Adam takes the rose home with him and crushes it between the pages of a heavyweight epic on the birth of the European Union. Memories of Valentine’s Day fade along with the colour from the petals, and it’s becoming increasingly easy for him to see it for what it was --just another of those fleeting glances at a photograph in a private album. James is James. He can either accept him the way he is or move on.
Three weeks later when Adam answers the phone and hears that laid back, sex-heavy voice he’s sad more than horny. Maybe resigned is a better word to describe how he’s feeling. Exactly one week ago he spent his forty-fifth birthday alone and it taught him a thing or two about the people in his life.
“Wanna screw?” says James and Adam can’t decide whether it’s a question or a demand.
He pauses, listening to the soft breaths against his ear while he considers the matter. “No,” he says eventually. “I really don’t think I do.”
Adam waits for more words but there are none and he’s left feeling… empty.
The call throws his momentum off a little, but he keeps busy. There’s the usual single life domestic stuff to be done--stacking the dishwasher and doing the laundry--and once he’s finished with that he does his ritual cleaning of the apartment. All the time he’s tidying he deliberately thinks of James, hunting for mementos of their four year relationship under stacks of papers and magazines. There’s gotta be more to them than a single dead red rose hidden away inside a book. But finally, finding no indication of any kind of a relationship, he gives in and stares blankly around the four walls of his pristine prison cell.
Shopping wiles away a couple of hours and also gives Adam more opportunity to consider what life will be like now he’s on permanent vacation from James. He’s busy mulling this over, gazing at bottles of imported beer when his cell phone rings again.
“Do ya miss me yet?” says a husky voice and, just from that one short sentence, Adam knows that James has his hand wrapped around his cock and is pulling himself off. He knows the man so intimately and yet he hasn’t even got a clue where he lives. Fucked up is what they are. Fucked up is what they were.
“Nope,” he answers, flipping the phone shut with a nod of satisfaction then paying and heading for the car with his single man supply of groceries. As he loads bags of canned tomatoes into the trunk, he realises with a shock that he’s never once cooked for James. In fact Valentine’s Day was the only time they’d ever had a meal alone together and, truthfully, that’s just pathetic. Not that either of them are specifically to blame. There was never any hint of relationship from the beginning, it was always about the sex, and Adam was happy as hell with that scenario. Right up until the middle of last month when everything shifted a little and the picture cleared. Like when he was a kid and he had to bang on the top of the TV to get better reception. Sometimes he wishes he’d stuck with the interference.
After he gets back from the market and packs away the food, Adam looks at his watch and is shocked to discover that it’s only just past noon. He hates resting days. Maybe he should get a job to pass away the time in between acting gigs. There’s gotta be something that’ll keep him occupied. He’s twitchy and he’s bored and he wants- What the fuck does he want? Maybe some physical exercise will be a quick fix for this weird mood he’s in.
The gym is almost empty and Adam gets in a couple of hours of hard uninterrupted work out and then takes a swim to cool him down. When his muscles are screaming at him to quit, he hoists himself out of the pool and heads for the showers, stripping off and grabbing the shampoo and gel from his bag. There’s a guy in there, body on display like he’s at a meat market, and Adam feels uncomfortable and almost changes his mind about getting washed. Still, there’s no harm in checking out some pretty muscles and good looks. The poser takes a long time lathering away at his heavy cock which fills and rises from the stimulation and Adam stands under the hot spray watching the show appreciatively. He’s half-tempted to take advantage of the nod and follow the guy into the bathroom for some seedy stall sex, except there’s a problem: the goods may look nice but Adam’s just not horny for them.
Finishing his shower in peace, he dries off then changes into some clean sweats and packs away his exercise gear. The poser gives him a bitchy look as he walks past and Adam’s relieved that his dick said ‘no’ to the offer. A butt fuck is not gonna cure whatever’s ailing him; not when it was the start of all his problems. He was in control before James. He kept his dick on a short leash, only letting it out to play when things were totally safe. Now he’s almost crazy enough to grab a quick hook up at the gym. What’s next for him? Cottaging and glory holes?
Adam strides out of the building, desperate to get away from the near miss disaster. He opens the door of his SUV, throwing his sports bag on the passenger seat and climbing in, and is about to drive home when the phone rings again. For once in his life he hopes it’s his ex-wife whining about the kids, but apparently there’s this cosmic rule that Adam never gets what he wants.
“Are you thinking about me yet?”
“No,” says Adam, lying through his teeth. Jesus fuck, he’s done nothing but think about James all day long. Ever since he sorta, but not quite, broke up with him.
“I’m thinking about you. Been thinking about you all day.” James’s voice dips in volume. “Been jerking off ‘til I’m sore thinking about how much I want you to fuck me. Wanna finish me off?”
Adam’s dick twitches a little and he reaches down and rubs the heel of his palm into his crotch. But then he remembers that he doesn’t want James and removes his hand from the path of temptation. He should hang up, but first he’s gonna do a little bragging -- a little playing of his own.
