Work Text:
“Got a visitor today, Murdock.”
Matt straightened his back as he sat up from his cot in his cell, pulling at muscles that didn’t get used as much in his current position. He got to his feet, turning his face in the direction of his open cell door. He put his hands behind his back for the standard cuff procedure. The guard (Peterson, whose coffee breath always had a hint of whiskey to it) locked his cuffs a shred too tight. A too-heavy pour today, apparently.
“It’s not visiting hours,” Matt remarked, as though they were two colleagues having a normal meeting. He was turned around and walked through his cell door. The visitor center was three cells ahead and two flights of stairs down. As they walked the normal path, Matt noticed they went down a third staircase. “Usual visitor center booked or what?”
“Some government asshole insisted on privacy.”
“You work for the government, Peterson.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Peterson’s hand on Matt’s right arm loosened as footsteps came up behind them, quick ones, running ones. Heavy panting coming from the newcomer’s mouth. “Jesus, Evans, you don’t gotta run. I’m taking him down to set up early, the guy ain’t supposed to be here for another-”
“He’s early.” Evans sounded like he was about to shit his pants. He was whispering, and doing a bad job of it. “He’s fucking early, and I saw who it was. It's him.”
Matt tuned out the sound of Evans’s racing heart as a door opened in front of him and he was escorted through and sat down in a chair. When he reached his cuffed hands out, Peterson unlocked them, pulling none-too-gently to clasp the table cuffs back over his wrists. They were cold, and the metal chains connecting him to the metal table clanked in a bad harmony. Peterson was asking Evans to explain as he checked the cuffs were tight (too tight) and Evans’s feet kept tapping on the cement floor, unable to stand still. Matt ignored Evans’s whisper of I’ll tell you outside to focus his other senses. He’d smelled something the second Evans had appeared in the hallway, the way it stuck to him and then to Peterson as he cuffed him into his interrogation chair. It was aftershave. Evans didn’t wear aftershave, and it was not the one Peterson splashed on when it was a date night with his wife, no, it was a different one. Something clean and simple, not cheap but not top shelf.
The air was swishing around Evans’s hands as he made some sort of charades-like motion to hint at who the visitor was, in an attempt to keep Matt from knowing. Matt already knew.
Dex.
Every time Matt listened to the news in his cell and heard about turmoil somewhere in the city, in the country, in the world, about someone dying and the questions arising from the strange circumstances, his thought was always Dex, did you do that? Who sent you to do that? Or was this one just for fun?
Jess had come in for a visit that week, and they’d talked about the city and Fisk’s disappearance and their plans they were building with Karen and her private eye work and her daughter and how Luke was helping her with her spelling test and Matt’s brain had lit up with the memory of Dex spitting on his face, the words fuck you landing on his skin with the saliva.
He’d made the right call. The right call isn’t always right for everybody.
Evans and Peterson left the room as he was left to his thoughts, whispered exclamations of you gotta be fucking kidding me and there’s no way he’s that crazy, is he and how did he even get in here following them out.
Matt stayed in his chair, not much else he could do. His hands crossed and he rested his head in them, smoothing his beard with one hand, the chains clinking against the metal table with his movement. The minutes ticked by as he just sat there alone. It took more strain to listen through the door than usual, which meant there was no glass on the door for a window for someone to look into this room. Cement floor, solid walls, solid door. It certainly was private. Matt leaned his head back and eavesdropped on the conversation when he heard the crackle of a walkie from Peterson’s pocket.
It checked out.
You're fucking with me.
We scanned the ID, it was clear. We looked up his old records, they’re gone. We called the number on the ID, we got chewed out. He’s clean.
Still can’t put him in there. He’ll fucking kill him the second they’re alone.
I can’t block him, boss.
… Dammit. Bring him down. With two escorts.
Peterson’s sigh was loud. Probably time for another coffee, Matt thought.
There was no clock in this room, no ticking sound, no sunlight from any window. It was a limiting field of senses, just listening to the idle chatter outside being the only thing he could focus on. Well, that wasn’t true. Matt honed in on the smell of Dex’s aftershave lingering in the space left behind. Still the same one. Had it really been six whole months?
Open the door, came a cold order from the other side of the door.
Dex.
