thegentlemanthug | RS/Fight for you

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RS/Fight for you

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.

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Jackson wants to refuse the money, tell Drake to throw it down on the floor, but he realises that his lover will want to walk out with some sense of pride left intact. So he keeps quiet as he helps him out of the old warehouse, glad of the wide berth people are giving them.

"Never come back here again," he mutters to Drake under his breath.

Drake stuffs the money in his pocket, feeling woozy as he leans on Jackson.

"Can't. Not after I fell like that."

"Not the point," Jackson answers tersely, more than a little glad when they finally make it out into the fresh air. It's not a long walk, now, until he'll be able to hail down a carriage to take them the rest of the way home.

"What were you thinking?" He demands, though he doesn't expect much of an answer with his lover in the state that he's in.

"I can win those fights. Don't know what happened."

Drake sways into Jackson as they walk. "Almost...almost had enough."

"Enough what?" Jackson asks, his voice cutting with his anger. He's almost tempted to leave his lover to stagger his own way home, but he just cannot bring himself to do it. He still loves this stupid man at his side.

"What could you possibly need to be doing that shit for?"

Drake slurs his words, suddenly bone tired.

"The attic room. S'almost ours."

"The attic..." Jackson does actually let go of Bennet as he realises, finally, what all of this is about.

"You got yourself beaten to a bloody pulp to pay rent on the attic?" He's close to laughing, though not because he's amused in any way.

Drake grabs hold of a set of railings to keep himself upright, blinking at Jackson in the light of the streetlamp.

"You...you don't want it?"

"Every time I suggested bigger rooms, you turned me down!" Jackson shouts, not caring that they're in public, close enough to the main streets to be spotted and heard.

"You were the one who didn't want it. If you wanted the attic, I could have given you the attic. I could give you a whole goddamn house if that's what you wanted, Bennet."

Drake looks down at his scraped-up knuckles, picking at the scabs.

"I...I want to...provide for us."

He looks up at Jackson, intent.

"And I can. I can do it, 'omer, if you give me...a chance."

"You want me to sit back and let you provide, like some kind of housewife?" Jackson's voice rises still further, his fury making him forgetful of their arena.

"Have you realised what we have going here, darlin'? Do you realise just who I am? I'm no Rose, no whore from Long Susan's. I've got plenty of assets of my very own."

Drake is about to retaliate, to hit out at Jackson for his lack of gratitude, but then he realises that he's right - Drake has been treating him like his kept man, a pretty whore he needs to woo.

Jackson deserves better than that.

Drake sags back against the railings. "M'sorry."

A lot of the anger seeps out of Jackson at that apology, so defeated, but he's not quite appeased. Not just yet.

"Now you've got a choice here, darlin'. And you think long and hard on it, 'cause there's no second chance. Either you start treating me like your equal partner, or I'll be returning my effects to Tenter Street."

It's no choice at all.

Drake falls to his knees, clasping his battered hands together.

"Anything. Homer, I'll do anything."

Jackson sighs, the last of his anger dissipating at the sight of his broken lover begging on his knees before him.

"No need to go that far," he says, helping Bennet back up onto his feet. "Just take my money, if you want the attic. Don't get yourself killed for it."

The knees of his trousers are soaked through and Drake's not entirely sure how he gets his legs under him, but he's soon vaguely upright and leaning on his lover.

"You...you can afford that?"

"I told you," Jackson repeats as he brings his arm back around Drake to help him stay upright, moving them onto the main road and starting to look for a cab to hail.

"If you want a house, I'll get us one. I have means, Bennet. 's what comes of not keeping all your eggs in Reid's basket."

Drake shuffles along beside Jackson, trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

"A house? In the...suburbs?"

"If that's what you want, Bennet," Jackson answers, spotting a carriage coming towards them and whistling for it to stop. Only once the horses have come to a stop, and Jackson has helped Drake into the back, does he continue to speak.

"If you want that life, you just have to say." He thinks he has enough for that, at least. He doesn't get a cut from Tenter Street's profits any more, which is problematic, but he has plenty saved and there's still a strong trade on the back streets for his pills and potions. A house he can manage.

"In town," Drake says, rambling a little as he tries to sit down in a way that doesn't hurt his ribs. "I'm no good outside the city. Don't know my way."

Jackson helps Drake to lie down on the bench, holding him against the worst of the jolts from the carriage on the cobbled ground.

"When you are well, we will find a house. I promise."

Drake winces against Jackson's hideous trousers, gritting his teeth.

"Be fine tomorrow. Going on a rout with the Inspector."

"I think not," Jackson responds stubbornly.

"You're black and blue and most likely broken too. I'll be examining you properly once we get home."

"I will be there if I have to crawl." Drake is not going to suffer being treated like a china doll because of a few bruises. He's suffered far worse in Egypt and kept on fighting.

"Remind me, darlin'..." Jackson cannot help but smile at Drake's stubbornness. Really, he hadn't expected anything less.

"Remind me just what it is I do for a living, then tell me again who knows best about what you should be up to come morning."

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