“Got hit on at the gym,” he says, boasting like he’s in the playground. “Guy gave me a show in the showers. Wanted me.”
“Did you fuck him?” says James and his voice is like static, all broken up by arousal with a hint of something else mixed in.
Adam laughs loud and long--it’s the cruellest thing he can think of to do--then he powers off the phone. He can’t help grinning all the way home because the world seems that little bit brighter now. In fact he’s still smiling when he passes a familiar looking figure walking away from his apartment building. The guy has his head down and his hands in his pockets and he’s looking lost, and somehow that isn’t right because James is never lost. The man plots every second of every day from the moment he wakes until the second he falls asleep. He most probably dreams up ways of messing with Adam’s head.
Still, something makes Adam swing the car around at the first opportunity then pull up a little way behind. He jogs to catch his prey up then slows down and settles into strategic tail mode. When James stops to light a cigarette, Adam ducks into a liquor store feeling like one of those dumb ass cops he’s pretty much type cast as all the time now. How many bottles of vodka can he stare at before being asked to leave? James is just standing there lost in thought and it’s annoying the hell out of Adam. ‘Get the fuck on with it and move,’ he thinks, but then remembers that he’s the one being creepy stalker guy and doesn’t really have a right to lose his temper.
Eventually James stubs out his cigarette and begins this disconsolate amble up the street. Adam follows making sure to keep out of sight, and all the while he’s wondering if he remembered to lock his car and prime the alarm. In fact he’s so busy worrying about whether his baby’ll be okay that he almost misses James take the next left turn and approach a row of earthy coloured stucco town houses. Is this his home? So close to Adam all this time and he didn’t even have the fucking decency to tell him where he lived.
From a discreet distance Adam watches James unlock the door and then enter the little Spanish style building. Frowning in annoyance, he seethes and paces, paces and seethes, then takes out his cell phone and switches it back on. Dialling James’s number, he holds the phone to his ear and prepares to have a tantrum, but the preparation proves unnecessary.
“Go the fuck away,” says James, hanging up on him.
Adam’s seriously pissed now. He dials and dials and dials and every time he gets that standard message telling him that phone he is calling maybe switched off or out of service. What the fuck right does James have to shut him out? This is gonna end today. For once and for all.
There’s no subtlety to Adam’s actions any longer. Racing up the short flight of stone steps, he knocks on the front door with vicious repetitive raps, ringing the bell like a maniac.
James answers with a slightly baffled look, obviously unsure as to how Adam has found out where he lives, but he regains his cool almost instantly. “Leave,” he says, biting at his lower lip until blood seeps up to the surface.
Normally James does that very same thing during a long slow fuck when he’s trying hard not to come. The thought of sex and not-quite-personal-enough details makes Adam’s hackles rise and he pushes his way in, slamming the door behind him, not giving a shit how it might look to the neighbours.
“You’re a prick,” he yells, pushing James backwards, noticing for the first time the solid weight of a cast on James’s right wrist. The surface of the wall is finished with a coat of polished plaster that gleams like marble and James slides against it. He’s so small and so very vulnerable like this that Adam gets hard, even though he tries to tell himself that sex is the last thing on his mind. “Even since I first made the mistake of fucking your overused ass, you’ve been screwing me up, messing with my head. It ends now, you hear. No more fucking, no more anything.”
He smashes his mouth against James’s in this desperate way, wanting to make him pay for all the hurt he’s caused, but not knowing how to do anything with this man that isn’t sexual. They fuck tongues together--never what you’d call kissing--until Adam relinquishes his tight grip on both biceps and James pushes hard and breaks free, leaving Adam holding on to a handful of worn leather jacket that gets caught up on the plaster cast.
“Get the hell out of my house now,” yells James, yanking himself clear of the leash and gaining a position of superiority halfway up the staircase.
“I’ll go when I choose to,” says Adam. “Got some things to say first.”
“Nothing I want to hear.”
As James turns his back and walks the rest of the way up the stairs Adam notices the bright red marks on both arms from where he gripped him too hard. He’s not gonna feel guilty, got nothing to feel guilty about. Following James up to the second floor of this little dolls house, Adam finds himself in an open-plan living area.
James is pouring himself a large bourbon and the bottle neck chinks nervously against the glass. “Say what you gotta and then go,” he snaps, relenting a little from his earlier position and sitting on the arm of the couch. He lights a Marlboro then rests it in a disposable foil ashtray on the table and cradles his damaged arm.
Adam’s mouth turns up in a slight sneer because it’s not as if James has a choice as to whether he stays or goes. For once, he’s the one in control. Throwing James’s jacket on a chair, he pours himself a drink then chooses his words carefully. “This whole mess started with you playing me off against Boreanaz, getting inside my head with your fucking mind games. Why the hell did you do that to me? What did I ever do to deserve all that shit?”
The sudden change in James’s expression makes Adam lose his train of thought. Suddenly he’s not so sure what this is actually about. He looks around the room which is an Aladdin’s cave of found objects. He never imagined James to be a horder type. Every square inch of the walls is covered in framed prints and photos and cards.
