A/N: Prompt response for pulpofiction, who wanted Mako going solo in prison.
Mako tried to relax his arms and let his wrists hang so that the cuffs wouldn't chafe, elbows propped against his bony thighs as he stared at a fixed point on the other side of the interrogation room.
How? He kept asking himself. How did they get that shit in without me knowing? And did I really make out with Asami back there?
It was a few minutes before he felt the pain and looked down to see that his fists were clenched once again and that the metal that bound them was raising welts. He took a long breath and started over. The harsh overhead light was humming, and a fog of exhaustion made the whole room seem surreal, the stain on the wall seeming to move perceptibly in front of his eyes.
Maybe I'm finally starting to lose it.
He startled when the metal door slammed open, and there was Bei Fong standing with her arms folded and her face unreadable. "Let's go," she said.
"We're done with questioning?"
"I think you've had enough for one night."
That seemed oddly generous. Mako rose awkwardly to his feet. He'd been questioned enough by police to know they didn't usually quit because you'd "had enough." They'll wait til you're so exhausted and hungry you can hardly think and then they come at you," Shin told him, and he saw Bolin's eyes widen. "They twist everything you say, so best thing you can do is just don't say nothing.'"
When he exited the interrogation room, he realized for the first time that she was alone. Her chucklehead detectives were nowhere in sight. "No back up?" he asked.
Bei Fong shrugged. "You think I can't handle you myself?" The quirk of her eyebrows told him that t\he wasn't looking like he could put up much of a fight. Not that he wanted to.
"Chief, didn't Asami tell you…"
"We'll be speaking with Miss Sato sometime in the very near future."
That didn't make any sense. "You didn't talk to her tonight?"
Bei Fong stopped and looked at him, her expression slightly worried, like she was talking to a person who needed to be told something gently.
"Miss Sato declined our invitation to the station this evening."
Mako felt his stomach turn over. Asami didn't come?
The Chief watched him process this information and then continued to lead him wordlessly down the corridor, stopping in front of a metal cell door to open it and take him inside.
It was single occupancy, which seemed merciful. He'd rather face the loneliness than one of the triads he'd busted over the past few months. As he collapsed on the low, hard bed, Bei Fong took a couple of glances around the cell.
"You need anything, kid?"
What a stupid question.
"No," he said. But his stomach made a sound that betrayed him. He hadn't even felt the hunger.
"Someone will bring you a meal soon."
With a wave, she released his cuffs. As the metal door slammed behind her, he closed his eyes, brow contorting as if that would stave off the headache blooming inside his scalp.
Why didn't Asami come? It was a question he couldn't let go of and yet a question he didn't feel he had any right to ask. By the time his dinner arrived, "why didn't Asami come" became "why would Asami come." She thinks I'm a criminal after all.
The food was unappetizing but disappeared off his plate without him realizing he'd even tasted it. Years of fishing in dumpsters and eating the occasional prison meal had taught him how to detach the satisfaction of basic physical needs from any real sensation like pleasure or disgust. He stuck the metal plate in the slot where the guard would take it. Minutes later, he relieved himself in the toilet attached to the wall. It was strange how prison did its work so quickly, reducing a man to an animal who ate and shit and slept and did little else, his needs provided by a slot in the door and a drain in the wall.
Mako's mind was a raging cacophony of self-recrimination and despair. Even if you're innocent, Asami will never look at you the same way again. You've hurt her too many times. She's not coming for you. Korra's not coming for you either.
The other name crept into his mind completely unbidden, and with an animal grunt he reflexively punched the wall, pain jolting through his system and then flooding his brain with an analgesic wave, his mind suddenly, blissfully quiet as he pulled his fist back and examined the broken skin on his knuckles.
He heard the scrape of metal on metal, and the slot where his meal tray sat opened. Did someone hear that? The tray disappeared, and Mako stared at the slot, which remained open for several seconds longer than it should have.
"Mako, it's you, right?" a voice said. It was female, and he could see a sliver of a face peeking through. It was a guard he'd talked to once or twice in the hallways of the station.
