Page 18 of Drake
I get up and pad barefoot over the hardwood floor to the half-open bathroom door. I tap it, lightly, then peep around the door. “Can I come in?”
Drake’s back is to me, and the marks are still vivid, and vicious. He turns his head to look at me and smiles. “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” he says, turning to face me.
“True,” I say and slowly take him in. He’s a beautiful man, so fit and muscular without looking like he lives in the gym. “But I’m nothing if not polite. How’s it feeling?”
“It’s not good, but better than yesterday. It’s going to take a while before I go shirtless again.” He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, but I know him, and his pride is hurt too. Not as much as his back, but he let someone hurt him. Someone that purposely chose how to hurt him the most with words as wellas the whip or cane, whatever he used. He whispered the taunts the bastard had said, how it broke his heart to know that he’d shattered his mother as much as he could. He wanted to break his mind, to leave him with the torment of not only what he forced on him, but the mental pain of his mother being forced and kept away from him.
“Do you think you should put a message out to your family that you’re out of town; they’ll start calling if you don’t.”
“Maybe later. I’ve got some stuff to sort out. It’ll take a couple of hours. Shall we have breakfast?” he says, as if nothing has happened. That his back isn’t a mess of stripes and bruises, that his bum isn’t black and blue.
“Drake, sweetheart, you need to take this seriously. You’ve got to take some more painkillers, let me put some cream on your back. You’re still recovering; you need to rest,” I tell him as I turn the water off. “Your stuff, whatever it is, can wait.”
“I need to do this. I’ve got to end this while I’m still angry enough to do it. Then I’ll rest, I promise.” He leans close and presses a kiss to my mouth. It’s soft and gentle, and I want more. I will always want more from him, and it’s not fair, not to either of us.
Yet I return it, parting my lips, allowing his tongue to slide inside my mouth. His taste is so familiar that even with the gaps between our meetings, I’d know him anywhere. How can I tell him goodbye again? The kiss deepens as Drake clasps my hips in his tight grip and pulls us together, and we touch from our chests to our thighs. My cock that I’d had under an invisible lock and key swells alongside his own.
As my hands slide into his hair, he moans deep into my mouth. I swallow it down greedily and match it with my own. As we dip in and out of each other’s mouths, Drake takes our hot, swollen, pulsing dicks in his hand, and with a tight grip, pumps his fist. The friction is incredible. When did he lube his hand?It’s gotta be soap. I don’t fucking care; all I want to do is feel—his touch, his energy, his emotions—his everything.
“I’m going to come,” I pant breathlessly into his mouth.
“Then come. I’m right with you.”
We come together, our releases mixing together over our fists. I rest my head on his shoulder, my eyes closed as I pant, trying to get my emotions as well as my breathing under control.
“I love you.”
His words are in the steam swirling around us, lost as soon as he says them so quietly. I’m not even sure I was meant to hear them, but my reply is as heartfelt as his. “I love you too.”
We separate and rinse again. “Food,” I say, after an embarrassing growl from my empty stomach sounds.
“Food,” he chuckles back. “Then I need a few hours to be sure Warrior is never around again.”
I can only nod. Even if I ask what he’s planning, he won’t tell me. I worry about the legality and if it can come back to haunt him. We have bacon sandwiches, then I leave him to his work.
I spend the time writing some songs I’ve had buzzing around in my head for a few days. I don’t know how much time has passed when I finally look up from my laptop. It’s quiet in the apartment; the sound of Drake tapping on his keyboard has stopped. I’m not sure what he’s doing, so I get up from the sofa and wander down to the bedroom. Drake is on his stomach, his back bare and looking so painful, but he’s asleep. I get on the bed and lie down with him, and it’s not long before I can feel the shock of such a brutal attack on someone I hold so dear to me catching up with me. I let my eyes close and sleep.
We stay together, me making sure he doesn’t push himself too much and him feeling angry at Warrior, and sorry he dragged me into this mess. It’s a couple of days later that he finally accepts a call from one of his brothers and agrees to letSaint come and check for himself that his baby brother is alive and well.
His outrage at the marks on Drake’s body instantly makes me like him, his anger at who Rees really is has Drake trying to calm him down. He insists he’s dealt with it, and Saint seems to trust his response. His interest in me isn’t a surprise, more surprising is he has no idea who I am outside of being Drake’s friend. It’s refreshing.
Two days later, Drake says he’s okay by himself, and I agree. The hard part is saying goodbye, mainly because it would be so easy to be with him again. We’ve already started to slip back into our old ways, and it’s not a good idea. We have different things in our lives now, his work and mine are not conducive to an easy life, but admitting it is hard, almost as hard as leaving him.
As I stand, my packed bag on the end of the bed, we just look at each other. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I am, and I will be. Thank you for dropping everything. I owe you one.”
“I may take you up on that. Goodbye, Drake.” I kiss his cheek and do what I always do—walk away.
My heart is in my throat as I walk into the freshers meet and greet. I’m a big guy, six-three, and can apparently have the look of an angry rugby player. Strange analogy, but if that’s the impression I give, I apologise.
It’s actually a total one-eighty of who and what I really am. I’m more of a guy that will trip over his feet the momenteveryone,andI meaneveryone,is looking at me. Which is why I’m nervously treading my way into the student union bar. The Engine Shed is heaving with eighteen-year-olds, most of them living away from home the first time—including me. There are already groups of men and women talking and laughing as they meet strangers who will become friends, and some even best friends.
I catch sight of a guy. He has a pride badge on his retro Pokémon T-shirt. He’s laughing hard, his head thrown back as he enjoys whatever is being said to him. He looks so free and happy. I know I want to talk to him. I go to the bar first and get another pint of beer before turning back to look for him. Almost as though he were a magnet, I find him, and he’s looking straight at me. Or maybe it’s my pride badge. He says something to the people he’s with and makes his way in my direction.
“Nice badge,” he says, pointing to my chest. “I’m Memphis.”
“Finn,” I blurt out and thrust my hand forward. Unfortunately, it’s the one holding my pint, and I nearly throw the whole thing at him. “Shit! I’m so sorry.”
