#vapolis

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You grin at him tiredly, tugging your jacket tighter around yourself as you stand in the club foyer. You’re 100% sure Jax has seen you in worse states but standing in front of his unimpressed stare in nothing but underwear, a cropped gaudy carebear t-shirt and a bloody jacket made you feel more exposed than you ever had. Or maybe it was the way his gaze lingered on your bare legs, or his own half dressed form, hair still damp from an impromptu shower. His appearance unusually sloppy for him. “Jaxxie! New uniform? A little risque. I like it.”  You waggle your eyebrows and for a long strained minute, Jax didn’t reply, a frown on his face like he can’t decide whether to just throw you out or not. “Blood and vomit is more your style.”  

“Gross. True but gross. Sounds like your night was as fun as mine,” You point towards the growing lump and bruise on your forehead. “But my new accessories are cooler than yours.”

He stays silent, and you're forced to confront the sight in front of you that you were trying to ignore. His arms crossed over a dark red shirt that was fully undone, exposing his chest. Your brain helpfully shutting down until it was just screaming incoherent body parts at you. Pecs, collarbones, nipples, tummy. You couldn’t stop your eyes from following the line of his body down to the trail of dark hair below his naval.“Carpet doesn’t match the drapes then.” Fuck sake. You could scream. You swear to god that your mouth was not connected to your brain in anyway shape or form.

His head tilts as he continues to stare at you, but he doesn’t shut you down or even button his shirt and little warning bells start to twinkle in your brain. That ever growing sexual tension between the two of you sparks to life and you suddenly wished you had gone to Delilah for help instead. You couldn’t stop staring at him, his hips moving as he shifted his weight and your perverted brain took over again. If you dropped to your knees right now would he throw you out?  Or would he grip your hair tight in his fist as he -

You jolted as Jax cleared his throat, eyebrow raised. Shit. 

 “Uh right, I know it’s late, or early, closing time? Opening?” You tried to focus on what you were saying. “but I need you.” 

Fucking Christ almighty your stupid fucking mouth.  “Need me?” The corner of Jax’s mouth twitched, he looked a mix between entertained and annoyed.

“Uh no, not th-, you and Orla,” You stumbled over your words, cursing yourself internally as Jax made a low noise in the back of his throat. “help! I need your help, nothing else not that – I -, Is she still here?” You force your mouth shut so fast you almost bit your tongue. Why was it so fucking hot all of a sudden. Were you sweating?

“Yeah she’s still here,” Jax was still staring at you, and he had still made no move to button his shirt. Asshole was enjoying seeing you flustered. “Turn around.”

Turn around bend over be good –

“Seriously? Where exactly do you think I’m hiding a weapon?” You didn’t sound as annoyed as you were hoping for, you sounded a little breathless as your thoughts continued to spiral.

“Rules are rules,” Jax grinned at you, he was obviously enjoying the effect he was having on you. “Turn around, jacket off.”

“Fine.” You are moving to follow before you can stop yourself. Shivering slightly as you shrugged the jacket off, leaving you in your panties and cropped shirt.

It’s silent. You’re just starting to think that this was some sort of prank when his fingers lightly brushed over your wrist making you jump. “Stay still.” 

His hands trail up your arms, not his usual pat down but a slow, gentle touch, caressing you almost. “Are you hurt?”

Your body stiffened. The quiet genuine concern in his voice throwing you completely off balance. His gentle touch making you feel warm, and something else you didn't know how to name. Did he genuinely actually care? A lump starts to form in your throat, and you once again bite the inside of your cheek, hard enough this time to taste the coppery tang of blood, desperate to kill those feelings before they can become a problem.

“Not badly,” you shrugged. You wanted to run but wanted to see where this was going so very much. “Used to it. You know I could just nip in and see her, there’s no need to-,”

“Stay still.”

You cleared your throat. “Yes Sir, sorry Sir.”

Jax froze. Your momentary glee at having flustered him in return is short lived as the hand on your shoulder slid up the back of your neck and through your hair, causing a little flutter of panic in your gut. This was new territory for you both, usually one of you would have backed off by now. You could feel his breath over your skin as he tugged your head to the side, the sensation making your stomach tighten and your thighs squeeze together. “Can't you just shut up for once?”

Your sarcastic reply is lost as your breath hitches when his lips brush gently over the skin just beneath your ear. Its hesitant, but when you make no move to pull away his grip tightens in your hair, pulling your head more firmly to the side.