“If you’re done then get out,” says James icily.
Anger rises up into Adam’s throat like bile. “What the fuck!” he shouts “You got nothing to say for yourself?”
“Oh I got plenty to say, but I’m choosing not to.” James doesn’t even look at him.
Adam swallows his drink in a gulp and stands up to refill the glass. “You’re not gonna explain why I didn’t even know your address until today. Jesus Christ, I had to stalk you to get close.”
“Did you ever think of asking me where I lived?” James looks up with this odd expression on his face that makes Adam very uncomfortable. He’s playing him again, verbally this time, like the best lawyer money can buy.
“If I’d've asked you wouldn’t have told me,” snarls Adam defensively. “You don’t give anything. You’re like a blank fucking piece of paper. You just use people up and spit them out when you’re finished.”
“Jesus! You really are a cunt, aren’t you, Baldwin,” says James, reminding Adam of that time he came to visit him at the Universal lot. “Yeah, I played you at the beginning when I was out of my head on drink and drugs and so fucking sick and depressed over shit that I was near to quitting on everything.”
Adam frowns, trying not to listen to the twisted words. There’s a cut on James’s cheek, scar tissue pushing up slightly from a bluish yellow stain of bruising, and he wonders, in this detached way, how it got there.
“And when I went to you for help all you did was invite Fillion into bed with us. I asked you for help and you did nothing. Nothing.” James fills his glass with more bourbon and stands like the statue of a broken angel looking out of the glass doors that lead out to the balcony. “I was falling apart in front of you and all you wanted was to fuck Fillion’s ass.”
Something’s gone wrong. Adam tries to make sense of the words and put the correct spin back onto them, but he’s getting all confused.
“I wanted to kill you for that,” says James, words spilling out of him in this poisonous smear campaign, “but instead of getting angry, I got more and more fucked up. Finally, when it came down to a choice between living or dying in some drugged out stupor, I quit all that shit.”
James pauses, opening the balcony doors and throwing his dead cigarette onto the yard below. He lights another immediately. “Not that you ever noticed. By then you were all love struck over Fillion and couldn’t see past the end of his prick.”
Adam’s starting to feel more than uncomfortable. He prowls the room, looking out of the windows and examining the puzzle pieces of James’s life that are layed out for all to see.
“Then, when he dumps your ass and you come to me begging for a blow job, like a schmuck I get down on my fucking knees for you.”
Adam can hear the drink kicking in, slurring some of James’s words. He watches the man pour the dregs of the bottle of Jack into his glass and thinks he should tell him to stop, but he’s too numb to do anything; shocked into silence by the brutal character assassination that’s aimed his way.
“The only time you ever call me is when your dick’s hard and you want someone to get you off. You’re a selfish motherfucker and I’m not gonna be your unpaid whore any longer.”
Finally James goes quiet, just sits there smoking and drinking and chewing at his nails leaving Adam with way too much time to think. He looks back at the way he’s treated everyone, his wife, his kids, his friends, his lover and he’s torn apart by a crucifying burst of shame.
“Worst thing is that I’m still a schmuck,” says James. “I was actually stupid enough to think you’d call me after Valentine’s Day. What a fucking idiot I am.” He shakes his head. “But you’re right. Over now. Done with the fucking. Done with the talking. Done with everything.” James steps out onto the balcony and leans on the rough stucco wall looking down at the busy street scene below. “Close the door on your way out,” he says sounding battle-weary and emotionally drained.
Throughout this whole heartbreaking torrent of pain James hasn’t looked at him once and Adam’s relieved because he doesn’t think he could cope with those eyes right now. Slumping down on the couch he picks up the mat from the table, turning it restlessly between his fingers. ‘Rattigan’s’ is emblazoned on it in mustard yellow script and he remembers drinking at that little backstreet bar while he was filming Angel. In fact he thinks James was there with him.
Looking around the room Adam sees everything afresh. The familiar picture on the wall is a view of the beach bungalow they rented in St Kitts. The foil ashtray he can recall being on the nightstand at the EZ motel. There’s a room service menu from The Ridgeway. Ticket stubs from a movie he and James saw together. The champagne bottle. A million mementos of a one-sided relationship.
Adam stands up and walks over to the table, picking up a pile of photographs that he noticed on his predatory travels and flicking through the images. There’s dozens of him, taken on James’s camera phone and printed out on low gloss paper.
“Get the hell out and quit going through my stuff,” snarls James, racing back in and grabbing the pictures out of Adam’s hand.
“I fucked up.” Adam doesn’t know what else to say. “I fucked up so bad.”
He feels cold and sick as he views the world through someone else’s eyes for the first time ever, full of self-loathing over what he’s seeing. Falling to his knees, he grabs the back of James’s legs then fumbles to unzip his fly. He’s shaking, can’t stop thinking about how much he screwed up. He is a cunt, a bitch of a cunt just the way James told him once upon a long time ago when he was hurting and desperate.
