thirstforvice | Ripper Street/Escape to the Suburbs

Entry tags:

verse: safe hands

Ripper Street/Escape to the Suburbs

When Drake is cleared to go back to work, Jackson's sense of unease grows tenfold. He's been anxious ever since returning to their room in Whitechapel, very aware that the Vigilance Men are down but not out, and very aware of where they live. But there's always been the two of them, together, with multiple locked doors between them and the outside world. Now, he's alone, mobility still hugely limited by his broken leg, and Drake's alone on the streets where he can't keep him close.

The worries would have driven him to distraction, or drugs, if not for Mrs Ramsay.

Their landlady truly was a godsend, more than happy to care for her invalid tenant, completely unphased in the knowledge of what he and Drake got up to behind closed doors. She was gifted at tending to his healing injuries, and she was very happy to both prattle on to him and listen in turn. She doesn't judge him nor take offence, either, when he admits to feeling unsafe in her lodgings. Quite the contrary, she offers to find him and Drake some place safer. Whilst he doesn't like being left alone, he appreciates the offer too much to turn her down.

It only takes her a few days before she finds somewhere she thinks would be perfect. As she lays out supper for her favourite doctor and his sergeant, she tells him all about the house in the suburbs. It's close to one of those new underground rail stations, she tells him, making the journey into the city easy despite the distance. It's large but affordable, on a combined wage of a sergeant and police physician. The neighbourhood is respectable, and safe. And, she can't help but slipping in, plenty of spare space for a housekeeper, should they choose to take one (which, really, she feels they should. Did they even know how to cook their meals?).

Her enthusiasm is really highly infectious.

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Drake pulls back an inch or two, only enough to work loose his waistcoat and shirt and try to force away his trousers and underthings.

"I would make love to you."

Jackson groans at the thought, helping Drake off with his shirt and vest, pulling his own nightshirt off over his head.

It has been so long, now, that he does not let him consider the possibility of them not being able to find a comfortable position. He is too desperate to care about the pain.

Drake shoves down his bottom things and kicks them away before reaching out behind him, feeling the stretch across his ribs and uncaring, to retrieve the jar of oil they keep there.

He clutches it as he kisses Homer again, reaching between them to take his dick in hand, relax him.

Jackson's groan is louder at the touch, pressing in closer and kissing his lover's throat.

"You're a quick learner, Benny."

"Only for you," Bennet swears, stroking him to hardness with slow and lingering touches.

"You hear me? No one but you."

"God..." Jackson clings on tight to his lover's body, kisses turning to bites and drags of his teeth over the other man's throat.

"I love you, darlin'. God knows I love you."

"I know what you love," Drake teases, his voice almost a growl against Homer's ear. "You love what I do with my hands and my mouth - and my dick."

"No..." Jackson forces himself away from his position nuzzled into Drake's throat, forcing eye contact between them. He does not know if Drake is serious or not, his tone light but the words...

"I love you," he feels he has to reiterate. "Hundred telegraph boys in this city provide all the hands, mouths and cocks any man could need. I ain't here for that, Bennet. Though you know I never complain when you offer them to me."

Bennet captures Homer's lips for a soft, open-mouthed kiss.

"I know, you daft bugger," he says fondly. "Here's me trying to seduce you, and you have to take it all serious, like."

"You have to forgive me, darlin'," Jackson looks somewhat abashed, reaching for Drake's hip to try and bring some sort of manliness back into his character.

"I ain't used to you bein' so forward."

Drake kisses the edge of Jackson's jaw.

"I ain't used to you being so romantic."

"Then we have much to learn about each other," Jackson smiles, fingers playing over Drake's hip.

"Maybe we can start with you remindin' me how you use those fingers and mouth of yours. And... other parts, too."

"It's not like you to be shy with your words," Drake teases.

His fingers renew their ministrations, his mouth latching on to the side of Homer's neck.

"I can be as lewd as you want, darlin'," Jackson groans, hands moving to hold Bennet close to him, clutching at his broad back.

"But you get that plenty outside of the bedroom already. Figure things should be different, away from prying eyes."

"You have a topsy-turvy way of thinking," Drake says, but his eyes darken at the lustful flush over Homer's bare skin.

"I'd prefer you to be a gentleman on the street, and a wildcat in bed."

"You gotta look some place else if you're after a gentleman, Benny," Jackson grins, carefully starting to roll them so that he can lie on his back with Bennet over him.

"I've never been one of them."

Drake puts a stop to Jackson's attempt to assert his authority.

"I thought I told you to lie still," he scolds, holding his lover firmly in place. "Will you let me take care of you, now?"

Jackson huffs, frustrated. Love-making is just not the same when they - or, rather, he - cannot move as he will.

"It seems you're giving me little choice in the matter, Bennet."

"Let me do the thinking for a change," Drake says, trying to keep the mood light and distract Homer from his predicament.

He dips his fingers in the jar of oil precariously balanced on their sheets and traces a line up between Homer's exposed buttocks. "I think you'll come round to my way of doing things."

Jackson still feels awkward with the way he's being held against Drake, not all that comfortable, much happier on his back, or up on his knees. But neither are practical right now, and the way Bennet's fingers trail over his backside do a good job of distracting him from his frustrations.

Drake latches on to the soft skin of Homer's neck, intending to leave a mark, as his first finger gently traces his lover's entrance. It has been far too long since they made love and the last thing he wants is to add to his pain.

The combination of the pressure at his throat, and the press inside of him, is enough for Jackson to momentarily forget his own frustrations. Moaning, loudly, his fingers tighten where they hold onto Drake's arm and shoulder.

Drake slowly presses his finger inside, keeping up the steady addition of kisses and marks across Homer's throat.

"You all right?"

"Fine..." Jackson groans, moving his hips as best he can to try and press himself further onto Drake's finger.

"More, Bennet... please, more..."

Drake inserts his finger up to the knuckle and feels for the raised nub there.

"Patience," he says, half-counsel, half-tease.

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