Barking at Peterson with the same Quantico-trained assertiveness he’d always had. There was a snarl to his tone, his mouth turned down in irritation. That aftershave flooded the room as soon as the door opened. Dex’s footsteps were naturally lighter than the other two guards, already crossing the room. Matt could feel him walking past him more than he could hear him.
“You got one hour, you underst-”
“Get out,” Dex snapped, the sound of a briefcase hitting the metal table with a loud thud, the metal clasp ringing. “Did you hear me? Move.”
The door quickly shut, two sets of footsteps pretending like they weren’t scrabbling to move, the other two escorts following in quick succession. Dex huffed, sitting heavily in the opposite chair. His foot was tapping on the floor in a one-two rhythm. He was energetic. Dealer’s choice how this meeting would go.
Is this room bugged? Dex’s exhaled question still held the edges of a drawl, still sharp as a barb.
No high pitched whines, no static, no smell of too-small wires frying behind a picture frame or under a table. Matt shook his head.
Did they plant one on me?
Matt shook his head.
Cameras?
No static. Matt shook his head.
Are they still in the hallway?
Matt shook his head. All the conversations out there had ceased. They had been left alone.
Dex finally let out a breath and set his briefcase on the floor beside him before leaning forward with his elbows hitting the table first. He let out a deep breath, a ha sound. “Matt Murdock.” He sounded smug.
“Officer Poindexter.” Matt’s response was measured. “I heard it was the CIA now.” Another piece of info from Jess. “They usually go by officer, not agent.”
“Been doing your homework.”
“Just heard the word around town.”
Dex chuckled at that. “Sorry about the delay, they had to pat me down at the front.”
“Expected that. What’d they let you keep?”
“Just my case. Even took my belt.”
“Inconvienent for you.”
“Not a big deal. Got a tailor now.” A small metallic clang rang out, then slid across the table in Matt’s direction. “But at least it kept ‘em busy long enough to borrow this.”
Matt took the stolen handcuff key and unlocked himself from the cuffs, rubbing his left wrist when he was done. Peterson really had had a too-strong pour today. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
Matt kept rubbing a sore spot just under his thumb. There was no sound of anything except the creaking heater from below the floor vent. Sounds from the hallway were nonexistent. “There’s nobody guarding our door.”
“This is a confidential meeting, and it started seven minutes late,” Dex scowled. There was real vitriol behind his words. “Told them I could have them reprimanded for listening in.”
“Were you serious?”
“As a heart attack. We have a lot to go over.”
“Do we?”
“Six months' worth.”
Ah, there it was. Dex’s voice took on a new bitter note. Made sense, of course, there really hadn’t been any time for goodbyes or thank yous or take cares before his arrest, before Dex’s flight to Mandripoor. Matt knew Dex wanted a good deed and he had given him one, no matter how much he’d pitched a fit about it. Matt could still remember the tone in Dex’s voice, how it went from enraged to cold to desperate in a matter of seconds. No. Shut up. Why? Stop talking. I won’t. I won’t. Wait. Why? Shut the fuck up. No. No. No. I was doing good. I was doing good. I was doing good. I was doing good. I was doing good…
Dex for Luke. Luke for Dex. Matt went to prison, Fisk fled, and Dex got on a plane and everyone was worse off for the greater good. Hallelujah.
You want to do good? Go forth. Do this in remembrance of me. Eye for an eye, hand for a hand, tooth for a tooth. Dex’s words didn’t have that whistle to them from before, he must have a new fake tooth. Probably a pro job, making sure Mr. Charles’s brand new hired gun looked as perfect as he aimed.
Dex shifted in his seat, sitting back up to full attention. His guard was back up, pure animal instinct radiating out of him.
Is that how you see me? An animal?
“Guess we should start all this at the beginning,” Matt offered judiciously, folding his hands. “How’s the job?”
“I’m good at it, and I get paid to do what I’m good at. American dream.” Every word from Dex was a dart. He sounded pissed and he had every right to be pissed. But that wasn’t why he came here. Matt could practically smell his blood pumping.
“You sound good, though,” Matt replied, ignoring the sarcasm.
“You look like shit.” Easy, boy. Heel.