James’s cock is flaccid and unresponsive much the way Adam has been as a friend and a lover. Adam nuzzles at it, taking the doughy flesh into his mouth, squeezing it against his cheek then sucking hard. He’s overwhelmed by this huge sense of relief when blood begins to pulse beneath the surface, turning the soft velvet into hard stone.
Hitching in a breath, Adam holds James’s cock loosely in his fist, feeling it twitch and throb as he sucks on it slowly, lovingly. He’s been a spoilt brat, crying out for attention and wanting James to give and give and keep on giving, but things’ll be different from now on because he’s learned his lesson. He was frightened when James turned on him, and not because he thought the man would ever harm him. No. He was scared of losing him. He’s as guilty of playing games now as James was in the past. What a pair of fuck ups they are.
James pulls out of his mouth and jerks off furiously, and when Adam looks up, wiping the strings of come away from his eyes, he sees him holding a phone out awkwardly between his plastercasted fingers.
“You can go,” James says. “I have something to jack off to now when I’m horny. I’ll send it you as a goodbye present.”
Adam stares at the tiny screen which is playing back the video of the last few minutes of his life. He watches the grainy reproduction of the sex act and aches somewhere deep inside.
“Memorabilia,” says James with a fleeting sad smile.
Tears well up, and Adam tells himself it’s because blow jobs always make him gag a little. He gets unsteadily to his feet wondering how he could misjudged everything and fucked his life up so badly. Three weeks ago he was happier than he had been in years. Three weeks ago James had told him how he felt and Adam had thrown it all away because he was a selfish insecure prick.
“I’m sorry,” he says, wiping the smears of drying come away with a Kleenex he finds in the pocket of his sweatpants. “I’m so fucking sorry and I don’t know what to do to make things right.”
“Go away. Find someone to be with who fits right in your life. I’m not that person.”
James seems to have sobered up from the quick drunk he was in. He’s no longer angry, just calmly resigned to the fact that this is over and Adam struggles to understand. Why isn’t James breaking apart like he is? Then he figures it out. How could he mourn over a broken down affair with someone who’s never shown him any affection in four years.
“I’ll go,” he says, walking towards the stairs, “but I’m not ready to quit on us.”
James follows him down to the door. “Quit,” he says softly, “We’re done, Adam.”
They don’t call each other by their given names often. Adam likes the sound of it coming from James’s mouth and hates that it has to happen at a time like this. He thinks about that bloody heart inscribed on James’s arm and wishes he could still see it.
They kiss goodbye up against the polished plaster wall and this time it’s slow and sad. Adam would give anything to relive this day enough times to make things right, but stuff like that only goes on in TV land. That show got cancelled just like this relationship.
There’s no further exchange of words because there’s nothing left to say. Adam shivers when he hears the door close behind him then wanders back to where he parked the car, stopping on the way to buy a bottle of chilli vodka from the liquor store. The SUV is parked badly at an angle and it reminds Adam of how angry he was at the time, all because of his fucking insecurities.
He bangs his hands down on the steering wheel and unscrews the cap of the vodka, taking a gulp then holding it in his mouth, letting it trickle slowly down into his guts and burn through him like absolution. The short drive home is almost impossible; he’s half-drunk and half-crying and he keeps seeing this re-edited version of his life playing before his eyes from a different camera angle. The new point of view hurts like a bitch.
Slamming the door of his too small, too neat apartment, he sinks down onto the floor, clutching the brown paper swaddled vodka like a baby in his arms. He’s not sure how long it takes him to finish the liquor, but next thing he knows he has an empty bottle lying next to him and he can’t find his feet. Crawling through to the bedroom, he fumbles for his cell and manages to plugs it into the charger then falls into his neatly made bed, clutching the phone to his chest like it’s a lifeline; a pacemaker keeping his heart beating. Except he has no heart. He never even bothered to ask how James broke his wrist.
~~****~~
Next morning Adam wakes up with a jackhammer migraine and the definite feeling that someone has used his mouth as a dumpster. Initially he thinks he must be back living that fucked up, out of control life from two years ago, because that’s the last time he felt this bad. Then he remembers and his chest hurts like someone’s dropped a heavy weight onto it. This time there’ll be no James making the pain go away with an everlasting blow job and a line of coke.
Adam inches out of bed and walks slowly to the bathroom, clutching at his head as if that’s going to stop the pain. The jets from the shower are like needles driving a path into his skin, but he feels better for it. Cleaning his teeth, he stares at the red-eyed demon in the mirror. “You were the fucking prick all the time,” he says conversationally.
First thing he does when he gets back into the bedroom is check to see if he’s missed any calls. Second thing he does is dial James and almost leave him a voice mail message. Jesus, how hard can this be?
Throwing on some clothes, Adam leaves the apartment barefoot, putting his shoes on in the elevator. He can do this. He’s shaking when he buys flowers from the convenience store that’s next door to his building. Popping a couple of painkillers, he parks outside the row of town houses and looks up at the balcony, imagining James leaning over and looking down at him.
