Let Me Apologize
Summary: Drake had no regrets about becoming a spy. The benefits had outweighed the costs. And the costs had been high.
The wall shook as he slammed Smoker into it, a growl issuing from Drake's throat as he pinned Smoker's wrist to it. The hold didn't last long as Smoker shoved back at his chest. They collapsed onto the floor, rolling over and over, Smoker pinning him at the waist, before attacking his lips with furious open mouthed kisses.
Drake sank his fingers, almost claws, into Smoker's coat, yanking hard enough to rip the seams, wanting, needing to sink his teeth into the exposed muscle of his shoulder. Smoker snarled and thrust him back, his amber eyes like fire.
They struggled against each other, nothing gentle in their movements. Nothing like the first time they'd done this as cadets. Drake had been a nervous jittery mess, felt utterly breathless and out of his depth as Smoker smiled gently at him, a private smile. Just for him.
Drake hissed as Smoker's fingers undid the zipper of his pants, grasping his manhood roughly. He ground his knee against the bulge in Smoker's jeans, heat making his head spin from the sound he pulled from the paler man's throat.
In a flash, Smoker's hand was around his neck, their eyes meeting. Dimly in the back of Drake's mind, he realized that Smoker was taller than him now. The scar across the right side of his face almost seemed to pulse in Drake's vision. He brought his hand up, fingers digging into the back of Smoker's neck, bringing him down to crash their lips together.
Smoker had been his first, his first kiss, the first man to utterly consume his thoughts, the first one who didn't care who his father was. The first time they'd held hands flashed across his mind. The water had been warm, their knees bumping the wood of the dock scratchy beneath his palms. The stars had glimmered overhead, the ship they served lit up clearly in port.
Drake wrapped a leg around the other man's waist and heaved upward, swapping their positions. Smoker sank his teeth into Drake's bottom lip, the hot taste of iron filling his mouth. He ground their hips together harshly. Furious eyes glared up at him as Drake pinned his wrists to the floor. Instantly, he went to smoke and Drake flexed, haki coating his arms, his legs, his hands. A manic grin stretched across his face as he kept his grip on the logia user.
He narrowed his piercing blue eyes as Smoker's face twisted in fury, the air rippling as he too unleashed his haki. In an instant, Drake was thrown backward, Smoker shoving back at him. They grappled one another, biting, scratching, growling.
Drake had no regrets about becoming a spy. The benefits had outweighed the costs. And the costs had been high. Turning his back on everyone who had come to care for him. Severing those bonds, knowing that they would likely never be recovered. But they would be safe this way. He could protect them this way goddammit!
He slammed Smoker against the floorboards, knocking the lamp on the bedside table to the deck with a crash. They stared at one another, the light flickering and casting their eyes in shadow before stabilizing. Skewed light spread across Smoker's pale chest, and Drake tore his eyes away from his face to flick downwards at his exposed skin and froze.
There. The scar across Smoker's collarbone.
"You, you son of a bitch! You fucking- you fucking traitor!" echoed in his ears, pain making Smoker's voice break and shatter. His blood dripped from Drake's morning star, from his hands. The first time Drake had beaten him in a fight. He couldn't look back. He couldn't, he couldn't, he COULDN'T.
All the fight went out of him, his shoulders sagging. Smoker stiffened beneath him. His hand shook as he slowly reached out and traced the scar with his fingertips. Smoker's eyebrows furrowed as he leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to it.
The scratches, the bruises, the bite marks across Drake's skin began to ache as he breathed in the other man's scent. Cigar smoke, and iron. Paper, and the slightest hint of aftershave. Gone was the smell of gunpowder and sweaty training runs around the track. Gone were the smells of youth.
But it was still him. The same boy he'd exchanged flushed glances with after Vice Admiral Tsuru caught them making out in the cargo hold. His first love. His only regret.
Drake pressed his lips against Smoker's ear, a broken "I'm sorry," squeezing past the lump in his throat. The first dam to fail, as now that it had begun, he couldn't stop. "I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," the words poured out of him, Smoker going rigid beneath him before the trembling started.
Gloved fingers touched the side of Drake's face, gently tugging him to look at him. Their foreheads brushed together, and something broke (or started beating) inside Drake's chest as their lips met.
Careful, hesitant.
Afraid. Apologizing.
They moved gently against one another, soft, tender. Nothing like their first time, but far closer, a terrifying level of intimacy. Smoker said nothing as the tears slid down Drake's face in the aftermath, just let him tuck his head under his chin and listen to his heartbeat.
Home, and his second chance. This time, Drake vowed, he wouldn't let it go.
Notes:
This has been sitting in my WIP list for far too long. I HC that Smoker's chest scar is from trying to stop Drake from "defecting". I also HC that Smoker didn't hit a growth spurt till like his later twenties. Yes, I will be writing more about these two, they fill all of my angst and grumpy, but also soft marshmallow needs. Listened to A Soulmate who Wasn't Meant to Be by Jess Benko for this.
Let me know your thoughts!
As always, thanks for reading and you can find me on twitter at buggyisbest!