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Lynchwood is Nisha’s kind of town. She loves the dust and the stink, the constant struggle against feral wildlife, both human and animal. She roams the wastelands of Pandora with a pistol in each hand; it’s the only life she has ever wanted.
Leaving it for Helios is hard. She hates almost everything about that floating tin can: the stale recirculated air, the grotesque displays of wealth, the stench of desperate ambition as the peons trample over one another to climb the greasy rungs of success. All of it combines to make her skin crawl and her trigger finger itch. Which begs the question of why she keeps coming back, but the answer is an easy one.
There is one thing on Helios that she doesn't hate.
She finds Jack in his ridiculous chair, hunched over that ridiculous desk, backlit by Elpis’ strange glow. It might be an impressive sight if she’s the cowering type. Jack is dangerous, but so is she. And she knows he's safe to her in a way that he's not to anyone else, to the extent that a man like him can ever be safe.
Not to say there aren't ever any issues.
Jack growls without looking up from whatever has his full attention. "I thought I said the next person to interrupt is going straight down the murder shaft."
"Not that I don't admire your shaft, but we did have a date planned."
He looks up the way a dog might at the voice of its owner. But that’s not quite right. This isn’t about ownership, or possession; they make room for each other. His scowl eases a little at the sight of her. "Is it the 5th already? I thought you weren't getting here until next week."
"Nice to see you too, babe."
He scrubs a hand over his face and leans back in his chair. "Sorry Nish, just got caught up. Got a lot going on."
She walks around the desk. He swivels in his chair, tracking her. The mask obscures any signs of exhaustion, but she can tell from the slept-in look of his clothing and the clawed-at disarray of his hair. He's twitchy in that way he gets when he’s stressed or bored.
"When was the last time you slept?" she asks.
He swats away her question like she's some nagging housewife. Her annoyance ratchets up another notch. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Which is gonna be in about two hours, I’m about to pop a goddamn vein over these goddamn deadlines.”
She straddles him in that stupid chair, gratified by the way his hands settle automatically on her hips. He makes a pleased sound, but he’s still distracted, eyes darting to the holo screens above his desk with their display of things she’s completely uninterested in. She digs her fingers into the meat of his shoulders in warning. “Time to take a break, handsome.”
He snorts. “Are you freaking kidding me? Do you have any idea how much work I gotta do?”
“Don’t you pay peons to do that?”
“Apparently too much,” he growls. “Production on the latest e-tech range is running over time and budget, and none of these shit-for-brains can give me a decent explanation.”
Hard to explain when they’re having the life squeezed out of them, Nisha muses, but she’s already losing interest in the conversation. She’s not here to listen to him whine about how hard life is as a billionaire CEO.
“I gotta be planet-side again in 24 hours, let’s make the most of it.” She sucks at the soft skin beneath his ear and relishes his gasp. His hands tighten on her hips, pulling her down against his crotch. That’s better.
But victory threatens to slip when he sighs and starts to ease her off his lap. “Much as I’d love to, babe, I’m not kidding about those deadlines. Let’s take a rain check and I’ll make it up to you next time, promise.”
She sits up and stares him down. He looks genuinely remorseful, but still his eyes keep sliding to the screens. Her time is precious; there are Pandorans to tame and bandits to hang. He's usually good about respecting that, so it's extra irritating when he doesn't.
She can waste more time arguing, but she’s always preferred direct action. So she hauls back and slaps him hard across the face.
“Fuck!” His head whips around, lips peeled back in a snarl. Now she has his full attention. Good.
He seizes her by the throat with one big hand just as she whips out her pistol and shoves it against his crotch. For a moment they're frozen in a tableau, two apex predators staring each other down.
He cracks first. That mobile mouth pulls into a smirk that is infuriatingly attractive. "You won't shoot, you like my dick too much."
"You're rich, you can afford another one." She digs the barrel in harder.
He winces and lets go, holding both hands up placatingly. “All right, all right, I give. Jeezus you’re tetchy. Is it that time of the month or what?”