“Yeah, well, you’re lucky it was laundry yesterday. Can’t all have new nice clothes.” Brand new suit full of starch, shoes still with the wax on the heels, aftershave scenting his words. Neat and tidy and clean-shaven as always.
Dex’s chair scraped on the hard floor in a fidgety motion. His mouth was dry when he swallowed. “Perks of the job.”
Always so bad at lying to me. Matt made a show of inhaling and sitting back in his chair. “Even got a new cologne.”
“Yeah.”
“Not wearing it today, though.” That smell clung to the briefcase but on Dex himself, on his skin - “You’re wearing your old aftershave.”
A sharper exhale made Matt smile. There you go. Come back down to me. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Dex wasn’t the only one who could aim and hit dead center. “You covered yourself in it before walking in here, right? So it’d get on Evans, who’d get it on Peterson, who’d walk me into this room, smelling you the whole way down, waiting for you to show up?”
Sweat was gathering under Dex’s collar, soaking into the starch. His blood was pumping louder, and when he swallowed this time, his saliva stuck to the sides of his mouth. Easy, easy.
“How’d you get them to let you set this up?” Matt asked, a simpler question to let Dex get his footing back. “Would’ve thought they’d assume you wanted to be here to take me out.”
Dex chuckled, a little heady. Six months… “Oh, you don’t want to know what I did to get this, counselor.”
Warmth flooded Matt’s spine at the nickname. Just like old times, just on opposite ends of the table. “I’ll bet I don’t.”
“Don’t worry, it was all on the up-and-up. Nothing to offend your choir-boy sensitivities. It was a government contract job. I’m cleared, I’m clean, I’ve been rubber-stamped by professionals. I’ve been very good.”
“Have you?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Matt stood up from his chair, stretching his neck out. He left the handcuffs and key on the table, walking along the edge, his fingers steady on the table corners. Dex’s breathing spiked when he finally reached his side, Matt could feel it against his skin even from the short distance, tilting up towards Matt’s face. So patient.
“So help me understand,” Matt started, hand resting a few inches from Dex’s on the table, leaning against the edge but over him like their roles had never changed. Maybe they never truly had. “You used your government clearance, salary, connections, to set all this up for you? For me?”
Dex’s jaw clicked. He was nodding.
“What was the goal here, Dex?” Not officer. Not sweetheart, not yet. Dex. “You have a pardon offer in that case for me or what?” Matt smirked. “Or is this more of a conjugal visit?”
Dex didn’t answer.
“I asked you a question.”
Still no answer except for the sound of Dex’s blood starting to throb. Alright, fine then. Matt backhanded Dex across the cheek, loud in the silence of the room. Dex groaned, a pitiful noise, before picking his head back up.
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
“Yessssss.” Dex sounded like he was bleeding out, going limp when Matt caught him by the jaw and brought his face back in his direction. “Yeah. Yes.”
That’s all I wanted to hear. “Up.”
Dex instantly got to his feet. Matt’s hand was still on his face, and he decided to reward him for being honest. He followed Dex’s motion and pulled him in for a kiss, hand sliding down to guide his neck towards him. Dex responded by cupping his face, kissing back hard, more teeth than lips. Things really hadn’t changed in six months.
But as it turned out, some had.
“You don’t shave anymore,” Matt murmured into his mouth, Dex’s mustache sharp against his skin. It was a new sensation that he hadn’t anticipated. He'd still put the aftershave on, but not to use it. Just to scent himself for Matt's benefit.
Dex laughed, a lighter sound that was so, so rare. Maybe it had been too long after all. “Neither do you.”
Matt smiled, bringing Dex back in against him, free hand draping over his shoulder to pull him that much closer, sealing their mouths together in a jaw-cracking kiss. Fuck, Dex’s fingers were going to bruise his face at this rate. His skin where he’d been slapped wasn’t cooling down, but then, he’d gotten a little carried away. That always happened when they did this. One of them always took it too far. Matt shifted their position, breaking away from the kiss to turn and sit back in Dex’s unoccupied chair. Dex practically pounced, kissing him again as he half-crawled into his lap. Didn’t matter that he was taller or broader or that this metal chair was uncomfortable as fuck. Dex moved back enough to peel his suit jacket off and leave it on the floor before attacking him again, his tongue nearly bumping against his molars, his cock already hard against Matt’s leg. Messy but not sloppy. Dex never moved in a way that left his body to make its own choices.
