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]

Even that short period of stillness has left Drake stiff and sore. He leans on Jackson more than he'd like, suddenly aware of the crawling stickiness of drying blood on the side of his head.

He hopes Mrs Ramsay has long gone to bed.

[thirstforvice]

Letting them in to the house, somehow getting Drake's weight up the rickety staircase, Jackson finally manages to get his lover down onto their bed.

"Rest now, Bennet," he tells him, sitting on the edge of the mattress and starting to gently strip him of his tattered, blood-soaked clothes.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake is determined to get his clothes off himself, wincing only when the blood glues his clothing to his tender skin.

"M'fine, m'fine."

[thirstforvice]

"Sure thing," Jackson rolls his eyes, not letting Drake push him away.

"And I'm a Chinaman. Now keep still, would you?"

[thegentlemanthug]

Somehow, Jackson insinuates himself into all the places that even Drake's stubborn pride can't protect. Which is how he finds himself naked and shivering on their bed.

"Sorry."

[thirstforvice]

"No more of that, now," Jackson shakes his head, moving away to dampen a cloth at the wash basin, determined to clean Drake up as best he can before putting him to bed.

"We've had our fighting. No use repeating it."

[thegentlemanthug]

"I don't like fighting. Not with you."

Drake lets Jackson do his worst, biddable as a lamb as his lover tends to him.

[thirstforvice]

Cleaning and tending to the worst of Drake's wounds, Jackson finally accepts that he's done all that he can for tonight. Finding a nightshirt for his lover, he gently helps him into it and gets him under the covers.

Despite the bitter realisation as to just how Drake had managed to buy it, Jackson is still very glad of their larger bed. At least he, too, will get some sleep tonight.

[thegentlemanthug]

Despite the scolding he's received from Homer, Drake is still proud of this bed and the improvements to their rooms. And if he can persuade his lover to taking some of his ill-gotten gains, they will be in their attic by the end of the month.

But that is a conversation for another day. Instead, Drake reaches for Jackson, seeking to pull him closer.

[thirstforvice]

"You're in pieces, Bennet," Jackson warns as he feels fingers at his arm. He shifts a little closer in compliance, but doesn't reach to take his lover into his arms as he normally might. Drake may put a brave face on things, but Jackson has seen his injuries. He will not cause him any undue pain.

[thegentlemanthug]

Drake is too tired and sore to shift his own body, so he settled for resting his hand over Jackson's beneath the covers.

"I'll be fine...in t'morning."

[thirstforvice]

"We shall see," Jackson says demurely, own eyes heavy after the excitements of the night.

"We shall see, Benny."

[thegentlemanthug]

The nickname brings a sleepy smile to Drake's face.

"Benny? You ain't never called me Benny."

[thirstforvice]

"Firs' time for everythin'," Jackson slurs, well on the way to sleep already. Warm, comfortable and with Drake safe within his grasp, he has nothing to worry about. Not until morning, at any rate.