He rings the doorbell, this time using a little self-restraint. The stupid maniac from yesterday has left the building and all that’s left is a sorrowful repentant fool. Insecurities push their way to the surface again, because who would want anything to do with an over the hill, washed up loser like him. But then he remembers that, not so long ago, somebody really did want him.
When there’s no answer he leaves the flowers on the step and returns to a clinical apartment that doesn’t feel anything like home any longer. He wishes he had some kind of physical memory that’s not a squashed dead rose. He can’t bring himself to look at that. Not yet. Not until that tiny piece of dormant hope is finally laid to rest.
Adam visits James’s home every day for a week, always leaving more flowers to show that’s been there. James is either ignoring Adam or he’s gone away, because the pile of wilting blooms keeps growing higher and higher. The hardest thing Adam has to do is write James a postcard to say he’ll be away for a couple of days. He hates writing letters under any circumstances, but there’s a couple of quick re-shoots needed on the film he’s doing with Morena and he doesn’t want James to think he’s given up on them. He signs the note simply ‘Adam’ with an odd curvy line at the bottom that’s apparently his way of expressing emotion. He really is a fucked up specimen. ‘I line you,’ has to be the most hopeless sentiment ever.
~~****~~
The desert is as unforgiving as ever: too hot during the day, too cold at night, too lonely, even with good friends close at hand.
Morena Baccarin is beautiful, serene and thoughtful. She likes Adam a lot, always has, and makes no secret of the fact. He used to kid around and tell her she had zero taste in men, but now that joke seems to have gone nastily sour.
They have dinner together on the final day of the shoot and Adam wishes fervently that he wanted her as his lover. She’d be so good for him. Morena is exactly the kind of person James was talking about when he said find someone who fits, but when Adam looks into her big dark eyes, he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that James is the only one who fills that role perfectly. The only one who fills the empty space inside him.
“You need to sleep,” she says quietly then takes him back to her hotel room and undresses him, massaging his tense naked body until he relaxes enough to get some rest. His cock lays lifeless the whole time, even when her fingers caress it with gentle strokes.
“Your heart is broken,” she says next morning when they wake up spooned close together. “You should tell him.”
“I’m trying,” he replies, picking up his cell phone to see if he has any new messages.
They stop at an artist’s colony on the way home to break up the long journey. Morena points out the chains and Adam rejects the idea until he sees one that’s made of these pale silver non-perfect beads. It’s the kind of jewellery he’s seen wrapped around James’s wrist and Adam instinctively knows he’ll like it. It seems an awkward present to give to an ex-lover, but Morena is insistent so he pays anyway and slips the small gift-wrapped package into his pocket, doubting that he’ll ever find the right moment to give it to James.
“He’s a lucky bastard whoever he is,” murmurs Morena as she kisses him goodbye and Adam bursts into a fit of harsh laughter at the unexpected expletive and the ill-fitting sentiment. If only she knew.
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Adam,” she insists as she unlocks the door of her old Aston Martin, “There’s a good man underneath all those defences.”
He’s more than a little stunned because all this time he thought it was James who wore the armour.
~~****~~
Adam doesn’t go straight home. He needs to see James right now, even if it only ends up in more rejection and hurt. Once upon a time he used to go for months without seeing the guy, but now his eyes are wide open and he’s missing him so bad it’s like a part of him has been amputated. Or maybe repaired.
Brushing the desert dust out of his hair, Adam walks up to the door, his chest turning to lead when he sees the heap of dead flowers, brown wrinkled petals scattered all over the Spanish tile. James still hasn’t been home. Maybe he’s never coming back.
Desperate enough by now to ignore his stupid pride, he leaves a message on James’s voice mail. “Call me,” he says. “I’m thinking about you. I’m missing you, James. Please.”
There’s nothing to do now except go back to his uncharacteristically messy apartment. He hasn’t had the impetus to do much of anything since he took a pickaxe to his life and smashed it to smithereens. Funny that.
Unpacking from the trip, Adam shoves his dirty clothes, including the ones he’s wearing, into the washer then falls naked into bed. He sleeps restlessly, dreaming of living in a cluttered home that’s full of warmth and love, then wakes in a panic, positive that he left James’s present in the pocket of the jeans he’s just washed. After powering off the machine and hunting through a heap of soggy garments, he sees the small package looking at him from the table top. Fuck everything! He’s naked and covered in wet laundry and the kitchen floor has a pool of soapy water over it. And now the phone is ringing.
Skidding across the tiles, Adam fumbles for his cell, tumbling over onto the couch as he answers.
“Hey, you sound out of breath. What you doing?”
That sexed-up voice, chock-full of laughter, sends Adam higher than a noseful of cocaine.
“Fell over.” James laughs more and Adam’s smile turns into a grin. “Where are you?” he asks.
“New York,” says James.
“What the hell are you doing there? How am I supposed to not quit on us when you’re so far away?”
“Had to do some final shots for the movie,” says James. “They’ve been trying to film around my plaster cast. Director’s pissed at me.”
