In the Shadows - The Watch Mini-Fic (Patreon)

I don't know what this is. It's Drake and Remi being...Drake and Remi. Unedited, unbeta'd. No clue whether there will be anymore to it than

I don't know what this is. It's Drake and Remi being...Drake and Remi. Unedited, unbeta'd. No clue whether there will be anymore to it than this because Drake is an asshole.

Drake had spotted Remi almost immediately, sitting with a group of handlers, drink in hand, pretending to care about the girl beside him. Drake knew her. Her name was Navy, like the color. She was pretty in that obvious way. In a cookie cutter way. But she was in no way as pretty as Remi was.

She was clearly into him though. She had her arm curled around his bicep and her chin on his shoulder, like she was trying to hear whatever he said over the noise. But they weren’t in a club, just a local pub with music quietly filtering through the speakers. She didn’t need to sit so close to him. Yet she did.

Drake sat at the bar with his Grindr date—a guy named Logan—who looked as hot as his profile pic and had just as much personality. Not that Drake gave two shits about the guy's personality. No, he was too busy watching Remi watch him.

A thrill shot through him at Remi’s sour expression. He was jealous. Even with the pretty blonde girl draped on his arm, Remi only had eyes for Drake. Remi was his in all the ways that mattered. At least for now. At least until they left this program and Remi went on to be a professional babysitter for another operative.

But until then, he would do whatever Drake needed without much of a fuss and just a little bit of attention. It was hardly a hardship giving Remi attention. He was such a cute little thing with his reddish brown curls, huge green eyes and smattering of freckles.

So fun to play with. Like a cat played with a mouse or a lizard before devouring it. Drake liked the way Remi squeaked like prey when he had him pressed against walls in darkened hallways at night. He liked the way he moaned and whined and said ‘don’t’ all while pulling him closer.

Payton said he should leave the boy alone, Dove too. But he couldn’t. There was something so addictive about Remi. He was exasperatingly hesitant for long periods of time, then impulsively brave at the most shocking moments. Even to his own detriment.

It was fascinating.

“Did you hear me?” Logan asked, snapping his fingers in Drake’s face.

Drake smiled, eyes still on Remi as he silently pictured slowly and deliberately breaking every one of Logan’s fingers. “No. I didn’t. I was busy looking at my friend over there. You were saying?” Drake said absently.

Logan thrust his jaw forward, crossing his arms over his beefy chest. “You’re seriously checking out another guy while on a date with me?”

“Is this a date?” Drake asked, taking a sip of his beer. “You asked me to hang out. I thought you were just looking for a hookup.”

Logan frowned. “Even if I was, you’re staring at another guy.”

“So what?” Drake asked, confused. “Why can’t I look at other guys? We’re not dating.”

“Ugh, forget it,” Logan said before turning and stomping off.

“That was about as smooth as chunky peanut butter,” Cara, the bartender, said from behind the bar.

Drake shrugged. “Better he leave now than follow me around like a lost puppy after I fuck him.”

“You really are the most arrogant person on the planet,” she said with wonder.

“Have you met everybody on the planet?” he countered. “I’m not arrogant, I’m just honest. I’m good in bed. Humans are somehow compelled to want those who don’t want them. Who’s to say why? But it creates a lot of…clingers.”

Cara snorted. “Do you have any friends?”

Drake leaned forward, dropping his chin onto his hand. “No. Will you be my friend?” he asked, batting his lashes.

Cara mirrored his position, before saying, “I would rather gargle razor blades." After a minute, adding, "You know you come across as a fucking lunatic, right? Like you give off massive serial killer vibes. You might want to work on that.”

Drake frowned, watching her wander to the other end of the bar to help a customer. Shit. Did he give off serial killer vibes? That wasn’t good. Professional killers couldn’t look like serial killers. That was too suspicious. He locked eyes on Remi who was no longer looking at him, but leaned into another girl’s space, too close for Drake’s liking.

He crossed the room, grabbing Remi’s upper arm and hauling him easily to his feet, dragging him from the bar with little resistance. Once they were outside, standing in a pool of light from the street lamp overhead, Remi wrenched his arm away. “What are you doing?”

“I need you,” Drake said.

Remi took a small step back, gazing at him in shock. “What?”

Drake sighed. “I need your help with something.”

Remi’s face fell. “With what?”

“Cara says I look like a serial killer.”

Remi gave him a blank stare. “You dragged me away from my friends because the bartender said you remind her of a serial killer?”

