That makes two of them, then, but Drake is pretty deep in the self loathing at this point... it won't be easy for Jesus to reassure him. He's going to have to go talk to K himself, because unless Jesus asked some very specific questions that he hasn't indicated yet? Drake is worried.
"Understanding's great, but it doesn't mean he'd--" he cuts himself off there, pressing his lips together and exhaling through his nose before turning his face into the bedding. As if he can hide his anger at himself from Jesus when the other man can literally feel him tensing back up again. His sharp, "nevermind," is muffled in the sheets.
Jesus has utter faith in K, and further faith in his own ability to smooth over misunderstandings. This will all be okay.
But he's used to being the only person in an entire community who feels that way. So he just leans down and kisses the back of Drake's neck, and then between his shoulder blades. "You're not breathing slow for me anymore, babe."
Jesus is used to being the only one with faith in problems getting fixed... and Drake is used to being seen and treated as if he's expendable except by one or maybe two people. It's very rare that anything ever worked out in his favor no matter how hard he tried, so this isn't exactly pessimism. It's just what's been his reality.
He makes a grumbling sound into the bedding, because Jesus is objectively correct but also: he's stressing because it's important to him. Jesus being sweet about it is cute, at least. Enough that he'll try to joke it off as he rolls his shoulders.
"Keep that up and I'm not gonna be," is still muffled.
He grins and kisses a line from one shoulder to the other, then down his spine to his lower back. "What do you mean?" he sounds perfectly serious even though he is very studiously working on teasing him up now. "You aren't feeling relaxed anymore? Why?"
"You're a little shit sometimes, you know that?" he asks hypothetically, finally glancing back over his shoulder. But he's also grinning again. And since Jesus has shifted lower Drake twists to the side and reaches for him, brushing his fingers through the other man's beard. "C'mere."
That's the desired response. Jesus grins at him, completely unrepentant, and crawls up to join him. He kisses him--slow, this time, but no less determined to lift his mood.
"I like you. A lot. Trust me when I say I have good reason to."
It's a good kiss, and it accomplishes its purpose so Jesus should be pleased with himself. Drake doesn't drag him back in immediately when he pulls away, but then Jesus has to go and say that...
"Right back at you," he manages, voice rough. "...I do trust you."
"I'm glad." Especially after everything Drake has been through. He rests his forehead on Drake's, just enjoying this moment. "We should go to the pet store. Unless you want to stay here a little longer."
"We've got plenty of time," he murmurs. It's still morning, after all. A little longer won't hurt. He reaches up and tugs the tie out of Jesus' hair, then pulls him into another kiss.
He kisses him back, deepening the kiss, sliding his arm around Drake. "Thinking of making it a rule: take my hair down you have to fuck me," he murmurs. "What do you think?"
"Cool." It might seem like a very nonchalant, uninvested response... until he does use that grip to pull Jesus up. Not sharply enough to actually hurt him, but it's an insistent tug designed to force the other man to rise back onto his knees.
The position is just like before, except that Drake's on his back now. Which makes the suggestion he's about to make (which doesn't sound at all like a suggestion) quite a bit more interesting.
Drake gives a low hum of approval, smiling and watching Jesus' expression as his hands work lower. Getting warmer... he keeps hold of the other man's hair with one hand and lifts the other to the collar of his shirt, working the buttons open with the same teasing slowness Jesus is subjecting him to.
He raises an eyebrow, grinning as he slowly unfastens Drake's pants. He pauses to get the lotion, to dribble some of it on Drake's stomach, get his hands soft and slick.
"This is why I could never go pro with this," he teases. "Get a hot guy under my hands, pulling my hair, and this is what happens."
"Wait a minute... why's the client pulling your hair during a massage?" he asks with a playfully exaggerated confusion, still slowly undoing buttons despite the anticipation of those skilled hands in more fun places. "Sounds to me like you knew what you were getting into there."
"Seems like people can't help it. It's why I put it up," he jokes, and raises up slightly, urging Drake to lift his hips so he can jerk his pants down a bit and have full access to him.
That's a clear hint that Drake takes without hesitation, lifting his hips as he laughs at Jesus' claim.
"So this is all my fault, huh?"
The last button pops open beneath his fingers, Jesus' shirt falling to either side. That's better. Now Drake can drag a caress up the other man's torso, just firm enough to keep from tickling but light enough to make him arch into the touch seeking more.