He’s deliberately trying to annoy her now. She ignores the comment but adds a tally to her mental list of his faux pas. He’ll pay for that one later. She holsters her pistol and gives his crotch a conciliatory pat. “You need to relax, Jack. Whaddaya say we take a look through the toy box, hmm?”
That gets his attention. He makes an involuntary noise, pupils blowing wide. She smirks at him. That’s much better. She’ll give him what he needs, even if he can’t admit it, but now he’s gotta work for it. “C’mon handsome, turn that shit off and let’s get this show on the road.”
She gives his crotch a squeeze and gets to her feet. He follows her down the raised steps, bitching all the way, but it’s only for show. She has him now, and she’s going to make the most of it.
*
They’re barely through the penthouse doors when Jack finds himself slammed against the wall and devoured by Nisha's biting kisses. He drags her close, breathing her in. She smells like dirt, sweat, and gunpowder. Blood rushes to his dick so quickly he’s a little dizzy with it. All the frustration of the past week finds an outlet that (probably) won’t end in blood and he grabs it with both hands.
“Fuck, babe.” He hauls her in by her perfect ass. “Can’t believe it’s been a whole month. What’s so good about that dirt ball anyway? Stay with me here, we got everything we need. You could live like a queen.”
“I’d rather be a sheriff.” She strips the layers off of him with practiced efficiency, hampered only a little by his efforts to do the same. That initial press of her bare skin against his is just as thrilling as the very first time they did this.
Jack groans and lifts her up. She winds around him like a snake as he walks them both toward the bedroom. He can feel the heat of her against his belly, his cock bobbing up against the hot seam of her body with every step.
He throws her onto the bed and follows her down, bearing her into the thousand dollar sheets. Between kisses they grapple at each other, fighting for dominance and neither of them are shy about playing dirty. He squeezes her neck with both hands, and the way her pretty mouth falls open on an airless gasp is too distracting. She lands a vicious right hook under his ribs and laughs in breathless delight as he collapses on top of her.
“You lose,” she says hoarsely. “You know the rules.”
He does. She grabs a fistful of his hair and guides him down to his knees. He goes easily, nosing his way between her thighs, heady with the smell of her. She makes a pleased sound at the touch of his mouth and he gets down to business.
It’s gratifying work. He likes being able to reduce her to a shuddering mess, likes the way she paints his face with her juices. Sometimes it’s more fun to lose. It’s part of the give and take of power that’s a constant between them. With her thighs squeezing around his head it’s easy to lose himself in the rhythm, guided by the rushing blood in his ears.
With his body on autopilot, his mind wanders to numbers, schematics, which board members he’ll have to make an example of. It’s been too long since the last public execution and the minions are getting complacent--
“Ow ow ow! Easy on the hair, Nish, jeezus.”
She releases her grip enough for him to look up, scalp stinging from the vicious tug.
She’s glaring down at him, and even flushed and sweat slicked she’s every inch the killer. That basilisk stare turns his knees to jelly and his dick to stone. “You’re thinking too loud," she says, deceptively casual. "Am I boring you?”
“C’mon babe, quit busting my balls. I’ve got a lot on my mind, okay?” A hand on his head stops him from diving back in. There’s a change in her gaze that raises the small hairs on his body.
“I’ve got a fix for that,” she says. “Get on the bed, face down. And don’t fucking move.”
“Who died and made you the boss?” He grumbles, but it’s only a smoke screen for the way his heart is racing in his chest. He crawls up the bed and presses his hot face into the pillows. She’s moving around the room, gathering things and arranging them. He’s keenly aware of her presence, can track her movements without looking. He always knows where she is. “Is this gonna take long? Cuz time is money, babe--”
Something whistles through the air and bites into the top of his thighs.
“Fuck!” He jumps and glares over his shoulder. Nisha smirks at him, a slim leather crop in her dark hands. The place where she hit him is already raised and blooming red.
“Count,” she says.
It’s hard to speak with his suddenly parched mouth. “How bout a little warning next time--”
This time the crop lands across his ass, making him yelp.
“Count.”
“Fuck, okay okay--” he breathes hard, digging his hips into the bed. “One.”
