Fic: The Time Is Now, Then Did You Notice -- Magic Mike
Fandom: Magic Mike
Pairing: Mike/Adam
Rating: Mature
Notes: This is a revised and slightly expanded version of the story first published in the 2014 Con*Strict 'zine, written because gorramit! why isn't there more Mike/Adam stuff?! Title & cut tag is from the song "Victim" by Win-Win.
Disclaimer: Magic Mike is copyright its respective owners. This is a for-love-not-lucre work of what-if.
Adam came tumbling back into Mike's life about six months after Dallas took him and the rest of the crew to Miami. Early one Saturday afternoon Mike heard a knock at the door, and when he opened it, there stood Adam in a ratty hoodie and dirty jeans, with a large duffel bag slung across his shoulder. He looked disheveled, tired, and strung out. But most of all, his eyes grabbed Mike's attention. Gone was the wet-behind-the-ears kid he met on that construction job. Adam's eyes had a 20-going-on-54 look to them, and Mike felt a stab of guilt about that even before he heard Brooke's voice in the back of his mind telling him that Adam was going to do what Adam was going to do. Period.
(She was right, of course, even when she was just a voice in Mike's head. Like always.)
Adam smiled at him in that slightly hesitant way of his and … Mike couldn't resist, "Brooke shut the door in your ungrateful ass's face?"
Adam flashed a brief but real grin at the goofiness of Mike's words before ducking his head and shaking it. "No,man."
Mike snorted. "What? You came here first?"
Adam's eyes locked with his. "Yeah."
Okay, it's bizarro day in bizarro world. Mike decided to take a different approach. He stepped back from the door and gestured, inviting Adam in. "How's Miami treating you?"
"Miami's over," Adam stated, voice hard and flat. Mike winced at the amount of hurt he saw accompanying those words in Adam's eyes.
"Okay, I'm going to grab us some beers." He could see that Adam needed to talk about something, and since Adam didn't really talk? Yeah, best to keep it as casual as possible.
He came back from the kitchen with two Coronas to find Adam had slung his bag across the new coffee table - the one he built after those goons trashed the place - and was fishing around in it, searching for something. Adam pulled out a plastic grocery bag and handed over to him. "'S your money, man," he said without preamble. "The ten grand that you put up for me. We're square."
As glad as he was to have the money back, several things, none of them good, tumbled into Mike's brain as he closed his hand around the bag and hefted it. "What did you -"
Equal amounts of resignation and relief mixed in Adam's voice. "Dallas bought me out."
Mike's legs almost buckled at that and he sat down hard enough to make the chair (not one of his best creations) creak in protest. "What -"
"I made him buy me out," Adam cut in. "Fucker probably cheated me, but I don't care. I'm just glad to be gone." He took a gulp of his beer and asked, "So, man, how are you?"
Up to my eyeballs in shit. "I wish I could say I'm killing it with my furniture, but …" he sighed and shrugged "At least I'm keeping a roof over my head." And this money came just in time, too.
Adam scratched idly at what Mike figured was a three day growth of beard on his chin. "So, think it would go better if you had an extra hand to help out?"
"I think you should go talk to your sister," Mike replied.
Adam took a tight sip of his beer. "Yeah, I should get that ass-reaming taken care of sooner rather than later." He sniffed and wiped at his nose.
"You can stay here a little while if you need to."
Adam gave him that megawatt smile of his, the one that got the girl, every time. "Thanks, man."
~oo(0)oo~
Brooke, of course, wasn't happy about any of it: the fact that Adam was back; the fact that he had no job (again); the fact that he was staying at Mike's place and not at hers.
"I told her that you have a spare bed and she doesn't."
Mike sighed. It hadn't worked out between him and Brooke, which just made this whole thing even more awkward. Oh, he and Brooke were still friends and even had a standing "date" for breakfast every Friday, but as hard-headed and practical as she was, Mike felt that a part of Brooke had never forgiven him over what had happened with Adam, even though she knew - or repeatedly said she knew - that Adam was a grown man and could make his own mistakes.
On the other hand, Mike loved Brooke because she had a low threshold for bullshit, and he had to admit that she was right when she had told him it was time for him to grow up.
But even beyond the Adam thing … Brooke didn't know how to dance and had no interest in trying to learn, didn't want to go to clubs, and she saw no appeal in a lot of things that Mike loved to do. At the end of the day, he was too much of a free spirit and she too down to earth for them to last as a couple.
But as friends? They were aces. Hell, Brooke even broke up with a guy who didn't understand the sanctity of the Friday breakfast.
Mike complimented Brooke, but he didn't complete her.
~oo(0)oo~
"I kinda still want to dance," Adam said as he shoveled Frosted Flakes (the only vice Mike could afford at the moment) into his face. His hair, still mussed from sleep, stood up like a dandelion. "Like on the weekends for parties and stuff." He put another giant spoonful in his mouth, milk dripping off, running down his chin. He swiped at it and continued, "You should be my wingman."
Mike felt his jaw drop open as he looked at Adam, because -
"I mean, my manager." Adam picked up the bowl and leaned back slightly as he gulped down the sugary milk, the muscles in his throat somehow looking obscene and graceful, and why the hell was Mike even noticing or thinking about the way Adam drank milk out of a bowl?
Adam set the bowl back down, belched softly, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at Mike expectantly, eyes bright and eager.
Twenty and going on ten, Mike thought.
"I'll - I just need somebody to have my back is all." Adam shrugged.
Mike snorted, because, total understatement. Quietly he asked, "What happened in Miami?"
A stricken look flashed across Adam's face before his mouth tightened and he screwed his eyes shut for an awkwardly long time. "Not enough to make me want to completely quit the life," he replied when he opened them again.
