you give me the reason
you give me control
I gave you my Purity
my Purity you stole
“Click click,” mutters Adam as he stares without blinking at the screen of his laptop, “Click fucking click.”
He’s been more of a damn fool than ever.
“Click fucking click.” How the hell could that be a Zippo? All that come must’ve addled his brain.
The picture’s been posted and reposted and reposted in all the gossip communities on the internet. There’s been so much speculation and the conclusion everyone has come to is the obvious wrong one: that it’s a very good quality manipulation. The faces are just grainy enough to add that credibility and whoever’s done it has used the right kind of filters to make the shots blend seamlessly together. It’s made up to look just like a poor quality photo; the kind of result you’d get from using a camera phone in darkened room.
“Click fucking click.”
Adam’s stranded right where he doesn’t want to be, stuck in a hotel in South Africa on location filming The Poseiden Adventure. There are two places he does want to be: one of them is at home with his family doing some damage limitation and the other is in London wringing James’ neck. He gets hard just thinking about it. That’s the problem.
did you think I wouldn't recognize this
compromise?
am I just too stupid to realise?
stale incense old sweat and lies lies lies
A shower doesn’t help much. The water slides over his body reminding him all too much of those cool fingers drifting southwards and pushing all of his damn buttons. Ice cold and heartless. He deliberately ignores his erection because if he didn’t, he’d just be beating off to pretty mental pictures of James and he doesn’t want to give the man the satisfaction of that - even if he is thousands of miles away.
They’ve talked since he’s been in South Africa, talked away for hours with mouthfuls of dirty dirty words, fucking each other crazy with their own fists and fingers. It’s been enough to get him through the lonely nights and, no, he hasn’t been counting down the days ‘til he can see James again. And, no, he hasn’t been waiting for that call waiting bleep, willing his wife to stop boring him with trivialities about soccer and baseball and fundraising bake sales for the community. She’s happy to play cuckold while he’s just the fool on the hill.
Towelling the droplets of water from his body, Adam looks at himself in the mirror. He’s thinner than he’s been for a long time; tanned and muscled, fit from workouts at the gym and long screwing sessions. But when did everything start slipping away from him? He’s full of this fucking hunger all the damn time that sits like a ball of lead in his stomach and makes him hate himself so much he ends up sickened at the sight of his own erection. He’d rather be impotent than this.
James is laughing inside his head and that makes him want to smash his fist through that pretty pouty mouth and out the back of his skull.
“Fuck.” It comes out like desperation. It is desperation.
Alcohol won’t help, but it sure as hell won’t hurt and, as he pours out two of those meagre little bottles into a glass, he wonders how full the mini bar will be by morning. It turns out to be a bad idea. Whiskey only fuels his anger and he winds up hunting for the picture again and staring at it until his eyes are on fire. How the fuck could James do that to him?
it comes down to this
your kiss
your fist
and your strain
it gets under my skin
within
take in the extent of my sin
Adam hasn’t phoned James since he’s been in London. There’s been a textbook full of excuses. Doesn’t know his schedule, James says. Can’t answer his cell when he’s with the fans, James says. Can’t remember the number for the hotel, James says.
‘Wait for me to call you.’
So Adam does as he’s told, laying naked on the bed, phone close at hand, a nail tracing over the bodies on the laptop screen as he relives that night – sense memory (sense gone.)
The darkest, most miserable part of this whole situation is the way his hard on twitches with excitement at thought of being spread open with six inches of Fillion inside him for all of networld to see.
What have they done to him? His fingers crawl across the covers towards his cell.
“What the fuck have you done?” he snarls when James answers and if his voice is breaking, it’s anger not tears that’s causing it. He’s not feeling betrayed because that implies there was something other than dick between them.
“Adam.” There’s a smothered laugh and some whispered conversation. “I’m kinda busy right now. Later okay.”
“No, not okay.” Busy doing what? (who?)
“I’m not gonna talk to you when you’re pissed. I’m tired. We’ve had a long day.”
“We?”
“Dave and me. We’re exhausted from the interviews. Just wanna chill, drink a little beer… do a little surfing.”
There’s more of that laughter and Adam feels sick, angry, bitter – broken.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what, Adam, are you drunk? Fuck…” The words slide away into a slow quiet hiss of pleasure that he knows all too intimately.
you give me the anger
you give me the nerve
carry out my sentence
well I get what I deserve
I'm just an effigy to be disgraced
to be defaced
your need for me has been replaced
and if I can't have everything well then just give me a taste
He wants them here on his bed, hands free soundtrack telling him the tale of what they’re doing as fingers creep relentlessly over each other. He wants it to look like filth, but it’s a million light years from that. They’re two perfect Stars up in the sky, blemish free and word perfect, twisting him tighter and tighter inside their own warped world when all he wants to do is break free.
Adam blinks and sees everything. James gazing upward, satisfied smile in place as he’s manhandled in all the right ways, shimmying and bucking to the rhythm of Dave’s hands, moaning needing moaning.
‘I want you.’
His cock reaches out for them, pulsing in his fingers as he imagines the play being here in his world. Their kisses are intimate and cruel and he hears (sees) every soft suck and slither of tongue. It’s a virus eating him from the inside out, filling him with heat and greed and sex.
Curling up on his side, he clenches his fist around his erection so fiercely he can feel the bruises emerging. Can’t not do it however hard he tries. Gotta be quiet, so quiet, so quiet. No one’s ever gotta know how far he’s fallen.
“Adam, you still there?”
