Chapter Text
Picking Lalo up from jail is a strangely intimate experience. With the doors closed, in the safety of Nacho’s car, Lalo sighs and slumps into the passenger seat. He crosses his arms and tips his head back, eyes closed.
“Where to?” Nacho prompts when it’s been long enough he’s worried Lalo’s at risk of falling asleep. His lined face looks vulnerable in its exhaustion. Nacho tries and fails to remain unmoved by it. Chides himself internally.
“Take me home.” Lalo says without opening his eyes. It’s strange, being able to look at Lalo without being looked at, without being caught.
Nacho drums his fingers on the wheel. “The safe house?”
“Your home, Ignacio. I need your big ridiculous bed. And your shower. With all the jets.”
The destination gives Nacho pause, he does a mental inventory of the state of his house including the last time he did laundry or cleaned the shower. His bed is also usually occupied by Amber and Jo collectively taking up a third of the king mattress, giving Nacho ample room to toss and turn, eventually ending up spread-eagle with the sheets twisted around his feet.
Lalo has never actually stayed the night. Has only ever walked past his bedroom door. They fuck at the Salamanca safe house, the garage, the back of El Mich, never Nacho’s bed. Tonight is different. Nacho makes note of the change, mentally prepares for further surprises, and acquiesces.
“Okay.”
Nacho starts the car. The javelin rumbles to life.
Lalo looks out the window for most of the ride, puts the radio on to some droning talk show Nacho tunes out. Lalo doesn't speak until they pull into Nacho’s driveway and tuck into the garage, around 20 minutes later. The metal door rolls down behind them as Nacho takes the keys out of the ignition.
“Ignacio,” Lalo says in the dark, something of his usual playfulness back in his voice. “Did you miss me?”
Nacho stares into the middle distance while he chooses his words carefully. Lalo is teasing in his tone but he also only asks questions he actually wants answers to.
“Yes.” Nacho says simply, overriding his impulse to keep it to himself, to brush off Lalo with a joke or some redirection. He looks at Lalo in the dark, sees how that one word lands with him, makes him uncoil slightly, soften towards Nacho.
It’s not a lie. Lalo has carved out such a big presence in his life that Nacho can’t help but notice his absence. He felt aimless. Uncomfortable without him. A dog without a bone to chew on.
It is unfortunately more than just that.
Now Lalo is here in front of him, eyes two pin pricks of light in the dim garage, eyes seeking… something. Nacho would guess ‘comfort’ if it was anyone else in this situation. Could Lalo Salamanca crave that?
Nacho chances it, reaches for him, puts his palm against Lalo’s cheek; finds it slack, not smiling.
Nacho senses weakness and strikes with precision. “Lalo…” He puts some warmth into his voice, surprises himself with his own sincerity.
Lalo turns his face into Nacho’s hand, grazes the meat of his palm with his teeth, kisses it. “Hm?”
Nacho wants to offer something without offending Lalo’s machismo. Without it feeling patronizing. Nacho wets his lips and keeps his voice soft when he speaks next.
“Let me take care of you. Tell me what you want me to do.”
Lalo does smile then, something slow and appreciative. No ego, only simple desire. “I want you to fuck me like one of your girls.”
Machismo is apparently not a concern here.
“Like one of my girls.” Nacho repeats, letting his hand fall from Lalo’s cheek. Visions of Lalo in various positions flash through Nacho’s mind. “Like, like—”
“You know what a pillow princess is?”
Nacho chokes and coughs out a quick: “Y-yes.”
“Like on my back, in your bed, my legs over your shoulders, that sort of thing.” Lalo elaborates, visibly perking up the more Nacho’s brain stalls out.
“I can do that.”
“I knew you could.” Lalo claps him on the shoulder and then opens the passenger side door, his contemplative mood evidently lifted.
Nacho follows after him, unlocks the front door, kicks off his boots, and steps around Lalo as he’s taking off his loafers. Nacho makes a beeline to the living room where Jo is sprawled out on the couch watching an episode of Clone High.
Nacho produces a small stack of bills from his wallet and holds it out to her.
“I need you to grab a hotel for the night, somewhere nice. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“What’s going on, baby?” Jo takes the money and stuffs it into the pocket of her hoodie. It’s Nacho's hoodie. She drowns in it.
Jo looks over Nacho’s shoulder. Her eyes widen and then dart to Nacho’s face. His expression is pleading.
“¡Hola!” Lalo waves from the hallway. Nacho closes his eyes and lets out a sigh through his nose.
“Hi!” Jo says with her voice raised an octave. She never did like Lalo. Nacho likes that about her.
Jo and Nacho have a silent exchange made up entirely of micro expressions before she speaks again.
“I was just, uh, leaving! You know, girls night.” She gives Nacho another brief wide-eyed look, as if confirming this is the right thing to say.
Nacho rubs his forehead and points to the bedroom with his chin. Jo goes to collect Amber and disappears down the hallway, all but fleeing the room.
“She seems nice. The metanfetamina though, eh? A bit twitchy.” Lalo wiggles his fingers for emphasis.
Nacho blinks patiently. “Can I get you something to drink?” The less they dwell on the subject of his live-in girlfriends, the better for Nacho’s blood pressure.
Lalo easily goes with the subject change, smiles knowingly. “I’ll have a beer.”
Nacho leads them to the kitchen and reaches into the mostly barren fridge for a couple cans of something strong. He slides one over the counter towards Lalo, who cracks it open and takes a long drink. Nacho does the same as he watches Amber and Jo pass by the doorway with a couple overnight bags. Nacho feels his shoulders relax a fraction.
“How you have the stamina for me with these two around is beyond me, Ignacio. What a busy boy you are.” Lalo takes another sip of his beer. “Too bad they couldn’t stay, ah?”
Nacho looks Lalo in the eye, not budging. “I wanted you to myself.” And my girlfriends think you are a psychopath.
“You have me.” Lalo says. He clinks their cans together and says jovially: “Shower beer?”
Nacho nods and trails after Lalo to one of the bathrooms, grabbing some towels out of the linen closet on the way. Lalo leans into the shower and cranks the water and heat up on all the aforementioned jets and starts filling the bathroom with steam.
“Thank God for this, I smell like shit because of that place.” Lalo says as he strips down. “You joining me? There’s room for two.” Lalo talks to Nacho like he is the one who owns the shower, it grates at Nacho in just the right way; he finds it motivating.
“Yeah. I’ll wash your hair.” Nacho offers, turning up the charm. It’s something the girls like sometimes, and it’s novel enough for Nacho that he doesn’t mind doing it, even Amber's long hair.
Lalo smiles a smaller smile than his usual leer, looks at the ground with raised eyebrows, scans his eyes up Nacho’s frame as he undresses, considers Nacho’s offer. This is bordering on too domestic for either of them, but like a game of chicken, neither wants to break first. Nacho takes off his bracelet and watch, rolls his sleeves down over his forearms and starts unbuttoning his shirt, gives Lalo something to look at.
Lalo’s eyes land on Nacho’s bare chest, exposed button by button. “Alright.” He says after a moment, finally looking Nacho in the eye. “I should get arrested more often, huh.” The twist of Lalo’s forehead looks almost suspicious. Too good to be true.
Nacho starts on his belt and shakes his head. Smiles ruefully. “Please don’t.”