"In a whip so low, no one's gotta know. Knocking at your door I don't gotta work anymore. You can put your phone down you're gonna need two hands. You can't get enough. Boy you know I set it up, for after dark."
This is a book of boyxboy one shots...
{A/N: I came across this while I was cleaning out my computer files, and it was something I posted a couple of years ago on my now abandoned Ao3 account. I was younger when I wrote it(and had the biggest crush on Brooklyn Beckham), so if you decide to read it bare with it lol. —C.K.}
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Or the one where Drake and Brooklyn finally take things to the next level....
"You gotta tell me you want it." Drake says, his voice low and sultry, silky smooth and oh-so-sexy. "I won't do it unless you tell me you want it, Brooks."
Drake's muscular arms barricade Brooklyn against the wall of the hotel room, his breath ghosting across Brooklyn's ear as he leans in close. Brooklyn gasps involuntarily. The older man hasn't even touched him yet and he's as hard as a rock.
"Fuck," Drake curses. "I shouldn't be doing this. You're a kid."
"I'm eighteen." Brooklyn says forcefully, more-so than he meant, and he immediately wishes he could take it back, suck it out of the air. Plus, it doesn't help his age argument any. Technically, eighteen isn't still a child, but Drake was twenty-nine, about to turn thirty in a few months, they shouldn't be doing this. He expects Drake to walk away from him, but he doesn't, instead he takes Brooklyn's ear lobe in between his teeth and lightly bites it.
Brooklyn shutters, his hands held firmly at his sides, afraid to touch. He holds his breath, wondering exactly how he got into this situation, in Drake's hotel room, about to live out his greatest fantasies.
It started when they met in the bathroom in Nobu a little over a year ago. It was a chance encounter nonetheless, and Drake had complimented Brooklyn on his shoes, and Brooklyn had been so starstruck he could barely mutter the words 'thank you'. Drake has taken notice of the boy's sudden stupor and find it...well, cute.
The second time they saw each other was less than a month later at the Cheesecake Factory in Anaheim. Brooklyn had been out with his family this time. When Brooklyn was sent back to the car to retrieve something, he ran into Drake. It was drizzling rain that day, and there was a slight chill in the air, but Brooklyn couldn't tell if the goosebumps on his skin were from the temperature or from being in the older man's presence again. This time, Brooklyn wasn't as starstruck, he spoke, his voice only slightly shaky. Drake made a cheesy joke that almost sounded like an even cheesier pick up line, but Brooklyn figured it was just his imagination. There's no way that Drake is in to him.
The third time that they met, things went a little differently. It was Coachella, and it was the first time they touched. It wasn't a serious touch or anything, it was almost accidental, but when their arms brushed against each other they both felt it — that indescribable electricity that radiated under the skin for the rest of the night. Brooklyn didn't even remember the words they exchanged.
The fourth time they saw each other, Brooklyn was coming out of the gym and Drake was going in. Brooklyn was sweaty, tired, and looked pretty rough. Drake held the door open for him, and they ended up standing there for roughly two and a half minutes, just chatting, catching up. It had been two months since Coachella. Brooklyn still remembers what Drake said that day. You look great, man. Not only that, but he sized him up while doing it, a slow scan of Brooklyn's sweaty body. That was his second hint.