Adam’s heart is thumping in his chest as he curls up on the couch and basks in the sound of James’s voice -- the same way he basked in the sun outside that jerk chicken shack.
“How did you get hurt?” he says, “I should’ve asked before. I’m sorry.”
“Brakes failed on the ‘Vette and I went headlong into a wall. Insurance want it listed as totalled, but I don’t like writing things off.”
“Fuck!” Adam gets nauseous at the thought of James being in that wreck. “You should have told me,” he says, meaning it so very much.
“Next time I crash her I’ll be sure to give you a call from the ambulance… or the chapel of rest,” laughs James.
“Don’t joke about shit like that,” says Adam feeling unusually superstitious and panic-stricken. “I meant what I said about missing you.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line and Adam gets nervous. “I think about you, James. All the time. When d’you come home?”
“Four days.”
“Can I see you?”
There’s another long silence.
“Just to talk,” explains Adam, hope diminishing by the second.
“What! No booty call?” At first James sounds exactly the way he used to, but then his voice turns serious and quiet. “Yeah, I’ll see you. Like I said, I don’t write things off unless I have to.”
Adam closes his eyes and offers up a prayer of gratitude to whatever god is watching over him. “Oh, thank fuck.”
James laughs again. “Look I gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”
“You bet,” says Adam. “I’ll call you.”
That short end sentence is a commitment to change and Adam is determined to do just that. He’s forty-five and has finally found the ‘someone’ who fits into his life. Funny thing is, that ‘someone’ has been there all the time, only Adam had his eyes wide shut and never saw him until now.
Still holding the phone long after the call is over, Adam daydreams about what it’s gonna be like when he see James again. For the first time since they split up his cock fills and swells and he slips a hand downward, caressing his erection and imagining James’s long slender fingers working him off. Painfully urgent now after so many days without sex, he fucks his fist, remembering every detail of the last good time they were together. He thinks of the look on James’s face whenever he fucks him and comes with a strangulated moan of pleasure as he jerks off into his cupped palm.
~~****~~
Four days is an excruciatingly long time when you’re missing someone. Adam has his phone permanently attached to his ear. He calls James, James calls him, and they talk endlessly about their lives.
It’s mid-morning and James’s plane is due in just around three pm. Adam’s eating a sandwich and pacing his apartment restlessly when the phone vibrates in his pocket.
“Where are you?” he says. If the plane’s been delayed he’s gonna scream out loud in frustration. “Outside the terminal,” mutters James. “There’s no one here and I’m missing you so bad right now.”
Oh yeah. And they have a lot of phone sex in between the real-life stuff.
Adam laughs. “Keep a hold on it, buddy,” he says “Don’t want you getting arrested for indecency.”
“But I want you here to keep a hold on it for me,” whines James.
Adam’s instantly horny, like someone’s pushed the on button for his dick. “Not long now,” he says, “I’ll be there for you. I promise.”
He’s at the airport over an hour early. Waiting drives him nuts, it always has, and in the end he buys a suspense novel to pass the time when he can’t find a magazine worth reading. The book is total crap--he’s more of a non-fiction kind of a guy anyway--and as soon as James’s plane shows up on the board as having landed, he leaves it behind on the seat for some other poor sucker to read.
Adam wanders around Arrivals like a lost puppy, feeling sick with nerves, more so when he realises he doesn’t have a clue how to greet James in a very public place.
That ends up not being a problem. “Get me to your car now,” growls James in this low voice that goes straight to Adam’s cock. “I need to kiss you and very possibly fuck your mouth real hard.”
They make it across the bridge and as far as the car park before James drops his case, then with a “What the hell,” launches himself into Adam’s arms. It’s just a kiss but it’s the best kiss Adam has ever had. They make out against the ticket machine for a long time before finally getting moved on by an irate woman who wants to pay for her parking.
At some point during that kiss Adam rediscovers exactly how much he likes this new James and the thought worries him a little. Loading the luggage into the trunk, Adam thinks hard about the changes that have happened overnight. “I got things to say,” he says as he sits and rests his hands on the wheel staring out at the concrete pillar in front of the car.
“Oh shit!” A worried smile appears on James’s face. “That didn’t go so well last time. Can’t we fuck first and talk later.”
He climbs over into Adam’s lap. It’s a tight squeeze to fit behind the wheel, but he’s still as skinny as ever and Adam welcomes the feel of him there.
“Just want you to tell me if I’m screwing up,” says Adam kissing him.
“Not gonna screw up,” says James. “Think of the shit we’ve done to each other all these years and, hell, we’re still together.”
Somehow James’s not so romantic words make Adam feel better. Maybe this isn’t gonna be as difficult as he thought. He gets accidentally thumped on the back of the head by a plaster cast but the long greedy kiss makes the pain worthwhile.
The drive home isn’t far by mileage, but the congested streets means it takes a long time. Adam can see how tired James is--looks like he’s not the only one who hasn’t been sleeping well--and by the time they’re halfway home and crawling along in traffic, James’s eyes have closed and he’s asleep against Adam’s shoulder. Adam was expecting a blow job, but this is better. It brings up that trust word and makes Adam feel protective; something that he should have been years ago.