The strokes come steadily, each swing controlled and confident. His dick twitches against the sheets as he keeps count. His voice cracks around the dozen mark. His ass and thighs are burning, heat sweeping through him in mounting waves. He loses count somewhere after twenty. Every breath is wet and ragged as he gropes for the next number, head buzzing with adrenaline. He needs to get this right, there’s nothing more important than this.
It’s only when he feels her cool touch against his burning skin that Jack realises the strokes have stopped. She traces a rough palm along his trembling thighs and presses a kiss against his temple. “Good boy,” she purrs. “Ready for the next part?”
He nods, not quite trusting his voice yet.
She makes a pleased sound and guides him to his feet. Arranged by the bed is a selection of harnesses and prosthetic cocks, varying in size and design.
They’ve played this game before, but rarely enough that it still makes his heart try to crawl up his throat. There’s something vulnerable about getting fucked, and Jack doesn’t like to feel vulnerable. But he trusts her, in as much as he can trust anyone. He knows there’s very little chance she’ll try to kill him while she rails him. The remaining sliver of doubt only adds to the thrill.
She’s watching him closely like she can tell what he’s thinking. “I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you choose.”
Jack stares at the options, heat climbing his face. There’s something degrading about having to choose what she’ll use to fuck him with. His own dick throbs in anticipation.
He selects the one he had custom made from a rare alloy. It’s worth more than the life of an average Hyperion drone, and is just a bit bigger than what he can comfortably take. That's why he picks it; he knows how much she loves to watch him squirm. It's also in his favourite colour.
"Good choice."
She leans back and he guides the smaller end between her slick folds. It fits neatly inside her, the shape designed to stimulate her with every movement. When she stands upright again the cock juts out obscenely from her neat dark curls. The air is suddenly too hot. He wonders if she’ll make him suck it first.
She tosses him the lube. "Get yourself ready, pretty boy."
"Do I gotta do all the work around here?" He grumbles with no real heat. He lies back, hissing through his teeth as raw skin drags against the sheets. He works three fingers inside himself as she watches, her gaze scorching like the Pandoran sun. She’s running slim fingers over her cock, and the thought of taking it however she wants to give it to him makes his heart pound, makes him clench around his own fingers.
He doesn’t do this often, and right now he can’t recall why not because it feels good, so fucking good, but it’s still not enough. He manages to get his spare hand around his cock for a bare second before she smacks it away.
“Did I say you could touch yourself?”
“Christ, babe, you’re killing me here--” Frustration drives his fingers deeper, but it’s still far from enough.
The look she gives him is hot enough to burn. “You look good like this, Jack. What would the peons say if they could see you now?”
The image flashes through his mind: Handsome Jack, President and CEO of the most powerful corporation in the six galaxies, knuckles deep in his own asshole and begging to be fucked. The thought sends a jolt of heat through his belly. “Nothing,” he grits out, “cuz they’d already be dead.”
She laughs and tugs his arms over his head. There are cuffs tethered to the top of the bed, the leather expensive and buttery soft with use. He lets himself be bound, only because she has let him do the same to her countless times before.
Her hair falls around them in dark curtains as she leans down to kiss him. He opens himself up to it, savouring her, her clever tongue in his mouth and the weight of her scarred body. Her cock slides alongside his, still cool but warming from the heat of their bodies. It feels incredible. Instinctively he draws up his knees, making space for her, opening himself up. He is hyper aware of the hungry void inside him, screaming to be filled.
He’s so distracted he doesn’t notice her fingers on his mask until they brush against the clasps. He rears back with a jolt. Suddenly this is no longer a game. “Nisha, don’t--”
That earns him a slap. "Quit squirming.”
"Then stop fucking with the mask," he spits back. She's seen him without it before, but that doesn't mean he likes it.
She slaps him again, hard enough to make his ears ring. There's blood in his mouth where his incisor has split the soft inner meat. “Either you hold still or we stop, right now.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He glares at her for all the good it does. He knows she’s serious. A month without her is already too long, he can’t risk her leaving again so soon. Panting with fear and lust, he nods reluctantly. “Fine. I’ll be good.”
“Good boy.” She pats fondly at his stinging cheek, then curls her fingers around the hinges.
