Gabriel's City

by Laylah Hunter

  The boy bows. “Enjoy your stay, sirs,” he says in one rushed breath before he turns and runs for the door.

  Gabriel watches him go. “Was that wrong?”

  “No.” Drake’s smiling as he gets out of the tub himself. “Totally polite. He’s just scared to death of you, that’s all. You look much fiercer than the fat merchants he probably waits on most days.”

  “You’re such a flatterer, Drake.”

  “It’s only the truth.” Gabriel might not be big, but he’s wiry and scarred and carries himself like a hunter—like he knows he’s the most dangerous thing in any room he walks into, even naked and unarmed. “Here.” Drake picks up one of the robes and hands it to Gabriel, the material heavy and thick in his hands for all its plainness. “Let’s go upstairs and see if our clothes are dry yet.”

  Gabriel shrugs into the robe, and then pulls it tight around himself as if he’s noticed how warm it is. “Let’s. After you.”

  Drake leads the way up the inn’s back stairs, finds their room at the end of the second story hall. They’re on the side facing the alley, not the water, but that’s all right. They’ve both seen the harbor plenty of times. Their clothes are hung on a drying rack in front of the fireplace, and the fire leaps and crackles like it’s been fed recently. There’s a little stack of split wood beside it, even, so they’ll be set all night.

  “So fancy,” Gabriel says, shaking his head.

  “Not complaining, are you?” Drake feels the fabric of his jacket. Still pretty damp.

  “Not complaining,” Gabriel says. “Does my dragon want to go in search of dinner?”

  “In a little while.” The curl in Gabriel’s hair is more obvious when it’s wet, and the robe is just a little too big for him. He looks feral, out of place here, like something from one of his stories. Something wild disguised as a boy. “Come to bed with me?”

  Gabriel stops in surprise for a moment, and then smiles. “Not for sleeping, you mean.”

  Drake shakes his head, reaches to turn the lock on the door. “No.”

  Gabriel nods. “I’d like that.” He looks surprised again when Drake slips off his robe before crawling between the sheets, but he follows suit, and makes a low, pleased humming sound when he slides into Drake’s arms and they’re both bare.

  “Yes,” Drake says quietly, sliding his hands down Gabriel’s back, feeling bone under the skin, the flex of muscle, the tight lines of scars. This is a luxury worth craving, the sweet smell of clean skin, the smoothness where the grime has been washed away. “Yes, Gabriel. Here. Like this.” He shifts, and Gabriel meets his mouth for the kiss, pressing close against him.

  It doesn’t take much this time to get Gabriel to move with him, hips rocking, bare skin sliding against each other. Fates, that’s Gabriel hardening—that’s what it feels like when he’s half-hard and pushing against Drake’s thigh for more friction, and his hands hold so tight. He bites at Drake’s tongue, keens in his throat, kneading at Drake’s back hungrily.

  “Let me,” Drake says against his mouth. “Can I, Gabriel, Fates, can I look at you?”

  “You’re ridiculous,” Gabriel says. “You look at me all the time.” But he shifts back, lets Drake push the quilt down all the same. His ribs are too plain, and even in the firelight the shadow of his hipbones is deeper than it should be. Clean, his skin is a warmer color than Drake is used to, except where the worst scars have streaked it white. His cock lies against his lower belly, flushed, mostly hard.

  Drake reaches out, runs his fingers along the smooth line of Gabriel’s collarbone, trails them down over the plane of Gabriel’s chest. He lays his palm flat in the hollow of Gabriel’s belly, where the arch of rib cage drops away to softness.

  “You’ve never looked more like a dragon,” Gabriel says softly. He rests his hand over Drake’s.

  “No?” Drake meets Gabriel’s eyes. “What am I doing?”

  Gabriel shakes his head. “I think you must be confused. You look like you’ve found a treasure.”

  Drake ducks his head. “Nobody else has this,” he says. “It’s just for me.” He shifts his weight, leans down, presses his lips to Gabriel’s shoulder.

  “Most people would call you mad for wanting it,” Gabriel says. One of his hands slides into Drake’s hair, holds on. “Drake. My Drake. Please, more.”

