"When I first got here I thought, there was no way I'd ever feel safe with a Dom. Not one I was signed with. And I wanted to use that. But then I met you," a wry smile. "I just don't want to hurt you. Or get you hurt."
He's said all this before but under the influence of some very strong drinks it feels profoundly important to say it again.
"But when I started thinking about contracting with you I just wanted it. I wanted someone I could trust. Someone I could have fun with."
Drake listens and nods along, expression fond. These are things Jesus has said before, but still really comforting to hear... even if his own tipsy mind is wandering more to questions like whether or not Jesus has to fuck himself for taking his own hair down because that's the rule.
He's not feeling quite drunk or playful enough to direct the conversation there, but maybe in time. For now he just smiles warmly, his eyes hopeful.
"Are you? Having fun. I know it hasn't all been easy."
"You say that like you were a burden for me. You weren't. You lost someone; you're allowed to hurt." And there had been times he genuinely, deeply worried about Drake, but not in a while.
"This is fun. Being with you is fun. Condom shopping was even fun. And I still, actually, really miss you barebacking me. Thank you for being so understanding. Maybe tonight we can just, you know, this once, go without one."
That earns Jesus a soft laugh, though the sound of it drowned out by the music.
"You really do get reckless when you're drunk, huh?" Drake tugs Jesus in closer, bumping their foreheads together. "But I said I'd keep you safe, and that includes from decisions you might regret later."
"Yeah?" He lays a hand on Drake's cheek. "I know you will. But I really miss you coming inside me. I don't think I'd regret that. I never have before."
"Is this a test? 'Cuz I'm tempted," he admits, turning to kiss Jesus' palm. After the whole thing with Carver and Grayson it seems perfectly safe to him but they didn't discuss ditching condoms yet, so even though he misses it too... Drake shakes his head just slightly. "Tell me you still want it when you're sober and we can talk about exceptions then, okay?"
People tend not to respect Jesus's boundaries, and for a moment he's not sure what to do with someone who is even when it means doing something Drake doesn't honestly want to do. And then he kisses him, slow and drunk and earnest.
"I love you. I think I really- I think that's what's happened."
That moment where Jesus is blinking at him in stunned bewilderment has Drake a little worried, but it passes. Maybe he needed an extra minute to process that he was being turned down for his own sake, while drunk? Either way the kiss is a good sign, obviously. If it's a little sloppy Drake's not complaining, just cradling Jesus' head to keep him steady.
He definitely isn't expecting what Jesus murmurs against his lips when they break for air, though. And now it's his turn to blink back, eyes shining in the dim bar lighting while he processes something he hadn't expected to hear.
"It can sneak up on you," he replies gently, a smile tugging at his lips. "You think?"
Part of Drake wants to blame that question on Jesus' drunkenness, but the rest knows better. His expression softens, smile broadening as he tries to reassure the other man. It makes sense he would need that... almost like how Drake's been trying to downplay his own attachment the past few months.
"Of course it is." He wants to steal another kiss, but even though Jesus is drunk this is important. Maybe more important, for that? Drake lets his fingers trace down the other man's cheek, thumb caressing his bottom lip. "As long as you don't mind I love you back."
"Yeah?" He hadn't expected that, for it to be returned. In his mind it had been a lopsided offering, maybe even a burden Drake would have to be careful not to trip on. "When did that happen?"
"Maybe around the holidays? Or on that rooftop?" It's the closest answer Drake can give, and he sounds sheepish about not being sure... but that tracks with how it goes, for him. No dramatic gesture or obvious turning point, nothing major happening to change things. One day they're friends and then at some point he realizes they're more than that. Or just that they could be.
Drake exhales, almost in relief. It sort of is one -- he doesn't have to worry about seeming too attached now, right? If they're admitting this?
"I only realized it when we had that fight, and you stayed all week after. Didn't mean anything had to change, though, y'know?"
"You fell for me after we fought?" He laughs softly and steals a soft kiss. That long? He wonders how he never noticed. He realizes, even drunk, why Drake hadn't said anything, and he's grateful.
"Wasn't the fight," he clarifies when the kiss breaks, nuzzling against Jesus' cheek affectionately. "It was that we worked through it, 'cuz that's who you are. You care so much... and then you stayed. You wanted to stay. That's when I realized I've never wanted you to leave, I just didn't wanna be too much."
"You're not too much. You've never been too much." The band is still playing and they're so loud and he and Drake are only hearing each other by hanging onto each other this way. "I promise."
Fortunately or unfortunately, Drake isn't drunk. He's going to remember this. He's committing to memory the way Jesus sounds so genuine, so certain, despite the alcohol and the setting. Maybe they never talk about it so blatantly ever again, or not for awhile, but he isn't doubting that it's true. It doesn't even occur to him to question that promise.
Instead he turns his head to catch Jesus' mouth again, kissing him long and slow and deep. Not caring one bit who's watching him basically fuck Jesus' mouth with his tongue, fingers buried in the other man's hair to keep him there until they're both breathless.