"Yeah," he said.
She was quiet for a moment. "Do you need anything?"
I need to not be here.
He flexed his hand and held onto the ache beneath the bruised skin, watched a drop of blood form on one of his knuckles.
"No, I'm fine," he said. And after a few more seconds, the slot closed.
Time didn't pass like normal inside a windowless cell like this. It might have been a half hour. It might have been half the night. But the slot suddenly opened again, and Mako saw someone shoving a book through. He hopped up off the bed and took it only to see another book coming through.
"It'll help pass the time. Let me know if you need more." He caught the guard's vaguely sympathetic eyes and tried to find the words to say thanks before the slot closed again. How did she know I liked to read?
The spines of the books were thick, and they had a nice weight in his hands. The titles suggested they'd come straight from the criminology and law library down in the basement: A Taxonomy of Criminal Types, 3rd edition.
He opened the cover and tried to read, but the words on the page started to swim. He set the books on the shelf that was provided in his cell and went back to the bed, stretching his entire length across its hard surface.
…
"What do you need? What do you want?" Her small, strong hands were propped against his bare chest as she hovered over him, her dark hair forming a curtain around both of their heads. Her body was beautiful in the half light that skimmed over the swooping lines of each muscle and womanly curve, burnished bronze and gleaming. He could feel warmth radiating through their underwear where she was straddling his hips, and he kept himself still, resisting the urge to grind against her.
"I don't need anything. I just need you." She pressed her forehead against his and laughed in his face, and he felt a blush creep across his cheeks and down his neck. He thought that was the right thing to say.
…
He wasn't aware that he had fallen asleep until he was waking up, and when he did, it was with a jolt, blood humming and senses alight. Once he realized where he was, he let his head fall back against the hard bed, reaching up a hand to wipe away the sweat that had formed on his brow. Don't dream about Korra, he thought. Korra hates you. Dream about how you are going to fight this. Alone. She's never going to forgive you.
…
Without thinking, he flipped them over and felt pleasure rocket through his groin as she wrapped her bare legs around him. Her head went back as she gently pushed upward against his arousal, and to keep himself in check, he found a spot on her neck to focus on, attacking it with his lips and tongue until she made a sound he'd never heard before. His hand reached up to palm her breast—revealed to him only moments before—and as his thumb brushed roughly over her nipple, she made that sound again. And this time, he bore down against her with his hips, pinning her to the bed and eliciting something from her that was newer and more dangerous.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, his body was giving the directions, and he was just trying to keep up. The ecstasy of it was constant and almost torturous. He could feel everything, every place where their bodies lined up, every vibration of her throat against his tongue, the bruising force of her hands on his flesh. And with an urgency that frightened him, he wanted—needed—to rip off any remaining clothing between them and plunge into her. And it was abundantly clear that she wanted it too, her hands clutching at his ass to force him to grind against her body at the angle she liked.
He was starting to fall apart, starting to imagine—though not for the first time—what it would be like to slip into her and lose himself. And the insistent throb in his cock told him he was about to embarrass himself. Stop, he said to himself. Stop, stop stop.
…
"Fuck," he said the second he woke up again. It wasn't fair. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at the bulge in his pants as if it were rising from another person's body. "What are you doing?" he seemed to be asking it. In response, the head of his cock just kept tingling, the pull in his balls kept pulling. He reached down into his pants to try and shift things around and get more comfortable, but the pressure of his own hand was such a relief that he just left it there, lying back with hand in his underwear and feeling like an idiot.
"I didn't expect it to be so soft," she had said. His breathing was shallow, still convinced as he was that he had somehow done something wrong. But she was lying next to him, propped on her elbow, a bemused look on her face as her hand played curiously inside his underwear, the calloused pads of her fingers almost painful as they teased along the length of him.
"Korra, you don't…if you don't want to."
"Shut up," she said, leaning over to silence him with a kiss. "And show me what to do."