Matt’s hand came up, undoing a few of the bottom buttons on Dex’s shirt before slipping his hand up and under the starchy fabric and cotton undershirt. Dex’s skin was always too warm, and there was a slight unevenness to the space just under the right side of his ribcage.
New scar.
“What happened?” Matt murmured into Dex’s mouth, fingers trailing down the jagged line.
Dex shrugged, failing at sounding casual. “Classified.”
“Oh, is it?” Matt moved his fingers down the line again, pulling away from his mouth to his jaw.
“Shit.”
“Thought you were careful.”
“I am.” Dex’s voice was hoarse, being choked with just Matt’s mouth trailing down his throat. His hand was already reaching down to his cock, brushing against Matt’s in the process. “Jesus, what - what else do you want to know? Base locations, metahuman files, n-nuclear codes, what d’you wanna know?”
He made to undo the button on his pants and Matt slapped a hand over his wrist, biting down the spot he’d reached on his throat. Dex moaned at the pain, his head slightly drooping, resting against Matt’s temple. Matt clicked his tongue, moving Dex’s hand away from his pants button, even under the muffled protests. “You want to know what I want?”
Dex nodded, breathing coming in shallow from sheer anticipation. Matt moved their hands down to his body, their fingers brushing the outline of his cock through his jumpsuit. Dex’s next swallow sounded wet, a noise trapped in his throat. He didn’t ask a question this time, though, sliding out of Matt’s lap until he heard him hit the floor and his hands were pulling at his elastic waistband. Matt shifted to help him pull them down, take his cock out, until Dex could sit up on his knees, bracing his hands on either side of his hips before ducking his head down and practically swallowing his cock.
“Jesus.”
Dex laughed around him. He always got delirious like that, especially when he was able to pull some blasphemy out of him. Matt got a hand in his hair, grounding himself in freshly-washed locks as Dex’s teeth and stubble scraped sensitive skin, tongue working in a steady rhythm. Always hitting his mark, no matter the goal.
“Fuck, Dex, that’s good, that’s - fucking hell.”
Dex never had an attitude when he was doing this, just leaning back into Matt’s hand pulling his hair, guiding him to exactly the right place, the right speed. Matt let his head tilt back over the chair, glasses slipping as he scrubbed a hand over his own face, overwhelmed with sensations. It was easier to tangle his hand in Dex’s hair now, the strands longer than before. He doesn’t cut his hair the same way anymore. He doesn’t shave. He has new scars Matt didn’t give him. He has a new tooth that someone else put in his mouth. He’s different now. Is he following someone else’s north star now?
A whimper snapped Matt from his thought spiral. Dex’s hand was dragging across the front of his own pants button, grinding into his palm as he steadied himself with his other hand squeezing on Matt’s hip hard enough to leave a bruise.
Matt swallowed the saliva gathering in his throat and forced his head back up, yanking Dex’s hair by the root, pulling him back he made a protesting sound. Matt kept him exactly where he was, free hand tracing the scar he gave him across his cheek, and leaned forward to pant directly into Dex’s ear: “If you come before I do, you will regret it. You understand me?”
Mmm hmm. Each hum pulsed through Matt’s core. Dex’s hand dropped to the cement floor hard enough he could hear the bones bounce back from the force. Matt pushed Dex back to his original position. Dex hummed again at being guided, relaxing his throat and nuzzling even closer. His fingernails scraped the floor. His nose was practically pressing into Matt’s stomach.
“Good, sweetheart, you’re doing so, so good.”
Matt wanted to drag this out, see how long he could make him wait, bruise his knees on the cement, ruin his new suit and have to walk out of here a fucking wreck, smelling like Matt and nothing else. But not today, not now. He wasn’t Matt’s to mark up anymore, was he?
Dex leaned into his hand, wordlessly begging for him to pull his hair, scratch his scalp, make him choke, do anything to him. Fuck, Matt had missed this, missed him.
