OUT OF CASH

❝I said: I could be a wolf for you. I could put my teeth on your throat. I could growl. I could eat you whole. I could wait for you in the dark. I could howl against your hair.❞ Jason Cash. Owner of Cube.

[s-awzall-deactivated20200601]

[jasxncash-blog]

—AVA & jason,

special delivery for — @jasxncash;

          The sun had shone through half-closed curtains, Ava recalling that upon her arrival home last night, ensuring they were closed was the last thing on her mind. It had taken a moment for her to come to terms as to who was in her bed, still not entirely aware as to where she was — this much not hitting her until a little later. In the meantime, she awoke from her slumber, blonde hair sprawled across her bare-chest and flowing down her back, eyes immediately falling on the face of Jason Cash; his pretty-blues not yet on display for her to fall into. Instead, his breathing was soft, eyes closed, and still very much in the land of catching-z’s. A soft exhale left her lips, her eyes still adjusting to the brightness surrounding her, silence washing over them as she rose her hand, brushing against his hard chest before coiling up to run her fingers and thumb against his neck, just catching his jaw-line. It was an odd sensation; the intimate gesture with him. Jase was not someone she picture the soft moment with — but he was asleep, so it didn’t count, right? It was strange. A part of her knowing and accepting that there was more to him. To them. There were real feelings here, and Ava did everything she could to bury those deep down, never one to accept anything emotional in her life. And instead, she just continued to ignore the fact.

             Jason Cash was a good liar. A master of deceit. Always the one to use his serpentine nature to get him what he wanted. Now, with her, breath warm against his bare shoulder and the tips of svelte fingers raising goosebumps along skin, was no exception. Just one borne of tenderness now; for once, not sin. 

            He let her touch him. Relished in the goosebumps and hairs-on-end under the atypical tender care her svelte fingers took on his skin: mapping out his jaw, his chest, the pronounce of his collarbone, as if she were pious and he were something holy. He could have stayed right there, like that, forever, just the two of them lying there and lying to each other–– both masters of deceit, dancing around the truth in the cast of sun-seep adorning their naked bodies. Whatever that truth was.

                          But the thought was a weak one, and Jason Cash didn’t do ‘weak’.

             “Good mornin’,” The male grunted against the pads of fingertips, one cerulean eye peeking open to find the blonde vixen beside him–– softened, adorned, by a halo’d glow. He shifted, hips, then back, until he was on his lain on his side, an arm slinging around slender form, half-conscious as he pulled her right against him. Where she belonged. Last night was a long one, soreness surely coating both their limbs as they entangled into the bare trap of the others’, hence the heaviness that weighed him into her when he wrapped around her, eyes half-lidding and lips in a sultry tease nearing her own, and settled. A pure moment of need to be wrapped in her, but not without– “Next time take a picture, it’ll last longer–” ruining the previous one first.

[jasxncash-blog]

—CECILIA & jason,

“You are,” she confirmed and nodded, eyes rising to find his, with vivid curiosity embedded like golden flecks in emerald. “Which really makes me wonder…” It wasn’t a question, barely a statement, and much more likely to be a thought spoken aloud but distinguished further by the look of curiosity in her features. Jason Cash had come out of nowhere with seemingly no ties to Lanford, and then he’d made a name for himself here, as if everyone had been expecting him — Longing for his arrival even. It seemed odd to her, but in a strangely interesting way, and she wanted to know why and how. As if it could be taught maybe. When he answered her question with one she obviously knew wasn’t true, she barely moved, unflinching even though she felt a slight twitch in her right eyebrow and the corners of her mouth. “Woodstock,” she repeated instead when the real answer came. “Would’ve been surprised if you turned out Canadian with that drawl.” She chuckled and leaned back in her seat, propping her drink up on her knee. His question surprised her in the sense that on surface level, it was easy to answer — But it then occurred to her that it hadn’t meant to be taken as a surface level kind. He wanted to know what the hell she was doing with her life. More or less. “Because it’s my job.” She chuckled, moving one shoulder up. “I don’t hold jobs down very easily,” she admitted then, “I get bored and then I move on, but I still have to pay bills. Bartending is good tips and selling pizzas is… close to where I live. It’s all about convenience,” she lied. “My turn now.” She picked the drink up from her knee and placed it on the desk again, now leaned in a bit. “If there was one thing you could change about your past — What would it be?”

