squirrellysemantics: (drake)
[personal profile] squirrellysemantics

Wow.  I should be doing so many other things right now.

Title: blankeyed in the rain
Fandom: Uncharted
Spoilers! for UC3, UC2
Characters:  Talbot, Nathan Drake
Rating:  NC 17
Warnings:  drug use with dubious consent
All these things are owned by Naughty Dog. Except for the bits about penis.

There must be a reason that it's Talbot that Nate chooses to chase.  Occurs during that scene.  You know the one.
Comments and feedback always appreciated, especially for such a niche fandom.



Policemen on patrol had Talbot passing a hand over the line of his vest.   The pistol tucked so inelegantly into his waistband wasn’t meant to fire bullets but it would draw unwanted attention.  The supply of darts in his pockets would be even harder to explain. Best not to ruffle up the natives in this miserable little backwater of a country. 

Not now. 

Not while the hunt was on.

The fox they hunted was proving to be a wily one, even in his half-mad state.  It was no surprise Sullivan and the woman lost Drake within seconds in this crowded mess of a market, not with their quarry bolting as soon as the dart had delivered its payload.   The labyrinth they found themselves in didn’t make the task of finding the man any easier. 

No matter. 

A curt nod of the head from Talbot set his hounds splintering off- a pack to the left, another to the right, a pair following at his heels. 

He must find Drake.

He would find Drake.

Patience was wearing thin.  Marlowe would be most displeased if –ah!  There.  A flash of filth, a distinctly Western shirt stained with grime and sweat; its owner stumbling drunkenly down the shadows right into a blind alley.

Talbot permitted himself a smile.  Fortes fortuna iuvat, does it not?

It was almost… sad, really.  Drake looked a desperate wretch trying to manage his way out of this corner. Hands and feet scrambled against the wall’s surface for purchase but his body was too far divorced from reality to manage it.  “Gotta … gotta move,” the man babbled to himself as he tried to climb again and again.  “Keep moving.”

A surge of adrenaline was the only explanation when Drake launched himself upwards, catching onto an impossible ledge with the smallest fraction of his fingertips.  The stupid brute at Talbot’s side made a lunge for the man, though it was obvious Drake was going nowhere.  That precarious hold was lost and they both tumbled to the ground. 

The errant punch thrown by Talbot’s man was a foolish opening gambit and did little to slow Drake down, so the man tried a bear hug that was just as useless.  Goodness, so hard finding good help these days.

“Get offa me!” came the feral growl and Drake’s drug fueled rage had him breaking free, flipping the man over his shoulder easily. 

Unfortunately for his man, the interceding wall managed to break more things besides his fall.

“Are you finished?” Talbot sneered at his brute, who fell back clutching his shattered nose, the front of his shirt stained by a river of blood. 

Just what they needed. Bloodied foot soldiers dragging a raving lunatic through open streets.

Talbot shot a hard glance at his remaining man.  “Leave Drake to me.  No one is to enter.” His words were mildly spoken but thinly veiled menace made clear the consequences of failure.  “Understood?”

A grunt and his man shuffled off with his pain blind compatriot to guard the alley’s entrance.

Talbot took his time, simply watching Drake bumble back and forth, hands waving wildly at swarms both real and imaginary.  How delightful it was to see none of London’s smirk and swagger.  But Talbot had to remain vigilant.  The bastard wouldn’t have the chance to make a fool of him again.

“Drake,” he whispered, hoping some softness would soothe the man’s savagery.  “You must calm yourself.”

Piercing blue eyes were on him, fever bright and pupils blown wide.  “No.  It can’t be... can’t be you.  It just can’t!”

Simply amazing.  Drake was quite the fighter.  The dose he’d received would have brought a lesser man to his knees by now.

“You’ve nothing to fear from me,” Talbot murmured, inching closer as he reached in his pockets. No chance to load another shot into the pistol. Just a scratch from a dart should bring this beast down.  “I’m your friend.”

Drake was utterly lost, handsome face twisted up in anguish. “Then why… why’d you do it? Why?”

Talbot schooled himself into impassivity as he drew nearer.  How fascinating.  Usually subjects were fairly tractable at this stage, yet still Drake resisted. 

Try to keep it simple.  Keep him distracted. 

“I had no choice,” he offered, unsure and uncaring what the conversation meant if it got him what he wanted.  “They made me do it.  I never meant you any harm.”

It was a shock to see tears clearing a path down Drake’s dirty cheeks.  So much of a shock that Talbot was completely unprepared for the lunge that followed.

“You lying son of a bitch!” Drake managed to choke out as they grappled. 

Talbot tried to free the arm trapped between them but Drake was absurdly strong.

