Page 10 of Inhuman Natures #1

Rake

Rake made a face he hoped looked friendly.

He doubted he managed more than a grimace, however.

It was Sunday, and the combined clans of Armstrong and Tomlinson had descended on the large detached house where DJ had grown up.

One of DJ’s numerous cousins had trapped Rake in a conversation, but he couldn’t remember her name.

Either Kaitlin or Kerry, but Rake wasn’t brave enough to try one out and have it be wrong.

He tried to catch DJ’s eye as she wittered on about, of all things, cars. Instead of DJ, however, Rake made awkward eye contact with DJ’s mum, Femi. She always insisted he call her ‘mum’ too, but he’d never been able to make that step.

Because even if they hadn’t spoken in years, Rake still had a mum.

Femi came bounding over to them. “Katie, come help me with the food,” she said, winking at Rake. He managed a genuine smile this time.

“Auntie—” Katie, because of course her name wasn’t one Rake had thought it might be, complained.

“Kitchen,” Femi sang, then turned and walked away, the clear expectation being that Katie would do as she was told. Katie shot Rake an exasperated look, but followed her aunt.

Rake slipped away upstairs before anyone else could try to speak to him. It was too busy, and some of DJ’s younger cousins hadn’t yet grasped the concept of volume control.

Rake knew the layout of the house well by now, so made his way along the landing to DJ’s old bedroom. Everything remained exactly how it had been when DJ had moved out. His parents didn’t need the space, given it was just the two of them and their dog in the five-bedroom house.

Rake toed off his shoes and lay down on the duvet. As he stared unseeingly at the ceiling, he thought about their night at the club on Friday, and how he’d not had the chance to check in with Shaun. The more he went over it, the more he felt like a failure of a Dom.

Rationally, Rake knew he couldn’t have left DJ mid-aftercare to chase after someone he’d only interacted with once, but still. Rake had meant it when he told Lawrence that he had a responsibility towards any sub.

Rake needed to convince Shaun to spend some time with them—some opportunity to ask if he was really all right. Lawrence, however, remained a barrier that Rake would have to circumvent.

The bedroom door opened. “Hey,” DJ said quietly. “I saw you sneaking away.”

“I needed a break.”

DJ situated himself on the bed, but kept a bit of careful distance between them. When Rake got overwhelmed, his touch aversion got worse. Still, this was DJ, so Rake reached out and clasped their hands together .

DJ reciprocated by pressing his free hand to Rake’s chest. The action never failed to ground Rake when he was overstimulated. He could concentrate on DJ’s solid hand, knowing that DJ would feel his heart rate return to normal when his anxiety subsided.

“It’s all right,” DJ said. “I know how full-on they can get. You can stay up here all evening if you need to.”

“They already think I’m weird enough. I can’t hide up here when everyone else is having dinner together.”

“They’ll understand.”

“You’re the only one who understands.” Rake turned onto his side, DJ mirroring his movement so they lay facing one another.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” DJ asked.

Rake sighed. “Shaun. He left before I could speak to him.”

“He sticks in your mind, doesn’t he?”

“Mmm. Yours too?”

“Yeah. There’s…” DJ trailed off, gaze darting away before focusing on Rake again. “ Something there.”

Rake smiled. “How articulate of you.”

“Fuck off,” DJ said with a laugh.

“Don’t think I won’t spank you just because you’re in your childhood bedroom.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would,” Rake lied. He wouldn’t. The risk of DJ’s parents overhearing them was far too horrifying.

DJ smiled softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Rake stroked his fingers along the sides of DJ’s head, where he’d recently had it shaved, enjoying the fresh, soft feel of it.

DJ knew Rake like having enough hair to dig his fingers into, so he’d left it longer on top, his natural curl growing out.

DJ really was too good to Rake, sometimes.

They stayed like that until they heard Femi shouting up to them about dinner being served. Rake pressed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to have to socialise with anyone other than DJ.

“Stay up here,” DJ said.

Rake shook his head. “I’m hungry. I’ll come down.”

DJ sighed. “If you insist.”

They made their way downstairs together, Rake keeping a possessive hand at the small of DJ’s back as they entered the dining room.

Whilst the younger kids in the family were dotted around the massive living room, the adults crowded around the dining table.

There were around a dozen between all the aunts and the uncles and the cousins.

Tom—DJ’s dad—darted around, topping up everyone’s drinks.

He wore a colourful floral apron that clashed with his pinked-up face.