  His skin tastes like soap, the salt and dirt washed away. Drake licks at his throat, bites carefully at the soft hollow there, shivers at the low noise Gabriel makes when he does it. He reaches down a little further, takes Gabriel loosely in his hand. Gabriel pushes, thrusting against him, and Drake’s body responds in kind. Fates, so good, so much— He lifts his head to watch what he’s doing. His hand looks so white against Gabriel’s skin—even now, after months of living here, he’s so much paler than Gabriel is. No wonder he seems otherworldly.

  “Move, Drake,” Gabriel whispers, and Drake realizes that he’s almost stopped, that he’s let himself get distracted.

  “Sorry.” He takes a firmer grip, and Gabriel rocks against him.

  Drake leans down again and presses his lips to Gabriel’s throat. The way Gabriel responds to him, Fates, to his mouth, to his touch—he could go further than this, he thinks, and knows the idea won’t leave him alone as soon as he has it. The rules are different with Gabriel. It wouldn’t have to make either of them the other’s boy, not if they’re the only ones who know. And Gabriel is holding tight to him, breath shaky, making sweet needy sounds.

  “Gabriel,” Drake murmurs. “Do you—” He doesn’t have to ask that. He knows Gabriel trusts him, strange as it is. “Will you let me try something new?”

  “Of course. You’ve had so many good ideas.” There’s laughter in his voice, Drake thinks, like this is all still strange for him, too; like they’re having another adventure.

  Thinking about actually doing it makes Drake’s heart pound, makes his nerves jittery. “Hold still, then,” he says, and lets go, pushes himself up on his hands and knees so he can slide down the bed to kneel between Gabriel’s thighs.

  Gabriel watches him, eyes wide and alert, lips parting when Drake curls his hand around the base of Gabriel’s cock.

  “Tell me,” Drake says, and licks his lips. His mouth feels dry. “Tell me how this feels.” He leans down and parts his lips, and Fates, he wouldn’t have thought he’d have to stretch so much to do this—to take Gabriel in his mouth.

  “Drake,” Gabriel gasps, his voice shaky, almost panicked. “Drake, Drake—” He reaches down, groping blindly, and Drake takes his hand. Gabriel holds on so tight it’s almost painful, and Drake is just starting to worry that maybe this is actually upsetting Gabriel when he takes another shaky breath and says, “Please, yes.”

  Drake moans a little, as close as he can get to saying yes, to telling Gabriel he wants to. It feels a lot more awkward than he would have expected—the angle is completely unnatural, and he thinks his neck will start to really ache soon, and he has no idea how the Kite Street girls managed to get him all the way in their mouths, because he’s taking barely half of Gabriel and he feels like he’s going to choke. But he doesn’t want to stop, either. Gabriel moans and shivers, and he feels so smooth against Drake’s tongue—and nobody has ever done this for Gabriel before; that’s plain from the way he reacts, and Drake wants to make his first time good, wants to spoil him and maybe show off a little, too.

  After a few careful strokes, he starts to get the hang of it, how to guard his teeth with lips and tongue, how to move so that he keeps a rhythm going, so that he doesn’t take more down his throat than he can stand. Gabriel’s thighs tremble, and he croons little encouraging noises that never quite turn into real words. Drake can taste salt against the back of his tongue, wonders if—

  Gabriel comes, silent and tense under him, and Drake’s mouth is full of bitter heat. He coughs a little, not prepared for it, and then swallows, twice, three times.

  “Oh, Drake,” Gabriel says, barely more than a whisper, hushed and reverent. �
��So clever. So very good.”

  Drake sits back on his heels, meets Gabriel’s eyes, and lets himself smile a little in relief. His jaw feels odd, and he can still taste it, tingling at the back of his throat. The bitterness is somewhat less than thrilling, but that scarcely matters when it’s Gabriel. “Good. I’m glad.” He feels giddy, unable to believe he actually did that—and hard, too, for the needy way Gabriel looks at him, for the fact that he just made Gabriel come. With his mouth. Fates.

  “Come here,” Gabriel says, reaching for him, and Drake lets himself be pulled up to stretch out next to Gabriel for a kiss. “So very clever,” Gabriel tells him, stroking his back, his sides, pushing him onto his back and reaching down to take hold of him. “Is it hard to do? I never have.”