~oo(0)oo~
As he inventoried his van and prepared to head out for the day, as much as Mike hated to admit it, Adam had a point about keeping the stripping going. On a good weekend Adam could clear what Mike made in a week these days. Correction - if it was a good week and he hustled.
Mike just didn't know if he wanted to sit in the Mike's Mobile Detailing van (he sold the truck about three months ago to make ends meet) for a couple of hours every Friday and Saturday night. He was single again and Friday and Saturday were … okay, so it wasn't like he was getting it the way he did back in his Magic Mike days, but still ….
"So … what's detailing?" Adam asked, scratching idly at his stubble.
"You're starting to look like a dirty hippie, and what do you mean, 'what's detailing?'"
Adam looked at him, slightly hurt. "I'll shave. And I mean it. What's detailing?"
"Oooookay …" Mike drew the word out. "Well, it's sure as fuck not stripping, that's for certain."
~oo(0)oo~
"Y'know, if it wasn't for the fact that I saw Dallas teach you to dance, I'd think you're hopeless." Mike gestured at the contents of the van as he tucked a bottle of Armor All back in its place, resisting the urge to hurtle it. It had been a very long and frustrating day of hustling for work, and although day's take was good, the sheer aggravation of the past six hours robbed that fact of any joy or satisfaction.
Adam just shrugged and wiped his nose in that way of his - like a cokehead, only without the coke.
"No, I take it back." Mike slid the door shut with a resounding (and satisfying) wham. Frustration had built in him all day and he didn't want to hold back any longer. "It's not that you're hopeless, it's that you don't pay attention or give a shit about anything except whether or not you want to hit on a customer!"
Adam froze. "I upped our tip." He said, low and quiet, not meeting Mike's eyes.
"Our tip?!" Mike loaded the words with sarcasm. "See, I remember me doing, like, 90% of the work."
Adam didn't reply, just climbed into the passenger seat and stewed so visibly that Mike all but felt the waves rolling off of him.
"What?" Mike barked as he climbed in the driver's chair and slammed the door. "Spit it out," he snapped as he turned the key in the ignition.
Instead of blowing up, like Mike anticipated, Adam deflated, went silent, turned his head and gazed out the window as the world passed them by.
"It doesn't make me feel alive." Adam finally spoke as they turned down the street to Mike's apartment, his voice barely audible over the noise of the van's engine.
Mike glared at him. "Doesn't make you feel alive?" What is this bullshit?!
"Dancing makes me feel alive," Adam said in a firmer voice, his gaze still out the window. He glanced over at Mike. "I like it. I'm good at it." He took his hat off and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. "This just …." his voice trailed off. He swallowed hard before he continued, one step up from a mumble, "This just makes me feel dead inside."
"Oh boo-fucking-hoo!" Mike shouted as he smacked the steering wheel. "Do you think I love detailing cars? Welcome to planet Earth!
"Dancing makes you feel good? Well, it makes me feel dead inside. This -" he gestured with his free hand, "at least this is real. And, it gives me the time I need to work on my designs. So yeah, Adam, I've got two jobs here: the one I love, and the one that actually pays the damn bills!"
"You don't have to get angry about it," Adam huffed as Mike pulled the van into the drive.
"I am not angry about it!"
Adam looked at him for several heartbeats before he smiled and said, "Then why are you shouting?"
"Because …." Well, Adam had a point.
Just before Mike opened the front door - and fuck he needed a cold beer after a long, hot day like today - Adam said, "I flirted because I knew I could up our tips if I did. I mean, at the end of the day, it's about the money in the jar, right?"
Mike looked at him for a long moment.
"I want to pull my own weight," Adam said, "and upping the tip helps."
"Right. We'll go 70-30 on the tips, considering that I'm still doing most of the detailing," Mike said as they stepped through the door.
"Okay," Adam said as he went to the fridge. He pulled out a beer, popped the top, and handed it to Mike before getting his own. "But," he shut the door and lounged against it in a way that was so casually artful that Mike knew it had been practiced and perfected under Dallas's watchful eye, "If I'm going to pull my weight, I need to dance. We both know that I -" he indicated his body "can make steady money at that."
Mike nodded.
"So, I'll help out as much as I can with the detailing, if you'll have my back when I dance."
~oo(0)oo~
"I still can't believe I'm doing this," Mike groaned under his breath as he sat before the computer and placed an ad on Craigslist. Adam grinned down at him, his eyes saying, 'and yet you are', but at least he had the good sense not to speak the words.
~oo(0)oo~
He brought a sketchpad and a flashlight to Adam's first gig - a divorce party - and roughed out a few ideas.
Not that a van on the street outside of some lady's house made for an optimal environment, but Mike had learned that when a good idea hit, you had to run with it. And, if nothing else, working in the van meant he had none of his usual distractions.
~oo(0)oo~
A little before 1am, Adam climbed into the van, lipstick on his neck. He looked tired but satisfied.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "I see they got a little frisky there."
Adam nodded and blushed so hard that even in the dim light of the street lamp Mike could see it.
"Wellllll?" Mike drew the word out. "Was she hot? Were her friends hot?"
Adam grinned lopsidedly. "Yeah … she was okay looking. Her friends, too"
Mike chuckled. "Did you get any digits?"
"No." Adam said a little sharply. "This is business." He shook his head. "This is … it's not like before. I'm -" He ducked his head, breaking Mike's gaze, "I'm not …" he motioned back and forth with his hand, "not right now."
Mike leaned in and teased, "Not looking to get laid?"
Adam's eyes darted away. "Not with them, I'm not." A moment later he said, "Can we go home now? I want a shower."
Not exactly what Mike expected on a Saturday. After a night at Dallas's they used to go out and unwind until the break of dawn. Then again, Adam had to do all the dancing at an event like this, unlike Dallas's where dancers got a break between sets. He started the van.
"Sorry to be such a party pooper," Adam said, cracking a yawn.