Mako's breathing relaxed a bit as he gently gripped the shaft and remembered the warmth of her palm the first time she'd done that, his hand covering hers tentatively as he showed her exactly how firmly to squeeze. "I'm an asshole," he thought. "Touching myself to thoughts of my ex-girlfriend." That he was touching himself at all was strange. He'd done this maybe five times in his entire life, and it usually took forever. The reminder that he was doing it to himself always rattled him, and once or twice, he'd sat on his own hand to make it numb so that it wouldn't feel like his own. "I'm really going to do this? Here?"
She was right though, it was soft. With his hand closed around himself, he started to move a little, letting his palm travel up and down his length, and it was feeling better than this particular activity had ever felt before. Whatever. He undid his pants for better access and spit into his hand.
"It feels better like this," he said. And taking his cue, she licked her palm and each finger, maintaining eye contact as she shuffled in the bed, moving down the length of his body until one hand was wrapped around his erection, the other was braced against his hip, and her lips were hovering just above, waiting, contemplating.
Mako groaned and caught a drop of precum with the tip of his thumb as it rubbed over the head. He remembered watching with rapt attention as she had encircled him with her lips and as he felt every bump on her tongue graze against him and render the entire rest of his body limp and useless. He screwed his eyes shut and saw her dark head between his legs, her free hand splayed across his abdomen. But if he was going to stick with this particular memory than he was going to have to deal with what had come next.
"Shit, Korra." He hadn't meant to yell, and she jumped a little, raising her head and looking up as he exploded with her hand still on him. He tried to cover himself, but it was too late. He groaned pitifully as his body shuddered with pleasure and relief, a big undignified mess with the evidence of his discomposure dotting the tops of his thighs.
"I…I…" He was convinced she would be disgusted and disappointed. Which is why he stopped breathing entirely when she raised her hand to her mouth and sucked a bit of him off her thumb. And then she cleaned him off with the corner of the sheet and crawled back up to his face and kissed him, her lips soft and understanding. But it had taken a while for him to get completely comfortable again.
He let his wrist go loose as his hand slid up and down the shaft, his hips reflexively thrusting back into the rhythm. Close, so close. His teeth were clenched, but this was always the problem. His brain was starting to butt in, starting to whisper, "She's your ex. She hates you."
"Tell me what you need," she said.
"I just need you."
It was true but it wasn't The Truth if that made any sense.
His breathing came high and desperate. He was past the point of no return. Either he'd get off or he'd die. He was pretty sure it was one or the other. He squeezed harder and quickened the pace, tried to stop thinking of her coal black pupils, dilated with want as she'd licked him off her thumb, the intensity of her mouth as she'd bent back down to kiss him. It was too wonderful. So wonderful that it hurt, the gathering force in his groin coiled tight like a spring.
"What do you want?" he heard himself ask, trying to sound sultry, seductive, just trying to keep up with her lead. Kneeling over him, she kissed him hard, tongue pushing past his teeth, lips slightly chapped from overuse. And with one hand she grasped his and pulled it down, down, down beneath the line of her underwear, and he felt coarse hairs and then something impossibly warm and wet and soft, his middle finger pressing against her in a way that made her break their kiss and groan against his lips.
That was it. He felt the unraveling beginning to start, and his hand pulled roughly at his rigid cock, trying to finally make it over the edge. He remembered the sight of her lying back and letting him remove her last piece of clothing, of her bare and wanting as he pushed her legs apart and kissed a path down her stomach. One foot was braced on the bed, and as the colors started to burst behind his eyes, he could taste her on his tongue, all salt and warmth. Her ease with it all had surprised him, the way she egged him on, talked to him in ways he hadn't had the courage to do. "Like that. Use your fingers again. Oh shit. Oh shit. Deeper, deeper. Shit, Mako. That feels soooo good." His cock had sprung to life again thanks to her wild moans, the harsh tug of her fingers on his scalp. And here he was now, coming hard into his own hand at the thought of her coming apart in his.
"That's it. That's the last time I do that," he thought as he wiped himself off with toilet paper and huddled back against the wall on the bed.
"Do you need anything?"
It was such a stupid question. Because what was the point in acknowledging you needed anything that you were never going to get?