And that sudden realization was enough to send Matt hurtling over the edge, his orgasm making him dig his nails into Dex’s scalp, keeping his face pressed to him as he bent nearly in half as he rode it out, gasping Dex before he could stop himself. Dex choked and Matt didn’t care, because Dex didn’t care, because this is what he wanted, what he always wanted, and Matt kept giving him exactly what he wanted. He nearly fell out of the chair when the orgasm subsided, still breathing hard, pulling Dex back from his dick to let him breathe. He’d probably asphyxiate himself if Matt didn’t do that. Dex’s breathing was also ragged, coughing once, and he was wiping something off his mouth with the back of his hand, his elbow bumping Matt in the process.
He swallowed again, moaning when Matt reached with his other hand to turn his chin, wiping it with his thumb. Something like a smile was in the corner of his lips.
“Get on the table,” Matt finally spoke, breaking their quiet. Dex didn’t move, didn’t speak. Matt patted the side of his face, more on the side of a slap than a caress. “Dex? Did you hear me?”
****
Dex had heard Matt. He was the only sound in this room, his voice low like it always did when they fucked or fought. Even if his mind was basically syrup at this point, he could focus on his voice.
Matt’s hand hit the side of his face again. It felt really fucking good. “If you want to get off, get on the table.”
“‘Kay,” Dex slurred. Matt had yanked his hair back hard enough the metal table edge had grazed his head. He should’ve pulled harder and put a new scar there, somewhere Dex could feel it when he showered or put his mask on. He pushed himself back to his heels and got up on shaky legs, grateful the table was close enough he could lean on it. As soon as he did, Matt was also standing, mouth on his, tongue licking into his mouth, tasting himself there. His hand pressed against Dex’s chest and pushed hard, pushing him flat on his back on the table surface. Matt was on top of him, like he wanted to consume him, his knee against his dick through his still-buttoned pants, and he was kissing him again, teeth knocking against his.
Dex stretched his spine against the table, pulling himself all the way back, his metal vertebrae clinking against the table surface. He kept kissing him, breathing the air from Matt’s lungs into his own. Matt’s sweat was dripping into his skin, feeling the scratch of his beard in his pores, against the scar he'd left on Dex's face.
If Dex moved in just the right way, he could keep Matt between his legs, get one hand on his throat, and use the other to grab the handcuff key, and throw it across the room. It would bounce off the ceiling, a wall, the door, and land right in Matt’s jugular vein. He’d gasp, and choke, and be unable to move, and Dex would be able to watch him bleed out on top of him.
You should’ve never believed I was here to do good, counselor. For anyone, but especially for you.
Dex let go of Matt’s hair, by the small of his back where had him as close as humanly possible, and stretched his arms back all the way back. His fingertips brushed the handcuff key and he moved past it, as he slid his wrists into the still-warm cuffs, wiggling them until they locked around them.
Matt smirked against his mouth, cocky and high on his own supply of Dex’s devotion. “Feeling nostalgic?”
“Shut up.”
“Okay.” Matt pressed another kiss to Dex’s scar on his flushed cheek, the same one he’d given him. “But only because you’re being so good.”
The praise was as nice as the metal cutting into his skin.
Matt moved off of him, back off the table to get Dex’s pants undone. His calloused hand pulling his underwear down enough (they never got fully undressed when they did this) and wrapping around his cock.
Dex didn’t even fight the cuffs, just pulling them enough to make it hurt as he bit down on his own bottom lip. He let it go when Matt’s mouth replaced his hand and Dex’s moan came up from his ribcage, his heart beating so loud even he could hear it.
He wasn’t gonna last. He never did. Especially not with Matt’s hand reaching up through his half-buttoned shirt to trace his rough fingers over Dex’s new scar. Dex had done the same thing in a Berlin hotel room, a gray shirt between his teeth and his other hand jerking him off with a fist. Fuck. What else could you want me to do? I’ll do it, I'll do it, I’ll do it. Don’t think about that. Don’t think…
Matt’s fingernail caught on the still-healing skin, scraping in a circular motion, the same time rhythm and speed as his tongue. Oh, fuck. Not gonna last. One, two, three, four, f-five, sssssssix, fuck…
When Dex came, everything went completely white even when he squeezed his eyes shut. His bones felt loose, his sweat making his skin stick to the table. Words escaped him, so he settled for sounds of contentment. His mind was so quiet he could feel every synapse, every pulse. It was bliss.