                “Makes you wonder what?” The girl had trailed off, and against his will, coaxed him to lean forward on his desk, elbows to maplewood, hanging off her every word before he even knew what hit him. He took a breath. Two. And alas, the spell was broken–– had him lightheaded, the wake of peering into eyes of shallow seas and bright pine, before he settled back again, smirking, lips coated and full, “You’re good at that. Bein’ a real, walkin’ talkin’, breathin’ ellipsis– you know that?” Curiosity seemed to flood her fawny features, surely emulating his wolfish, the latter intensifying as the marble that coveted her barely moved at his jest, his charm offensive, and as if crafted at the hand of Da Vinci himself, that Mona Lisa nuance begged him to ask: was that a smile or a frown? “Maybe if I start apologizin’ more I’d be more believable,” The marble that made her up moved, and she was laughing, and so was he.

               His question, at first glance, was mundane; easy to ask and easy to answer. But the nuances, the subtext charged in the easiest of questions, making them the hardest. Cecilia’s simple answer had him laughing with her. ‘Because it’s my job’. Touche. “––You’re fickle,” He rounded up in an easy, brusque, almost rude finish to her explanation. But it was her turn now to bring in the heavy punches; this was an uppercut to the nose, taking him off guard, when a shoal of ugly truths about his less-than-savoury past came down hard, “If there was one thing I could change about my past...” Part of him wanted to say nothing, for part of him believed it: he loved life, where he sat perched, where he’d be in five years. Rich. But a pocket inside of him, that rarely thought of his estranged family, the people he’d hurt, the ruthless poison he’d endowed, wanted to say otherwise. Lie. For some reason, he couldn’t to her. So he drank.

             “Why can’t anyone know what you’re thinkin’?” He asked; smirked, his eyes darkened now as Jameson heated his mouth and spiked his blood, “You got more guards in ya than the damn White House... So? What's your gamble?”

[jasxncash-blog]

—HUNTER & jason,

“Oh, just wanted to stare at your really nice ass, obviously.” The words dripped in sarcasm, as he looked up from his phone, “dude, I just turned onto this street, and well– facebook beckons.” It wasn’t facebook, but facebook was a logical thing that he could blame, “but if it makes you feel better, you’re extra pretty, promise.” 

                  Facebook? Jason Cash was vain, and that vanity had the initial sarcasm mitigated –– he did have a nice ass, after all –– but it was the ‘Facebook’ thing that threw him off to its sardonic course. No one used Facebook anymore, a fact that only furrowed brows deeper and dug a deeper hole in Jason’s pocket of paranoia, “I know I’m extra pretty. I also know there ain’t nothin’ ‘beckoning’ ‘bout Facebook no more,” He gave the man a once over, before canines were bore in a wolf’s grin, yet it didn’t reach is cold gaze, “We playin’ two truths and a lie right now? ‘Cause I think I got ya.”

[jasxncash-blog]

—AVA & adrian,

              He just wanted to look at her. Take a second. Let himself drink in the sight of the blonde Lilith sprawled out before him, panting with need, begging him to fill her after months of him begging to do the same–– and god, he would have relished in it forever if not for the fact he was a man: a man who’s cock pulsated in the confines of denim, hard as a rock, in its unadulterated and feral need to be inside of her; to feel wet walls and succulent heat clench around him. To feel her. 

              The damp digits that had been inside those caverns moments ago now fumbled with the buckle of his belt, complying to her fevered wishes, almost–– “I can’t wait to fuck you until that foul mouth’a yours don’t work anymore,” He hissed, grinning, but his head ducked down, between her legs, mouth and tongue teething at the thin strip of her thong before they found it brushed to the side, on one of her plump lips, so they could have a proper taste. The fibrils of his burgundy tongue flattened, pressed, and dragged, so every last drip of her wetness could coat her tongue; so he could memorize the taste. But Jason Cash was a selfish man–– he couldn’t hold on to pleasure her without pleasuring himself, not now, at least: he needed to pound her senseless, show her just how long he had waited for this, how badly he needed her. He needed her now.

