Their Property (Four Mercenaries 3)

Drake could sense an approaching headache, but the knock on the door made him rise.

No. He should keep his mouth shut.

The old-fashioned room had a carpet that hadn’t been changed in the past twenty years, and the same ugly flower pattern on both the bedcovers and curtains. It wasn’t an appropriate place to discuss important issues. Who was he even kidding? Tank was under heavy stress, and dealing with his old friend maybe, possibly crushing on him was the last thing he needed.

Drake moved like a puppet and opened the door, inhaling a big gulp of air scented with the cologne he liked so much.

Tank moved in like… well, a tank. He pushed past Drake and shut the door behind him. “Jesus fucking Christ. It’s nice to see a friendly face. Ben’s a nutjob.”

Drake locked the door, studying Tank’s tall, muscular form as he took off the jacket he came in, revealing a rather tight long-sleeve. It was so strange that he could both adore a guy slim, twinky, and beautiful like Clover, and also appreciate the bulldozer of a man that was Tank.

“You look like you need a drink,” he said, even though he’d just decided not to make things weird. On the way here, when he’d been still undecided about how to proceed, he’d gotten a small bottle of whisky, but maybe if Tank was so frustrated, Drake could find an alternative use for it other than giving himself courage.

Tank stepped up to him and hugged Drake like he often did. Naturally, without awkwardness, yet Drake went stiff as a log and remained so until Tank backed off and sat by a tiny table. “You’re reading my mind. How’s everyone doing?”

Drake exhaled and poured the whisky into two red cups he’d purchased at the gas station. He sat in the other chair and offered the liquor to Tank. “They’re well. Clover’s back to training, Boar’s feeling better every day, and Pyro… well, he’d trying his best,” he said, trying not to flinch when Tank’s knee brushed against his own under the table.

All these tiny things that used to be so natural now blew out of proportion in his mind.

Tank rested his elbow on the tabletop and took a gulp of the alcohol. “Fuck, this feels good. Can’t have any on the job. I’m happy Clover’s back on track with training. We’ll need him, but also… you know, I want him to feel confident.”

Drake smiled, remembering their reunion earlier. “Yeah. He’s getting better. Hadn’t forgotten any of the moves I taught him. But he misses you,” he said, sipping the whisky, though its flavor made him imagine what Tank’s lips tasted like, and his thoughts briefly strayed where they shouldn’t.

Tank wiggled his eyebrows, his gaze intense when it met Drake’s. “Give him a blowjob from me.”

Drake gave a strangled laugh and downed the whole shot of liquor in one go, but it barely burned down his throat, not even close to soothing his nerves. “Sure, though he says I’m the best at it, so he’ll know the difference.”

Tank frowned. “He did not say that.”

Spurred on by the alcohol, Drake showed off his split tongue. “He did.”

“I’ll believe it when I hear it.” But Tank cocked his head at Drake, drawing attention to the elegant shape of his skull, which was only enhanced by the crew cut. “Unless you give me a blowjob from him.”

Drake’s brain backed up. Did Tank just ask him for head?

Did he?

Drake wasn’t usually the kind of guy who got flustered, but he didn’t know how to handle this situation. If it was a joke, he might be in for the most humiliating ending to this meeting, but if Tank was serious then...

“As I said, you’d feel the difference right away,” he said and averted his eyes, pouring himself a full cup of the whisky while his skin went aflame, and it felt as if the scorch had overcome even his hair.

Tank’s gaze skinned him alive, but he said nothing and sipped his liquor. Was he imagining Drake on his knees, mouth stretched around his cock? Drake’s brain was all too quick to offer him that vision, and he had no idea how to feel about it. Tank had a nice dick. Of course he did. And Drake loved watching him use it with Clover, so there was that.

“You got my lovejuice?”

There was way too much innuendo in this room.

“Sure do,” Drake said and rose after taking two sips from his cup. With Tank’s gaze burning holes in his clothing, he walked to his open bag and pulled out the bra. “We sprayed it with women’s perfume. Boar’s idea,” he said, holding it by one of the straps.

Tank laughed out loud. "You should have just come wearing it. Would have been more inconspicuous.” He grabbed the piece of lingerie and smelled it with a stupid grin.