Archive of Our Own ^beta

The road stretched on like it had no end, just the long, steady ribbon of highway cutting through darkness, framed by passing trees and the occasional flicker of a gas station sign that promised piss-warm coffee and bad decisions. Gavin stopped really paying attention two towns ago.

They’d left Detroit in the middle of the afternoon (which had been a stupid fucking idea), but when shit hits the fan, you don’t exactly get time to be strategic. It had all come together fast. One second, they were knee-deep in backlogged paperwork, and the next, Missouri PD was flagging a double homicide in Kansas City that matched every detail of one of their cold cases.

Same M.O., same signature, same sick son of a bitch, just a different state.

The report had come in three days ago, right around the time Gavin had almost convinced himself the guy had either skipped the country or keeled over in a ditch somewhere. It had been nearly five months since the last body in Detroit: no leads, no movement, just radio silence.

And then suddenly he was back.

Nines was the one who found the Missouri case file first, because, of course, he was. The android had some background process running at all times, skimming national reports like it was his idea of light reading. He’d barely even spoken when he pulled it up, just sat forward a little, eyes narrowed, that exact look on his face Gavin had come to recognize.

Didn’t even need to say a word.

Same guy. Had to be.

Missouri PD didn’t need their help. Technically, Detroit had closed the file. But Gavin had stormed into Fowler’s office before the update had even hit the interdepartmental board, demanding they be sent. They weren’t about to let someone else screw up the case they’d already bled for.

Fowler pushed back, of course: jurisdiction, budget, all that crap. But Nines had already forwarded their compiled case notes to Kansas City Homicide, and within a few hours, they got the nod. They could sit in. Observe. Assist where needed.

Fowler had signed off on it with little more than a “try not to piss anyone off” and more case notes than either of them remembered fucking writing.

It wasn’t a win, but it was better than the no they were waiting for.

They weren’t even due to arrive for two days.

But neither of them were good at waiting.

Now they were somewhere around hour seven, and Gavin was in the passenger seat, still fuming about it.

Not loudly. Not even visibly, really. Just in that particular way only Nines could read: the tense line of his jaw, the angle of his glare fixed on the window like trees outside had personally offended him.

He hadn’t given up the wheel quietly.

“I’m fine,” he’d muttered when Nines told him to pull over, fingers flexing tighter around the wheel like that made it true.

“You’re not. You’re flagging.”

“Yeah? Well, I can flag my way there just fine.”

“You’ve blinked thirty-seven times in the last minute. Your reflexes are slowing. Your grip on the wheel is inconsistent. You’re going to sleep, Gavin.”

“And what, you’re just deciding shit for me now?”

“Yes.”

And that was it. One word. Steady, calm, final. Nines hadn’t even looked at him, just stared out at the road ahead like Gavin’s protest was background noise. Not cruel, but smug. Confident in knowing exactly how this would end.

Which, of course, it had with Gavin yanking the car into the next layby like he was making the decision, slamming the door harder than necessary, and mumbling something profane under his breath.

Now, he was tucked into the passenger seat like a sulking cat, boots propped on the dash, arms crossed tight over his chest.

Nines didn’t even bother acknowledging the tantrum. Just slid into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirrors with slow, deliberate precision, and resumed the drive like it had always been his to begin with.

A small smirk, but not gloating, just that quiet, unshakeable confidence Gavin could never fucking ignore. The way he moved like he owned every decision he made. The low, matter-of-fact tone he used when giving orders. The way it always worked.

Gavin hated how much he liked it.

Hated the way it made his stomach flip. The way it made him want to obey, even when every stubborn bone in his body screamed otherwise.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t still gonna be a brat about it, though. Riling up Nines was half the fun.

Okay, maybe more than half.

But they hadn’t always been like this.

Not that “this” was something you could slap a label on. Gavin didn’t even bother trying. Boyfriend made him want to gag at his age, partner was too clinical in their line of work, and lover sounded like something out of a shitty romance novel. Whatever they were, it wasn’t built on candlelit dinners and whispered promises.

Back when the dust from the revolution was still settling and Detroit was scrambling to figure out what co-existence looked like, someone in command, probably with a twisted sense of humor, had decided Gavin Reed would make an excellent partner for the final prototype fresh off Cyberlife’s leash. RK900. Built to outmatch Connor in every way. Stronger. Faster. Smarter. Less… personable.

Gavin had taken one look at him and wanted to throw a punch.

And he had. Several, over the first few months. He couldn’t stand Nines’ quiet condescension, his infuriating calm; that way, he could dismantle Gavin’s temper with a single well-placed stare. They’d spent weeks snapping at each other across desks, across case files, across interrogation rooms.

They'd hated each other. Proper, unfiltered hatred. Constant snapping. Petty sabotage. Full-blown fights that nearly cost them both their badges. Nines would say something smug, Gavin would shove him. Nines would not move, and Gavin would get angrier for it.

Then one day, the tension snapped sideways.

What started as another shouting match in the alley behind the precinct, Gavin crowding him up against the wall, barking something mean and too close, ended with Nines grabbing his collar and kissing him like he meant to shut him up for good. Ended with Nines pressing Gavin into the wall face-first, unbuckling his belt in record speed while Gavin could only grunt and push back into it.

It wasn’t gentle. It sure as fuck wasn’t sweet.

They fucked like they fought: furious, unrelenting, a little dangerous.

And for a while, that’s all it was. Angry sex. In the backs of cars, against walls, anywhere they wouldn’t get caught. No words. No aftercare. Just two assholes working out their rage the only way that didn’t leave paperwork.

And then slowly, so fucking slowly, the heat between them had started to shift. The fights still happened, but less often. Less vicious. Gavin still called Nines a smug prick, but with something closer to a grin. Nines still manhandled him, still ordered him around, but started watching for Gavin’s tells. Read the difference between don’t fucking stop and too much.

The sex didn’t get softer, but it started to feel more… grounded, like it meant something.

One night turned into staying over. Then two. Then, most nights.

They never sat down to talk about it. No rules and no declarations. But somewhere along the way, Gavin stopped sleeping with other people. Couldn’t even bring himself to think about it anymore. And Nines, despite never making any grand confessions, watched him like something his, glared at anyone who looked too long, left marks that would just peek above his collar.

It wasn’t love, not in the traditional sense. Not in the way anyone else would describe it.

There were no flowers. No handholding through the park.

But there was possession. There was trust.

And a dynamic Gavin would’ve never expected to want, never would’ve admitted to back then, but couldn’t get enough of now. Nines told him what to do, and Gavin bit back just enough to make him work for it. He was a brat, through and through, and Nines loved being the one to rein him in. Never made him ask for what he needed, but always made him say please.