His heart pounds as she lifts away the mask. Part of him wants to look away, to hide, but he needs to watch her. He scrutinises her face for any sign of disgust or pity, but her expression doesn't change. A knot in his chest loosens a fraction.
She sets the mask carefully by the bed and reaches for him again. Jack flinches, but she doesn’t touch the livid scar. Instead she brushes the corner of his mouth, her thumb coming away red and wet. She holds his gaze as she darts out her tongue and licks away the blood. Fear twists back into lust so fast he can’t catch his breath.
"Fuck, Nish--"
"I know what you need, handsome." She smirks, then in a single fluid movement shoves his knees to his chest and pushes inside him.
The stretch is intense even with all the prep. He breathes hard through his teeth as his body adjusts. It’s hard to rein in his instinct to fight back. She's watching him intently, her small but strong hands anchoring him in place. She angles her hips and drives directly into that tender spot inside, making him jump.
"Shit --"
"Too much?" She asks, but before he can answer she's pulling back and fucking in hard, making him see stars. “You can handle it."
She's right, she always knows how to take him right to the edge and keep him there, dangling on the knife edge of pleasure. He'll never admit it, he’s too proud, but his body betrays him. He bucks up to meet her with what little leverage he has, clenching around the strap to keep her in on the out stroke and opening up greedily on the in.
She fucks him with the same kind of brutal efficiency she brings to a fight. Every impact of her hips is an electric jolt against the red welts on his ass. He can’t stop the noises he’s making even if he wants to.
She fucks him until he forgets about numbers, deadlines, his bare face and a hundred other irritating things, until there’s only the desperate straining towards release. Sweat is pooling under his back, behind the folds of his knees. It trickles between her breasts, making her skin glisten in the low light. Her grip doesn't slip; she digs her blunt nails into the meat of his thighs and puts her back into it. Her dark hair clings to her forehead in damp strands, her lips are sheared back with effort. She’s so goddamn beautiful he almost says something stupid.
“Fuck, Nish,” he gasps, straining against his bonds. “Let me free, lemme touch, please--”
“You come on my cock or not at all,” she says, grinding into him.
“You fucking bitch--” He yanks at the restraints, the muscles of his arms standing out in sharp relief.
She laughs and fucks him hard enough to rattle the bed. He tosses his head and shouts, his cock blood hot and heavy against his belly. He's so close he can taste it. It builds in the base of his spine, radiating from where she saws in and out of him. Just as the wave crests, Nisha claws hot red stripes down the back of his aching thighs. A nebula bursts behind his eyes until it swallows him up whole and he’s coming, clenching around her driving cock. Heat roars through him until there’s only the feeling of her skin on his. Dimly he can hear her coming too, wet gasps muffled against his neck as her hips stutter in their rhythm. He urges her on, muttering filthy nothings (“-- that’s it babe, c’mon now, lemme hear you --”) as she trembles against him.
In the aftermath they are twined around each other as they catch their breaths. Jack winces as she withdraws, feeling raw and well used. It’ll only take half a hypo to take the edge off, but he won’t. He likes carrying the ache of her mark on him.
His arms are rubbery when she releases them; it takes all his remaining strength to throw them around her warm body. The pins and needles are gonna be a bitch in a second.
She stretches indulgently across his body and winds a finger through the hairs on his chest. “How're you holding up, handsome?"
Jack feels fantastic, and also like he might sleep for a whole week. "Don't think I'll be sitting down any time soon,” he says blurrily.
She snickers. "A little something to remember me by."
He presses his face into her hair, chasing her sweat and gunpowder scent. It smells like home. “Do you have to go tomorrow?” he asks, like he always does.
“I’ll be back again soon,” she answers, like always. This is a game they play too. They both know that the distance is good for them; they’re too much alike to be able to coexist without trying to kill each other. But still he wants her here, always.
“You better be.” He holds her close. Their bodies fit together the same way their jagged edges fit to make a seamless, perfect whole. He doesn’t love her, because what he loves he loses, but he holds onto all of her strength and fury and viciousness, and knows that she holds him back just the same. And that’s enough for a night, a year, or a lifetime.