              Jason rose to his full height, and with the zip of a zipper, his jeans and boxers had found their way to his ankles, kicked away in the spring-free of his member from its confines, finally. Greedy palms found the lioness’ hips and wrought them over to the edge of the desk with a hungry tug, until the tip of his cock was pressed into the cushion of her wet, lustful amaranth, pressed in a slow rub. His cerulean gaze was blown black with lust, and his lips, coated in her fluids, had fell apart at the feeling of her juices brush the length of his cock, and with a lift of her long legs up and against his chest, ankles on his shoulders, his cock found entrance–– plunged into her tight walls, feeling like heaven, and he found himself groaning at the wet, hot, tight feeling of victory: and something else that his wolfish being couldn’t pinpoint. “... You’re so tight for me, baby, fuck.” The pleasure was immense. Had him leaning forward, her flexible legs coming with him, and gripping the edge of the desk tight as his slow, hard thrusts had his head spinning, his eyes rolled back. She felt so good. So good he did something he never did--- he had his mouth on hers, tongue-kissing and groaning in a sensual lip-lock as his hips started to quicken, his cock started to pulse, and he started to fuck her.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I waited for you. I ate your foot-steps. I was expectation. I was your steps. I was hunger.

Claude de Burine, from The Visitor: Poems; “Playground,” c. 1990 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[jasxncash-blog]

—SCARLETT & jason,

She quirked a brow, a smirk forming on her lips as he defended his ass — literally. “Would you like me to give you an extra half point for pity? Seven and a half, tops. Get some jeans that really make the booty pop, you know, and then you can get your so-called deserved nine,” she grinned before it was soon wiped off her lips at the mention of the actual topic at hand. “Yeah, I work for Google, they’ve really cut budgets lately so instead of the fancy-ass cars they use to map the cities they use us, lowly regular people, now. None of this tech bullshit. I have cameras in my eyes to map the city. We’re always hiring,” she grinned before shaking her head. “I work for the NYPD.”

               “A half point for pity? You got me wounded, Blondie. But the honesty is appreciated, and I’ll make sure to graze the booty cut next time I stop by a fuckin’ Old Navy,” Like a tennis match was the back and forth between him and the woman bearing a wit that was refreshing; put him in his place, and that was all viable in the mirth glinting ceruleans, and the wolfish smile curling lips, “If Air Drop you my resume, will you send it to your boss? And if I attach some flattering ass shots, will you reconsider your score?” Crass as ever, he was about to tag onto that with a quip about sending that to her boss too, when her real profession had the money launderer stop in his track; kiss his teeth, scrunch his nose, disdain not well-hidden the least bit, “... Right. Gotcha,” His voice was cold now as he dragged his smoke, feet pivoting to take his leave; cops made his skin crawl, but that was just the life of a crook, “Well, you nice a good day–”

[ofnikkcs]

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boy you know you don’t look fly them gold chains turn your neck green, bye

[jasxncash-blog]

—ELIJAH & jason,

Elijah could tell the man was getting agitated, but that didn’t stop the fact that he just so happened to be following the same path it took to get to Elijah’s apartment. Tough shit. There were worse and far more intimidating types you could run into in North End. It was really only because he had a right to be indignant that Elijah was able to stand his ground. “What I want is to get back to my apartment. It’s been a long day and I’ve got a shitty futon to go sleep on, okay?” 