Mike was fine going home early - going to a club would strain his budget - but, all the dancing or not, he was a little surprised that Adam didn't at least want to grab a beer and shoot a little pool some place.
He got his answer when Adam fell asleep half way home. Mike couldn't suppress a grin looking at him, flopped over in the seat. He looked even younger while asleep, and, right now, sleeping the way he was, he made Mike think of a giant toddler. One with a face an angel would kill for.
~oo(0)oo~
Adam got up before him the next morning. He must have really been out of it, if he hadn't heard Adam come down the stairs from the loft and get the coffee maker going. Mike scrubbed blearily at his eyes until they finally focused and registered Adam, clad in a ratty old shirt and sweats, sitting at the kitchen table, looking at something.
Looking at Mike's sketch pad from last night.
He groaned under his breath and stumbled sleep-stiff out of the bed and into the bathroom and willed the morning wood to go down so he could take a pee.
Filling the cup that Adam had left out for him, Mike dropped down into a chair, and before he could say a word, Adam slid a small stack of bills over to him. "I believe the house rule is a 70-30 split," he said.
Mike blinked at that. He would have gone as low as 20% on Adam's tips.
Adam flipped back to one of the designs Mike had sketched last night, a rough idea for a coffee table, and said, "Some of these are kind of neat." He touched the drawing. "Can I help you build this one?"
Mike felt the "no" on the tip of his tongue, but when he saw the eagerness and hope in Adam's expression, he asked, "Why?" Realizing that sounded harsher than he meant it to, he added, "I mean, why that particular one?"
Adam looked at him, puzzled. "I like it?" he said finally said, uncertain.
Hardly a ringing endorsement, when said that way. Of all the ideas Mike had roughed out the night before, this was the one he felt most ambivalent about. "What do you like about it?" He asked, careful to keep his tone light and casual.
Adam grinned like a five year old. "It's funky and chunky, just like some of the furniture I saw -" he stopped abruptly, shook his head, and with an eye roll, continued, "I don't mean this the bad way. It reminded me of some of the furniture I saw when I was at college."
Looking at Adam over the rim of his coffee mug, Mike asked, "Annnnd, why would any of my customers want the furniture from their crappy college dorms?"
"'Cause this is what it would look like if it wasn't crappy, if it was done right, and …" Adam's voice trailed off as he leaned back and idly scratched an itch on his stomach, his shirt riding up in the process to expose the blade of his hip, "I dunno, not all of college was bad." He stopped abruptly and slumped forward. "So … just forget I said anything."
Mike took a big swallow of coffee and said, "We'll start on it tomorrow afternoon."
Adam's brow furrowed in confusion. "But -"
"But nothing. Nostalgia sells - think of how much crap is coming back from the 1980s."
Adam's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I don't remember the 80's, gramps."
"Fuck you," Mike replied, but there wasn't any heat in it.
Adam laughed, pushed back from the table, and said, "I'm going to go on a run. Want to come with?"
Turnabout was fair play. "Nope. I don't need to keep my girlish figure."
Adam blew him a raspberry as he headed out the door.
~oo(0)oo~
Do you have any man skills?" Mike couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice.
Their attempts to construct the table Mike had sketched up the other night were not only going nowhere fast, but Adam's attempts to use power tools had resulted in a cock-up of epic proportions.
Normally, by this point, Mike would've been furious and frustrated at the waste of time and materials, but the fact that Adam's attempts to enlarge the hole Mike drilled in the center of the table ended up looking like a floppy dick not once, not twice, but three times?
Mike couldn't decide what was funnier: Adam's intense look of concentration each time he took over, or the fact that all three attempts had ended in Mike's neatly drilled circle becoming a giant dangle.
"Fuck you," Adam replied, voice tight. "You did meet me on a construction site."
Mike nodded at that. "Well then, I stand corrected. Do you have any man skills beyond hammering things or stacking tile?"
Adam sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his arm. "Yeah, but I don't kiss and tell."
Laughter burbled out of Mike. "Okay. We'll work on teaching you power tools beyond the nail gun and the trowel. I'll think of something to make out of those." He gestured as his mind groped for a suitable word to describe the ruined table tops.
"Coffee table for my sister." Adam deadpanned.
Mike spun and clapped his hands to his mouth in an effort to hold the chuckles back. Sweet Jesus, the look on Brooke's face would be -
Behind him, he heard Adam make a strangled sound as he struggled to hold his own snickers back.
Mike made his fatal mistake when he looked over his shoulder at Adam. The dam burst and the both of them roared with laughter, made only better because they could see it in each other's eyes: they had pictured the exact same thing.
At some point, arms slung around each other, knees turned to jello, they collapsed on the workbench, sagging against each other, gasping and wheezing, gradually getting their breaths back.
And … it felt somehow right to have Adam that close, like an itch he didn't even realize he wanted scratched.
Mike glanced over at Adam, words on the tip of his tongue, "Want a glass of iced tea before we have another go at the router?" and there - blink and you'll miss it - Adam wanted to kiss him.
Oh, fuck, because Brooke will kill -
Mike never got to complete the thought. They both sprang up and away so fast that the bench flipped, sending tools and parts skittering across the floor as Mike flailed, backpedaled, and landed on his ass.
"Sorry, man, I -" Adam backed up, face white like a hotel sheet, and bolted out the door before Mike could get his feet under him or say a word. By the time he got to the door of the shed, he heard the squeal of Adam's tires as he tore down the street.
~oo(0)oo~
Fucker didn't answer his phone, either. Mike gave up after the fourth message and the ninth text. In desperation he called Brooke, and yeah, that was an awkward fucking conversation.
"Yeah, so Adam flew out of here about 10 minutes ago, and he's probably going to be kind of upset if he comes to you -"
"No, I can't tell you why."
"No, we didn't have a fight -"
"No, I haven't kicked him out."