“I’m not hid-,” You start, and he makes a low warning sound at your inability to shut up, his teeth grazing harder over your skin. “- not hiding anything up there.”

Jax pulls away abruptedly. Disappointment growing in your chest as you realised you’d reached that point again. The point where Jax realises who he’s flirting with,  what he’s flirting with, and shuts down.

“Better things you could do with that mouth than yap all the time.”

You feel like you’ve just been slammed into an alternate universe. Getting lost in the moment is one thing, but jesus Who are you and what have you done with Jax?

He continues his search before you can ask the question, before you can, as usual, ruin the moment. Both of his hands sweeping down your back, pushing into your spine and round to the front of your hips.

“Easy ther-,” You flinched back against him when his fingers pressed a little harder over your ribs. The pain turning into something that drew a whimper from your throat. Jax went still behind you, you could the warmth of his bare chest, and - fucking fuck me sideways-  your brain short circuiting as you realized you could feel him.

“This is cosy,” You let out a breath, voice strained. Does he remember it’s you? The intrusive thoughts slip in, nagging and chipping away at you. He knows its you right? The two of you stand there, his hands holding you flush against him while his cock presses against your ass. The silence lingering for all of a second before the pressure to talk gets too much.

“Bruised, not broken,” You had no idea what was going on, what to do, whether this was actually happening or if you had done more damage to that already fucked up brain of yours. “probably not broken.” 

He hummed in acknowledgment, warm breath over the shell of your ear causing your back to involuntarily arch and he cursed under his breath.

“You're clear,” He lets go, steps back from you and the loss off his body heat hurts. “You can go through.”

 “Right, great. Told you.” you turn to face him, arms crossed over your chest, disappointment and rejection making your heart sting. For the first time in a long time you feel vulnerable. You want your jacket back. You almost, for a second there, genuinely believed he wanted you. A stupid foolish childish thought. Why would he? When you didn’t have anything to offer, when you didn’t deserve it. You’d destroy him, infect him, pull him down into the dark to drown with you. He deserved better. “Catch you on the flipside.”

This time, it wasn’t Jax at the door. It should be his night off, and while he usually has better things to do with his free time than hang around the place, Orla wanted him to pop in for a brief consult for some job coming down the line.

He goes to the bar for a quick drink before he heads out, the crowd parting around him like water the second they see who he is, flags down a bartender, and waits.

And then he hears that loud fucking mouth.

“It’s not the size that matters, babe,” Knox is saying, his voice a rough purr. He never smells like tobacco, and Jax has never seen him smoke, so he’s not sure where that rasp could come from, but it’s there regardless, like vodka and broken glass. “It’s what you do with it.”

“Uh-huh,” the bartender laughs indulgently. Jax can’t remember their name, but clearly they know Knox well enough to be comfortable with him. Speaks to their mental state, he supposes. “I still think you’re compensating for something.”

He knows he’s going to regret it, but Jax turns his head to the left, and it’s easy enough to see Orla’s rabid pet merc even through the crush of people vying for the attention of the bartenders darting about like bright dragonflies in neon and mesh.

He’s sitting on the bar with his heavy boot propped up on a vacant stool that several people are eyeing with furious envy, but none are brave enough to try for, considering the little bastard is twirling around a bowie knife like a fucking baton.

“Compensating for what, doll?” the masked merc chuckles, leaning back on his elbow. He’s practically lying across the bar, head tilted back, choppy hair hanging down as he smiles winsomely at the orange-haired bartender who twists nimbly around him to top off glasses and gather orders like they’re used to his bullshit. “I know what I’ve got and how to use it, I just feel like it never hurts to have plenty of options at my disposal.”

“Let a bouncer catch you waving that thing around, and I’m sure Orla will remove a few of your options for you.” The bartender clears some empty glasses from the bar and drops them by a nearby sink, taking a clean shaker to begin mixing cocktails.

Jax is off the clock. It’s none of his goddamned business. He drums his fingers against the sticky bartop and immediately regrets it, scowling and wiping his hand on his jeans. They’re expensive, but at least they’re dark. He can have them cleaned later.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Knox croons, sitting up and raking back his hair. Someone leaves their drink alone for a second, and he snatches it up and knocks half of it back in one go. Disgusting. “I know when to test my luck. I nicked the bouncer rotation from her office last time I was in. Jaxxie’s not on duty tonight, so I’m in the clear. The other muscleheads know not to fuck with me if they’d like to keep their own options intact.”