                  “Oh, it’s you,” Features became awash with relief, then mirth, when the looming figure on his tail revealed itself to be Elijah–– a man Jason found fun in poking and prodding at more than anyone else in town. He found himself reverted to adolescence whenever the two butt heads; Jason, the bully, Elijah, his prey. The guy was just too easy to piss off. “A futon? Fuckin’ eh,” A devilish laugh, “Sounds like someone’s got himself in the dog house,” He took a deep drag; blew it out of smirking lips, “... Does that mean your girl is up for grabs now? Maybe it’s high time she stops rollin’ with Jack Russels and treats her self to a wolf–”

[jasxncash-blog]

—ZOE & jason,

                                           At least she was at an advantage— well, maybe not advantage, but having spotted him before he her, she’d had the time to mentally prepare for whatever was coming; and she knew exactly what it would be. “Are you threatening the life of an officer on open street?” She asked, raising her voice to make sure it wasn’t just loud enough to travel across the street, but to roam a little further to, not to be incriminating, just to humiliate him if possible. “It must be really shitty to have to kill a girl’s boyfriend to get any sort of attention from her, but I guess it’s that Oedipus complex of yours right? Because you had a shitty mom and a shitty dad, and now you wanna kill and fuck,” she said, raising her shoulders in a shrug. As long as she was talking, at least he wasn’t. “By the way, I’d be careful about what you say anywhere in Kube, not to mention at your place, your car, in your phone, and to people on your pay roll.” She winked at him, as if she knew something, when all she was doing was planting a seed in his brain, hoping it would drive him insane, maybe have him wreaking his own place to look for bugs, that kind of thing. Or maybe, just maybe, it would eventually drive him out of Lanford completely.

                  A sharp intake of breath was hissed mid-drag, and whether it was covet for nicotine or her incriminating rise in volume, was muddled, but anyone with half a brain could see in wolfish features full of hate, that the coin fell on the latter, “Shut your fucking mouth, Bitch,” He hissed in a spit back, eyes darting around. It was a goddamn nuclear weapon, a poisonous flower, her lips and tongue; alluring upon first sight, but the minute they opened, it ate you whole, “An Oedipus Complex, you say? What else does your cracker-jack-box degree in psychiatry mock me up to?” He took another step toward her, the height difference stark now as broad shoulders concave in. An intimidation tactic if there ever was one, “Ever thought that... I ‘kill’ and ‘fuck’, just to kill and fuck?” A grin spread across his maw, wide and wolfish and amused, but it did not reach his eyes. Eyes the colour of cerulean sky were spiteful; vicious; empty. And, come her next gust of air to feed the flame, red-hot in their flare. That had him unravelling. “––The fuck you just say to me?” He sneered, “You better tread real fuckin’ carefully now, Sugar Tits, ‘cause I can make promises too, if you’re bein’ real right now,” He couldn’t tell. The poker face worn was as impenetrable as the woman herself. But, given their last encounter, for the first time in the ten years he had known her, he had found a weak spot; a place to press his thumb into, and she’d bruise. Bruise like a peach, “It’d be just terrible for your boy’s cruiser brakes to suddenly stop workin’ on that cliffside highway, or a traffic stop to go badly,” He took another step, until he could blow a plume of smoke in her face, voice of the same rasp, “Or some goon to put a bullet right–” His free hand rose to tap a single, sinister digit against her forehead–– “Here.”

[jasxncash-blog]

—CECILIA & jason,

“Plenty of brunettes come in asking for you too,” she remarked under her breath and with the curve of a teasing smile in place on her lips. His arrival in town had kicked up a lot of excitement, and especially for a certain age group of women (a wide age group to be fair) it still lingered around. Cecilia saw the appeal though, she wasn’t blind, and even though she didn’t feel like she knew him very well, despite having worked for him for a long time now, she liked him. Crossing one leg over the other, she watched him as he decided she had passed the test, a suppressed smile showing in her eyes before it appeared on her lips when the Jameson was poured. He suggested a drinking game, and maybe if it hadn’t been ages since she had played one, she would have declined, but it had and she kind of wanted to see where it would go — Especially once the premise had been laid out. She liked an opportunity to get to know him better after all. “Okay,” she said and leaned in a little to grab the drink in her hand, curious green eyes on his icy blue. “I’ll start,” she declared, “Where did you grow up?”

