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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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.