  Oh, Maiden’s mercy. “I hadn’t either. Didn’t really think I wanted to, until—until you.” Even with Danny, he’d only wondered about it occasionally, and then mostly about whether Danny would be willing to do it for him.

  “I want to try, then. If you’ll let me.”

  “Fates, Gabriel, of course I’d— Yes. Please.” Drake’s so hard just thinking of it that he aches. He knots his fingers in the sheets and watches Gabriel kneel between his thighs. His breath comes short, and he feels dizzy.

  Gabriel leans down, nuzzles his way into Drake’s groin like a pushy cat, rubs his face against Drake. His breath is hot. He licks, like he’s tasting it, like he’s curious, and Drake moans without being able to help himself. Gabriel laughs.

  “Something else you’ve been wanting and not asking for?” he says. “Silly dragon. I can’t guess at everything.”

  Drake doesn’t even know how to start arguing the point—Gabriel makes it sound like he was trying to be difficult, like he didn’t have a good reason to hesitate—but then Gabriel leans back down, and he loses interest in trying to argue anyway. Gabriel’s mouth closes hot and wet around him, careful lips and tongue, and it’s all Drake can do to just hold still. He wants to push, wants to rock deeper into Gabriel’s mouth, oh, Mother’s blessing—and when he looks down, Gabriel has closed his eyes, his cheeks hollowed, his lips stretched around Drake’s shaft. He hums as he slides down further, little noises like he’s . . . like he’s fascinated, like he’s trying this out to see how it goes. The idea makes Drake want to laugh at how incredible all this is.

  “Don’t stop,” he says instead, and he sounds just as unsteady as Gabriel did a few minutes ago, just as overwhelmed. “You’re so good to me, Gabriel, I, ah—” And he falters, gasping, when Gabriel’s teeth scrape his skin for just a second. Gabriel makes a soft, sorrowful noise, and strokes Drake’s hip in apology. “It’s all right,” Drake says. “You didn’t hurt me.” The pain didn’t even slow him down, didn’t do anything to ease the aching tension that’s drawing every last scrap of him toward Gabriel’s mouth. “If you . . .” he manages, and he’s so close, it should take longer than this, but he wants. “If you wanted t-to do that again—”

  And when Gabriel does, teeth raking delicately over his flesh, Drake loses what’s left of his control and spills in Gabriel’s mouth. He’s shaking with exhaustion and so relieved to be here, like this, things finally going their way. When Gabriel looks up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and wrinkling his nose at the taste, Drake can’t help laughing, wrung out and content, more relaxed than he’s been in ages.

  “Thank you,” he says, reaching out to pull Gabriel close, to hold on to him. “Oh, Gabriel.” They fit so well together by now, used to the puzzle their limbs make. “This is— I feel so good right now.”

  Gabriel settles his head on Drake’s shoulder, curled close against him, and bites Drake’s collarbone affectionately. “Good. You make things better, Drake. So much better.”

  Drake closes his eyes and nuzzles Gabriel’s hair, so soft now that it’s clean. He’s warm and comfortable and they have a real bed to sleep in tonight and another meal coming to them yet today, and Barron’s not going to walk away from this one. The Fates do play favorites after all.

  They doze for a while without really meaning to, wake up near sunset and get dressed—their clothes not only dry but warm from hanging by the fire—so they can go downstairs to have dinner. The Leaping Dolphin has a roast on for the evening meal, and casks of smooth northlands lager for their taps. Gabriel tries both with enthusiasm, and from the look on his face at the first bite of roast beef, Drake guesses he’s never had its like. There are so many things that he’d like to show Gabriel, if he only has the chance. Maybe after Barron’s dead, that should be their next plan.

  After dinner and a few pints apiece, they go back up to their room and suck each other off a second time. It’s sloppier, messier when the lager has gone to both of their heads, more potent and more plentiful than they’re used to. The sex still feels just as good, though, dizzying and clumsy and wet. Afterward, Drake sleeps more heavily than he has in months, naked with Gabriel under the blankets. It’s warm enough that when he wakes in the morning, he discovers one of them pushed the blankets down in the night, and neither of them woke at the exposure of bare skin to air.