"Yeah, I think he's okay - just upset."
"Listen, and this is the really important thing. Tell him I'm okay, and it's okay, and he's okay. And for God's sake, tell him to call or text me."
"Yeah, 'I'm okay, you're okay.'"
"Nope, that about covers it."
"Yeah, it is kind of cryptic, but I can't tell you more right now. And it's cool, it really is. Thanks."
"Of course we're on for breakfast tomorrow, Brooke."
~oo(0)oo~
About 30 seconds after Mike hung up, the adrenaline wore off and the pain of landing on his ass kicked in. He shinnied his jeans and jockeys down, and though he'd landed hard, it didn't look like he was going to bruise too badly. He gimped a little stiffly to the bathroom, fished the Tylenol out of the medicine cabinet, and when he shut it, he paused and looked at himself in the mirror for a moment.
Because yeah, he was cool with it. Mike knew that the instant he saw it in Adam's eyes. Adam wasn't the problem here, he was, because he needed some time to figure out why, after a lifetime of heterosexuality, his brain bent instantly around the idea of Adam + Kissing = Happy Fun Time. That's what baked Mike's noodle.
Guys came on to him on a regular basis. No big deal. He just wasn't interested in them. Everybody in the backroom at Dallas's knew that Ken swung both ways. There had been a lot of guy-guy horseplay, stuff with a definite undercurrent to it. Not only had Mike had been completely comfortable with it, but he'd also started it just as often as anybody else.
He had just never wanted to kiss a guy or get kissed by him. That was new. But still okay. Mike was South Florida born and bred; some people were gay or bi, just like the sun rose in the East and the beach had sand. So fucking what?
It was like … Mike fumbled for ideas, for words, for anything to explain it.
So. Yeah. Adam. Mike could go there.
Really go there.
~oo(0)oo~
Around midnight, Mike sent one last text and went to bed.
~oo(0)oo~
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway woke him before Adam stumbled through the door a few minutes after 4 am. One took at him told Mike everything: booze, coke, Miss Right Now, no sleep.
Mike wanted to explode on him, "Where were you?!" "Why didn't you answer my texts or calls?!" "Why didn't you answer Brooke?!" "I was worried about you!" The wary and haunted look in Adam's eyes stopped him. He could not afford to have Adam shut down, melt down, or worse, run away again.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and as calmly as he could, Mike said, "Are you okay?"
"I'm -" Adam started to say something, but paused in the doorway, rattled, clearly expecting something else. "W-what?" The word squeaked out.
Mike inched forward, careful to keep the look in his eyes as soft as possible. "Adam, are you okay?"
(You're so strung out, you look like 40 miles of bad road, and I can't deal all over again with you acting like you did right before you split to Miami. I just can't.)
Adam visibly collected himself, but then wiped his nose in that old nervous way of his. "Oh yeah, I'm fi -" His voice cracked. A moment later his facade - all that bravado - the forced coolness, collapsed. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Mike could practically see the words stuck in Adam's throat before Adam finally shook his head no.
"I didn't think so. Have a seat." Mike sank down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him.
Sucking in shivering lungfuls of air in an effort to keep it together, Adam made it to the couch and sat down - almost collapsing, really - and when he got settled in, he kept staring at a spot on the floor between his feet.
"Adam, look at me." Mike spoke softly.
Headshake no.
Mike dropped his voice an octave. "Look. At. Me."
"I can't," Adam whispered, voice raw with desperation.
"Why not? I'm not going to bite."
In a tiny, broken, voice, "You know why."
Mike forced himself to take another calming breath. "No, actually, I don't. Did you get any of my messages to you?"
Adam nodded yes.
"So …" Mike shrugged, "that's not making sense to me." An icicle feeling began to worm its way into his heart. "I'm telling you again, it's okay." Mike smiled over the fear he felt, hoping that it would make its way into his voice, "It's actually better than okay with me …."
The moment the words registered, Adam's head snapped up and Mike had to admit that even like this - bloodshot red-rimmed eyes, hair every which way - dear god, he was striking.
A heartbeat later and the hope that Mike saw shining in those eyes began to dim. "I don't -" Adam swallowed hard. "What do I have to offer you? Why should you have to deal with some fucking college drop-out kid who can't get his shit together worth a damn?" He shook his head. "I'll just drag you down."
"Wait? What?" Mike shook his head to get his bearings. "Adam, do you think you're not good enough for me or something?"
"You're Magic Mike!" Adam burst out. "You've got all this stuff going on in your life - your designs, your detailing business, and you're a way better dancer than I'll ever be. Hell," Adam gestured broadly, "you gave me an easy-peasy job trying to teach me to help you do furniture and I even fucked that up."
"Yeah, but it wasn't boring," Mike interjected, trying to lighten the mood.
"You're Magic Mike," Adam continued. "Nothing fazes you. You just keep on going. You just get up every time you get knocked down. You don't run - " Adam sucked in a deep breath, "- you don't run away from anything. I bet you had no problems when you realized … when you figured out …." Adam's voice trailed off.
When I figured out …? OH. "No, it threw me for a loop, alright," Mike said, shaking his head emphatically. Granted, it took me 12 hours to figure out that casual sex doesn't do it for me - hasn't done it for me in a long time - it's more about if I like somebody and find them interesting, and that yeah, apparently that includes guys, too. Not something I expected, at all. I thought I had it all figured out 15 years ago, and I wasn't expecting anything to change. "Listen, so you're bi-sexual, like I am, apparently -"
"Nope." Bitterness dripped from Adam's voice.
"Really?" Mike said before he could stop himself.
Adam took a deep breath and the words almost tripped over themselves in the rush to leave his mouth. "I left college because I couldn't accept - and then I met you, and - but there were all these girls and I kept hoping that maybe, just maybe, that because I could do it with them it meant that I wasn't really gay, but -" His head shot up and his eyes drilled into Mike's, "I like guys more and I have been so fucking in love with you since that first night, and it has been killing me inside to try and not be."
