Work Text:
“You know,” says Dex, twirling a knife idly between his fingers, “I’m…really not a dog person. They're unsanitary.”
Vane does not acknowledge this, mostly because he's too busy watching Dex’s fingers move and drooling like a hound all over his thigh. His collar is tight around his throat, just this side of constricting, and the attached leash is tied to the bedpost. Really, this hotel room is pretty sweet. It's a shame they're about to defile it. “It’s kind of a miracle you managed to get in here. I thought this hotel didn't allow pets.” His boot moves between Vane’s thighs, but doesn't hit home just yet. The toe just brushes his inner thigh, making him whimper a little. “But you're more obedient than usual, aren't you? It must be those treats.”
The treats in question are literally just edibles–Dex has been slipping one to him every few minutes for about an hour, and Vane has no idea how much is in them but he's pretty far gone by this point anyway. The circumstances of him appearing here were mildly convoluted–but the simplest story was that Vane heard Dex was back from Madripoor, literally hunted down his weird CIA boss, demonstrated his fun ability to play a sound so loud your lungs would explode on some random lackey, was thus given the name of the hotel where Dex was staying before his next assignment, and broke in through the window with the tin of edibles and a fun little grab bag of other substances in his pockets. This stunt had resulted in no less than four new knife wounds and a hickey the size of a small melon on his neck, both of which Vane would consider well-earned trophies.
Dex takes the leash in his hand, close to his neck, and tugs. Vane moans, long and low in his throat. “You're so quiet.”
“You just talk too much, honey,” Vane slurs, his brain trying to catch up to his mouth and ultimately failing. Dex’s smile twists and he yanks the leash again, forcing Vane further between Dex’s thighs. His nose is pressed against the older man’s dick, the scent of his arousal thick and strong.
“No, no,” Dex murmurs, patting Vane’s cheek in a facsimile of affection. “I think you're just turning into a mindless hound, aren't you? I hope Murdock doesn't mind me borrowing his little lapdog while he's off in prison.” The mention of Matt makes Vane’s shoulders stiffen just a bit, and he bites Dex’s thigh in annoyance, earning him a slap to the face that makes him reel just a bit. “Bad. I don't think he'd like you acting out like that, now, would he?”
“Don't talk about Matt right now, you fuckin’–”
Another slap. “Hounds. Don't. Talk.” Vane shuts his mouth, but he growls a little at Dex, low in his throat. He doesn't know why he keeps fucking this guy, considering all he does is piss him off, but then again he blew Frank Castle, World’s Biggest Asshole, in his musty basement one time, so it's not like he has any kind of standards anymore.
“Take your fucking boxers off, Benjamin.” Dex tilts his head just a bit, that same stupid look as always on his face. “Unless you don't want me to suck your cock and I’m down here for nothing?”
“Funny,” murmurs Dex, tugging Vane back so he can kick off his underwear. He's insanely wet, betraying his constant veil of nonchalance, and his cock is–well, admittedly, very pretty. Smaller than Vane’s, which makes him preen a little, but still pretty. His mouth is immediately on it anyway, closing his lips around the growth and suckling, resisting the urge to scrape his teeth over it just to make Dex flinch. He breathes heavily, his collar feeling even more restricting as he inhales the musk of Dex’s arousal. Fuck, he hates how sexy he is. “Hmm. You're g-good at that.” Vane catches the tiny stutter and it only makes him suck harder, moaning quietly at the taste of him. “Maybe you're useful for something after all, even if you're still a–fuck–still a drugged up, mindless mutt.”
Vane has never seen so much of his own saliva in his life, but he's literally drooling all over Dex’s dick, his mouth slick and wet from the intensity of his ministrations. He gets in a good, hard suck and nearly chokes on his own spit, and he's sure his makeup is running down his cheeks. I must look a fuckin’ mess, he thinks, reaching down to rub his cunt through his jeans. Dex looks down at him, opening his mouth like he wants to say something, but Vane licks the tip of his cock and whatever it was is immediately forgotten.
He receives nothing more than a tug on the leash as warning before Dex cums on his face, gushing out of him hard. Vane licks him through it, doesn't take his mouth off Dex’s pretty fucking dick, sucking him off with maybe even greater fervor than before. He wants to see him crack, to get a moan or a broken little whine or something out of his smug mouth.
“Relentless, messy hound,” hums Dex, his voice throaty. Vane wants to punch him in the face, but instead he sucks harder on his dick and moves to plunge two fingers into his slick cunt to add to the stimulation, determined to overstimulate Dex to high hell. “Y-You're more desperate than I am. Doesn't it make you so happy to be useful? Pathetic.” Hypocrite, thinks Vane, but he doesn't say it because he refuses to take his mouth off Dex’s cock. Neither of them are worth anything without their skills–it just so happens that Dex’s skill is butchering people with thumbtacks and Vane’s is sucking cock. He shoves a third finger into Dex unceremoniously, and that finally elicits the smallest whimper. Got it.