They bickered daily. Still shoved, still snapped. But it was different now. The bite in it had changed. Less fury, more hunger.

Still sharp, but aimed at keeping each other close.

Gavin shifted in his seat, legs still stretched along the dash. He was still sulking, even if most of the fight had bled out of him an hour ago when they’d swapped places.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. Nines didn’t fill space with noise the way other people did. He just was, all calm focus and contained power, hands steady on the wheel at ten and two, profile lit faintly by the dashboard glow. Gavin found himself watching the subtle shift of his knuckles as he turned the wheel, the way his jaw flexed slightly when they passed a slower car. Hated how the stupid bastard could make driving look like some kind of precision operation.

Warm air poured from the vents, thick and dry against his face. It made his eyelids heavy. The hum of the engine, the quiet clicks of the road under them, the occasional flick of Nines’ fingers on the indicator, it all blended into a kind of lullaby Gavin felt himself falling victim to.

It was the kind of stillness that made every breath feel louder, every sigh feel like it echoed. The kind of quiet that pressed into your bones. Made it harder to stay alert, easier to forget how much further there was to go.

He blinked slower. Sank a little deeper into the seat.

Just wanting to rest his eyes.

Just for a second.

The last thing he registered before slipping under was the subtle shift of gears and the low mechanical click of the turn signal, followed by the quiet, efficient sound of Nines adjusting something on the console without a word, like nothing in the world could rattle him.

Then Gavin was gone.

When he came back to himself, it was slow and disorienting. He groaned before he even opened his eyes, already annoyed. The heater had lulled him under, warm and steady, and now the absence of movement was dragging him back up. He squinted against the new light, blearily making out the glow of a neon sign through the windshield.

“You rerouted?” He muttered, half-questioning and half accusatory, as he rubbed a hand over his face.

“You’re sleeping,” Nines replied, perfectly calm.

“Uh, no, fuckass, I was asleep,” Gavin corrected, letting his head fall back against the seat. “And now I’m not sleeping because some asshole decided to pull over two hours before our ETA.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“And you’re a prick. We were two hours out.”

“And you would have spent those two hours in a compromised position, accruing spinal strain and cognitive fatigue. We can stop for breakfast in the morning. You’ll be considerably more useful tomorrow with your spine aligned and your blood sugar above critical.”

“My spine’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re pushing forty, you’re irritable, and you’re running on processed meat sticks and bad coffee.”

Gavin opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again, only to glare.

“I’m only thirty-seven, you smug fuck, I can sleep in a fucking car.”

“Perhaps, but I’m simply observing the signs of premature human degradation,” Nines replied simply, turning off the engine. “This was the more optimal choice.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“You would’ve argued.”

“I am arguing.”

“Yes. And we’re still stopping.”

Gavin went to snap back but paused when Nines stepped out of the car without fanfare, like dragging his bratty partner into motels was a perfectly ordinary part of homicide investigations.

Gavin stared out the windshield, stewing.

He could stay in the car. Just to prove a point.

But then Nines leaned down and opened his door.

“Gavin, if you are not out of this vehicle in the next ten seconds,” he said flatly, “I will carry you inside.”

Gavin’s eye twitched. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’m giving you the chance to choose.”

“Fuck sake,” Gavin hissed under his breath, snatching his bag from the back seat.

“Two beds,” Gavin said sharply, jabbing his index finger into Nines’ chest. “You ask for two fucking beds.”

“You’re cranky when you’re tired,” Nines said, grabbing his own bag and shutting Gavin’s door behind him with calculated finality.

“I’m cranky because you’re up my fucking ass,” Gavin snapped, yanking a cigarette from the pocket of his jeans.

Nines didn’t even blink. “Not if you’re insisting on two beds tonight, I won't be.”

Gavin swore under his breath, lit his cigarette with the ease of a habit too long ingrained to unlearn. The flame flared, caught, and the first drag hit sharp and hot on the inhale.

Swore again as smoke curled toward the sky.

Because Nines had done what Nines always does: made a call without asking, did shit like the decision had been his all along.

And yeah, Gavin bitched about it. Threw attitude. Slammed the car door.

But he got out.

Because Nines had already made up his mind, and somewhere along the line, Gavin learned that meant he didn’t have to.

Didn’t mean it stopped pissing him off.

But it was, in itself, a weird fucking thing. Not bad. Just… strange. Settling, in a way. Like scratching an itch he didn’t know had been driving him mad. 

He’d been with people before. Ones who thought caring meant sitting him down and dissecting his feelings until they bled. Thought love was all soft hands and patient encouragement. Tried to talk him into opening up like he was a locked box just waiting to be handled right.

They all left eventually. Or he did.

Wasn’t personal. He just wasn’t built for that kind of shit.

Not the talking. Certainly not the fucking fixing.

But Nines?

Nines didn’t try to understand him. He already knew.

He didn’t ask Gavin if he was tired; he pulled the car over. Didn’t suggest better habits; he enforced them. Didn’t prod at Gavin’s feelings because he already knew what was sitting there under the noise.

And most people would say that was fucked up. That this whole thing, whatever they wanted to call it, was dysfunctional. Unhealthy. Some textbook of codependency with a bootprint on it.

But where was the change there? People had been calling Gavin broken and questioning his life decisions since before he was old enough to tie his own shoes.

So yeah, maybe it wasn’t picture perfect. Maybe it wasn’t anyone else’s idea of right.

But Gavin didn’t give a shit.

Not when, for the first time, he finally had something that made sense. Something that worked. Something that held firm even when he didn’t.

And if he lost it, if Nines ever left, or stopped choosing him, he didn’t know if he’d ever survive it.

He’d been alone for most of his life. That wasn’t the scary part.

The scary part was that now, he knew what it felt like not to be.

He really hoped Nines didn’t ask for two beds.

The android returned a minute later, keycard in hand, and smugness written all over his stupid, perfect face.

“No doubles available,” he said, tone casual.

Gavin snorted, dragging another lungful of smoke. “Yeah, I bet you really grilled him for options.”

Nines didn’t miss a beat. “When I told the clerk I needed a room for me and my partner, he handed me a key and charged the card without asking questions. I didn’t see the need to clarify further.”

Of course he didn’t.

He’d just worked around Gavin’s request the same way he always did. Sidestepped it entirely because he knew Gavin didn’t mean it. Probably calculated the fucking probability perfectly before he’d even turned to the lobby.

He didn’t bother arguing. The bite in it had already started to dull, not because he was over it, just because he was too tired to care. And because he was kinda glad.