In love with me. It rolled around in Mike's brain as he took one of Adam's hands in both of his. "Adam, I -" His mouth opened and closed and he realized he had no idea what he wanted to say next.
Adam darted in and kissed him - just the briefest most ghostly feathering of lip on lip - and it jolted Mike like grabbing a live wire.
"I can be a real asshole," Mike said, mind and mouth once again reunited.
Adam nodded, mouth curved in the tiniest of smiles, the hope in his eyes making the expression in them something beautiful and transcendent. "I know."
"And what kind of a kiss was that? C'mon, man, if you're going to kiss me -" Mike didn't get to complete the sentence because Adam knocked him back on the couch, and kissed him so hard and so exuberantly it all felt new again.
Because it was new: getting whisker burn; the angular, strong body pressed up against his; things being hard where Mike was used to soft.
And, speaking of hard? Things were perking up down there. Mike let out a relieved breath when they broke. Yes, he'd worked it all out correctly last night: emotional connection = physical attraction.
"God," Adam breathed, low and throaty. "I could kiss you for hours."
"Me too," Mike whispered.
"Can we …?" Adam left the words hanging.
"Bed?" Mike clarified.
"Yes."
Mike took Adam's hand and led the 10 steps to the bed. They shed their clothes as gracefully as two boys undressing in the locker room, and as Mike slid back the sheet, he said, "Y'know, you're going to have to lead the way here, because I have no idea what I'm doing."
Adam paused for a moment, frozen, before laughing, clearly trying on the idea of being the more experienced one, for once.
Mike waited for Adam to join him, but Adam just stood there, eyes raking over him, until he said, "Y'know that night we met and we ended up with those girls on the bridge, and you teased me about how pregnant I got that girl's mouth?"
"Yeah?"
"I want to do that to you." Adam said, crouching down, leaving no doubt what, exactly, he wanted to do to Mike. "Wanted it since I glanced over that table in the club and saw you looking at me and her ..." his voice trailed off, growing low and raspy.
Mike's mouth formed a perfect O of surprise. His cock positively throbbed at the idea, letting loose with a fresh jolt of precome. Adam licked his lips at the sight of it, and Mike heard himself groaning at the sight of that tongue dragging over those full, pouty lips.
A moment later Adam slid between the V of Mike's legs, his lips surrounding Mike, sucking and slurping as his tongue danced along the underside of the shaft. He cupped one hand around Mike's sack and reached up to curl the other around the blade of Mike's hip. Mike groaned as his pelvis spasmed and bucked of its own accord, his hands rising to tangle in Adam's locks, but mindful not to grip too tightly. He didn't last as long as he would've liked - the exhausting stress of the day combined with Adam's relentless assault caused him to seize and shoot after only a few minutes. He tried to warn Adam, tugging on his hair, but Adam went down that last little bit, swallowing when Mike released his payload. He looked so fucking hot doing it, that Mike felt almost woozy and flopped back on to the mattress, gasping for air, as his cock gave the last jolt into Adam's mouth.
And then Adam was above, scooting him over on the mattress, climbing on top.
"What do I -?" Mike's tongue struggled to form the words as he tried to sit up.
Adam shushed him with a finger to the lips. "It's okay, Mike, lay down, you'll see." He pressed his gloriously hot and strong body the length of Mike's, his cock hard and full against Mike's pelvis. He began kissing Mike as he gave a few short rocking thrusts with his hips. "I think -" push, kiss, wet break for air, "that I can go -" rocking thrust, hitching breath, "for some bump -" a short sharp jab, "and grind -" a long full stroke.
Mike smiled up at him. "Sounds good to me."
Adam didn't need to be told twice, and Mike found himself somewhere in between giving as good as he got, and just hanging on for the ride, because Jesus fuck, Adam was strong, and eager, and hungry, and if Mike was 10 years younger, or if it wasn't oh-dark-thirty out, this would have kicked off round two for him.
It didn't take long before - all sweat and friction - Adam shot his load between them, hot and salt-musky, before collapsing on top of him, trembling slightly, panting, breath coming in hot damp bursts against Mike's neck.
"So, when are we going to tell Brooke about this?" Adam asked into Mike's collarbone when he got his breath back, yawning hugely as soon as the words left his mouth.
Mike looked over at the alarm. It was almost 5 am. "At nine when we have breakfast with her. Alarm goes off at eight-thirty."
"What?" Adam asked, rolling off of Mike, swiping at his come with a corner of the sheet.
"Remember, I have breakfast with Brooke every Friday morning, and believe you me, we don't want to stand her up."
Adam lifted his head and smiled blearily over at Mike. "You're right, we don't." To Mike's relief, the hollow, haunted look had left his eyes, and the Adam he remembered from their first days together was back.
Mike kissed him on the forehead and shut his eyes as he settled onto the pillow. Brooke was going to be pissed at first, but this was what Adam wanted - had been wanting for a long time - and ultimately, like any good sister, that's what Brooke cared about, Adam's happiness.
Just before sleep pulled him under, Mike felt Adam snuggle against him, breath slow and even, and he thought he could get used to this, because it was the rightest thing in the world.
Pairing: Mike/Adam
Rating: Mature
Notes: This is a revised and slightly expanded version of the story first published in the 2014 Con*Strict 'zine, written because gorramit! why isn't there more Mike/Adam stuff?! Title & cut tag is from the song "Victim" by Win-Win.
Disclaimer: Magic Mike is copyright its respective owners. This is a for-love-not-lucre work of what-if.