“I can’t exactly look like a serial killer and be a serial killer can I?”

“How is this my problem?”

“You’re my handler. Handle it.”

Remi stared at him, mouth gaping. Drake couldn’t stop himself from contemplating pushing him to his knees and putting that perfect mouth to good use.

Remi snapped his jaw shut almost like he could read Drake’s mind, waiting a beat or two before saying, “I’m going back to my friends.”

“I’m your friend.”

Remi snorted. “On what planet are we friends? When you’re using me to get your classwork done? When you’re making fun of me to your real friends? When you’re pretending someone like you has the capacity to want someone like me?” Remi asked, giving him a look Drake couldn’t quite decipher.

Drake took a step closer, forcing Remi to look up at him. He was so small. So delicate. So fucking pretty. Drake wrapped his arms around him and dragged him close, his body taking notice when Remi’s lips landed at the base of his throat. He quickly turned his head and attempted to wriggle free but Drake remained steadfast.

“What are you doing?” Remi snapped, his squirming increasing. “Let me go.”

Drake rested his chin on Remi’s head. “No.”

Remi stiffened in his arms, tone indignant. “What? Why?”

That was a great question. Why? Because he didn’t like losing and Remi seemed to become more and more immune to Drake’s charm every day. But he didn’t say that. “Cause you’re warm and it's cold and you seem like you need comforting.”

“I need comforting?” Remi said. “I was minding my business when you dragged me into your drama because some girl—”

“Cara the bartender,” Drake corrected.

Remi stopped short. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Refer to people as things?”

Drake frowned. “I do not.”

Remi gave him a look. “Cara the bartender, Payton your roommate, Shepherd the teacher, It’s like you're casting a movie and we’re all just playing parts in it.”

Life was a movie. Drake was the star. Hell, Drake was the role. He wasn’t a real person. Drake didn’t know how to see people as more than their roles in society. He lacked the capacity to…bond, to understand the complexities of human emotions. He had no choice but to assign people roles and act accordingly. It was the only way he knew how to function.

“Life is a movie and I’m the main character,” he said. “Everyone else is just a supporting role at best. Most are extras.”

“What am I?” Remi asked, before snapping his mouth shut.

That was the question. Most days Remi was an adorable nuisance, following Drake around and pestering him to get their work done so they weren’t both in trouble. Some days, he was Drake’s favorite distraction, other times he was the fantasy Drake jerked off to in the shower. It varied from moment to moment.

“You’re my quirky sidekick,” Drake teased. “Nah, not a sidekick. My valet. My manservant. The Alfred to my Batman.” Remi tried once more to wriggle from his grip, forcing Drake to hold tighter. “Stop fighting me.”

“You’re such a fucking narcissist,” Remi said, voice filled with wonder.

“I’m not a narcissist.” When Remi scoffed, Drake conceded, “Fine, I’m not just a narcissist. I have an attachment disorder. I don’t know how to see people as three dimensional beings.” He gave an exaggerated pout. “I’m broken. You should feel sorry for me.”

Remi barked out a laugh that sounded bitter even to Drake. “I feel sorry for me. You’ve turned me into a fucking human comfort object like some dirty stuffed rabbit dragged around by a toddler. I didn’t ask for this.”

That was such a weirdly specific analogy, that Drake was momentarily distracted from Remi’s statement. His lie. He walked Remi from the pool of light, into the shadowy recesses  of the building, pushing him against the stucco wall, before bracing his forearm over his head to lean down into his space. “Now that’s not the whole truth, is it?”

Remi’s demeanor shifted, his hostile expression slipping into uncertainty, his tongue darting out to lick over his lower lip. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Drake dipped his head, running his nose along Remi’s soft cheek. “You follow me around.” He brushed his lips along his forehead. “You stare up at me with those big green eyes,” His fingers found the hem of Remi’s shirt, teasing them up under the fabric until his palm was flat against his chest, his skin blissfully warm. “You constantly put yourself in my way.” Drake kissed the spot on his neck where his pulse pounded, letting his lips linger so he could feel the way his heart raced. “When we’re like this, I can feel how bad you want me. You’re practically hyperventilating. It’s so fucking hot.”

“Fuck you,” Remi said, breathlessly.

Drake’s tongue shot out to lick the salt from his skin. “I would. Hell, I will. Right herer, right now, if you think you won’t catch feelings. Is that what you want? Would that make you stop letting girls you don’t even like hang on you and whisper in your ear?”

