when he calls and heel when he is told, no matter how often his master kicks him. Do you understand my meaning, Mr. Nash?”
Nash nods, rapidly, even though the only part he really gets is Arthur. He doesn’t know how he fits into it, but he does know it’s better not to ask questions. Saito’s fingers card through his hair, his face neutral even though Nash knows it must feel greasy, unwashed because he’s done nothing but look for Saito for three days.
“Some dogs need more discipline than others,” Saito continues, “in order to be faithful to their masters. But there is a fine line between discipline and cruelty. Even the kindest animal can be conditioned to be violent, if he is only ever beaten.”
There’s no need for him to raise his voice and he knows it, Nash is sure. Saito is the kind of man who is used to people hanging on his every word and if Nash wants to come out of this alive, he’ll do the same. Nash doesn’t know why Saito’s hand hasn’t left his hair until it hits him. Just like that, he gets it. Saito’s petting him. Petting him like he’s a dog.
The realization must show on his face because Saito smiles again. It doesn’t make him feel any better than it did the first time. “A good master seeks a balance between authority and affection.”
Nash turns his face into Saito’s hand and rubs his lips against the palm. He’s done his fair share of bootlicking, but this takes the fucking cake. Nash knows he’s a rat, but on the off chance that Saito might save his ass, he plays along. He can be a dog, if that’s what Saito wants.
He laps at Saito’s fingers, sucking them into his mouth with his eyes closed. Nash can taste nicotine on his fingers and he chases it. He’s jonesing for a hit of anything, even just a smoke, worse than he ever has, but they took it all when they dragged him in here and dropped him in front of Saito. Nash sucks and licks at Saito’s fingers like it might satisfy the craving, but it only leaves him wanting.
Saito murmurs appreciatively. “Good dog.”
His hand slips away and Nash wipes his chin free of the saliva that’s trickled out of his mouth. He cries out as Saito jerks him forward by his hair and pulls out his cock with his free hand. Saito makes him take all of it and Nash can only swallow and try not to choke. He sucks with his eyes closed. He’d rather stare at the ugly fucking wallpaper than look up at Saito while his mouth is on the man’s cock. It hits the back of his throat, makes him gag, and Nash tries to pull off.
Saito pushes him back down and his fingers are like a vice on the back of his neck, making him whimper low in his throat.
“No one has given you permission to stop, dog.”
Nash starts up again and Saito’s hand goes back to petting. His fingers stroke through the greasy tangles of hair as his foot nudges Nash’s thighs apart. His heel rubs over the bulge already tenting out his pants. It’s not that he gets off on humiliation or having anyone shove their cock where it doesn’t belong. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, never has, but whenever he’s scared it all seems to settle hot in his belly and send his cock swelling like a balloon.
Saito’s heel slides over Nash’s threadbare jeans as he pets him and murmurs, sometimes in English, sometimes in Japanese. Nash almost bites, he’s so terrified that Saito will crush his balls under that heel. The tremors he can’t help. His jaw feels worse than it did after Cobb clocked him twice and he finally sweated all the coke out of his system.
Saito nudges him up on his knees and his leg settles there between Nash’s thighs instead, shin hard and flat against his cock as he sucks. “Go on, dog. Your master is giving you a reward.”
Pride is for men like Arthur and Cobb who can afford the vanity. Men like him have to survive. The choice between his pride and his neck is a no-fucking-brainer, but Nash still thinks he might be sick with shame as he ruts his cock against Saito’s leg and swallows him down. A knife twists in his belly, hot with humiliation on one side, cold with fear on the other.
Nash’s lips are numb when Saito finally comes, holding him there to make him swallow. Blood, spunk-it’s all the same taste like a mouthful of melted tin. Nash shudders against Saito as he’s pulled off and pushed back down like Saito’s trying to make a point, drawing his attention to the mess he’s made, rubbing his nose in it like he really is some dumb mutt that’s just pissed on the carpet. Nash licks him clean until Saito is satisfied and says he can stop.
He sits back on his hands as Saito tucks himself away, sits with the cold, sticky mess that’s left in his underwear and waits. At this point, Nash thinks he’s been a pretty damn good dog. There’s a morbid sense of satisfaction that goes with the feeling as he waits, like all good dogs, for the sound of his master’s voice.
