thegentlemanthug | 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.

Jackson is still wide awake when Drake returns, wouldn't dream of going to sleep with his lover still out and at large. The later it gets, the more sure he is that Drake's got himself involved in a pub brawl, or something worse, and he's about to go out and find him himself when he finally appears.

"What happened to you?" he demands in way of greeting, hands already reaching out to try and find and tend the injuries.

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