Gavin shook his head with a quiet, mirthless laugh and flicked ash to the side, jaw tight.

Their room was just down the walkway; a standard roadside deal. Beige walls, cheap prints bolted into the plaster. There was one queen bed, a two-person table by the window, and a bathroom with a shower. Clean, but plain. The kind of place you forgot the second you left it.

Gavin tossed his bag on the table and slumped into one of the wooden chairs. The sleepiness from the drive had passed now, burned off somewhere between irritation and nicotine. His laptop opened without ceremony, screen glowing soft against his tired eyes as he pulled up the case files he’d read a hundred times already.

Behind him, Nines was moving. Loudly.

First came the soft rustle of his jacket, folded over a chair with military precision. His shoes clicked against the floor as he crossed to the bed, black leather polished to a shine. His outfit, as always, looked like someone had designed it in grayscale: fitted shirt, sleeves buttoned to the wrist, tie still perfect, belt sharp, pants tailored. All black. Every inch of him an aesthetic.

Gavin didn’t turn his head. Kept his eyes on the screen and Nines in his periphery, heavy and intentional.

The android smoothed the duvet, then fluffed the pillows, gave them a solid smack at the end for added effect. Then he sat down on the edge of the mattress, bounced once like he was testing firmness, then stood and did it again, just a little louder.

It was so deliberate, Gavin nearly laughed.

But he didn’t.

Because with every bounce, the sound dug further under his skin. Too loud, too irritating, and too fucking much. It grated against the fatigue in his bones, the knowledge of that bed behind him, the ache behind his eyes that had been there since they left Detroit.

The laugh caught somewhere in his throat and soured.

He shut the laptop with a hard snap and glared across the room.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Nines didn’t stop. Bounced once more. “Testing for environmental variables,” he said, voice maddeningly calm. “Attempting to isolate the reason why you’re still sitting in a chair when your exhaustion level has visibly increased since entering the room.”

Gavin let out a short, bitter laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He snapped, pushing to his feet.

He stalked over, boots heavy, irritation crackling off him like static.

“I was asleep. In the car. Perfectly fucking fine, until you pulled over, woke me up, and dragged me into your little roadside one-bed-trope fantasy like we’re co-starring in some bootleg porno.”

He jabbed a finger towards Nines, every word sharp.

“Now I’m too wired from re-reading the same case files for the hundredth time and too pissed from stewing in this exact fucking conversation. So fucking forgive me if I’m not exactly in the mood to fucking count sheep, Nines.”

Gavin didn’t wait for a reply. He took the few steps forward until he was standing right over Nines, who hadn’t moved from his seat on the edge of the bed. The android just looked up at him, head tilted slightly, unreadable as always. That impassive stillness, like the heat didn’t touch him.

It only made Gavin burn hotter.

“Say something,” he bit out. “Go on. Make it my fault again.”

Nines raised a single brow.

That was all it took.

The sharp tilt of his head, the slow arch of that perfect brow, like he was quietly asking if Gavin was really taking that tone with him. If he actually thought this was going to end in anything but the obvious. There was no anger in it. Not even annoyance, really. Just that cold, infuriating mix of disapproval and amusement that somehow made Gavin feel ten inches tall and stupidly proud of himself all at once.

Because Nines was impressed.

He always fucking was, in that restrained, clinical way. Always watching, like Gavin was a case study he couldn’t look away from. Because Gavin still had the balls to say shit like that, even knowing he’d never win.

And that heat. That tension between them now. Gavin caught it all in his chest. Felt it in the sharp press of his heartbeat and the tightness curling at the base of his spine. He could feel the warmth of Nines’ thighs where he stood between them. Could see the way his chest rose just a fraction deeper.

Gavin’s eyes dropped to Nines’ mouth.

Of course they did.

Because this was how it always went. Big arguments, pressure building until the tension snapped one of two ways: someone storming out, or Gavin getting put right the fuck back in his place. No middle ground. No neat resolution.

Just this heavy, loaded silence between a brat and the only person who’d ever known what to do with him.

So Gavin leaned in, close enough to make that choice for himself. Like he hadn’t just snapped straight in Nines’ face. Like he had a leg to stand on.

But Nines moved faster. One hand caught Gavin by the jaw, fingers sharp and immovable where they locked around his face.

“I told you to go to sleep.”

No raised voice. No emphasis. Just firm and low, like it was an order already followed.

Gavin stilled.

For a beat, he held Nines’ stare. His chest was tight, his spine wired. He didn’t know if it was pride or habit that made him press into the grip just enough to challenge it.

His hand came up slow, fingers wrapping Nines’ wrist. He dragged it down, inch by inch, until it rested against the front of his throat.

Because that was the game. That was the line they danced. Gavin’s brattiness had always been part defence, part reflex. Somewhere between I don’t take orders from anyone and why the fuck would you waste your time on me?

But Nines had never needed the admission; read him clean through.

And somewhere along the line, Gavin learned it didn’t have to be shameful. Didn’t make him less than. Didn’t have to be some pathetic clamber for control. It could be fun. It could be their rhythm. Could be the thing that let him drop the act without losing the fight entirely.

So he smiled, just a little. Crooked. Tired. Charged.

Met Nines’ eyes dead-on and tilted his head into the grip.

“Make me.”

Nines didn’t hesitate.

His grip tightened around Gavin’s throat, not choking, just firm.

Then he stood.

The height difference hit harder like this, Nines rising tall in front of him, gaze level and impassive. Gavin stayed frozen for a second, pulse loud in his ears, until that grip shifted and became a push. Not harsh, but definite.

Nines turned Gavin back toward the table, guided him the same way he’d come.

He hit the edge of the wooden chair, his knees catching it awkwardly. Nines didn’t slow. He pushed Gavin down into the seat with a flat palm to the chest, then kicked his legs apart with a sharp nudge of his foot.

Gavin blinked up at him, breath uneven, heart stuttering.

Back in the same uncomfortable chair that kicked this shit off.

His laugh was soft and incredulous. “Little counterproductive, don’t you think?” He said, smirking. “All that bitching about me not using the bed, just to throw me back in the fucking chair?”

Nines loomed over him, close enough to shadow Gavin where he sat. The bare bulb overhead cast sharp lines down his cheekbones, turning him statue-still and merciless.

“Be quiet,” Nines said. Not loud. Just low, unyielding, cynical.

Before Gavin could bite out another word, Nines continued.

“I brought you here so you wouldn’t wake up cramped and drooling on a car window,” he said, voice cool and flat. “So you’d have a bed. A pillow. Some basic comfort.”