                   It left her as a remark–– thrown to the wind under the shield of a breath, and then, another taken, punctuated with the checkmark of a teasing smile. His eyes narrowed; her smile mirrored on the bend of his own mouth. She was someone who always kept you guessing. Whether her words were airy and sardonic or if they weighed more than a tongue, she kept you guessing, and damn, did he see his own marrow in that bone, “What can I say? I’m a famous man among the dyes,” His ego dripped like honey from his tone: slow, saccharine, dense. He made a statement of resonating glass to wood when the tumbler of whiskey was placed to her, as if the raucous sound of glass to wood signified the ‘start’ of this game. “You’ll start, okay,” He echoed, a wolfish grin at the initiative. It was clear this game of cat and mouse wasn’t going to be a straight teeth to neck kill. No, with her, he couldn’t tell who was the predator and who was the prey, “Canada,” He said, straight faced an earnest, emphasizing his southern drawl before breaking, “A small town in Georgia. Woodstock. Insignificant and forgotten, nothin’ special,” He swirled the shot in the glass, licking his lips, sure the sip was coming soon. But it was his turn now. “You bartend here half the week and you sell pizzas for the rest. Why?”

[jasxncash-blog]

—SOFIA & jason,

                            Like every other millennial, Sofia had her eyes glued to her phone as she made her way through Westbrook. She had no plans for the day and decided on a whim to go visit her dad and his family, to spend some time with her younger siblings— if they were home. 

It was the sharp word from someone else that finally made her look up however, surprised to find that the word was aimed at her, and that more quickly followed. 

“Whoa dude,” She said, taken aback by his tone of voice and overall body language. She recognized him from Kube, well aware who he was, with the exception of his side of him at least— he usually seemed so smooth and charming. 

“Conceited much? Not saying your ass isn’t nice, it could be, but I wouldn’t know— I’m on my phone, and FYI I didn’t even see you before now. Why would I care where you’re going anyway?” She asked, not spiteful, just curious as to why the paranoia. 

“What I want, is to make it to Haverford— sorry if this happens to be the quickest way.”

          The moment his exasperated whirl around found the wide, russet gaze of a familiar pretty face, Jason was racked with both visible and audible cringe. A deep sigh, a set of ceruleans lidded in a screw shut, a large palm running down mien full of self-aimed indigence. He recognized the girl from Kube: college aged, party-going, the zenith of ‘good looks’ in the crowd she came with. Pretty people attracted pretty people, and this, surely, wasn’t good for business.

          “Alright,” He took a deep drag of his smoke, leaning back on his left foot in a southern-laze of a stance, sniffing as he readied a laborious but genuine apology on his tongue, “I’m sorry, alright?” The man needed a quick excuse, and he chalked it up to the robberies that happened months ago instead of the truth, “Been a bit on edge since my place got shacked back in February.”

           He took a cautious step closer, there a good yard or two between them still, and the charm offensive that got him everywhere started to show through, “Next time you and your friends come into Kube, I got ya,” He offered her a grin, a raise of a brow daring her to turn down the offer, “My way of sayin’ my bad. Free drinks on me... um–” He gave her a once over as he took another pull, blowing out the plume in a faux rack of his brain for her name, “... Your name again?”

[jasxncash-blog]

—AVA & jason,

               Jason could feel her resisting. Her stubbornness. Could feel it in the way her lips tightened on his in pure rebel, tongue too busy dancing with his own to say who it belonged to. In the way her velvet viscera tightened around his fingers and gripped. And God, did he love that in her. Spurred the mercury in his veins to strike match, and spur him to want more, more, MORE. She was the toughest nut to crack of them all; where he’d usually need to apply little to no pressure, he had needed a hydraulic press to get to where they were now–– almost a year spent wrapped in the chase, jealous feelings had formed, and though he’d rather be caught dead than admit it, real ones had too. The thought pierced his grey matter like an arrow’s tip to his target, but just as fast as it came, the sink of his canines in her swan’s curve relieved it. Jason Cash didn’t fuck with feelings. He fucked to fuck.