“Drake!” he called out, adding a hint of alarm that was not completely unfounded. Best to use the soft hearted sop’s own instincts against him. “Please stop!  You’re hurting me!”

How easily the lie rolled off his tongue. Drake sagged into him, broad frame so heavy it became a challenge to keep them both standing.

“I’m sorry.” The distraught whisper was in Talbot’s ear over and over.  “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” Talbot added, struggling to free the dart from his pocket.  “Why don’t you try to relax?”

“I never knew,” Drake stammered, still fighting the suggestion and –shit!- the man was clinging to Talbot like a leech.  “Whatever made you hate me that much…. I’d take it all back.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.  Talbot struggled to free himself with more vigor.  The last thing he needed was to be Drake’s personal confessor. 

“Nathan,” he tried anew, fighting to keep his measured tones. “You need to let me go.”

“I can’t!” Drake met him eye to poorly focused eye, a snarl on his lips.  “I won’t!”

Talbot tried not to flinch, but the blow he was expecting never came. 

Instead there were arms around him.  Drake’s stubbled cheek touched to his own with a whisper in his ear that was raw and fully haggard.

“Miss you, Harry.”

Oh. 

Oh, my.  

Marlow’s little dossier on Drake made mention of a Harold Flynn. Circumstances of the man’s death were murky but Drake had certainly been involved. 

How fascinating. Certainly, there had been no details of anything quite so… intimate in nature.

Life was just full of pleasant little surprises, wasn’t it?  This warranted further investigation.

“Don’t lie to me, Nathan,” Talbot murmured, smooth as silk. “You’ve forgotten all about me.”

The embrace turned crushing.  Drake’s answer was less than confident. “That’s not true!”  

This was going to be far too easy.  “You could have helped me, Drake.  But you didn’t. Why didn’t you help me?”

Drake faltered against him.   Fists twisted up their misery against the small of his back.  “I couldn’t…  It was impossible!  You…”

Oh, the conscience of an honest man made for a wonderful plaything. He pressed on, moving in for the kill.  “You could have found a way to save me if it was what you truly wanted. You always did.”  

“Stop!”  Drake curled against him, shaking in earnest as he crumbled into tiny pieces.  “Please.” 

Triumph made his blood sing. Talbot managed to tuck a finger under the man’s chin.

Always nice to appreciate one’s handiwork. How astonishing it was to see Drake deconstructed like this; that thickened skin worn down to the bone. 

How beautiful.

Trembling and yielding, so pliable, not from drugs or violence, but from torture of his own making.

The dart in Talbot’s pocket was no longer of any interest.  It seemed one could ask for anything right now and Drake would give it freely. 

Time to test that theory.

“Prove it,” Talbot murmured.  He offered up a caress and nearly crowed to the heavens when Drake nuzzled into it.

“Prove to me that I wasn't just cast aside,” he commanded, taking care to watch Drake’s every move.  

A hesitant tongue tried to wet lips that were cracked and dried from a brutal midday sun but there was no moisture to give. 

Talbot stepped out of Drake’s loosened hold, his pulse pounding with the desire to make one… last… push.  “We were friends and more once, before the betrayal.  But who betrayed who?”

“Enough!”

Under any other circumstances, Talbot would be furious at being thrown up against a wall, but this? This he could forgive. The mouth on his was tentative, the kiss far too chaste for his liking.

“What was that?” he breathed in contempt, feeling Drake’s frantic panting against him.  “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

Floodgates blew wide open. All hesitation was gone. Drake turned into a monster of seeking hands with a hungry mouth and-

Good God.  What had he unleashed?

Callused fingers carded a grip in his hair and Talbot could feel every savage tug, every root nearly yanked from his skull as Drake forced his head back to better bare his throat.  Teeth and tongue laved at his adam’s apple as if Drake was a man starving and skin was the only food to sustain him.  

Talbot was hardly going to stand idly by and returned the favor with roaming hands of his own.

He was beyond pleased with what he found.

Of course the man was fit. Drake would have to be to fight and run and climb the way he did.  It was a shame such a magnificent body was kept hidden under layers of inelegant attire.

Perhaps Drake didn’t have to die once his usefulness to Marlowe was at an end.  Perhaps Talbot could keep him as a pet. 

One could only hope.

A laugh escaped him from the desperate teeth scraping at his jaw.

How delightful.

Talbot finally countered with a move of his own, fingers digging into Drake’s exquisite backside to better grind into the desperate man.  That earned Talbot a moan.  That moan was completely ripped from the gutter and quite simply perfect.

He needed to hear that again.  It was a challenge to fumble with that ridiculously American belt buckle but Talbot only needed a little more room to get what he wanted. Skin tight jeans loosened, permitting a brief feel for a half-hard cock which got him-

A sigh.  Soft and surprised and so, so pretty.