His knuckle brushed Gavin’s jaw, hooked under his chin to make eye contact.

“But you can never be grateful, can you? Still, you argue. Even now.”

He took a half step impossibly closer, filling the space between Gavin’s spread thighs with perfect composure.

“So if you’re so determined to wake up sore,” Nines added, pressing his knee purposefully against the front of Gavin’s jeans, enough to make him want more; not enough to give it. “Then I’ll make sure you do.”

The android pressed his thumb against Gavin’s mouth, running it along his bottom lip.

“On my terms.”

Gavin should’ve bit his tongue.

He knew that. Felt the weight of it settle in the back of his throat like a dare. Like challenge was currency and he’d already spent too much of it.

But still, he leaned into the pressure, caught Nines’ thumb between his teeth.

Held it there just long enough to make a point before letting it slide onto his tongue.

“Least you can do,” he muttered, lips brushing synthetic skin. “Since you’re the one who woke me up.”

Nines didn’t move. Just looked at him, flat, unreadable. Just that focus, like he was peeling Gavin apart cell by cell.

And because Gavin had never learned to shut the fuck up…

“Well, I’m not wrong, am I?”

The fist in his hair came out of nowhere, yanking his head back so sharply his teeth clicked. He had no choice but to meet those pale eyes without the safety of his lashes half-shuttered. His scalp burned under the pull, and he hissed, but there was no stopping the low laugh that slipped out after. Yeah. There it was.

Nines’ thumb was back before he’d caught his breath, pushing past his lips again. There was no slow build this time, just a steady, unyielding press until it nudged the back of his throat. Gavin’s eyes stung, but he held the stare, jaw aching around the intrusion, breathing carefully through his nose because there was no way in hell that he would be the first to break. He kept his focus locked on Nines, refusing to blink.

“You were told to be quiet,” Nines said, tone even as steel. “That was your only instruction.” The thumb pressed a fraction deeper. “But still, you keep speaking. Still, you think your little remarks have any weight here. Convinced you know better.”

The pull in his hair sharpened. “Remove your shirt.”

The buttons felt smaller than they had this morning. His fingers fumbled them open, not because of the restraint at his scalp or the intrusion in his throat. No, this was all heat, all nerves that boiled over into jittery excitement. He shrugged it off, hearing it fall quietly to the ground, and Nines’ approving hum that followed sent something molten down Gavin’s spine.

“Good,” Nines said, and Gavin keened before he could stop himself. “See? Look how much better things go when you listen the first time.”

Then, he withdrew his thumb slowly, dragging the wet digit along Gavin’s jaw, down the column of his throat, and over his chest until his flesh stole away the slickness.

Gavin barely had time to swallow before Nines was at his belt, still holding his hair firm while his now-free hand unbuckled the leather with an effortless one-handed precision that made Gavin’s gut twist. The click of the buckle, the slow rasp of the zipper, every sound felt louder in the silence that felt loaded enough to crush him. Then Nines pulled himself free.

“You have made it painfully obvious that you do not grasp the meaning of being quiet,” Nines said, tone maddeningly even. “So it appears as though I’ll have to show you. Remove the option entirely.

His voice wasn’t loud, nor was it sharp. But it was enough to pin Gavin in place more effectively than any shove. His cock twitched in his jeans, heat climbing fast and heavy, and he had the sudden, shame-sweet urge to argue again just to see if it would earn him more of that voice. The voice that always told Gavin exactly what was going to happen, even more than the words ever could. Merciless was the only thing this was going to be. He knew it, Nines knew it, and that knowledge alone was enough to have Gavin let his jaw go slack.

He tracked the slow, deliberate way Nines angled himself towards his mouth, gaze steady like there was nowhere else worth looking. Gavin’s tongue slid over his lips as if that’d help, whole body leaning forward, as if on instinct.

Pathetic. Starved. And yeah, he’d own that. Just not out loud.

He didn’t even get close. The hand in his hair tightened, tugged, and the denial hit harder than it had any right to, pulling a frustrated, needy sound out of him before he could smother it.

The smirk that touched Nines’ mouth was infuriating in its certainty. “Color?” he asked, as if the answer wasn’t written in every desperate inch of Gavin’s body.

“Oh, so now I’m allowed to talk?” Gavin rasped, the words catching on the scrape in his throat. “It’s fucking obvious what my color is, Nines.”

He leaned in like that was answer enough, mouth already wet, ready, heat curling low in his gut.

The hand in his hair snapped tight again, yanking him back before he could make contact. Gavin’s groan cracked out raw, frustration and want tangled tight in his chest.

“Color,” Nines repeated, the single word clipped and unyielding. His other hand moved in slow, deliberate strokes along himself, just far enough away to be unreachable but close enough that Gavin could see everything perfectly, the pull of synthetic skin, the faint shine left in its wake. It was torture disguised as patience, and Nines knew exactly what he was doing.

Gavin’s teeth clicked when he swallowed, jaw tight. “Green,” he bit out, defiance and need blurring into the same jagged edge.

He barely had a second to brace before Nines pushed forward, sliding into the heat of his mouth in one smooth, unhurried line. His breath caught hard, instinct making his hand lift until it found the solid plane of Nines’ hip. Not to pull him in, not without permission, but as their failsafe. One tap for more, two to slow down, three to stop.

Admittedly, most of the time, Nines could read him well enough to know his limits before Gavin even reached them, probably knew his tells better than Gavin did himself, but the touch on his hip gave them both the insurance. It gave Nines the permission to take what he wanted, and gave Gavin the quiet reminder that he still had a modicum of control.

Nines set the rhythm with infuriating precision, short, shallow thrusts that never quite gave Gavin enough to settle into it. Just enough to keep him working, relearning the pace, relearning how to breathe through his nose without choking. The hand in his hair held him steady, keeping him right where Nines wanted him, each sharp push a reminder that Gavin’s job right now was to take, not move.

He’d let his eyes close somewhere along the way, chasing the warmth and weight of it, until Nines’ other hand shifted into view. Cool fingers brushed the line of his jaw, settling against his cheek with a deliberate pressure that anchored him in place.

“Open your eyes,” Nines said, no room for disobedience in his tone. “Look at me.”

The command had Gavin’s lids lifting before he could even think about it, vision clearing until it locked onto the unblinking focus above him.

“That’s it,” Nines said, stepping in that last inch. “Good.”

His hips pressed forward until Gavin’s nose was buried in the fabric of his slacks, his cock seated all the way down Gavin’s throat. The air was cut off in an instant. His eyes watered, spit spilling hot down his chin, every short, desperate breath clawing for escape through his nose and finding nothing.