Dex was vaguely aware Matt had left his place between his legs to come back up to him, to put his hand back in his hair, his free hand unlocking the cuffs. Neither of them spoke as they caught their breath.
“You were right, by the way,” Dex murmured, voice hoarse, bringing one of his arms down to rest across his stomach. The other stayed hanging off the side of the table. He didn’t bother to open his eyes yet as he felt Matt sit on the side of the table by his head. He felt a bit like he was on a hospital bed, or an autopsy gurney. “Affidavit for clemency is in the case. Signed by a couple top dogs that didn’t ask too many questions.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Could march you out of here and take you out of jurisdiction and every cop in the place’d all have to kiss your ass as you walked by.”
Matt’s fingers brushed Dex’s sweaty bangs out of his face. “And where would we go?”
Dex refused to answer that question, even in his mind. Once you open that box, you can’t close it. Don’t even fiddle with the lock. He turned his face, let his cheek rest against the coolness of the interrogation table and hummed.
Matt’s thumb ran along his temple. “Thank you. But you know I can’t accept that.”
I’m not going with you. I’m not like you. I haven’t forgiven you. What this is is separate from what we are. I’m going to rot in prison while you go free for no reason at all.
“Why don’t you ever listen to anything I fucking say?” Dex snapped, body tensing, his head lifting. His head started to buzz again, pushing past the remnants of his post-orgasm haze. Fuck, fuck, fuck, stop it, Dex, you're ruining it, stop it, stop it, stop it, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up-
A hard tug on Dex’s hair made the buzzing stop and his breathing slow, his head lolling back to the side. Matt sighed at the same time Dex did. “If I took the offer and they let me out, they’d just be putting me into a different cage.”
“I know that.”
“I know that you know that.” Matt’s fingers stayed tangled in his hair. He mercifully (always with the fucking mercy) changed the subject. “Where are they sending you next?”
“Estrella. It’s hot there. I don’t like the humidity. It gives me a headache.” I never get what I want.
“How long are you there?”
“Until the job’s done. Seventy-two hours.”
“That’s it?”
"That's what they hire me for, counselor," Dex sighed, his bruised throat making it sound like a purr. He curled up on the table, just enough to bend his spine and knees that threatened to stiffen. "24/7, same-day delivery.” Then maybe somewhere in the UK, or Japan, or the Caribbean, rinse and repeat every few weeks. It was a routine. Dex liked routine. He liked knowing his schedule, and anticipating the specific needs for his jobs, and being left alone to get his work done the correct way. He was good at his job, the best at his job, and he got paid well to do what he was good at. He could go anywhere at all in the world he wanted to with enough money to buy whatever clothes or knives or anything at all he wanted.
And as soon as he made a single mistake, they would absolutely take all of that away and hold him down to inject him with poison until his heart stopped. Or they’d throw the switch on him in the chair or put him in front of the shittiest possible firing squad as a bad joke, but they’d never get to that point. When Dex got tired of this job, and one day he would, he would just disappear into thin air. Nobody would ever find him, and nobody would ask him for one small favor ever, ever again.
Dex’s eyes opened to Matt tapping his temple. “Wake up.” His voice was oddly soft.
His watch was beeping but it hadn’t woken him up. Ten minute warning. Fuck, had he really fallen asleep? Shit, shit, shit. He grunted, turning his watch alarm off, and Matt’s fingers slipped away. He sat up, scrubbing the drool out of the corner of his mouth, pulling his slacks back up to do the button. Matt was wiping the sweat off his face and turning his collar back the right way on his jumpsuit. He took his glasses off to wipe his brow. Dex worked on his shirt buttons next, fixing the bottom three that had been worked open. His jacket was still on the floor, so he pulled himself down from the table to stand, metal vertebrae cracking loud enough that even someone that wasn’t Matt could’ve heard it. He picked up the jacket and shrugged it back on while Matt walked back to his original side of the table, sitting back at his original seat. Dex followed, stopping him with a hand on his wrist when he picked up the handcuffs to put them back on as though nothing had happened at all.
