It takes longer than Sam would have thought. A lot longer than skin on skin contact. Eventually, Sam's not sure how long since he's a bit lost in the massage, he starts to feel that itch creep up his back.
"Okay, starting to feel it. But it was -- fine. It was good. Up until just now."
Yup, Drake knew that would happen. There was no way he'd be completely alright with just their second attempt, but it's very promising. He lifts his hands gently and says, "That was fifteen minutes, Sam."
"Fifteen? You're fucking me." The only bad part to this is now his back itches a bit. But at least the handprint on his arm has gone almost completely away.
"No one's touched me like that in -- fuck, ten years?" He reaches back to rub at a sore spot that he's able to reach, sounding -- awed. "So okay. I relax. I don't pay attention to the touches, and it's through clothes. It gets better."
"Here, in general? No, I don't -- " He stands and paces a few steps away from the sofa, shaking his head. "I don't want to have to go through this with a bunch of people."
"Whoa." Drake blinks -- he hadn't meant in general. Not as if to say Sam would be sleeping with everyone he met, for certain. "Here with me, then. To be specific."
"Oh. Thank fuck." He's jumpy, still. The whole idea of this place makes him jumpy. "I'd take another beer, if you had one. And we can talk about... here."
"Yeah, I've got more. Just a second." He stands up, grabbing Sam's empty bottle and heading into the kitchen to get him a fresh one. When he returns he passes it off, sitting back down in the same spot. It's okay, Sam, try to relax.
Sam sits a little away from Drake, rolling the bottle between his hands. Letting it cool him off a little. Trying to calm down again. The massage had been nice, for as long as it lasted.
Maybe it could work. Or maybe it was just a one-off thing. "So uh. What do you do. Like for work."
"Here?" Drake shrugs -- it's nothing special. "I bounce and bartend... but I'm thinking of seeing what the education system is like because the best part of it is kind of like being a therapist. Listening to people's problems, even the ones I have to kick out of the bar. Calming them down, figuring out why they got so drunk they caused a problem. It feels like I'm helping, at least for a little while."
"Bartender to therapist, huh? Interesting change." He sips at his drink, nodding a little. He can see Drake as a therapist. That gentle tone of voice. His calm way of speaking.
"I dunno if I'll be able to get a job here. I think my dom has to okay it. Whenever I get a dom. But I was a porter, back home. I delivered packages. Carried anything and everything on my back to wherever it needed to go." He shifts his tanktop to the side a little, to show Drake his scars from where his pack used to sit. "I feel kinda empty without my pack on. Take that as you will."
"A lot of practice. The tricky part is making sure the weight is evenly distributed, so you don't wobble." One of those enigmatic shrugs. "I've been a porter for a long damn time. At least ten years now."
He takes another sip of his beer and thinks over the proposition. "Why? So you can fix me?"
Still, holy shit. Drake didn't think the human body was capable of that kind of extended lifting... bodybuilders can deadlift it, but not walk around with that much on them.
He might've been about to ask something else, but it goes out of his head at Sam's next question.
"What? You're not broken, Sam. I just figured it'd be safer, if you don't plan on going through this with multiple people."
"Something in me's gotta be broken, right? If I can't touch anyone. If I can't anyone touch me?" He feels broken, sometimes. Can't even do something as simple as a handshake.
"I just did, though. You're still here. A little itchy, but you're gonna be able to do this." He sounds very sure of it, and is hoping that his confidence lends Sam some hope.
Well, they're working with a time crunch, so it's gonna have to go faster than that... but not for longer than they've already managed, Drake doesn't think.
"Fifteen minutes is enough to get somebody off, I feel like. We're not shooting for the moon by the end of the month, just three orgasms. It's doable, Sam."
"I'm... trying. To trust to. I want to trust you. I want you to be able to touch me. So I can get through the month without getting fucking arrested or something."
"Realignment is worse than that. Prison is if you don't contract, realignment is like... being experimented on. Physically and mentally, brainwashed and drugged. I'm not letting that happen to you."
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"Okay, starting to feel it. But it was -- fine. It was good. Up until just now."
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He's sure there'll be others willing to go slow with the guy.
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Maybe it could work. Or maybe it was just a one-off thing. "So uh. What do you do. Like for work."
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"I dunno if I'll be able to get a job here. I think my dom has to okay it. Whenever I get a dom. But I was a porter, back home. I delivered packages. Carried anything and everything on my back to wherever it needed to go." He shifts his tanktop to the side a little, to show Drake his scars from where his pack used to sit. "I feel kinda empty without my pack on. Take that as you will."
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As for the delivery job, it sounds straightforward enough until Sam pulls his top to the side and shows the scars. Drake blinks.
"...how heavy was that pack, geez."
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"You'd really do that? Take me on?"
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"Holy shit how can you carry that much?"
Oh, wait, there was a question.
"Yeah. Why not?"
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He takes another sip of his beer and thinks over the proposition. "Why? So you can fix me?"
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He might've been about to ask something else, but it goes out of his head at Sam's next question.
"What? You're not broken, Sam. I just figured it'd be safer, if you don't plan on going through this with multiple people."
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"Fifteen minutes is enough to get somebody off, I feel like. We're not shooting for the moon by the end of the month, just three orgasms. It's doable, Sam."
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omg the latest tag in the world
<3
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