  Gabriel is still asleep beside him, his mouth soft and relaxed, his hair curling gently over his forehead. He looks young, and still so hungry, his cheeks hollow—but better, Drake wants to believe. Less desperate. Less of a shadow.

  He touches Gabriel’s face, gently, stroking the line of Gabriel’s jaw—

  And manages not to flinch, barely, when Gabriel’s hand snakes out and grabs his wrist.

  “Sorry,” Drake says as Gabriel’s eyes open. “I should let you sleep?” No wonder Gabriel could catch the rat that came to investigate them; he strikes before he wakes.

  “It’s all right. My dragon’s woken up hungry again?”

  Drake’s about to deny it—he doesn’t especially need anything just yet, and if Gabriel wants to rest a little longer while they have the chance, that’s fine—but then Gabriel rolls over, pushing Drake onto his back and settling on top of him. He’s already getting hard.

  Drake reaches down between them, shows Gabriel how, if they lace their fingers together, they can rock against each other at the same time and both reach for it at once. Drake finishes first, and decides he likes that, because then he can be watching, can see the moment of off-balance breathless need on Gabriel’s face as he gives up control and shudders into Drake’s hand.

  “Now,” Drake says afterward, when they’ve wiped themselves clean on the sheets and are pulling their clothes back on, “I think I’m hungry.” It’s not bad today, though, the way it is when they’re barely getting by. Anything seems possible, at this point. “We’ll get some breakfast on the way to Barron’s house. How’s that?”

  Gabriel touches the spots where his knives are hidden, like he’s taking stock of them. “Sounds good to me. I’m looking forward to meeting Barron, after hearing so much about him.”

  Breakfast is a batch of warm sweet rolls, bought from the front door of a bakery and smothered in peach butter. The air’s still cold, but the clouds hang high and distant, no real threat, not likely to carry any real rain. Drake and Gabriel walk up the broad expanse of Market Street, taking their time, passing the shops and tradesmen along both sides of the way. The merchants’ district lasts until the second bridge, more or less, and then gives way to some finer taverns, private clubs, and the high-stakes gaming houses that were the center of Colin’s version of Casmile. A few houses here are worth checking for rumors, if they need to track Barron to ground, but Drake figures they might as well start with the most likely option, so the Peacock it is.

  The Golden Peacock is as flashy as its name suggests, brightly painted, edged in gold leaf around all its ornate moldings. The lamps are always lit, no matter the time of day or night; Drake’s never seen the house closed up. Inside the walls are hung with imported silks, and the chairs around the gaming tables are heavy, dark polished wood and overstuffed velvet, the kind of things a man can just sink right into and relax comfortably until he’s
gambled away every shilling to his name. There’s reserve brandy for sale, by the bottle or the glass, and some of the most finely cured tobacco that a man can find anywhere in the city. The whores who make their living off the winners aren’t terribly discreet about it, entertaining in rooms in the back of the house, and Drake’s never been sure if that was because they were legal or because the guard can be bribed.

  He tries imagining what this must look like now from Gabriel’s perspective as they show silver and walk through the front door. Dragons everywhere they look, he thinks, cunning old serpents guarding their hoards and brash young ones hoping to steal from them. The air smells of smoke, curls of it wreathing the one table that’s active right now. There’s no dice game this early in the day, not enough traffic to keep the table going, just the guarded faces of the men around the card table, and the flash of coin being tossed in to ante.

  There’s no sign of Barron, not yet. Drake watches the cards flutter as the dealer shuffles them, counts them off as he deals the new hand. Three card brag, it looks like.

  Gabriel elbows him in the ribs. “Your man here?”

  “Don’t see him. He might be in the back, though. Or he might be coming in later.” Barron owns a stake in the Peacock, though Drake can’t remember if it’s a quarter or an eighth. At any rate, it’s his gaming house, the one he’s most likely to show up to. “We probably don’t have that long to wait.” There’s a boy at the table about Drake’s age, someone he’d swear he met at one party or another, who’s just won the last hand and looks like he thinks he can’t lose. “Maybe we should get comfortable, sit in on the game for a bit.”

  “Mmn,” Gabriel says. “Costs a lot to play here, doesn’t it?”