Adam came tumbling back into Mike's life about six months after Dallas took him and the rest of the crew to Miami. Early one Saturday afternoon Mike heard a knock at the door, and when he opened it, there stood Adam in a ratty hoodie and dirty jeans, with a large duffel bag slung across his shoulder. He looked disheveled, tired, and strung out. But most of all, his eyes grabbed Mike's attention. Gone was the wet-behind-the-ears kid he met on that construction job. Adam's eyes had a 20-going-on-54 look to them, and Mike felt a stab of guilt about that even before he heard Brooke's voice in the back of his mind telling him that Adam was going to do what Adam was going to do. Period.
(She was right, of course, even when she was just a voice in Mike's head. Like always.)
Adam smiled at him in that slightly hesitant way of his and … Mike couldn't resist, "Brooke shut the door in your ungrateful ass's face?"
Adam flashed a brief but real grin at the goofiness of Mike's words before ducking his head and shaking it. "No,man."
Mike snorted. "What? You came here first?"
Adam's eyes locked with his. "Yeah."
Okay, it's bizarro day in bizarro world. Mike decided to take a different approach. He stepped back from the door and gestured, inviting Adam in. "How's Miami treating you?"
"Miami's over," Adam stated, voice hard and flat. Mike winced at the amount of hurt he saw accompanying those words in Adam's eyes.
"Okay, I'm going to grab us some beers." He could see that Adam needed to talk about something, and since Adam didn't really talk? Yeah, best to keep it as casual as possible.
He came back from the kitchen with two Coronas to find Adam had slung his bag across the new coffee table - the one he built after those goons trashed the place - and was fishing around in it, searching for something. Adam pulled out a plastic grocery bag and handed over to him. "'S your money, man," he said without preamble. "The ten grand that you put up for me. We're square."
As glad as he was to have the money back, several things, none of them good, tumbled into Mike's brain as he closed his hand around the bag and hefted it. "What did you -"
Equal amounts of resignation and relief mixed in Adam's voice. "Dallas bought me out."
Mike's legs almost buckled at that and he sat down hard enough to make the chair (not one of his best creations) creak in protest. "What -"
"I made him buy me out," Adam cut in. "Fucker probably cheated me, but I don't care. I'm just glad to be gone." He took a gulp of his beer and asked, "So, man, how are you?"
Up to my eyeballs in shit. "I wish I could say I'm killing it with my furniture, but …" he sighed and shrugged "At least I'm keeping a roof over my head." And this money came just in time, too.
Adam scratched idly at what Mike figured was a three day growth of beard on his chin. "So, think it would go better if you had an extra hand to help out?"
"I think you should go talk to your sister," Mike replied.
Adam took a tight sip of his beer. "Yeah, I should get that ass-reaming taken care of sooner rather than later." He sniffed and wiped at his nose.
"You can stay here a little while if you need to."
Adam gave him that megawatt smile of his, the one that got the girl, every time. "Thanks, man."
~oo(0)oo~
Brooke, of course, wasn't happy about any of it: the fact that Adam was back; the fact that he had no job (again); the fact that he was staying at Mike's place and not at hers.
"I told her that you have a spare bed and she doesn't."
Mike sighed. It hadn't worked out between him and Brooke, which just made this whole thing even more awkward. Oh, he and Brooke were still friends and even had a standing "date" for breakfast every Friday, but as hard-headed and practical as she was, Mike felt that a part of Brooke had never forgiven him over what had happened with Adam, even though she knew - or repeatedly said she knew - that Adam was a grown man and could make his own mistakes.
On the other hand, Mike loved Brooke because she had a low threshold for bullshit, and he had to admit that she was right when she had told him it was time for him to grow up.
But even beyond the Adam thing … Brooke didn't know how to dance and had no interest in trying to learn, didn't want to go to clubs, and she saw no appeal in a lot of things that Mike loved to do. At the end of the day, he was too much of a free spirit and she too down to earth for them to last as a couple.
But as friends? They were aces. Hell, Brooke even broke up with a guy who didn't understand the sanctity of the Friday breakfast.
Mike complimented Brooke, but he didn't complete her.
~oo(0)oo~
"I kinda still want to dance," Adam said as he shoveled Frosted Flakes (the only vice Mike could afford at the moment) into his face. His hair, still mussed from sleep, stood up like a dandelion. "Like on the weekends for parties and stuff." He put another giant spoonful in his mouth, milk dripping off, running down his chin. He swiped at it and continued, "You should be my wingman."
Mike felt his jaw drop open as he looked at Adam, because -
"I mean, my manager." Adam picked up the bowl and leaned back slightly as he gulped down the sugary milk, the muscles in his throat somehow looking obscene and graceful, and why the hell was Mike even noticing or thinking about the way Adam drank milk out of a bowl?
Adam set the bowl back down, belched softly, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at Mike expectantly, eyes bright and eager.
Twenty and going on ten, Mike thought.
"I'll - I just need somebody to have my back is all." Adam shrugged.
Mike snorted, because, total understatement. Quietly he asked, "What happened in Miami?"
A stricken look flashed across Adam's face before his mouth tightened and he screwed his eyes shut for an awkwardly long time. "Not enough to make me want to completely quit the life," he replied when he opened them again.
~oo(0)oo~
As he inventoried his van and prepared to head out for the day, as much as Mike hated to admit it, Adam had a point about keeping the stripping going. On a good weekend Adam could clear what Mike made in a week these days. Correction - if it was a good week and he hustled.
Mike just didn't know if he wanted to sit in the Mike's Mobile Detailing van (he sold the truck about three months ago to make ends meet) for a couple of hours every Friday and Saturday night. He was single again and Friday and Saturday were … okay, so it wasn't like he was getting it the way he did back in his Magic Mike days, but still ….
"So … what's detailing?" Adam asked, scratching idly at his stubble.
"You're starting to look like a dirty hippie, and what do you mean, 'what's detailing?'"
Adam looked at him, slightly hurt. "I'll shave. And I mean it. What's detailing?"