At first the only reply Jesus gets is Drake's breath hitching, his hold on Jesus' hair easing slightly on instinct so that he doesn't hurt the other man. Drake is careful about things like that -- but it's only for a moment, for that first agonizingly slow stroke. Then the tension in him releases with a sigh of pleasure, his hips pressing up against Jesus' weight seeking more attention.
"Go however you want," he groans, reestablishing his grip and sliding his other hand around to Jesus' back. "Right now I just want you."
He licks his lips, fingertips pressing into the curve of muscle along Jesus' spine as if he's getting a grip there too. It's not clear for what, and maybe he's only not pulling just yet because he likes this view... but probably soon.
"All I needed to hear," he tells him warmly, working more studiously now to get Drake hard in his hand. He uses his free hand to start unfastening his own pants, but it's tricky and he doesn't want to let go of Drake so he winks at him. "Help me out?"
Right this second? With Jesus working him so intently? That might require more fine motor control than Drake has at the moment but he nods agreeably anyway, taking a shuddering breath in as his body responds to the other man's touch.
It never takes much, and at this point Jesus knows all the right buttons to push. He's doomed, really. Only one thing to do about that: fight fire with fire.
Drake moves quickly, hoping to catch his partner off guard as he uses the hold he's got to pull Jesus both in against him and to one side -- it's almost more of a flip than a roll, with how suddenly it happens. And then Jesus is on his back, Drake braced between his legs and holding himself up with the hand that was in his hair, the other obliging his request for help. He smirks, rocking his hips into Jesus' grip as he gets the other man's pants open.
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And if K doesn't, Jesus will mediate.
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"Understanding's great, but it doesn't mean he'd--" he cuts himself off there, pressing his lips together and exhaling through his nose before turning his face into the bedding. As if he can hide his anger at himself from Jesus when the other man can literally feel him tensing back up again. His sharp, "nevermind," is muffled in the sheets.
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But he's used to being the only person in an entire community who feels that way. So he just leans down and kisses the back of Drake's neck, and then between his shoulder blades. "You're not breathing slow for me anymore, babe."
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He makes a grumbling sound into the bedding, because Jesus is objectively correct but also: he's stressing because it's important to him. Jesus being sweet about it is cute, at least. Enough that he'll try to joke it off as he rolls his shoulders.
"Keep that up and I'm not gonna be," is still muffled.
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"You're a little shit sometimes, you know that?" he asks hypothetically, finally glancing back over his shoulder. But he's also grinning again. And since Jesus has shifted lower Drake twists to the side and reaches for him, brushing his fingers through the other man's beard. "C'mere."
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"I like you. A lot. Trust me when I say I have good reason to."
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"Right back at you," he manages, voice rough. "...I do trust you."
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"We've got plenty of time," he murmurs. It's still morning, after all. A little longer won't hurt. He reaches up and tugs the tie out of Jesus' hair, then pulls him into another kiss.
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"I'm not opposed. When would this go into effect?"
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The position is just like before, except that Drake's on his back now. Which makes the suggestion he's about to make (which doesn't sound at all like a suggestion) quite a bit more interesting.
"Then how about you keep massaging?"
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He runs his hands silkily along Drake's chest and abdomen, then his hips where he massages slowly.
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Two can play this game, babe.
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"This is why I could never go pro with this," he teases. "Get a hot guy under my hands, pulling my hair, and this is what happens."
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"So this is all my fault, huh?"
The last button pops open beneath his fingers, Jesus' shirt falling to either side. That's better. Now Drake can drag a caress up the other man's torso, just firm enough to keep from tickling but light enough to make him arch into the touch seeking more.
"If I plead guilty will you go easy on me?"
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He wraps his hand around Drake's cock, stroking slowly.
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"Go however you want," he groans, reestablishing his grip and sliding his other hand around to Jesus' back. "Right now I just want you."
He licks his lips, fingertips pressing into the curve of muscle along Jesus' spine as if he's getting a grip there too. It's not clear for what, and maybe he's only not pulling just yet because he likes this view... but probably soon.
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It never takes much, and at this point Jesus knows all the right buttons to push. He's doomed, really. Only one thing to do about that: fight fire with fire.
Drake moves quickly, hoping to catch his partner off guard as he uses the hold he's got to pull Jesus both in against him and to one side -- it's almost more of a flip than a roll, with how suddenly it happens. And then Jesus is on his back, Drake braced between his legs and holding himself up with the hand that was in his hair, the other obliging his request for help. He smirks, rocking his hips into Jesus' grip as he gets the other man's pants open.
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