"Ready for me to take you home yet?" The answer can be no, but it's obvious enough from Drake's tone of voice that staying out absolutely doesn't mean behaving.
"Maybe." He's coy, playful. "I kind of like doing this with you. Out here."
Where people see and aren't doing anything about it. Where Drake is keeping him safe like he promised, even out here in the world with no walls and no weapons.
"Maybe?" Drake's smirk is only visible for a moment, before he's tugging Jesus' head to the side to murmur directly into his ear. "The last guy who played sex chicken with me wound up getting fucked at a picnic table. Just warning you."
He does make a token effort to cool things down, though, easing back against the couch cushions and loosening his grip on Jesus. A lock of his now loose hair gets twirled around Drake's fingers and drawn forward to tap him on the nose teasingly. The distance means he has to shout to be heard again, but Jesus can also probably read his lips.
"Yeah I did," he says, proud of himself the way only a drunk man with a drunk plan can be. "Because I didn't know if you'd know I wanted you otherwise."
He looks around. "No picnic tables in winter. Where else would you fuck a guy playing chicken with you?"
"I think I woulda caught on," Drake replies, sliding the hand he's got on Jesus' waist down to give his ass a squeeze. Tipsy or not this isn't exactly rocket science. When somebody climbs in his lap and kisses him, even Drake can take that hint.
As for where to end the game of chicken, Drake glances around the bar to see if there's a better spot than they're already in.... and unless there's a back room he doesn't know about?
Right here is more public than he'd anticipated and he looks around, wary even six deep. "Everyone would see." Anyone walking in. Anyone staying and anyone leaving. They're not far from the door.
"They could," Drake says, a small adjustment. Would makes it sound like a sure thing, and there's a good chance most people would walk right past. Either way he's not about to start anything Jesus isn't comfortable with, though, and smooths his hand through the other man's hair reassuringly. "How subtle would you wanna be?"
"Me?" Drake grins, obligingly running his fingers through Jesus' hair again as he leans closer. This isn't the sort of thing you yell over the music. "Extremely. It'd be you who'd have to act like nothing's happening... say you put your coat back on and turned around in my lap, keep your hands where everybody can see. Can you keep 'em from wondering where mine are? What I'm doing to you under all the leather?"
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He's said all this before but under the influence of some very strong drinks it feels profoundly important to say it again.
"But when I started thinking about contracting with you I just wanted it. I wanted someone I could trust. Someone I could have fun with."
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He's not feeling quite drunk or playful enough to direct the conversation there, but maybe in time. For now he just smiles warmly, his eyes hopeful.
"Are you? Having fun. I know it hasn't all been easy."
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"This is fun. Being with you is fun. Condom shopping was even fun. And I still, actually, really miss you barebacking me. Thank you for being so understanding. Maybe tonight we can just, you know, this once, go without one."
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"You really do get reckless when you're drunk, huh?" Drake tugs Jesus in closer, bumping their foreheads together. "But I said I'd keep you safe, and that includes from decisions you might regret later."
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People tend not to respect Jesus's boundaries, and for a moment he's not sure what to do with someone who is even when it means doing something Drake doesn't honestly want to do. And then he kisses him, slow and drunk and earnest.
"I love you. I think I really- I think that's what's happened."
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He definitely isn't expecting what Jesus murmurs against his lips when they break for air, though. And now it's his turn to blink back, eyes shining in the dim bar lighting while he processes something he hadn't expected to hear.
"It can sneak up on you," he replies gently, a smile tugging at his lips. "You think?"
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"Of course it is." He wants to steal another kiss, but even though Jesus is drunk this is important. Maybe more important, for that? Drake lets his fingers trace down the other man's cheek, thumb caressing his bottom lip. "As long as you don't mind I love you back."
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Drake exhales, almost in relief. It sort of is one -- he doesn't have to worry about seeming too attached now, right? If they're admitting this?
"I only realized it when we had that fight, and you stayed all week after. Didn't mean anything had to change, though, y'know?"
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Instead he turns his head to catch Jesus' mouth again, kissing him long and slow and deep. Not caring one bit who's watching him basically fuck Jesus' mouth with his tongue, fingers buried in the other man's hair to keep him there until they're both breathless.
"Ready for me to take you home yet?" The answer can be no, but it's obvious enough from Drake's tone of voice that staying out absolutely doesn't mean behaving.
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Where people see and aren't doing anything about it. Where Drake is keeping him safe like he promised, even out here in the world with no walls and no weapons.
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He does make a token effort to cool things down, though, easing back against the couch cushions and loosening his grip on Jesus. A lock of his now loose hair gets twirled around Drake's fingers and drawn forward to tap him on the nose teasingly. The distance means he has to shout to be heard again, but Jesus can also probably read his lips.
"And you took your hair down."
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He looks around. "No picnic tables in winter. Where else would you fuck a guy playing chicken with you?"
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As for where to end the game of chicken, Drake glances around the bar to see if there's a better spot than they're already in.... and unless there's a back room he doesn't know about?
"Right here?"
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"How would you take me?"
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His hand inches towards his leather duster.