"Oooookay …" Mike drew the word out. "Well, it's sure as fuck not stripping, that's for certain."
~oo(0)oo~
"Y'know, if it wasn't for the fact that I saw Dallas teach you to dance, I'd think you're hopeless." Mike gestured at the contents of the van as he tucked a bottle of Armor All back in its place, resisting the urge to hurtle it. It had been a very long and frustrating day of hustling for work, and although day's take was good, the sheer aggravation of the past six hours robbed that fact of any joy or satisfaction.
Adam just shrugged and wiped his nose in that way of his - like a cokehead, only without the coke.
"No, I take it back." Mike slid the door shut with a resounding (and satisfying) wham. Frustration had built in him all day and he didn't want to hold back any longer. "It's not that you're hopeless, it's that you don't pay attention or give a shit about anything except whether or not you want to hit on a customer!"
Adam froze. "I upped our tip." He said, low and quiet, not meeting Mike's eyes.
"Our tip?!" Mike loaded the words with sarcasm. "See, I remember me doing, like, 90% of the work."
Adam didn't reply, just climbed into the passenger seat and stewed so visibly that Mike all but felt the waves rolling off of him.
"What?" Mike barked as he climbed in the driver's chair and slammed the door. "Spit it out," he snapped as he turned the key in the ignition.
Instead of blowing up, like Mike anticipated, Adam deflated, went silent, turned his head and gazed out the window as the world passed them by.
"It doesn't make me feel alive." Adam finally spoke as they turned down the street to Mike's apartment, his voice barely audible over the noise of the van's engine.
Mike glared at him. "Doesn't make you feel alive?" What is this bullshit?!
"Dancing makes me feel alive," Adam said in a firmer voice, his gaze still out the window. He glanced over at Mike. "I like it. I'm good at it." He took his hat off and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. "This just …." his voice trailed off. He swallowed hard before he continued, one step up from a mumble, "This just makes me feel dead inside."
"Oh boo-fucking-hoo!" Mike shouted as he smacked the steering wheel. "Do you think I love detailing cars? Welcome to planet Earth!
"Dancing makes you feel good? Well, it makes me feel dead inside. This -" he gestured with his free hand, "at least this is real. And, it gives me the time I need to work on my designs. So yeah, Adam, I've got two jobs here: the one I love, and the one that actually pays the damn bills!"
"You don't have to get angry about it," Adam huffed as Mike pulled the van into the drive.
"I am not angry about it!"
Adam looked at him for several heartbeats before he smiled and said, "Then why are you shouting?"
"Because …." Well, Adam had a point.
Just before Mike opened the front door - and fuck he needed a cold beer after a long, hot day like today - Adam said, "I flirted because I knew I could up our tips if I did. I mean, at the end of the day, it's about the money in the jar, right?"
Mike looked at him for a long moment.
"I want to pull my own weight," Adam said, "and upping the tip helps."
"Right. We'll go 70-30 on the tips, considering that I'm still doing most of the detailing," Mike said as they stepped through the door.
"Okay," Adam said as he went to the fridge. He pulled out a beer, popped the top, and handed it to Mike before getting his own. "But," he shut the door and lounged against it in a way that was so casually artful that Mike knew it had been practiced and perfected under Dallas's watchful eye, "If I'm going to pull my weight, I need to dance. We both know that I -" he indicated his body "can make steady money at that."
Mike nodded.
"So, I'll help out as much as I can with the detailing, if you'll have my back when I dance."
~oo(0)oo~
"I still can't believe I'm doing this," Mike groaned under his breath as he sat before the computer and placed an ad on Craigslist. Adam grinned down at him, his eyes saying, 'and yet you are', but at least he had the good sense not to speak the words.
~oo(0)oo~
He brought a sketchpad and a flashlight to Adam's first gig - a divorce party - and roughed out a few ideas.
Not that a van on the street outside of some lady's house made for an optimal environment, but Mike had learned that when a good idea hit, you had to run with it. And, if nothing else, working in the van meant he had none of his usual distractions.
~oo(0)oo~
A little before 1am, Adam climbed into the van, lipstick on his neck. He looked tired but satisfied.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "I see they got a little frisky there."
Adam nodded and blushed so hard that even in the dim light of the street lamp Mike could see it.
"Wellllll?" Mike drew the word out. "Was she hot? Were her friends hot?"
Adam grinned lopsidedly. "Yeah … she was okay looking. Her friends, too"
Mike chuckled. "Did you get any digits?"
"No." Adam said a little sharply. "This is business." He shook his head. "This is … it's not like before. I'm -" He ducked his head, breaking Mike's gaze, "I'm not …" he motioned back and forth with his hand, "not right now."
Mike leaned in and teased, "Not looking to get laid?"
Adam's eyes darted away. "Not with them, I'm not." A moment later he said, "Can we go home now? I want a shower."
Not exactly what Mike expected on a Saturday. After a night at Dallas's they used to go out and unwind until the break of dawn. Then again, Adam had to do all the dancing at an event like this, unlike Dallas's where dancers got a break between sets. He started the van.
"Sorry to be such a party pooper," Adam said, cracking a yawn.
Mike was fine going home early - going to a club would strain his budget - but, all the dancing or not, he was a little surprised that Adam didn't at least want to grab a beer and shoot a little pool some place.
He got his answer when Adam fell asleep half way home. Mike couldn't suppress a grin looking at him, flopped over in the seat. He looked even younger while asleep, and, right now, sleeping the way he was, he made Mike think of a giant toddler. One with a face an angel would kill for.
~oo(0)oo~
Adam got up before him the next morning. He must have really been out of it, if he hadn't heard Adam come down the stairs from the loft and get the coffee maker going. Mike scrubbed blearily at his eyes until they finally focused and registered Adam, clad in a ratty old shirt and sweats, sitting at the kitchen table, looking at something.
