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In Good Time

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"We suck at being friends."

They are naked on Adam's bed. There are no pillows or covers left on it. A pair of briefs swings gently from the light fixture. When Drake tries to turn his head to look at Adam, his hair sticks to the sheet. That never even happened when they were dating.

"We really do," he finally replies.


They to go see Avatar, and Adam's on a diet again so he tries to steer them past the concession stand.

"Uh uh," says Drake, steering him right back again. "I demand Raisinettes."

"Buy your own!" Adam says, but he's already getting out his wallet.

"You owe me," Drake reminds him. "Remember when we were in that diner and you had ten bucks less than you thought you did and I had to pay for your burger?"

"That was like, oh my God," Adam protests. "A hundred years ago. I didn't even really know you!"

Drake pouts at him. "And yet I paid for your food out of the goodness of my heart."

"It was out of the goodness of something," Adam says, leering.

"And you," Drake goes on, ignoring him, "said, 'thanks man, I owe you.' Time to pay up, mister."

"Jesus fuck," says Adam.

Drake points at him. "Louisianans never forget."

"That's elephants!"

"Raisinettes," Drake repeats, speaking clearly. "And popcorn."

Adam grumbles, and they shuffle forward in line.


Adam says he doesn't want anything to eat, just gets a diet soda. Except then he keeps stealing from Drake so it's almost all gone before the previews are even over.

"This is so awful," Adam groans, and shovels another handful of popcorn into his mouth. "Oh my God, I hate you. Take it away."

"Okay," says Drake, and moves the food onto the empty seat on the other side of him. Adam sighs, heartbroken, and re-adjusts the 3D glasses on his nose.

Drake does the same in response. He made the really stupid decision not to wear contacts today, so his 3D glasses are perched precariously on the end of his nose, over his regular ones underneath.

Adam says, "Draaaake. Give me another Raisinette."

"They still have calories in them when they're someone else's, you know." Drake fishes in his bag and hands Adam a packet of sugar-free gum. "Here. Minty and delicious and won't make your ass get any bigger."

"You know, that's what I love about you," Adam says dryly. "You always make me feel like I'm perfect just the way I am."

"Not my job anymore, princess," says Drake, and immediately regrets it, but Adam just laughs and tucks the gum away in his jacket pocket. Then he leans over Drake and takes the Raisinettes back.

"My ass is amazing," he says firmly.

Drake doesn't say anything. They both know he agrees.

The movie is amazing too, and afterwards Adam brings Drake home to his place.

"I thought I'd put your painting here," he says, and indicates the space over the couch. "Pride of place, right?"

Drake stares at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"What?" Adam wrinkles his brow. "This way everyone will see it!"

"It's opposite the windows!" Drake says, pointing. "This room is south-facing! Do you know what direct sunlight does to oils? Do you have any idea?"

Adam blinks. "Evidently not."

"It murders them!" Drake yells, resisting the weird urge to yank Adam's drapes closed, protecting a painting that isn't even there yet. "Oh my God. I did not work for hours on that thing just for you to reduce it all to sepia-toned dust in five minutes."

"I'm...sorry?" Adam says, and then hurries over when Drake scowls at him. "I'm sorry," he repeats, cupping Drake's elbows in his hands. He kisses Drake high up on his cheekbone under his eye. "You pick the place, hmm?"

So they trail around Adam's house for a while – Drake explains why they can't hang it here, because it's too damp, or there, because someone might knock it off the wall. Eventually they settle on the otherwise sad and naked wall in the wide hallway, directly opposite Adam's bedroom. There's a skylight, but quite a few feet down the way, and besides, Drake says,

"This way you'll see it after you get up, and right before you go to bed."

"You're a genius," says Adam, and wraps himself around Drake from behind, warm and tight. They stand there together for a while, admiring the soon-to-be-adorned wall. Adam presses his face into Drake's hair, then lays three kisses down the side of his neck.

Drake gives him a look, as best he can without really turning his head. He sees Adam's mouth turn up at the corners until he's wearing a huge, cheeky, winning smile. "Friends," Drake reminds him.

"Very close friends," Adam counters. Drake thinks yeah, okay, turns in Adam's arms and wraps his own around Adam's neck.

The problem is – the problem is, Drake thinks, as the clothes come off and everything gets sweaty and blurred; the problem is that they're so fucking good at this part. They're not – Drake isn't pining away in a tower for Adam, or anything. He doesn't get a chance – they talk on the phone every day and Adam is religious about seeing his friends whenever he has thirty seconds to spare. Why shouldn't they enjoy this together? Wouldn't be the first time Drake had a friend with benefits - except, except, his stupid inner voice whispers. Drake closes his ears, and spreads his legs.