Mmm.  He’d thought he’d simply have Drake pleasure him to pay for the humiliation he’d caused in London but this opened a whole new realm of possibilities.  He might never get to dig his teeth into that soft underbelly again. Now was his chance to make the bastard dance for him.

Talbot reached for him and dance he did. 

Strong fingers dug into Talbot’s shoulders and Drake fairly keened at the brisk strokes that brought him to full arousal.  There was no tenderness here and Drake asked for none, bucking, pumping into the hand that worked him. 

The sounds.  The sounds Talbot could wring from the man were the height of depravity- spectacularly unclean- and Talbot had a savage grin for each one of them.    What power he quite literally held in his hands. 

Even still, he had to twist the knife.

“Was I not good enough for you?” he whispered to the head bowed against his shoulder.  “Is that why I had to die?”

He quickened the pace and there was a groan that could have been one of pain or pleasure.

Or both.

Drake strained against him, sweat soaking into Talbot’s coat, trying to draw away yet returning for more. 

There was a break in the rhythm and Drake’s hips were too far gone.  Teeth worked on that luscious bottom lip as Drake fought his own body.

“You’re ready, aren’t you?” Talbot murmured with a smile and it grew wider at the lack of response.  “Then come.  Come for me.”

The words were barely uttered before the cock in his grip twitched as if touched by lightning.  His strokes were unrelenting.  Drake lost all measure of control, jolt after jolt going through him as Talbot wrung out every last drop.

Oh, yes.

Alchemy was a powerful force.  Fluids from the body had their own special magic.  Some were more special than others.  The energies men had within them were finite, portioned out in one’s lifetime, spilled out in the tiniest of increments.

The Chinese called it jing.  Vitality.  Preserve enough of it and one could be rendered immortal. 

And Drake was a man who had more than enough vitality to share.

There was a wealth of flavors in the fluids painting his palm.

Not at all steady on his feet, Drake sat slackjawed, fully absorbed in Talbot carefully cleaning his mess.

Preoccupied himself, Talbot jumped in his skin as Drake suddenly sank away from him.  What was he-

Scarred and battered hands struggled with unfamiliar fastenings. A mouth followed the shape of him through his trousers.

Yes

Yes.

He hadn’t realized he’d said that last aloud until impossibly blue eyes looked up at him in question.

“That’s it,” he commanded, settling a hand atop a surprisingly soft head of hair.  “Earn your forgiveness.”

The shaggy head dipped, returning to its plan.  Even in this state, Drake made quick work to free Talbot to open air.

It had been so ridiculously hot that the feel of Drake’s mouth on him made everything cooler.  That sharp tongue got down to business, running up and down the shaft of him and he hardened with each lick.  Not too surprising that he already had a pearl waiting for the man worshiping his cock and Drake teased it out of him, poking, prodding to clean all of it with amazing thoroughness. 

Drake was no innocent, taking him in with comfortable ease.  His work was slow and methodical, hands assisting here and there to tease and tickle, playing with delicate skin with no fear or trepidation.

This sweetness was not what Talbot wanted. He grabbed a fistful of scalp, eager to be fucking that mouth and Drake opened up for him.

How obliging. 

Talbot pounded away again and again, savoring it so much more than he thought he would.  No resistance, just eager compliance.  No need for suction, it was that tongue artfully curling around him, trapping him against the roof of a willing mouth.  He willed himself away from the edge but it was the noises that did it- little mewls and moans that Talbot couldn’t ignore traveling straight up his spine. 

A rough little groan completely caught him off guard.  He had a cry of his own and he emptied himself, pulsing down an eager throat.

Breathing became impossible in the stifling heat.   Shit.  Shit.

Reason came back in one big rush and Talbot dragged a dazed Drake up to meet him.  Another kiss.  Not for any post-coital affection, though Drake was no less responsive.   Talbot sucked and licked, catching any of what was left of his own essence.

A fool once more to give Drake the chance for such power over him.

Long lashes fluttered open and blue eyes went wide with the first hint of clarity. “You… you’re not Harry-”

Drake battled against his torpor, unsteady fingers clenching into unsteady fists.

But Talbot was already there, plunging another dart into an unprotected neck.

“Sleep!” Talbot shouted in haste. “You are tired and you must sleep!”

The slump into unconsciousness was more than Talbot could have hoped for. 

With a little more of it, Drake would have no memory of this encounter.  If not….

A small shiver passed through him at what this man might do. 

Enough time had been wasted.   He carefully rearranged disheveled clothing into a hint of respectability.

They had to move.  Marlowe was waiting.

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July 2012

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