Nines didn’t move. Didn’t rush. He just looked down at him, still, assessing, before his free hand lifted. Fingers swept a damp lock of hair from Gavin’s forehead in a motion almost absurdly gentle for a man who just buried his dick in his mouth.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Nines murmured, and it wasn’t soft. It was possession dressed up as praise, sliding under Gavin’s skin like a hook.

The words punched through him harder than the lack of oxygen. Gavin moaned around him before he could think better of it, the vibration pulling the smallest stutter from Nines’ hips. Only then did he draw back, slow and deliberate, until Gavin could breathe again.

The heat in Gavin’s face climbed higher, the embarrassment from the words somehow sharper than the stretch in his jaw. Fuck. It wasn’t even the praise itself that got him; it was how much he fucking wanted it. How hard it landed when it came from Nines.

Nines eased back into motion, not as punishing this time but no less deliberate. Each glide over Gavin’s tongue was maddening, measured, steady, calculated to keep him strung out without pushing him to the edge. Every so often, Nines sank deep again, the brief press of fabric against Gavin’s nose cutting his breath short, but he never held it as long as before. Just enough to remind Gavin who decided when he got air.

Gavin’s thighs ached from holding still. He tried to ignore the pulse of need between his legs, the way his cock strained in his jeans, but it was like trying not to think about breathing. His hips twitched, just a shift, a reflex, but the warmth of Nines’ thigh was right there. A tiny drag of denim against him, and fuck, it was barely anything, but his pulse spiked anyway. If he could just angle himself a little more…

Nines noticed. He always fucking noticed.

His hand closed tight in his hair, hauling him back until his mouth slipped free with an indecent, wet sound that made Gavin’s ears burn. The cold rush of air against his spit-slick lips was almost as bad as the loss of heat in his throat. Before he could do anything else, the other hand was there, broad palm cradling his jaw, fingers pressing in just hard enough to push his cheeks together, lips caught in a useless pout.

“No.”

The word was calm, controlled, but carried that low warning Gavin had only ever heard used on a dog being told to heel. Nines held him steady, head fixed in place, blue eyes locked on him with the kind of unwavering patience that made Gavin feel even more caught out.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Nines asked, each word measured, unhurried. Gavin opened his mouth to answer, but the pressure of Nines’ fingers didn’t ease.

“Do you think,” Nines continued, voice as even as if they were discussing the weather, “that you’ve done enough to warrant your own pleasure? Truly?” Nines’ brows lifted a fraction in emphasis. “I have done nothing but try to keep you comfortable. I drove most of the way here so you could rest, stopped at a motel so you could sleep somewhere decent, and you’ve met me with nothing but retaliation. Not even a hint of a thank you. And now, because it’s on your terms, you expect me to help you?”

For a beat, the brat in Gavin, always ready to poke at Nines just to see the reaction, was tempted to throw out a cocky yeah. But he knew exactly where that would get him: nowhere.

“No?” He managed, the single syllable escaping from his pouted lips, small and warped under the firm squeeze of Nines’ hand.

Nines gave a short, humorless huff. “No,” he repeated.  “That’s not how it works here, and you know that.”

Nines’ grip on his face didn’t waver, eyes steady and unyielding. “You need to learn how to take turns. Right now, it’s mine. If you can’t manage that, if your own impatience outweighs your ability to focus, then I will stop right here, and you can finish yourself off.”

The quiet certainty of it made Gavin tighten his jaw beneath Nines’ fingertips.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Gavin rasped, fighting another twitch of his hips. “I can be good. Promise.” 

Nines tilted his head, the faintest crease tugging at his brow like he was weighing the claim. Then his free hand drifted down, brushing a knuckle feather-light over the thick line of Gavin’s cock through his jeans. The touch wasn’t even close to being considered relieving; it was enough to make him want to grind up into it, to take anything he could get. A test. “Can you?”

It didn’t feel like a question. It was more like a leash, tugging hard at Gavin’s already fraying control. He forced the answer out through gritted teeth, breath catching. “Yes.”

Nines let the sound sit between them a moment, unreadable, before finally easing his grip. Fingers loosened from Gavin’s jaw, leaving his cheeks sore and tingling where they’d been held in that humiliating pout.

Gavin didn’t argue. Didn’t try to fill the following silence with another smart remark. He just let his mouth fall open once more, tongue wetting the corner of his lips in a wordless plea. A fucking picture of obedience, if there ever was one. Christ, if anyone at work ever saw him like this, he’d throw himself in front of the nearest fucking car.

Nines leaned in, the blunt head of his cock dragging slow across Gavin’s bottom lip, smearing spit and pre-cum in its wake. He lingered there, gaze steady, voice pitched with a teasing lilt that cut straight down Gavin’s spine. “Very good.”

Gavin moaned around nothing, throat catching on it, and hated how much his dick twitched in agreement.

“You will finish what you started, then, and only then, will I take your own pleasure into consideration.”

Then he pressed forward, inch by inch, unhurried but inexorable, until the stretch filled Gavin’s mouth again. Every muscle in his throat tightened to keep up, every breath forced to drag sharp through his nose, but he took it. Because he’d said he could be good. Because this was the only way to earn what he needed.

The weight settled hot on his tongue, but nothing else came. No thrust, no guiding hand at the back of his skull, no merciless pace for him to choke through. Just the stillness of Nines above him, watching. Waiting.

It took Gavin a beat to clock it. Another to realise what it meant.

Nines wasn’t going to move. He wasn’t going to take what he wanted, not this time. He was waiting for Gavin to do it. To really prove it.

Fucking asshole.

Two could play that fucking game.

He sealed his lips tighter, drew back slow, and then pushed down again, letting his throat squeeze just at the point he knew Nines liked. The smallest twitch in the hips above him gave him the smug satisfaction he craved. Good.

Gavin filed the reaction away, then doubled down. He licked the underside on the drag back, sucked hard on the crown on the way out, and swallowed around him when he pushed deep. His hands trailed up until they gripped firm at Nines’ ass, holding steady, and urging him closer.

His jaw was still aching, tendons straining from the stretch and effort, but he ground through it, desperate to wring every sound out of Nines he could.

Nine’s breath stuttered through a thin line.

“Fuck.” The word dropped low, uncharacteristic of Nines’ usual formality, and sparked heat all the way to Gavin’s gut.

He kept going, cycling through every detail he’d ever learned with Nines: the pace he always responded to best, the way he’d flick his tongue over Nines’ slit to pull a hiss. Proving he could pay attention to his pleasure. Proving that he always had paid attention to his pleasure. Because, fuck, nothing could ever get Gavin harder than making Nines lose that endless, icy composure.