Finally he defeats the rush hour streets and pulls up outside James’s house. James is still asleep and Adam’s loathed to wake him up, but they have some serious getting back together to do and he’s looking forward to it. He’s not sure he was ever in love with his wife enough to want to spend weeks in bed making love to her after an argument. Now, using the miracle of hindsight, Adam can see that they didn’t really argue, they just didn’t talk. Since his heart to heart with Morena, he knows that much of the blame for the divorce lies with him, but that doesn’t mean he regrets anything. Ami could never fill the hollowness in his life.
Adam kisses James awake and the slow sleepy smile he gets in returns makes his cock harden with pleasure. “Home,” he says wishing it was true for him as well.
The tiled step still has a mass grave of dead flowers piled in the corner. Adam had been tempted to stop off on the way to the airport and clear them away, giving them a proper burial in the nearby dumpster, but he changed his mind at the last minute, wanting James to know exactly how much he was willing to fight for them.
James drops his suitcase on the step and looks at the flowers then he looks back at Adam with a slightly incredulous smile. “Sexy and cute,” he says flippantly, but he stands looking down at the step for a while longer.
“Keys?” Adam asks, slipping his hands into James’s jacket pockets. It’s so very good being pressed up close to his backside that Adam gets distracted, grinding his erection against James’s denim covered ass. Mouthing kisses onto the back of James’s neck, he cups James’s crotch and palms the swelling mound possessively. James arches back against him as Adam sucks reddening bruises onto that slim white throat, tasting salt and the faint tinge of blood.
“Here,” breathes James, passing him the set as Adam continues to work him to a frenzy.
Adam takes the keys from James’s shaking fingers and opens the door, practically carrying James and the luggage over the threshold as he tries hard not to think of the vicious cruel things he said last time he entered this house.
James picks up the postcard that’s lying on the floor and reads it, then looks at the picture of the forest with the San Gabriel Mountains in the background. “Thanks,” he says with a look of gratitude as he walks into the kitchen and pins the card up on a board on the wall.
Adam sees the real life James and likes him more than ever. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he says in between kisses, “I’m so fucking stupid.”
“Done now. Over.”
Adam knows that this time James isn’t referring to them. “Bed,” he says running his hands under James’s tee-shirt. “Need you now.”
“I got something to say first,” says James.
Adam’s arousal dies as his insecurities raise their ugly heads once again.
“I need to know if you fucked that guy at the gym.”
Jesus! That feels like a lifetime ago.
“I was waiting for you outside your building and I called you and you told me there was this guy hitting on you-”
“I never fucked him,” interrupts Adam. “I never touched him. I never even got hard for him. I haven’t fucked anyone except you for over a year.”
“Me either,” says James with a small relieved smile.
“Dave?” asks Adam. He’s never figured out that relationship and he hates thinking about it, but at the same time he really needs to know.
“I quit him same time I quit the drugs,” says James, “Not that you noticed because you couldn’t see past the end of Fillion’s pr-”
Adam silences James with kisses then takes him by the hand, pulling him out of the kitchen and up two flights of stairs to the top floor bedroom. It doesn’t take a genius brain to navigate a house this size. Kissing him hungrily, Adam tumbles them over onto the bed and aches with guilt when James winces from the pain.
Undressing him with gentle fingers, Adam kisses the purple patches of bruising on James’s ribs, examining him for more signs of injury.
“I’m fine,” says James. “I need a shower though,” he adds, pulling a face.
“You smell good,” says Adam, nuzzling into his armpit.
He straddles James and strips off as he best he can whilst keeping him trapped between his legs. It’s an impossible task and when he has to roll over onto his back to take his pants and socks off James almost escapes to the bathroom, but Adam lunges and catches hold of his good arm, pulling him over on top of him. They’re both rock hard the instant they brush together.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” says Adam, hating the words as soon as they leave his mouth. As if he hasn’t spent the last four years hurting this man.
“You won’t.” James says. “I trust you.”
Pushing Adam into his side, James hooks a leg over him and they grind against each other with slow hard strokes. Adam wants to stay like this forever. He’s never been so wrapped up in another person in his life. James’s mouth is warm and soft and as addictive as any drug and Adam thrusts his hips and knows from the furious beating of James’s heart and the scrape of his fingernails that he’s so very close. Almost as close as Adam is.
Tightening his arms as much as he dare, Adam buries his face, biting into the skin at the junction of neck and shoulder then coming hard with a muffled cry. James shudders against him, good arm clinging on tight as he arches his back, biting at Adam’s lower lip then tangling his fingers into Adam’s hair and coming with a sigh of pleasure a moment later.
Adam kisses the top of his head and pulls him closer. He thought their reunion sex would be different -- fingers and cocks and tongues everywhere as they went through every position of the Karma Sutra. Once again he’s learning how very naïve he is. He’s never fucked a person without concentrating on the actual sex. Maybe he’s never been in love before.