“You have made a very good dog, Mr. Nash,” Saito begins and for one shining moment he thinks he’s home free. “But we must not disillusion ourselves. You are a rat, at heart, and a rat would gnaw off his own tail if it served his purpose.”
He’s been listening with a growing sense of dread. Saito smiles, again, and Nash feels his blood run cold as the man gives a minute shake of his head.
“I have no use for rats.”
Word Count: 1,638
Pairing: Saito/Nash
Rating: R
Summary: Pride is for men like Arthur and Cobb who can afford the vanity. Men like him have to survive.
Warnings: dub-con, humiliation, mentions of drug use
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be!
Author's Note: This is meant to be a sequel to/continuation of my Cobb/Nash story Cinders of Affection. The premise (Nash begging Saito for his life) is canonical, but it doesn't work very well as a standalone without the events prior.
“If you are here at the behest of Mr. Cobb, I am unimpressed. Perhaps even insulted.”
Nash’s head-shake is more of a jerk. “I got nothing to with that asshole.”
His head and chest pulse in rapid staccato, his mouth full of cotton. Sweat glistens on his skin with every shaky tremor. It’s not the blow, not anymore, just plain, old fear. Nash is scared shitless and Saito is only sitting there with his hands in his lap. It’s the way that he stares, impassive and unblinking, that Nash doesn’t like.
“I know your face,” he says, after a long moment, and Nash blurts out who he is and how he got there without Saito needing to ask. “You seem to believe very ardently that I will help you, though on what grounds I cannot be sure.”
It’s got fuck all to do with belief, hope, whatever you want to call it. Someone has to take the fall for Cobol and Nash knows it will be him if he doesn’t do something about it, because Arthur would never rat on Cobb. He doesn’t have a bone in his body that isn’t devoted that psychopath and it should have been Arthur getting fucked up against that wall, not him. Nash was paid for the big picture-Arthur’s the one with an eye for detail, and he’s the real fuck up here. He’s the one who should’ve known about the carpet.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he says. “Who hired us, anything about Cobb and Arthur.” Nash licks his lips, cracked and bleeding, and thinks as fast as he can. “There’s a price on both their heads in Mombasa. I know where they’re staying, what they’re planning next. Anything you want to know, all of it.”
“You waste my time, Mr. Nash, and yours. Whatever may be left of it.”
Nash can’t throw himself at Saito’s feet fast enough. “Please, man, you gotta-you gotta help me, please. Cobol’s gonna kill me when they find out we didn’t get those plans.” The tears rolling hot and salty down his cheeks are real, the same as the hysterical sobbing that’s bubbling forth from his lips. “Please, I don’t…. fuck, I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die, Saito, please.”
Saito smiles then and it feels like a punch in the gut. “Few vermin do.”
Nash sobs and his shoulders shake with the force of it, he’s so fucked, so fucked, and he wishes he’d thrown himself on Cobb’s mercy instead. Cobb doesn’t like him any more than Saito does, but his blood runs hot and his hate is angry and feeling. Nothing like this coldblooded bastard whose knees he’s clutching, begging for his life. Men like that, they don’t bleed hot or even red. They delight in watching you squirm and kick you to the curb without a second thought when they’re sick of you.
He gives a jerky start when he feels Saito touch his face, tilting up his chin until his eyes are boring into Nash’s, so dark a brown he’s having a hard time seeing the distinction between the iris and the pupil through the wall of tears. Saito’s eyes stare back at him, black and dead, and the shakes are worse than they have been the times he’s had to detox.
Saito’s thumb strokes his cheek and Nash wants nothing more than to jerk away before it jams into his eye and leaves him blind and screaming.
The pain he expects never comes. Instead, Saito addresses him. “Do you know why Mr. Cobb keeps Arthur close to him, Mr. Nash?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Arthur is like a dog,” Saito tells him as he brushes the long, matted strands of Nash’s hair behind his ears. “Dogs are loyal to their masters, and Arthur is no different. Cobb knows that Arthur will come when he calls and heel when he is told, no matter how often his master kicks him. Do you understand my meaning, Mr. Nash?”
Nash nods, rapidly, even though the only part he really gets is Arthur. He doesn’t know how he fits into it, but he does know it’s better not to ask questions. Saito’s fingers card through his hair, his face neutral even though Nash knows it must feel greasy, unwashed because he’s done nothing but look for Saito for three days.