It was working, and he could hear it. Every breath was tighter, every sound dragged out raw against the control Nines prided himself on.

A hand flexed in his hair, not forcing, just bracing. Nines’ voice followed, edges beginning to crackle. 

“Gavin–” His name came as a warning, tone frayed, breath glitching through static. His control was thinning, and Gavin nearly smiled around the stretch of his jaw, cockiness returning in full swing at the tiniest break of self-control.

His lungs burned, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t imagine himself even wanting to. He was desperate to hear it again, that choked, broken sound of Nines falling apart.

This time, when Gavin’s name fell from Nines’ lips, it came fast and raw, static swallowing the word after the first syllable.

The sound alone dragged a moan from Gavin’s chest, the vibration of the hum hitting Nines’ core as he finally came undone.

His release hit hot and sharp over Gavin’s tongue, not quite human, not quite not: metallic, synthetic, but still distinctly Nines. He swallowed greedily, chasing every pulse of it, because it was his.

Above him, Nines groaned through it, the noise glitching, ragged, and Gavin’s cock twitched in sync with every stutter.

The android’s hand slid from Gavin’s hair only to curl under his arms, hauling him up in one smooth pull, the strength behind it so effortless Gavin might as well have been paper in his grip. Before he could even steady himself, Nines’ mouth was on his: hard, hungry, all-consuming. He kissed like he fought, and Gavin’s knees buckled; the only thing keeping him from sliding back down was the iron grip pinning him close.

When Nines finally tore back, it wasn’t far. His breath ghosted over Gavin’s spit-slicked lips, close enough that Gavin could taste him in the air between them.

Nines’ knuckle skimmed across the front of Gavin’s jeans, ghosting light over the strain there. Feather-soft, calculated to be maddening, and Gavin’s hips twitched into it, a clumsy grind against the denim, making the corner of Nines’ lips raise in a smirk.

Nines hummed low, the sound more felt than heard, and tilted his head just so. “What do you want, Gavin?”

Gavin let out a breathless laugh, his grin crooked, still riding the high of being kissed stupid. “It’s pretty fucking obvious, isn’t it?” He shifted his hips just enough to press himself harder into that teasing knuckle, proof plain as day.

But the arch of Nines’ brow cut through his bravado like a blade. The humor dropped from Gavin’s face in an instant, the weight of that look pressing harder than any grip.

“Fuck, no,” he muttered, the words rough around the edges. His throat bobbed, contrition quick to follow. “Sorry.” His voice pitched low, stripped bare. “Fuck me. I need you so fucking bad right now.”

Nothing. Not a shift, not a sound, just those piercing blue eyes pinning him in place. He wasn’t going to give him what he wanted until Gavin gave him more.

Fucking bastard.

Gavin leaned back in anyway, brushing his lips over Nines’, softer this time, needy. “Please?” The word rasped out with a kiss. He followed the line of his jaw, desperate, littering it with more open-mouthed kisses. “Please, baby?”

Pet names weren’t really their thing. Not genuinely, anyway. Gavin liked to toss out sweetheart or princess just to piss him off, and Nines always made a point of resenting him for it. But moments like this were different. When desperation cracked his voice and the names slipped out like pleas, quiet enough that only Nines would ever hear them, it hit harder than the android would ever admit. Gavin noticed and felt like he won the fucking lottery, used it whenever he needed every advantage he could get.

Those last words landed just beneath Nines’ ear, and Gavin felt it. The sharp inhale, the subtle hitch of breath that betrayed him. For a man who prided himself on control, it was a crack in the armor, and Gavin reveled in it every time.

Nines’ hands shifted from his shoulders to his waist, held him firm enough to push Gavin back a half-step. The contact burned, fingers flexing into the meat of his hips.

“Remove the rest of your clothes,” Nines said, his perfectly manicured nails indenting half-moons on Gavin’s flesh. “And clear the table.”

Nines’ grip dropped away, and the sudden absence almost made Gavin stumble forward. Not that it mattered; he was already clawing at his belt, frantic, dragging denim and boxers down in one graceless motion. His boots tripped him up, of course they fucking did, and he swore as he half-kicked, half-stomped them off, nearly losing his balance in the process. Didn’t matter. He’d strip himself raw if it meant getting what he wanted.

By the time he was bare, cock flushed and heavy against his stomach, his pulse was a pounding roar in his ears. He turned to the table, hands shaking as he grabbed at his laptop and scattered papers, piling them into a haphazard stack. No finesse, no care, just clearing space because he needed to.

He didn’t even get the chance to move them further before the heat of Nines pressed flush against his back.

The weight of him, the undeniable press of his cock still freed from his slacks, nudging hot against Gavin’s bare skin while the rest of him stayed maddeningly pristine. Gavin’s teeth sank into his lip, gutted by the imbalance of it. Him stripped to nothing, laid raw, while Nines didn’t even deign to shrug out of his shirt. The humiliation burned like fuel in his veins, and his cock twitched helplessly for it.

Nines swept the stack aside himself, efficient and dismissive, before one arm wrapped under Gavin’s and pressed a broad palm flat to his chest. The other found the center of his back, guiding, until Gavin bent under it.

The table was just the right height. Smooth, glazed surface catching the weight of him as he folded forward, chest pressed down, cheek resting in the crook of his bent arm. His cock was caught perfectly between his stomach and the edge. The pressure wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was more than enough to tease. Each inhale made it drag, each tiny twitch of his hips ground him against it. Fuck. It was already unbearable, knowing every thrust from Nines would rock him into that same relentless pressure, winding him tighter and tighter until he snapped.

A nudge of Nines’ knee parted his stance wider, deliberate, leaving him displayed and exposed.

“Stay,” Nines said, the command a brand in Gavin’s spine.

He froze, body thrumming with tension as he fought the urge to grind against the table for any scrap of relief. His chest heaved against the wood, every second stretching tighter, more impossible.

The weight of Nines’ body shifted away. Gavin stayed put, all but panting, while the quiet scrape of movement told him Nines stepped out of sight to move the stack of shit somewhere else.

It felt like forever; every second he wasn’t being touched stretched long enough to make his teeth clench. Thirty fucking seconds, maybe, but with Nines gone from his periphery, it might as well have been hours.

Behind him, he could hear the rasp of a zipper, followed by the faint rustle of rummaging. Nines’ bag, Gavin realised. The anticipation crawled down Gavin’s spine like static, every shuffle making him impossibly more restless.

