Pocket had made a lot of choices in the last few years that they later determined to characterize as ‘mistakes’. These actions occupied their mind for days, weeks, even months afterwards as they studied their decisions, scrutinized the outcomes, imagined a dozen better ways they could have responded and visualized a hundred potential consequences of the choice they did make. They were an individual possessed by intense introspection, determined to analyze their every move and never make the same mistake twice.
Never had they been more instantly certain they were making a mistake than the night they stumbled into the alley behind the Black Cat with Jacob Lash’s hand down their trousers.
The night had started out as well as any other. They’d slunk in to the Cat looking for a cheap drink and a private corner. But then there was that group of sweaty bruisers crowding in and maybe they didn’t quite avert their eyes fast enough from the pair of truly massive pecs that muscled their way past Pocket up to the bar, because next thing they knew they’d been cornered by the man who owned them.
”How ’bout we just cut to the chase? We both know you wanna head out back with me.”
”Says who?” Pocket bristled at the gall of this man who at some point had identified himself as ‘Lash’. But they hadn’t run, hadn’t tried to duck past the arms that penned them in against the wall, just protested with a weak indignation that even to their ears sounded insincere.
“Says you.” Pocket gasped and nearly dropped their briefcase in shock as a hand slid right up their thigh to land at their crotch. They’d felt their face flush hot as they looked around frantically, horrified that someone in the packed bar might have seen Lash. Far worse, horrified that someone might have seen THEM, because to Pocket’s unbearable mortification, the guy was not wrong.
So that’s how Pocket ended up in the alley behind a dive bar, trapped against a grimy brick wall by Lash’s looming bulk, and their heart pounding while his calloused fingers worked the buttons of their trousers without so much as a ‘by your leave’. Modesty demanded that they object to Lash pulling down their drawers. She was immediately overruled by Lust as his fingers stroked between their legs and one meaty hand closed around them with a long, slow pull that left them throbbing.
They choked back a gasp as he pressed in closer to bite a coarse, hungry kiss at their neck. Try as they might to shrink back into the wall, Lash followed them every inch of the way with those relentless fingers teasing at their cock till Pocket felt well and truly trapped, and with no way to even pretend they wanted out anymore they gave in and rocked their hips into Lash. As their breath came in short, sharp gasps, they thrust into his hand with mounting urgency until the building fire became nearly unbearable, and –
And suddenly Lash’s hand was gone, and Pocket was left rock hard at the very edge, jerking desperately for a touch that was no longer there. They bucked their hips frantically, searching for ANYTHING to quench the maddening fire that burned inside them, but now Lash’s massive hands crushed theirs to the wall and he hovered, just out of reach, with a shit-eating grin on his face as he watched Pocket struggle.
“Awwww,” crooned Lash, leering down at Pocket. “There something you want?” Pocket couldn’t bring themselves to look him in the eye. All of a sudden they were painfully ashamed of their exposed cock, right out there for Lash to see and foreclosing all possibility of denying that they were excruciatingly aroused. It was all they could do to squeeze their eyes shut, but even with their eyes closed they could feel that smug leer.
The lightest nudge of Lash’s knee at their balls wrung a hungry whine out of them. Their hips arched into the touch but Lash wouldn’t give them anything to work with, drawing back and hovering just out of reach of Pocket’s futile thrusts.
“What’s that? Couldn’t quite hear you.” The taunt came hot and breathy in their ear as he bore down on them, catching one of their hands between them and grinding their slight frame against the wall with his bulk. With Lash crushing their hand to his chest, Pocket had the mental cover they needed to dig their fingers in while still convincing themselves that THEY hadn’t gone and grabbed a stranger’s tits in a back alley. They should have felt panic as they twisted and dug in and realized just how overpowered they were in this moment, but instead all they felt was an electric thrill at the comprehension that they weren’t going anywhere. They fought back a sudden compulsion to claw down his shirt and bury their mouth in his breast. They couldn’t stop their hips from rocking forward again, though, when Lash’s free hand dropped just close enough to brush the crease of their thigh.
That hand kept petting them slowly, relentlessly, callused fingers stroking with an impossibly light touch up their abdomen, around their hip, along the curve where their buttock met their thigh, a cruel tease that stoked the heat in their cock while staying tantalizingly just out of reach. “Well?” he drawled, fingers tracing slow circles that just barely brushed the sensitive flesh behind their balls.
Pocket couldn’t hold back a whimper as Lash suddenly dragged those fingers forward only to snatch them away again just out of reach of Pocket’s straining hips. They risked a glance up at his face and immediately regretted it. Whimpering in his hands was one thing but having to look that smug bastard in the eye as he leered down obscenely was too much. Modesty once again insisted it would be intolerable to admit what they wanted out loud and instead they managed to mumble out an evasive reply. “I thought you knew what I want.” Unfortunately Lust once again got the last word and sent their back arching again, chasing the elusive touch of Lash’s fingers.
”‘Course I do.” Obviously. “But how about what Lash wants?”
Pocket barely had a moment to think about what obscene favor Lash was about to demand before the answer came, and that answer was worse than anything they might have imagined. “I want to hear you say it out loud.”
At this point Modesty received reinforcements from good old fashioned Victorian Shame, who promptly tied their tongue, flushed their cheeks, and then sat back primly to watch the unfortunate victim suffer. Pocket wasn’t even sure they knew how to put words in the right order to describe what they wanted right now. Instead they buried their burning face in his shoulder with a wordless groan and struggled to roll their hips forward, praying he’d be satisfied with the nonverbal but entirely clear message.
No such luck. “I said out loud,” and Pocket might have given up and retreated unsatisfied at that point but there was Lash’s hand again, gliding down their abdomen and sending an electric shiver through their entire body, and at some point Pocket realized their other hand was free because both of Lash’s were at their hips, petting and stroking and teasing at everything but Pocket’s cock. It seemed so improbable that a man this huge and rough would be so agonizingly gentle, but there he was playing Pocket like a violin till they felt they were ready to snap.
But because they DID want it, whatever “it” was, whatever unspeakable pleasure they couldn’t find the words to describe, they tried to anyway. The first time they opened their mouth, nothing came out. The second, they managed to mumble something into Lash’s chest, their heart pounding and their hands shaking and they weren’t even sure exactly what they said but whatever it was must have been right, because the next thing they knew Lash wasn’t holding back anymore and they were rutting desperately into his hands until they came, panting, muffling a moan into his chest.
Lash was gone before Pocket could catch their breath, but not without a parting pat on the cheek. His smug “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” was enough to unequivocally confirm that this whole encounter was one huge, mortifying mistake.
Unfortunately for Pocket, that meant they might never be able to stop thinking about it.