Remi’s hands were fisting in Drake’s sweater. “What do you care if girl’s whisper in my ear?” he asked.

“I told you, I’m the main character. I don’t need you distracted. You belong to me until this program ends. That’s not up for debate.”

Remi dropped his head back against the wall, meeting Drake’s gaze defiantly. “Except I don’t care who’s whispering in your ear. So it sounds like you belong to me, not the other way around. No?”

Drake grinned. He loved when Remi fought back…just a little. Just enough to let Drake know he hadn’t broken him yet. It made it all so much more fun.

Remi tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge. Drake dipped his head to kiss him, but he turned his face away. He never let Drake kiss him. Drake used to find it amusing, but now it simply baffled him.

Remi gave him a hostile look, irritation leaching into his voice. “What are we doing? What do you want? Do you want me to tell you that you don’t act like a serial killer? I can’t. Because you’re fucking weird. You make the guy from American Psycho seem normal in comparison. In a school full of psychopaths, you’re the fucking weirdest one of all. Happy now?”

Drake didn’t release Remi, just pondered his assessment. Was he the weirdest of them all? He had never seen American Psycho but he assumed it wasn’t a flattering comparison. “Is there a way for me to fix it?”

Remi gave him an exasperated look. “I have no idea. I’m not your therapist, dude. Why don’t you ask one of the many instructors we have who are trained for this sort of thing? I would like to go back to my drink and my friends.”

Drake put a hand on his chest once more. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Remi thrust his jaw forward, his mouth a hard line. “But I’m done with you.”

Drake’s chest tightened at the thought of letting Remi go back into the bar. He needed more. He dipped his head, burying his face against Remi’s throat, inhaling deeply, eyes rolling at the scent of expensive cologne and cheap deodorant and something that was just Remi’s natural scent. God, the smell of him went straight to Drake’s dick every time.

He kissed the spot there, then sucked at it until Remi gave a shuddery sigh. That was better. He pulled him closer, sliding his hands down loose jeans to cup his bare ass, dragging him against him.

Remi made a startled sound, almost like a squeak, the sound triggering that near feral part of Drake’s brain. He ignored the younger boy’s lips, knowing it would shut him down immediately, opting instead for his jaw, his throat, the shell of his ear.

Remi wasn’t fighting him anymore. His soft hands were sliding up under his shirt, blunt nails dragging along the muscles of his back as he ground himself against Drake’s thigh, making those high pitched sounds that made him want to force him up against the wall and fuck him until he screamed.

Drake took Remi’s arm, then guided his hand to his zipper. He didn’t resist, just undid Drake’s belt before shoving his hand into the waistband of his pants. Drake groaned as Remi’s warm palm closed around his already aching cock. “Fuck, that’s it.”

Remi jerked him with no finesse whatsoever, his grip awkward, his rhythm hindered by the tightened fabric, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all, just Remi’s hand on him was enough to have him close. Maybe Drake had been this close since he saw that bitch whispering in Remi’s ear, but he’d never admit that, he’d never tell him that. Ever.

Drake didn’t say anything else, was afraid if he did, Remi might come to his senses and run away. Instead, he focused on the way Remi rode his thigh as he mouthed at his neck, biting and sucking until he left his mark. The world needed to know Remi was his…at least until graduation.

Remi cried out suddenly and Drake felt the wet heat of his release seeping through his jeans. Fuck, had he really just gotten himself off just rubbing on him? Christ that was hot. He wanted to kiss him, wanted to slant their mouths together and fuck his tongue between his lips, wanted to know what he tasted like. Shit. Shit Shit.

He growled against Remi’s neck as he came, still working himself into his tightened fist until it became unbearable. Before Drake was ready, Remi pulled his hand free and wiped it on Drake’s shirt, then shoved him hard, catching him off guard. It was only then he realized his hands were still squeezing Remi’s ass.

As soon as he released him, Remi ducked from beneath his arm, then turned to face him, walking backwards towards the bar’s front entrance. “I’m done here. I’m going back inside with my friends. Don’t follow me.”

Drake grinned, looking down at the wet spot on Remi’s jeans, watching him stumble as he realized what Drake was looking at. Remi quickly untucked his shirt, letting it hide their sins. Drake didn’t have that luxury. He was covered in more DNA than a crime scene. But it didn’t matter. He was done there.

He pulled his car keys from his pocket, swinging them around his finger as he made his way to the black Aston Martin parked right under the street light.

He’d let Remi have the rest of the night with his friends. He’d gotten what he’d wanted.

At least for now.