He’d likely fallen asleep whilst sunning himself out in the garden.

Femi, in her matching apron, brought out the food, balancing an alarming number of plates in her hands.

A couple of empty seats had been left for Rake and DJ. Rake relaxed a little when he saw they were on the less crowded end of the table, closest to the kitchen. Femi would have organised it that way on purpose, knowing Rake’s preferences.

He half-heard one of DJ’s uncles remarking on the two of them being upstairs alone together for so long. It wasn’t quite disparaging, but Tom was quick to take a potshot at his brother’s recent divorce in retaliation, so Rake let it go.

Lunch was served buffet style, a mix of traditional English and Jamaican food to cater to all tastes.

It was a veritable feast for both the eyes and stomach: bowls of golden roast potatoes with crisp brown edges; piles of smokey, charred chicken topped with lime wedges; trays of oven-baked veg in reds and yellows and purples and greens.

Every inch of space on the table was filled.

Rake piled his plate high with pieces of jerk chicken and leafy veg, careful that nothing was too runny and at risk of touching the other food.

He glanced at DJ’s plate. Lots of veg, and only one measly piece of chicken.

Before he could comment, Femi passed them in a swish of bright fabric and deposited a meat pie onto DJ’s half-empty plate.

“Mum, I didn’t want any more.”

“You love this pie,” she said simply, then moved along to add another pie onto a side plate for Rake.

He thanked her, but she shook her head, teeth gleaming as she smiled.

“Thank me by enjoying the food.” She only had the barest hint of a Jamaican accent, having lived in England since she was a child.

DJ picked at his plate, eating a third of what he’d taken. DJ’s eating disorder never went away, but he’d been doing well lately. Rake wondered if they should stop going to the club until DJ had it back under control.

“Rake, stop it,” DJ hissed.

“I didn’t say anything,” Rake said under his breath.

“You were staring .”

Rake tried to tamp down his anger. DJ knew that restricting his intake upset Rake, as much as Rake knew DJ couldn’t control his disorder.

Rake focused back on his own food, keeping his head down and not engaging in any conversation. He didn’t have the mental energy to argue with DJ and make small talk, too.

“I’m sorry,” DJ said after a few long minutes.

Rake softened immediately, putting one hand on DJ’s knee and squeezing. “It’s fine.”

“I was being a brat.”

Rake dug his fingers into DJ’s leg. “You’re always a bit of a brat.”

“You like me like that.”

Rake considered this, then leaned closer to DJ’s ear. “I like that I get to take it out on your ass when you’re a brat.”

“I’m taking that as a promise for later.”

“DJ, care to share with the class?” came the obnoxious uncle’s voice over the din of the room. Rake’s ears burned with embarrassment at forgetting he was surrounded by DJ’s family.

DJ rolled his eyes. “Mind your own business, Will.”

Will spread his hands in a show of surrender. “Just pointing out that you two have been whispering to each other like a couple of teenage girls. We’re having dinner. You’re supposed to talk with the family.”

“Dad, shut up,” Katie said. Now that she’d defended them, Rake felt guilty for not listening to her explain the differences between the BMW and Audi she had her eyes on.

The table descended into a cacophony of voices as Will argued his point against Katie whilst the others all chimed in with their own opinions. Rake screwed one eye shut and tried to drown out the sounds .

Femi appeared at his side, beckoning him away from the table—an out which he gladly took.

DJ followed him as they traipsed into the kitchen.

Femi and Tom’s dog, an elderly Jack Russell named Bernie, lifted his head up from his dog bed.

Rake went over and crouched to pet him, the sweet-natured terrier eagerly accepting the attention.

“You okay, Rake?” Femi asked, voice casual as she clattered around with some pots and pans.

“I am,” he said. It wasn’t the first time Femi had stepped in, and likely wouldn’t be the last.

DJ knelt beside Rake and started scratching Bernie’s tummy. Their fingers fought to get where Bernie enjoyed being petted most, sending them both into fits of laughter when the dog started wiggling around maniacally.

“Do you want to go?” DJ asked.

This time, Rake didn’t pretend. “Yes.”

“Mum,” DJ said, turning to Femi. “We’re gonna head.”

“Thanks for dinner,” Rake said. “It was amazing, as always.”

Femi gathered DJ up in a big hug whilst giving Rake a wide smile. “You boys come here any time and I’ll feed you.”

“We can cook ourselves,” DJ pointed out.

“Heating something up in the oven does not count as cooking, Delroy James.”

“I do more than that!”