“Some dogs need more discipline than others,” Saito continues, “in order to be faithful to their masters. But there is a fine line between discipline and cruelty. Even the kindest animal can be conditioned to be violent, if he is only ever beaten.”
There’s no need for him to raise his voice and he knows it, Nash is sure. Saito is the kind of man who is used to people hanging on his every word and if Nash wants to come out of this alive, he’ll do the same. Nash doesn’t know why Saito’s hand hasn’t left his hair until it hits him. Just like that, he gets it. Saito’s petting him. Petting him like he’s a dog.
The realization must show on his face because Saito smiles again. It doesn’t make him feel any better than it did the first time. “A good master seeks a balance between authority and affection.”
Nash turns his face into Saito’s hand and rubs his lips against the palm. He’s done his fair share of bootlicking, but this takes the fucking cake. Nash knows he’s a rat, but on the off chance that Saito might save his ass, he plays along. He can be a dog, if that’s what Saito wants.
He laps at Saito’s fingers, sucking them into his mouth with his eyes closed. Nash can taste nicotine on his fingers and he chases it. He’s jonesing for a hit of anything, even just a smoke, worse than he ever has, but they took it all when they dragged him in here and dropped him in front of Saito. Nash sucks and licks at Saito’s fingers like it might satisfy the craving, but it only leaves him wanting.
Saito murmurs appreciatively. “Good dog.”
His hand slips away and Nash wipes his chin free of the saliva that’s trickled out of his mouth. He cries out as Saito jerks him forward by his hair and pulls out his cock with his free hand. Saito makes him take all of it and Nash can only swallow and try not to choke. He sucks with his eyes closed. He’d rather stare at the ugly fucking wallpaper than look up at Saito while his mouth is on the man’s cock. It hits the back of his throat, makes him gag, and Nash tries to pull off.
Saito pushes him back down and his fingers are like a vice on the back of his neck, making him whimper low in his throat.
“No one has given you permission to stop, dog.”
Nash starts up again and Saito’s hand goes back to petting. His fingers stroke through the greasy tangles of hair as his foot nudges Nash’s thighs apart. His heel rubs over the bulge already tenting out his pants. It’s not that he gets off on humiliation or having anyone shove their cock where it doesn’t belong. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, never has, but whenever he’s scared it all seems to settle hot in his belly and send his cock swelling like a balloon.
Saito’s heel slides over Nash’s threadbare jeans as he pets him and murmurs, sometimes in English, sometimes in Japanese. Nash almost bites, he’s so terrified that Saito will crush his balls under that heel. The tremors he can’t help. His jaw feels worse than it did after Cobb clocked him twice and he finally sweated all the coke out of his system.
Saito nudges him up on his knees and his leg settles there between Nash’s thighs instead, shin hard and flat against his cock as he sucks. “Go on, dog. Your master is giving you a reward.”
Pride is for men like Arthur and Cobb who can afford the vanity. Men like him have to survive. The choice between his pride and his neck is a no-fucking-brainer, but Nash still thinks he might be sick with shame as he ruts his cock against Saito’s leg and swallows him down. A knife twists in his belly, hot with humiliation on one side, cold with fear on the other.
Nash’s lips are numb when Saito finally comes, holding him there to make him swallow. Blood, spunk-it’s all the same taste like a mouthful of melted tin. Nash shudders against Saito as he’s pulled off and pushed back down like Saito’s trying to make a point, drawing his attention to the mess he’s made, rubbing his nose in it like he really is some dumb mutt that’s just pissed on the carpet. Nash licks him clean until Saito is satisfied and says he can stop.
He sits back on his hands as Saito tucks himself away, sits with the cold, sticky mess that’s left in his underwear and waits. At this point, Nash thinks he’s been a pretty damn good dog. There’s a morbid sense of satisfaction that goes with the feeling as he waits, like all good dogs, for the sound of his master’s voice.
“You have made a very good dog, Mr. Nash,” Saito begins and for one shining moment he thinks he’s home free. “But we must not disillusion ourselves. You are a rat, at heart, and a rat would gnaw off his own tail if it served his purpose.”
He’s been listening with a growing sense of dread. Saito smiles, again, and Nash feels his blood run cold as the man gives a minute shake of his head.
“I have no use for rats.”