“I don’t even need the affidavit,” Dex told him, squeezing his wrist as hard as he could, bruising his pulse point to get his attention. Matt gritted his teeth in discomfort. “If you wanted to walk out of here, they couldn’t stop either of us. Or we can use the damn piece of paper. Your choice.”
“I’m not leaving, Dex.”
Dex slammed his wrist to the table, making the bruise worse, making Matt hiss at the pain. “You always have to make this so fucking complicated. I’m doing something altruistic here, counselor.”
“Is it really for the greater good, or for your own personal-”
Dex punched him in the side of the jaw before he could finish speaking, white hot rage flickering through him the way it always did when Matt got too close to truths that were supposed to stay inside the box. The aftershock of the punch rang through Dex’s hand. Good. That meant it must've really hurt. “Jesus fucking Christ. Is there a difference? Does it even matter?”
Matt snorted. Probably in an attempt to stop the blood dripping from his nose. Or maybe he really was laughing out of a shared perverted joy at pissing each other off to the point of spitting and hitting. “Philosophically speaking or religiously?”
Dex considered throttling him with the table chains until he begged him to stop. But Matt would never beg. Bastard. Instead, he pushed his weight down into Matt’s hand as he reached for the cuffs, snapping them around his wrists. Dex could walk out of here with bites and scratches but he guessed all he was allowed to leave on Matt were bruises. Matt wiped his still-bleeding nose with the back of his hand. Dex turned away to get his briefcase. He smoothed his hair back as he stared at his smudged reflection in the table, getting his hair to look as presentable as possible.
“When are you leaving for Estrella?”
“Two days.”
Matt nodded at that, blood seeping into his bright orange jumpsuit. “Okay.”
“My flight out of here is in three hours, I should go.”
“Probably.”
“I’d leave my number, but I haven’t memorized the new one they gave me yet.” Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie. It was divisible by 2 and 4 and -
“Not going anywhere for a while, Dex. You can show back up when you’ve got the time.”
The sky fucking parted in Dex’s brain. He blinked that away, shaking his head and hoping the jolt he felt in his body wasn’t something Matt could hear. “You’re outta your goddamn mind, counselor. And I should know.”
Matt smiled. Now blood was collecting around his mouth. “Maybe make it shorter than six months next time.”
Dex found himself starting to smile, and the sensation was so strange it almost hurt. He flicked the handcuff key towards Matt on the table, pinging it between both metal cuffs like a hockey puck. “Keep it.”
Matt chuckled. “You keep it. Makes it easier for you next time.”
Next time. The words curled around and around Dex’s insides, warming him as they settled down low. Dex caught it when Matt flicked it back in his direction, shoving it in his pocket.
“I’ll keep an ear out for the news on Estrella this week.”
“Please,” Dex scoffed. “It won’t even make the news.” Briefcase in hand, he wanted to head for the door. Instead, he looked back at Matt, already turning his head his way.
Fuck it.
Dex moved back to him, gripping his chin in one hand, and kissed him again, as hard as he could. Hard enough Matt’s nose started to bleed again, hard enough his one porcelain tooth scraped against his real canine, hard enough he could’ve torn a piece of him off to keep as a trophy. And then he grinned wide enough his own nose scrunched, breaking away just enough to promise into his mouth, “I’ll be around, counselor.”
Matt laughed, low and cocky, as he breathed him in. “I’m counting on it, sweetheart.”
Dex licked the blood off his mouth, and they both laughed against each other. Next time.
By the time Peterson opened the door, Matt was sitting there calmly, flexing his fingers in his cuffs, and the lower part of his face was covered in blood. “What the f-”
Dex brushed past him, snapping, “I’m late, move.” He rolled his eyes as Evans tried to keep pace behind him as he stalked down the hall. “You think I want to stay here any longer than I already have? I know the way out.”
“You aren’t-”
“Why are you talking to me?”
Thankfully the guard shut up, silently trailing behind Dex down to the check-in office to retrieve his items. Halfway there, they passed by one of the common areas. Dex heard a very clear - “holy shit, that’s Poindexter.”
Dex turned in the direction of Powell’s shocked voice, and flashed a grin so wide it made his sore throat ache. Matt’s blood was already staining his porcelain tooth. He turned back around without another thought, and took out his phone as he walked.
He had to clear his calendar.