They don't fuck, but when Drake takes Adam into his mouth, Adam moans like he hasn't been sucked in years. His fingers wind tight in Drake's hair and he makes it last a really long time, so that Drake's jaw aches heavily in that good, used way by the time they're done.

Afterwards, Adam kisses Drake's shoulder. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm totally not."

Drake laughs and knocks their heads together. "Seems like you really needed that."

"Yeah." Adam's eyes are closed. His fingertips wander along the inside of Drake's thigh. When he's like this Drake wants to wrap him up and hide him away – ridiculous, when it's the world that needs to get ready for Adam, not the other way around.

Drake leaves after. Well, he uses Adam's shower first. He might be easy for the boy, but he's not a skank. When he gets home, Adam calls him.

"I mean, we are good friends," Adam says without bothering to say hello. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," says Drake. Samson scuffles up onto the couch, into his lap. "I know what you meant."

"Well," says Adam. "Okay, then."

"Okay, boo," says Drake.


Drake does not, contrary to popular belief, spend his time listening to A Loaded Smile on repeat and crying into his Mai Tai. He does not drop everything the minute Adam calls – it isn't Drake's life that has him in a different time zone every fifteen minutes, it's easier to fit a friend in. He likes Alisan and Ferras, he had fun watching them the other night. He would have gone whether Adam called him or not. Of course he needs to take his painting over to Adam's house tonight – Adam wouldn't hang it right. Drake would do the same for any client.

The fact that he's only justifying all this to himself, and nobody else has said a word about it to him, is neither here nor there. Sometimes he wishes someone would say something, because Drake has a whole speech ready about how wrong they are.

"You came!" Adam says when he opens the door, beaming as if there was any chance Drake wouldn't.

They get the painting hung first, and Adam raves about it for a while – Drake lets him, and enjoys it - then makes tea. Then he wants to show Drake everything he bought that afternoon, during what was apparently a very successful shopping trip.

"Not that you have any taste," he says, shaking out a pair of pants for Drake's inspection. "But still."

Drake rolls his eyes, and calls the pants ugly, which they are, but Adam kind of makes them look good. Adam models a few more bits and pieces for him, then digs something out of a little striped paper bag and says, "Oh! I picked this up for you."

He hands it over. It's a wrist cuff – cracked, old leather, fraying, with two heavy buttons that look like they must have taken hours to finish. It's beautiful.

"I love it," says Drake, and snaps it on. Adam smiles happily, and goes back to his treasures.

"I found a skirt for Danielle, too," he says. "But she might need to get it taken in."

They hang out for a while – Adam switches around some of the stuff in his suitcase for his trip tomorrow, and Drake tells him about his latest commission. That turns into dinner on Adam's couch, which turns into watching TV on Adam's couch, which turns into necking on Adam's couch.

"This isn't – I don't want you to think I'm using you," Adam says between kisses. "You know, come over, bring me a painting, now shut up and take off your pants."

"You bought the painting," Drake reminds him. "For a lot more than anyone else would have paid. Maybe I'm using you. For bracelets."

"Shut up," says Adam. "And take off your pants."

This time they do fuck, and it's so good – Drake forgets, somewhere in the middle of it, it's so good that he forgets. He thinks maybe Adam forgets too, the way he holds Drake so close, the way his kisses are so warm. Maybe not. Maybe he's like this with everyone, all the others. If there are others. Adam doesn't tell him, and Drake doesn't ask.

"You could stay," Adam says, a little wistful. It's over and Adam's lying heavy on top of him, solid weight easing Drake down into the couch.

Drake smiles at him. "You're getting on a plane at the crack of dawn, remember? I don't need you interrupting my beauty sleep with your jet-set lifestyle."

"You don't need beauty sleep," Adam says sweetly, but he lets Drake get up after one more kiss.

"Drake," says Adam, when Drake's heading back to his car. When Drake turns to him, he looks - not sad, exactly, more...earnest. "I need for us to be friends. I need to not ruin that too."

Drake goes back to him and wraps him up in a hug. Adam clings a little bit. Drake says, "You haven't ruined anything. I'm happy, you're happy. We're happy, right?"

"Yeah," says Adam, like it's the truth, which it is. "We are."

"So. If it's to be it'll be," Drake says, and kisses Adam's cheek. "This is good for now."

"Okay," says Adam, much happier now. They kiss on the mouth once, twice. A third time. "Love you."

"Love you too," Drake says honestly. "Good flight tomorrow, ok? Don't let Oprah beat you down too hard."

"As if she could," says Adam, and puts on his fierce face and does a snap. He holds it for about three seconds before they both crack up.

The light glints off the buttons on Drake's wrist cuff as he drives away. The leather feels scratched and good against his skin.

By the time he gets home he has one tweet and two text messages from Adam. The last one says, So I'll call you when I get a second, and Drake replies, :), because he knows that Adam will.