RS/Fight for you

[thegentlemanthug]

The feeling of conquering the world lasted about a week. For those seven days, Bennet Drake felt like he could do anything and that having Homer Jackson by his side and in his bed was the purpose of his existence. He had never been happier.

But it was tainted by the state of his rooms, his attire, the way Homer would casually lay down a bottle of liquor that Drake couldn't afford. The bed was too cramped for two grown men - too cramped for one, truth be told - and the lodgings in total were made for one. Drake knew Mrs Ramsey was freeing up the attic room, moving on the opium smokers who were behind in their rent, but he couldn't hope to match the cost from his Seageant's wage.

He couldn't admit to Homer that he'd lured him from Miss Susan's luxury to something less than a pauper's life. Homer Jackson wasn't made to be a bobby's wife any more than Miss Rose.

There was one way that he could make a little extra, maybe enough to meet Mrs Ramsey's attic rent, to buy a bigger bed and any little luxury Homer should desire.

So Drake went down to the docks, sniffing around for the scent of a bare-knuckle fight where he could try his luck. It's well past midnight before he staggers home, bruises and cuts dressed clumsily and pockets weighed down with shillings fresh-won from the fight.

Comments

[thegentlemanthug]

But Drake is not so easily deterred, following Jackson as he moves away.

"Fought battles with worse than this," he boasts with a grin.

[thirstforvice]

"That may well be the case, darlin', but I bet you didn't go home to a fair maiden in your bed," Jackson smiles fondly, forcing an end to the encounter by standing himself up and helping Drake onto his feet as well.

"You need your rest. We'll have our fun some other time, don't you worry."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake hisses as he stands, ruining the illusion of his fitness for anything other than sleeping in their bed.

The shillings in his pocket will go halfway to buying a new one, and the bout on Saturday will seal the deal.

"You my fair maiden now?" he teases, drunk on victory.

[thirstforvice]

"As far from as you'll ever get," Jackson grins as he helps Drake over to the bed. He knows, already, that he will be sleeping in the chair tonight. He should really devise a plan to remove the bed from his old rooms at Long Susan's.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake has other ideas, holding on firm to Jackson's hand after he lies down.

"Come to bed?"

[thirstforvice]

"I'll only hurt you, Bennet," Jackson points out. "You don't need no elbow in the ribs, not tonight."

[thegentlemanthug]

"I want you near me," Drake says, like a stubborn petulant child. "C'mere."

[thirstforvice]

Jackson acquiesces to the point of sitting on the edge of the bed, though makes no move to lie down. The bed is small at the best of times, and he will hurt his lover if he holds him close tonight.

"I'll be right here."

[thegentlemanthug]

"How will you get yer beauty sleep like that?"

Drake yanks on Jackson's arm, despite the flare of pain from his ribs. "C'mere."

[thirstforvice]

"And how will you get yours, with my joints digging into your bruises?" Jackson challenges, struggling to steady himself over Drake as his lover pulls at his clothing.

"Will you not be a good patient, for once?"

[thegentlemanthug]

"Will you be my lover an' not my doctor?"

Drake doesn't know what word to use for them, really, but lover suits him as well as any. Even if he still blushes when he uses it.

[thirstforvice]

"Are the two so incompatible?" Jackson frowns, trying to find a way to lie without causing Drake any undue pain.

"Would you rather I make you suffer, in the name of love? 'Cause that don't sound so loving."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake pulls him into his right hand side, mostly protected by his own vicious hook during the fights, and places a kiss in Jackson's hair.

"I'd rather choose my suffering. And a little twinge is worth your company any day."

[thirstforvice]

Jackson frowns, not sure if that's how it should be, though he knows he's one to talk. He's suffered far worse for love.

"Then you must tell me, in the night, if I am paining you," he offers as a compromise.

[thegentlemanthug]

"Soldier's honour," Drake says solemnly, knowing that he will do no such thing, no matter how much he's hurting.

[thirstforvice]

Jackson's still not so sure he believes his lover, but there is little more he can do with the man holding him firmly down. The only concession he makes is to press himself as hard as possible against the wall, giving Drake all the space that he can offer on the small mattress.

[thegentlemanthug]

The buzz of adrenaline is fading, leaving an ache in him deep to his bones.

But Drake doesn't let on, his eyes falling closed and sleep following swiftly after.

[thirstforvice]

Time marches on, and as it does, so do Jackson's suspicions grow. Drake's injuries seem not to heal, in fact they appear to get worse. Whenever he's able, he examines his lover, but can find no medical cause for the increased bruising, nor the way his ribs refuse to heal.

That, and the fact that the furnishings in their little room suddenly start to become a lot more lavish, sets the doctor's suspicions on high alert. He knows this town. He knows there are ways of getting money in ways that the Inspector does not approve of. Ways that tend to lead to bruises and broken bones.

He doesn't want to follow Drake, the night he chooses to do so. He wants to be able to trust his lover, but he's also close to certain that he knows what he's up to. And if he is right, well... he needs to put a stop to the stupidity before it gets the man killed. If he needed money, then all he had to do was ask.

[thegentlemanthug]

In Drake's mind, the bruises are a small price to pay to be able to provide for Jackson and improve their circumstances at Mrs Ramsay's. He'll soon have enough to move them to the attic room with some security, and it's for that reason that he drags his weary body down to the Docks for another bout.

But he's misjudged the man in front of him and a couple of blows to his fragile ribs have him on the back foot, blinking sweat out of his eyes and trying to keep his feet.

[thirstforvice]

Jackson is disappointed, but not surprised, when Drake leads him to the docks. Dressed appropriately, the doctor has little trouble blending with the crowd and gaining easy access to the boxing room, hastily set up for a night's illicit entertainment.

It's one of the hardest things he's ever had to do, standing still and doing nothing but watch as he his lover is beaten black and blue in front of his eyes. But he knows he will make the situation worse, rather than better, if he jumps into the ring and puts an end to things then and there.

So he has to wait until the bell rings, the bout ended, Drake collapsed to the floor. Only then does he jump into the ring, telling those who try to stop him that he is an impartial doctor, pulling his lover close and cradling him against his lap.

"You damn fool," he mutters as he tries to assess the injuries.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake is senseless, trying to spit blood from where he's bitten his tongue and fight against the hands restraining him.

"M'fine...fine..."

[thirstforvice]

"Shh," Jackson hushes him, holding him as tight as he dares, possibly too tight for their current public location.

"I am helping you home, and you are going to put an end to this farce at once."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake prises open one swollen eye, the image before him settling into one familiar doctor.

"Wha-wha' you doing 'ere?"

[thirstforvice]

"Stopping you from getting yourself killed," Jackson hisses, though his gentle embrace is a stark contrast to his angry tone.

"I am here to take you home, fix you up, and stop you from doing something so foolish ever again."

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake is suddenly conscious that he's lying in the middle of the arena and it will do nothing for his reputation if he stays down this length of time.

He tries to break away from Jackson and stand, but he can barely move his head.