“Your dad’s family are the mad ones.” It wasn’t the garrulous Tomlinsons—DJ’s Jamaican side of the family—that Rake had any issue with. The Armstrong side—the English side of the family—were boisterous sports lovers who were obsessed with football to the point of insanity. Saturdays were sacrosanct in the Armstrong-Tomlinson household.
Rake now point-blank refused to visit on weekends during the season. The cheers and jeers lasted far longer than ninety minutes and made him want to crawl out of his skin.
“Oh,” DJ said. “In that case, carry on. They’re all nutters.”
“How nuts?” Van asked.
DJ flapped his hand. “Not in the way you’re thinking. They follow the church of football. They’re supportive of me and Rake.”
“That’s cool,” Van said. For a second, Rake feared she might ask him about his own family. But she must have sensed his growing discomfort with the topic, as she asked them all if they’d played the latest big indie game release instead. An easier subject, for sure.
Rake reached his hand over the table and grabbed DJ’s, needing the contact. DJ’s blindingly white smile when Rake took his hand had his heart ready to burst from his chest.
“Ugh, you two are too freaking sweet. Stop it now or I’m gonna puke,” David said. Rake shot him a scowl.
DJ rubbed his thumb against Rake’s knuckles. “Babe, he’s kidding.”
“Obviously,” David said. “You’re just making me jealous. I want a Rake.”
“I’m taken.”
“Not you specifically. A Rake type.”
Rake glared at David, but DJ laughed. “Good. Cause you’re not getting my man.”
“Ooh, possessive much?” David said, eyebrows doing something wild on his forehead that Rake couldn’t quite decipher.
“Maybe a little,” DJ said.
“Just as long as you don’t start one of those cringe couple Instagram accounts,” Van said. “That would be a step too far.”
Sophie laughed louder than the joke deserved, and Rake noted how Van fluttered her eyelashes in response. Huh. He wondered if that had been going on for a while.
Rake watched as DJ picked up the bread roll he’d been ignoring, tearing a bit off the end and putting it in his mouth. A nibble wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing.
DJ huffed when he caught Rake eyeing him.
Rake didn’t care for the sass, but he didn’t mind having an excuse to torture DJ a little when they returned to the club later in the week. He’d make it good for both of them—focus on getting DJ out of his head.
Rake needed it too, especially as he thought again about Shaun. Rake hoped there would be no further incidents, but if it came to it, he wouldn’t mind getting the chance to have a prepared word with Lawrence.
Friday night really couldn’t come any sooner.
Rake strode into the club, DJ practically vibrating out of his skin beside him. Rake had been teasing DJ all week about what he was in for that evening. Whilst Rake took care to not show it outwardly, he was as keen as DJ to let off some steam. Rake had been wound tight all day at work with deadlines, errors, and his incompetent manager all conspiring to test his patience.
He needed this.
The scent of leather and latex filling his nostrils. The groans of the other patrons. The sight of their bodies—some covered from head to toe, others fully nude, and everything in between.
Imperfections were all around him. Dynamics of every type. People of all genders. There was space for everyone here.
There were few places other than the club that Rake felt so accepted. It eased him into the right headspace, and he settled into his skin. Here, he didn’t struggle to express himself, or get frustrated when people didn’t act like he expected. Here, there were rules.
Except, of course, when people broke them.
Rake searched the main area to see if Shaun and Lawrence were there. He didn’t know how he’d interact with them if they were. Part of him wanted to seek Lawrence out and tell him exactly what he considered of his behaviour.
And Shaun… Well. Rake wanted to see Shaun for another reason entirely. DJ wasn’t the only one distracted by thoughts of the sub who’d looked up at Rake with desperation in his eyes. Not the nice kind of desperation, either—not the kind that Rake would wring out of DJ that evening.