Don’t hang up, please don’t hang up, please not yet. Need this.
He can’t talk because then they’ll know he’s lying here in this godforsaken bed he’s made for himself, surrounded by pictures of a broken life. And so with acid tears burning grooves into his skin, he fucks his lonely fist to the sound of his lover getting screwed into the middle of next week. It’s sickening to find out that he’s more compliant than ever and a worse cuckold than his wife. At least she doesn’t bring herself off to his unfaithfulness.
With a mouthful of pillow he comes over the sheets then stares down at the mess he’s made of everything.
“Adam?”
‘Why did you do it?’ he doesn’t say - won’t ask because he’s too scared to know the truth. It feels good to disconnect. If only.
Fifty hours later he’s on a plane to the wrong fucking place.
it comes down to this
your kiss
your fist
and your strain
it get's under my skin
within
take in the extent of my sin
All it takes is a phone call to James’s suite and Adam’s in (like sin). It should be more difficult, shouldn’t it? Especially at eleven p.m. when he’s red-eyed and looking as sick as a strung out junkie. Maybe he’s more famous (infamous) than he thought. That’s not good and the shivers running up and down his spine bear testament to that. Why did he (James) do it? Why did he (Adam) do it?
All the way up in the elevator, rage builds like oedema, filling all the most dangerous fissures. The door’s open a little, like one of those cracks, beckoning him inside to play out the scene. Temptation, pain and lust are a ruthless combination.
It’s dark in that lair, only the light from the bathroom showing him a hint of what’s lying in wait for him. Christ knows what he’s expecting, but for some fucked up reason it isn’t a towel-clad, baby-faced James taunting him with false promise. Somewhere over the ocean, between Johannesburg and London, James had mutated into something twisted and ugly.
Subdued lighting clicks on and it helps Adam focus in so many ways. Now he can see the truth spread out before him; a smug little bitch intent on playing his games. He smiles through gritted teeth and lets the swelling build.
“Drink?” asks James, pointing to a bottle of bourbon as he flashes his pretty baby-blues, showing a hint of tongue for effect. The man doesn’t know it but he may as well be throwing whiskey on the fire.
When Adam pushes James up against the wall, his fingers wrapped around that throat, it’s as if every breath he takes away from James eases his own constriction (sickness).
“I figured it out on the flight over here. You want to take control away from me. Well guess what, baby, you’ve done it.”
“You think you were ever in control?” wheezes James and the amusement in his eyes is easy to read.
Adam’s never been this close to the darkness before.
you give me the reason
you give me control
I gave you my Purity
my Purity you stole
Things are so much more screwed up than Adam ever knew. He can feel James thrumming with fear and adrenaline and it only makes him harder. James gasps in painful breaths as he scrabbles at Adam’s fly buttons like he’ll drown if he doesn’t get fucked and once he's freed up Adam’s cock, he rips the towel away then lifts and twists, legs meshing like wire snaring Adam and drawing him down into the deep.
If this is what hate feels like, he wants more of it. Smashing James into the wall, he squeezes that throat until pretty eyes bulge then forces his cock inside the (slick?) (stretched?) hole. He can feel every gulp and whimper, senses the tickle of pulse quicken beneath skin and it makes him fuck harder.
“You’re a filthy bitch.” He’s never screwed anyone like this in his life, all pain cruelty, hate, hurt, anger (need).
James nods and arches against him, trying to rub himself off against Adam’s belly, but Adam pulls back with a smirk. “Ain’t gonna happen,” he hisses, one big hand holding James’s wrists above his head, the other still resting on his throat as he slams inside so viciously he’s stinging from the slap of skin on skin.
“I could kill you so easy for what you’ve done. I hate what you’ve done. I hate what you do to me.” His mouth slides up James’s neck and he fastens his teeth over a narrow earlobe and bites down hard until James yelps and pants and Adam can feel the wet dribble of pre-come drip down his belly. “You think you can play us all to get what you want.”
Shoving James down onto the floor, he lifts his legs and forces back inside (home) fucking him like the cunt he is. “But what happens when I learn to play better?”
“Never gonna happen,” gasps James, eyes glinting slightly, “Never.”
Adam sucks away those words with pressure from his fingers and deep intense kisses that have James struggling and writhing beneath him like a snake.
“You’re so fucked up,” he whispers, licking the sting of pain away from those smiling raw lips.
“And you’re Mr Purity?”
He was once, relatively so anyway. He took male lovers when he felt the need then fucked them and sent them on their way. But that wasn’t purity, that was disconnection.
“Was until I got covered in you.”
“If you don’t want it, you can get the fuck out.”
The tension raises as James fights to get away, catching Adam unawares and slamming a knee up into his stomach then scrambling out from beneath him
“No you fucking don’t.” Catching hold of him before he can get away, Adam pulls James up close until they’re spooned up in a parody of contentment. He lifts James's leg and slams back in, grinding the tip of his erection into James’s sweet spot, making him lax and needy in his arms.
The venom’s dripped away now and Adam’s left with this emptiness that needs be filled with something, anything. Reaching around he grips James’s cock and fucks him with an intensity designed to get them both off hard and good.
“Oh God, yes, yes fuck yes,” whimpers James as he spills over the carpet. Adam doesn’t waste any time just pulls out and jerks himself off over the curled up body.
It’s even better this way.
it comes down to this
your kiss
your fist
and your strain
it gets under my skin
within
take in with my sin it comes down to this
your kiss
your fist
and your strain
it get's under my skin
within
take in the extent of my sin
DONE