Footsteps followed, steady and measured as ever, coming back toward him. A hand followed, tracing the line of his back from nape to tailbone with deliberate slowness. Gavin shivered, arching into it without meaning to.

Fingers skimmed over the swell of his ass, teasing, and he groaned low, body already shifting back. Then came the unmistakable sound of a cap popping, and a laugh broke sharp from his throat.

Hours ago, he’d stormed into the motel against his will, snapped about wanting separate beds, and sulked about wanting nothing to do with Nines. And the fucking cocky bastard still brought lube in. Like he’d already run the math and knew how a night of Gavin’s temper and denials would end.

“Thank god you’re as prepared as you are fucking presumptu– fuck.”

The rest dissolved into a moan as Nines’ hand dropped lower, finger slowly circling his entrance before pressing in to the first knuckle.

“What was that?” Nines asked, smug as sin, even as Gavin writhed.

His finger pushed in deeper, sliding all the way to the hilt before drawing back with the same measured pace. His body clung greedily to the intrusion, desperate for more, for anything, after being left aching and untouched for so long.

Gavin’s teeth sank into his arm, breath ripping out of him raggedly. Even just a single finger was torture, every slow thrust rocking him just enough against the slick surface of the table to make his cock leak pre-cum across it. Each wet streak marked the polished wood, obscene, humiliating proof of just how far gone he truly was.

“More,” Gavin rasped against his flesh, voice shredded thin. His hips pushed back a little on instinct, shameless, and he didn’t even wait to be told what to follow it with. “Please.”

Nines granted it without hesitation, sliding a second finger in beside the first. The stretch widened him, sharp and overwhelming, but Nines was mercilessly precise, curling just so on every other push. Each time he hit that spot, Gavin jolted with a wrecked noise that tumbled out onto the wood beneath his cheek, a litany of curses and Nines’ name in equal measure.

He was gone on it, grinding against the table, fighting the inevitable rise building like a tidal wave in his gut. Every thrust brought him closer and closer, until he was trembling, body taut, seconds away from spilling without permission.

And then the heat vanished.

Nines pulled out completely, leaving him empty, strung out, and desperate, a ragged sound tearing from his chest in protest.

“Oh,” Nines said, thoughtful, almost clinical, as the head of his cock pressed snug against Gavin’s rim. The weight of it was enough to make Gavin’s breath seize. Then, just as slowly, it withdrew again, the loss brutal. “If my fingers were truly that sufficient, perhaps you didn’t want this after all.”

“No! Fuck, no,” Gavin choked, words tearing out without second thought. His voice was wrecked, frantic, tumbling over itself. “Nines, I need you. Don’t fucking stop.” His hips rolled back, reaching for it, begging without shame.

The shift in the air was instant. Nines pressed forward in one long, deliberate push, every inch dragging Gavin open until his body trembled with the stretch. It was slow, inexorable, filling him to the hilt until Gavin’s moan split the room, ragged and desperate.

Gavin clawed uselessly at the slick wood until the weight of Nines pressed down, chest locking against his back. The contact stole the air from his lungs. One hand clamped bruising on his hip, keeping him rooted, the other slid beneath his chest and hauled him up, bending his body into an arch that stretched him taut. Every muscle in his core screamed with it, the position near-painful, but it only made it better. A raw edge of strain that had him gasping like he’d been punched, spine bending to Nines’ will.

He braced one palm flat against the table to take some of the pressure, fingers slipping on the polished surface. The other groped behind him blindly, desperate for any anchor, until he found Nines’ hair. He twisted hard, clutching fistfuls like he’d drown without it. It wasn’t much, but it was the only purchase he had against the unshakable machine pounding him open.

The shift in angle dragged him wider, deeper, and wrenched his cock up off the table. The sudden loss hit like a blow. Freed, it slapped wetly against his stomach with every heavy thrust, the head a swollen, angry red. Too hard, so desperate it hurt. Each jolt only tormented him further, every thrust rocking him, giving him nothing but a teasing drag of air where he’d needed friction most. He groaned helplessly, knowing how wrecked he sounded, but not giving a fuck anymore.

And still Nines didn’t let up. If anything, his rhythm grew more deliberate and unrelenting. His mouth ghosted down the column of Gavin’s neck, teeth tracing the beat of his artery, not biting, not yet, but grazing close enough that Gavin felt it in his bones. The reminder that he was helpless here, pinned and strung out. That, even though Nines was finally giving him what he wanted, he was still the one in control. Gavin’s whole body jumped at the thought.

“Harder,” Gavin rasped, voice cracking around it.

And Nines did. His hips snapped forward in a brutal rhythm, driving into Gavin over and over until he thought he might split apart from the sheer force. The sound of it filled the room, and Gavin's voice broke to pieces, stuttering out, “please, please, please,” like it was the only word left in his vocabulary. He couldn’t form anything else, couldn’t think beyond it. Just needed.

The hand across his chest slid upward, wrapping firmly around his throat, and dragged his head back until it was forced upright against the broad wall of the android’s chest. Air vanished in a rush, and Gavin’s body jerked, heat flashing through his veins, every nerve ending lit up in sharp, wild pleasure.

The other hand left his hip, trailed inward, and closed around his cock at long last. Gavin choked on his own moan as Nines started stroking him in time with every savage thrust of his hips. Each drag of his fist lined up perfectly with the pound of his dick, everything moving in unison to reduce Gavin to nothing but sensation. He was gone, completely gone, nothing but noise and the unbearable stretch of pleasure pushed to its limit.

The edges of his vision blurred, lightheadedness setting fire in his skull, and still Nines drove into him, relentless. Gavin’s body quaked under the strain, teetering, trembling on the cusp.

And then finally, finally, Nines’ voice hit him; low, frayed around the edges, right at his ear. “Now.”

The word detonated like a fuse. Gavin’s whole body snapped taut, trembling so violently he nearly buckled. His orgasm tore through him in brutal, blinding waves, cum spilling hot and thick over Nine’s hand, splattering the table with every heavy pulse. His moan collapsed into silence against the chokehold at his throat, body locked up, thrashing helplessly as he emptied himself.

Behind him, Nines drove deep and still, a sharp groan glitching low in his chest as he filled Gavin in turn, warmth spilling hot inside him.

The android’s grip loosened at last, his hand sliding free from Gavin’s throat. Air tore back into him in great, greedy gulps, chest heaving. Each breath burned, but he dragged them in anyway, shuddering as the high still ripped tremors down his body.

The hand wrapped around his cock let go, but Nines didn’t leave him. Not yet. He stayed buried deep, unyielding even in stillness, as if pulling away was too much too soon.