Vane couples his sucking with even, hard thrusts of his fingers into Dex’s hole, and his head starts to fall back. “ ‘S that good, Dex?” he asks around his dick, and it's supposed to come out mocking but instead it's painfully genuine. Even like this, even with the man he probably hates most right now, he just wants to be told he's good.
“Slow down,” Dex chokes out, a half-snarl. “Slow the fuck down.”
Vane does not slow down, delighting in the way Dex squirms. He's riding both the literal high of the edibles Dex has been feeding to him and the metaphorical high of overstimulating him, so like hell is he about to give that up. He thrusts his fingers again, placing sloppy kisses all over Dex’s cock, leaving behind the faintest midnight purple lip marks. See, Poindexter, I made myself all pretty for your sorry ass. He fucks him on his fingers until the stimulation finally seems to break him and a new warm sensation joins the drying cum on Dex’s thighs.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Vane drools, slightly alarmed by the fact that this has only turned him on more but less so than he would've been if he weren't stoned. “You get a tiny bit too overstimulated and you can't stop yourself from pissing all over yourself? You're disgusting.”
“It's what you wanted,” Dex snaps, accusatory. Vane tilts his head, not giving him an answer, which might be an answer in itself. “You're just as filthy as I am. Drugged up and drooling all over yourself for me. And you hate me.” He grabs the tin of edibles and holds one in his fingers, slipping it into Vane’s mouth.
“Are you gonna get me off?” Vane slurs, rising off his probably-bruised knees to curl up on the bed. He sticks his head between Dex’s thighs, licking the mess there, acrid and bitter from his piss. He wants to spit it out and leave and never see Dex again, but he knows he won't do that. Vane doesn't deserve nice, clean, loving sex like he gets with Matt. This is the best he can hope for—high out of his mind in a hotel room with a man that hates him, lapping up the piss and cum from his legs like a starved dog.
Dex huffs. “You're too good to just fingerfuck yourself on the floor? Fine. Murdock really spoils you. Up, come on.” He pats his lap, and Vane hates how quickly he moves to obey, straddling his legs. Nearly instantly, Dex dips his head and latches onto one of Vane’s nipples, biting so hard he thinks he might see God.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Dex,” snaps Vane, nearly shoving him off from shock and the sudden jolt of arousal. Dex doesn't even take his mouth off his tit, the asshole, tongue twirling the metal bar pierced through his nipple around.
“Could you cum from just this?” Dex wonders aloud, voice hushed and almost soft but in a deeply sinister sort of way. His giant fucking hand moves to Vane’s stomach, thick fingers tracing the tentacles tattooed there, winding from his torso to wrap around his breast. His face is aligned with that one now, but instead of biting his nipple he kisses it, and Vane jerks like he's been burned anyway. They don't really kiss, ever–Vane’s liable to make out with his cock on occasion because he loves leaving the mark of his lipstick behind on his most vulnerable place–but it’s not tender when he does it. Vane growls low in his throat when Dex does it again. This is the most disgusting part of their sex–when one of them decides to act like they're in love. It's unnatural, grotesque, like the uncanny valley.
“Stop being nice,” Vane says hoarsely, his head fogging up even further. “You freak.” Dex responds with another bite and a hand on Vane’s cock. His is longer and thicker than Dex’s, which makes him smile for all of two seconds before Dex starts stroking him and he's reduced to whines and moans and, humiliatingly, tiny barks. I really am just a dog.
“I’m never nice,” hisses Dex, pulling off of Vane’s tits entirely and pressing his face into his sweat-slicked hair instead, so hard Vane thinks it has to hurt. He takes pleasure in this, enough so that he doesn't smack the shit out of Dex for biting his ear so hard he draws blood a second later. (Definitely not because he loves when Dex bites.)
It doesn't take long at all for Vane to cum with an unceremonious whimper, dirtying Dex’s thighs with his own mess this time. He instinctually leans down to lick it off again–low, lazy strokes of his tongue while Dex half-heartedly brushes a hand over his hair. Vane doesn't even think he notices he's doing it, but he doesn't call it out. He misses the feeling of calloused fingers petting his head. God. He misses Matt so much it aches like a physical gaping wound in his chest.
His eyes flit over to Dex’s belt, draped over a chair, and land on the engraved knife he’d thrown to protect Matt’s identity. You're Welcome. Fat load of good that knife had done in the end. Now everyone knows Matt’s Daredevil and he's in prison and Dex is dicking around with the CIA and Vane’s–alone. More alone than he’s been in a long time.
Dex is already under the covers, flicking off the bedside lamp. “You're staying,” he rumbles, brooking no argument. “But if you touch me while I’m asleep I’ll break your fingers.”
“Ditto,” Vane bites out, exhaustion hitting him like a truck. He slides into bed with Dex, sleep ferrying him into a long slumber populated with dreams of thick fingers and a swath of blond hair. Fingers dancing over his skin, uncomfortably tender, toeing the line between dream and nightmare.
It'd never happen, he thinks, briefly lucid. After all, Dex isn't a dog person.