              “But you love that about me,” He spoke smug into her skin, though his tiers had spread into a devilish smile. His thumb’s pad manipulated her bundle of a thousand nerves in a slow, stimulating rub, as elongated thick digits pumped into her in rhythmic align, fingertips curling up into the hot wet heat of tight walls. You, Jason– You. No symphony could emulate the way it made him feel, hearing it: no bird song and no hymn. It only spurred on the delicious friction of his fingers further, pressing and massaging into the sweet spots like a button to arouse. And then, suddenly, he pulled back from her–– head and fingers too, eyes getting a better look at how undone he had made her before raising the digits shellacked in her juices to his mouth. Wolfish, everything was wolfish, as his cerulean gaze fastened on her own azure, making sure that she watched him watch her as he tasted her nectar. “... Off–” He demanded, and with an easy zip, lift and shimmy, he had her dress off, and Ava fucking Wright in nothing but a lace thong, splayed on his desk.

              He gazed down at the impeccable sight and licked his lips, eyes now obsidian in his libido, “We’ll leave the heals on,” He smirked, before his head ducked to wrap hot, wet lips around a rose bud nipple. He sucked and bit and tasted one, then the other, before finally he had her lying back, one of his hands moving down to rub at the bulge in his jeans. “Tell me how you want me,” He exhaled, nowhere near opposed to being commandeered himself by a woman so mouthy. 

[raddmax-archive-blog]

[men-men-everywhere]

[jasxncash-blog]

—zoe & jason,

                                 Zoe watched as the apron clad woman stopped in her tracks when none other than Jason Cash turned around and accused her of following him—- if it weren’t for the slightly terrified expression on the young woman’s face, not to mention the obvious shock, he could’ve maybe been right. He was the kind of person people might follow; for all the wrong reasons, and for all the right reasons, but this woman was clearly just trying to get somewhere on time. I’m on my way to work, she heard her say, excuse me. She walked around him, and from her piece of pavement on the opposite side of the road, Zoe scoffed to herself and rolled her eyes. She had no intentions of talking to him ever again, but as soon as the woman was gone, his cerulean gaze, cold as ice, found hers like moths to a flame. “Your ego is showing,” she said, eyes thinning in disdain.

                 The mousy girl he had clearly startled scuttered off before he could blink, even have time to think about apologizing, though he was happy to be both rid of the responsibility and the loom. The latter relief, however, didn’t last. He felt a presence nearby on the quiet residential street, watching him still. He turned, mid-drag of his cigarette, and found the repulsed gaze of none other than Zoe Foster. Ice shot down his spine. “Fuck.” He exhaled, smoke and anger laced into the verbalized grunt. Of fucking course she was there, watching the exchange, only to make the paranoia he initially felt amplify by the thousands. You could argue that Jason Cash was either scared of few things in this world or too many. Regardless, Zoe Foster happened to be high on that list; the only woman, too, and that was a fact he’d rather die than ever let her find out, “So is your stalker card, sugar tits,” But, lucky for him, their last exchange had shined a light on what the fearless producer feared most of all, and he was ready to pummel that verbal ammunition into her, pound by pound, “Your man kick the bucket yet?” He called out across the street, “You ready for me? ‘Cause if even if he hasn’t, I know some people who can take care of it for us, so we can finally have our ‘happily ever after’, sugar tits.”

[jasxncash-blog]

—cecilia & jason,

“Uh, excuse me?” June stopped mid-step, clear taken aback by the sudden harsh words that ripped through the air, not to mention the look on the guy’s face. She was pretty sure she had seen him around town a lot of times before — He was the owner of Kube, and by the looks of it, wasn’t having the best day. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t following you if that’s what you’re thinking, and I definitely wasn’t looking at your ass? I’m on my way to work. Munchers? You might know it, it’s close to Kube after all.”

                    “Uh– Uh– Uh– did I stutter?” Usually to a girl as good looking as the one he hurled accusations at now, he’d watch his mouth. But paranoia was an infestation on the brain, poisoning both judgement and disposition, and the stress of it on him could often get the better. He opened his mouth to say some dumb defensive comment on his own behind, when she mentioned a diner, in which, he had spent countless evenings for one sole reason. Ophelia. “... Munchers, y’say?” Clearing his throat as his skin flushed rouge, a mortified Jason Cash a rare sight, he shifted in his footing; gazing down at the familiar blonde with a tacit apology in his eyes, “Sorry. I thought you were someone else,” He half-lied. “No hard feelin’s?”