Instead, his forehead lowered to Gavin’s shoulder, weight pressing firm and grounding. His breaths came measured, mechanical fans whirring beneath his skin as he cooled. Gavin felt the press of lips, startlingly gentle after the brutality of moments ago. A trail of kisses brushed across his shoulder, the slope of his neck. Each was unhurried, the barest graze of nose and mouth, until they reached the throat Nines had just held shut in his palm.

Hands slid around him, not pinning this time, but enclosing, resting, steadying in a way that stripped Gavin bare all over again. His breathing slowed, dragged from frantic to steady, and Nines didn’t move until the sharp edge of Gavin’s panting eased back into something calmer.

Only then did he draw out, leaving Gavin loose-limbed and boneless, his weight all but slumping back into the table. Another kiss lingered at the back of his neck before the presence disappeared entirely.

“Don’t move,” Nines said, his tone softer but no less firm.

The command struck through the haze like a brand, though Gavin nearly broke at the absence of heat pressed tight to his back.

Some pathetic part of him itched to reach out, to pull Nines back again, to anchor himself in the solidarity he always carried. But he bit it back, jaw tight, because he knew better.

The thought of it alone would’ve mortified him once. Fuck, it wasn’t that long ago that he’d have been halfway into his jeans by now, muttering some half-assed bullshit about needing to go, and slamming the door behind him. He never used to see the point in the shit that came after. Not with old partners, and certainly not with Nines when they first started hooking up. You got off, you cleaned up, you left. Simple.

But now, he craved it. The after. The part that used to feel pointless. The way Nines’ mouth went soft after being merciless, how bruising hands turned steady, gentle. Gavin had learned to want that almost as much as the roughness that got them there.

He loved the unpredictability of their sex. It was never the same; Nines always found a new way to take him apart. But he found himself yearning for the same routine that had wormed its way under his skin. 

If he thought too long about it, he got embarrassed. At first, he’d fought it, snapped and shoved, told Nines to back the fuck off. Didn’t want Nines to see that part of him. Didn’t want to let himself get used to it either, so it would hurt less when the other shoe dropped and Nines hauled ass out of there.

He’d been sure Nines would take one look at it and decide Gavin wasn’t worth the hassle. That this was only about the rough shit. The teeth and nail, the put-you-in-you-place shit.

Turned out that was bullshit. He’d only learned it by being a brat, by pushing back harder and harder, saying he didn’t need it, only to find Nines never relented anyway. If anything, he doubled down. Like he liked it, liked being the one to piece Gavin back together after tearing him apart.

Neither of them said a word about it. Gavin never admitted he liked being handled soft after, but he knew Nines knew. And Nines never said he liked taking him back into those steady hands, cleaning him up, and making him whole again. But Gavin could see it now, clear as day.

Anyone else would probably label it unhealthy, say that Gavin was earning the gentleness instead of just deserving it. They’d probably say the two of them just needed to sit down and actually talk about the fact that it stopped being just hook-ups a while ago: back when they’d moved from car backseats to beds, back when they started keeping spare clothes at each other’s apartments, just in case.

But Gavin didn’t see the point. Not when things were working this well. Not when opening his mouth might just ruin it.

The spiral of thoughts cut short with the faint pad of footsteps. Nines emerged from the bathroom, a damp cloth in hand, steam still ghosting faintly from its surface.

Without a word, he drew Gavin upright, steady as ever, like he weighed nothing. The cloth pressed to his cheek first, cool and soothing as it dragged down his face and along the line of his jaw. Then to his throat, where sweat clung clammy, wiped clean with careful precision. The trail followed down his chest, his stomach, lingering between his legs until Gavin shivered with the touch, raw and over-sensitive. Only when he seemed satisfied did Nines draw back, flicking the cloth into the bathroom with a neat toss. The wet smack against tile punctured the silence between them.

Then his hand found Gavin’s face again, tilting it up. The kiss that followed was deep, deliberate, his other palm steady at Gavin’s back, guiding him with unspoken direction until his knees hit the edge of the bed. Gavin climbed in without protest, sinking against the pillows, boneless.

Nines stayed only long enough to uncap a bottle of water and pressed it into his hand. Gavin took greedy gulps, throat raw, but Nines didn’t let him hand it back until half the bottle was gone. Only then did he set it aside, movements neat and precise as ever.

Gavin fell further into the mattress, muscles still humming with the ache Nines had promised him.

He half-expected to hear the rustle of clothes and the familiar weight climbing in behind him straight away. Instead, the android’s voice cut through the quiet, flat as ever.

“I’ll use the time you’re resting to review the case notes so we can be prepared for tomorrow’s meeting.”

For a second, Gavin froze, stomach twisting like he’d been sucker-punched. Some pathetic, unguarded part of him thought he’d misstepped somewhere, that he wasn’t going to get the night the way he’d wanted. He’d never ask for it outright. Would never admit he slept better with the stupid tincan beside him, that he needed the heat and weight at his back to stop his head from chewing itself raw.

But then he caught the curve of a smirk tugging at Nines’ mouth. A shit-eating one. He was fucking with him.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Gavin muttered, scowling even as relief loosened his chest.

Nines didn’t deny it. Instead, he stripped down at last, shirt falling, then pants, pale skin catching the low light. Gavin’s eyes dragged hungrily over him before he could stop himself, throat tightening, even though he knew there wasn’t a fucking chance in hell he could take more tonight. Nines’ laugh was quiet, annoyingly fond, as he spotted the look on Gavin’s face.

“You’re insatiable,” he murmured, flicking off the light.

The bed dipped with his weight now, the mattress shifting beneath Gavin’s side. He stayed stiff, still battling that stupid awkwardness of wanting to reach for him now, after everything. Somehow it felt harder than begging for his fucking cock five minutes ago.

But he didn’t have to say a word.

Nines leaned in without prompting, teeth catching his shoulder in a playful nip that made Gavin jolt and laugh under his breath. Gavin swatted at him weakly but rolled onto his side anyway, letting the movement guide him.

Then came the warmth: solid, steady, settling flush against his back. Nines’ nose buried into his hair, his presence as inescapable as it was grounding. Gavin exhaled, something tight in his chest unclenching with it, eyes falling shut as exhaustion pulled.

“Now,” Nines murmured in his ear, voice calm, final, and entirely deliberate. A beat passed before he added, deadpan as ever, “Go the fuck to sleep, Gavin.”

It cracked a laugh out of him, rough and half-slurred with fatigue, but he didn’t bother fighting it this time.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, tincan.”