“Can I shower now?”
“Don’t think so, no,” Adam replies with a smile as James, half-asleep already, closes his eyes and his breathing becomes shallow and quiet.
Adam’s not going to sleep. He’s going to stay here enjoying this protective cocoon they’re immersed in. He pulls the comforter over them and holds James tightly in his arms.
~~****~~
Waking up is strange. Adam’s grown accustomed to being in different beds all over the world and he’s used to being alone in most of them. It’s just that this time he didn’t expect to be.
“Coffee.” James puts a mug on the nightstand and pads around the room naked and that makes everything instantly better. Adam sits up, sticking a pillow behind his back for support, and sips at the drink. He watches James dress and wonders how come the little things suddenly shine out as being so important.
“Here,” says James throwing a CD onto the bed. “Can’t like the blues and not have Robert Johnson in your collection. Happy Birthday, dude.”
Adam picks up the jewel case and looks at the cover.
“You remembered.”
“I never forgot,” says James, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “I was just waiting for you to remember me.”
Adam is finally growing up. Instead of storming off or reacting angrily or retreating into his shell, he accepts the subtle admonishment with a wry apologetic smile.
After a quick shower, he takes James out for a meal, not giving a damn who sees them together. Joss was wrong; not everything needs taking down a level. Sometimes the opposite is true.
The Italian restaurant is quiet, but not off the beaten track. At first Adam thinks he likes eating out with James. They drink Cabernet from a local vineyard and share a plate of antipasto while they talk about work.
Then James looks up and grins. “Tell me about the guy at the gym.”
“Nothing to say.” Adam blushes.
“Hit on you in the showers did he? Was he pretty?”
“Yep,” says Adam, distracted by the presence of a young waiter who is there clearing the table. “I mean, nope.”
“Did you drop the soap?”
Adam leans forward wanting to silence James’s laughter. He speaks in a low voice, exaggerating every syllable. “He was young and pretty and ripped just the way I like. He soaped himself up and pulled at his cock making out that he was just washing. Then he quit the pretence and just stood there jacking himself off and staring at me. Wanted me to fuck him in the stall.”
“I would have got you to fuck me right there,” says James.
He would too. Adam can imagine it happening; James tempting him, going down on him with little baby licks. Driving him so crazy that Adam would grab him and turn him around and fuck him up against the white tiles, water pouring all over them, guys watching. Christ! He’s aching for sex again. He finishes the glass of wine and pours himself some more, staring at the plate the waiter has placed in front of him. He’s in the mood for something very different to Spaghetti Carbonara.
“What have we here?” says James, putting his phone on the table and playing the blow job vid clip for Adam over and over again until his dick is harder than steel. “Maybe I should send it around like an audition tape. Get you some more work. ”
“Gimme that.” Adam fights James for the phone.
“You’d make fucking good money in porn. Look at that technique.”
Adam thinks of the back catalogue of movies he’s made. “Not been too many steps away from that at times,” he says with a grin.
“Fuck!” breathes James and his eyes widen with desire.
Throwing an excess amount of money down onto his side plate, Adam gets up from the table, chair skidding away behind him. “Gotta have you now,” he mutters as quietly as he can manage. The words sound more like a growl and James reacts like a bitch in a heat, breathing fast and eager as he gets to his feet.
Adam strides out of the restaurant then drags James into an alleyway between two buildings. James faces the wall, arms out in submission and Adam unfastens his belt and rips his pants down, spitting in his hand and wrapping his wet palm around James’s cock.
Unzipping himself, he slicks the dribbles of pre-come down his shaft, spitting again and fingering James open with trembling fingers. He’s inside in one urgent thrust and James whines and pushes back onto Adam’s hard prick. There’s a steady flow of people walking past along the nearby street and it only adds to the excitement. Adam’s high again, floating on a wave of pleasure as he grips James’s hipbone and fucks him into tomorrow, his cock burning and throbbing from the exquisite ferocity of the sex. James whimpers and Adam remembers the reach around, working the semi-hard cock to full erection with strong pulls.
“My dirty little whore,” he hisses, sucking kisses onto James’s neck and fucking him even harder. James moans and does this whole body spasm at Adam’s words then his hips jerk and he comes all over the wall, streaks of white sliding down the brickwork.
Licking the spunk off his fingers, Adam thinks of all the different ways he wants to screw James. Then, when it dawns on him that he has forever to do them, he comes like a fucking hurricane.
Maybe the moment wouldn’t be romantic to some, but it works for Adam. Taking the package out of his jacket pocket, he tears the wrapping paper away and fastens the chain around James’s neck, white silver beads shining out prettily against the red bruises.
James turns around, leaning against the wall, and he’s breathing hard and he's flushed, still coming down from the sex. Touching the chain, he reaches into his pocket for a pack of smokes, taking one out and sliding it between his lips.
Adam lights it with a match, torn from the book that he took from the restaurant
as a memento.
DONE