It’s a good thing Jax hasn’t gotten his drink yet, because he’s pretty sure he’d slam it down on the bar and shatter the glass.

“I’ll have to have a talk with them, then,” he snarls, loud enough to be heard over the noise, and to make the people around him clear the hell out.

The bartender yelps and nearly drops the shaker.

Knox just groans. “Speak of the devil.”

Jax pushes off the bar and stalks through the crowd, and saints and sinners alike practically throw themselves out of his path. Knox doesn’t move from his graceless sprawl across the bar, though he does sit up a bit to watch. His bright yellow eyes track the bouncer’s every move, his pierced lips kicking into a smirk.

The bartender, predictably, makes themself scarce.

“You must be stupider than you look,” Jax says, crossing his arms across his chest.

Yellow eyes flicker down to the open vee of Jax’s silk shirt, and that lazy smirk spreads wider. “Mama always told me smarts weren’t the way to catch a husband anyhow,” he drawls. He taps the tip of the blade against his temple like he’s imparted some deep wisdom and takes a pointed sip of his stolen drink.

Jax curls his lip and doesn’t deign that with a reply. “Hand over the knife, and I won’t throw you into traffic and tell Orla she’ll have to pick up a new poorly-trained housepet from the pound.”

The merc’s quick, Jax will give him that. In the blink of an eye he twists the knife away and arches off the bar, slipping it into some hidden sheath behind his back. He also manages to do so while slurping down the last of his stolen drink, and sliding the empty glass down the bar for the original owner to find. He wipes his mouth with the back of one hand, before he raises them both and wiggles his fingers so the rings on them click together. “You must be mistaken, Sir,” he simpers, fluttering his eyelashes, “I don’t have any knife. I’m an upstanding citizen, and I would never disobey the rules of this fine establishment!”

A frisson of something shoots down Jax’s spine, but he chalks it up to anger, because that’s generally what overwhelms him when he has to see this smug little fuck’s face. He can’t be that useful to Orla, the way she bitches about him.

But he’s still around being a thorn in Jax’s side, so he must be good for something.

It shouldn’t be his problem. He’s off the clock. But he knows Orla would find some way to blame him if Knox got out of hand while Jax was around to stop it. So he grabs the merc by one stout shoulder and starts carting him towards the doors.

Knox, to his credit, doesn’t struggle. What he does might be even more annoying, cackling like a madman and blowing a kiss up at Jax. “Baby, at least buy me dinner first!” he crows as they carve through the crowd, stumbling a bit to compensate for Jax’s much longer stride.

The two bouncers on duty leap out of the way when Jax shoves him through the doors, and the look he gives them both has them cringing away. They must be some of the new hires Orla mentioned. “We’re going to have a talk later,” he promises grimly.

“Oh, don’t be too hard on them, Jaxxie,” Knox coos. His mask is slipping off, and he fumbles to peel it away and toss it to the ground while being dragged along by the arm, “they don’t know any better.” He laughs again, grating and sharp, and he keeps laughing until Jax hauls him out the door and lets him go so suddenly he goes staggering into the hood of someone’s car. Thankfully, the car doesn't seem to have an alarm. Knox raps his knuckles against the dented hood and raises his eyebrows, apparently making the same observation. “Noted,” he says wickedly.

“Next time, I won’t be so gentle,” Jax snarls, the back of his neck still prickling at the nickname.

Coyote flicks his tongue out, wiggling the split prongs, the silver ball embedded in it catching the dull light of the dirty street lamp overhead. “Ooooh, do you promise?”

As far as Jax is concerned, the problem is handled. He gives the merc one last withering look, eyes narrowed and lip curled, before he stalks away to find his own car and get the hell out of dodge before he’s roped into more nonsense. Knox’s raspy cackle follows him the whole way.

He’s halfway home when a sudden, niggling suspicion tickles at the back of his mind. He waits until he’s at a red light to pat down his waist, which feels notably lighter than it should.

“Motherfucker!” he snaps when he realizes his gun isn’t there. He’s not the type to lose things, especially not important things.

Orla warned him on day one the merc had sticky fingers, and he didn’t listen, thinking nobody would be stupid enough to try him.

A part of him, though, is sort of… grudgingly impressed. How’d the crazy little bastard manage to take it? When?

Jax drags a hand over his mouth and grumbles to himself. He’d shake the truth, and his damned gun, out of the merc next time he saw him, no matter what.

A rough voice that sounds suspiciously like Knox croons in the back of his mind.