Looking at Mike's sketch pad from last night.
He groaned under his breath and stumbled sleep-stiff out of the bed and into the bathroom and willed the morning wood to go down so he could take a pee.
Filling the cup that Adam had left out for him, Mike dropped down into a chair, and before he could say a word, Adam slid a small stack of bills over to him. "I believe the house rule is a 70-30 split," he said.
Mike blinked at that. He would have gone as low as 20% on Adam's tips.
Adam flipped back to one of the designs Mike had sketched last night, a rough idea for a coffee table, and said, "Some of these are kind of neat." He touched the drawing. "Can I help you build this one?"
Mike felt the "no" on the tip of his tongue, but when he saw the eagerness and hope in Adam's expression, he asked, "Why?" Realizing that sounded harsher than he meant it to, he added, "I mean, why that particular one?"
Adam looked at him, puzzled. "I like it?" he said finally said, uncertain.
Hardly a ringing endorsement, when said that way. Of all the ideas Mike had roughed out the night before, this was the one he felt most ambivalent about. "What do you like about it?" He asked, careful to keep his tone light and casual.
Adam grinned like a five year old. "It's funky and chunky, just like some of the furniture I saw -" he stopped abruptly, shook his head, and with an eye roll, continued, "I don't mean this the bad way. It reminded me of some of the furniture I saw when I was at college."
Looking at Adam over the rim of his coffee mug, Mike asked, "Annnnd, why would any of my customers want the furniture from their crappy college dorms?"
"'Cause this is what it would look like if it wasn't crappy, if it was done right, and …" Adam's voice trailed off as he leaned back and idly scratched an itch on his stomach, his shirt riding up in the process to expose the blade of his hip, "I dunno, not all of college was bad." He stopped abruptly and slumped forward. "So … just forget I said anything."
Mike took a big swallow of coffee and said, "We'll start on it tomorrow afternoon."
Adam's brow furrowed in confusion. "But -"
"But nothing. Nostalgia sells - think of how much crap is coming back from the 1980s."
Adam's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I don't remember the 80's, gramps."
"Fuck you," Mike replied, but there wasn't any heat in it.
Adam laughed, pushed back from the table, and said, "I'm going to go on a run. Want to come with?"
Turnabout was fair play. "Nope. I don't need to keep my girlish figure."
Adam blew him a raspberry as he headed out the door.
~oo(0)oo~
Do you have any man skills?" Mike couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice.
Their attempts to construct the table Mike had sketched up the other night were not only going nowhere fast, but Adam's attempts to use power tools had resulted in a cock-up of epic proportions.
Normally, by this point, Mike would've been furious and frustrated at the waste of time and materials, but the fact that Adam's attempts to enlarge the hole Mike drilled in the center of the table ended up looking like a floppy dick not once, not twice, but three times?
Mike couldn't decide what was funnier: Adam's intense look of concentration each time he took over, or the fact that all three attempts had ended in Mike's neatly drilled circle becoming a giant dangle.
"Fuck you," Adam replied, voice tight. "You did meet me on a construction site."
Mike nodded at that. "Well then, I stand corrected. Do you have any man skills beyond hammering things or stacking tile?"
Adam sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his arm. "Yeah, but I don't kiss and tell."
Laughter burbled out of Mike. "Okay. We'll work on teaching you power tools beyond the nail gun and the trowel. I'll think of something to make out of those." He gestured as his mind groped for a suitable word to describe the ruined table tops.
"Coffee table for my sister." Adam deadpanned.
Mike spun and clapped his hands to his mouth in an effort to hold the chuckles back. Sweet Jesus, the look on Brooke's face would be -
Behind him, he heard Adam make a strangled sound as he struggled to hold his own snickers back.
Mike made his fatal mistake when he looked over his shoulder at Adam. The dam burst and the both of them roared with laughter, made only better because they could see it in each other's eyes: they had pictured the exact same thing.
At some point, arms slung around each other, knees turned to jello, they collapsed on the workbench, sagging against each other, gasping and wheezing, gradually getting their breaths back.
And … it felt somehow right to have Adam that close, like an itch he didn't even realize he wanted scratched.
Mike glanced over at Adam, words on the tip of his tongue, "Want a glass of iced tea before we have another go at the router?" and there - blink and you'll miss it - Adam wanted to kiss him.
Oh, fuck, because Brooke will kill -
Mike never got to complete the thought. They both sprang up and away so fast that the bench flipped, sending tools and parts skittering across the floor as Mike flailed, backpedaled, and landed on his ass.
"Sorry, man, I -" Adam backed up, face white like a hotel sheet, and bolted out the door before Mike could get his feet under him or say a word. By the time he got to the door of the shed, he heard the squeal of Adam's tires as he tore down the street.
~oo(0)oo~
Fucker didn't answer his phone, either. Mike gave up after the fourth message and the ninth text. In desperation he called Brooke, and yeah, that was an awkward fucking conversation.
"Yeah, so Adam flew out of here about 10 minutes ago, and he's probably going to be kind of upset if he comes to you -"
"No, I can't tell you why."
"No, we didn't have a fight -"
"No, I haven't kicked him out."
"Yeah, I think he's okay - just upset."
"Listen, and this is the really important thing. Tell him I'm okay, and it's okay, and he's okay. And for God's sake, tell him to call or text me."
"Yeah, 'I'm okay, you're okay.'"
"Nope, that about covers it."
"Yeah, it is kind of cryptic, but I can't tell you more right now. And it's cool, it really is. Thanks."
"Of course we're on for breakfast tomorrow, Brooke."
~oo(0)oo~
About 30 seconds after Mike hung up, the adrenaline wore off and the pain of landing on his ass kicked in. He shinnied his jeans and jockeys down, and though he'd landed hard, it didn't look like he was going to bruise too badly. He gimped a little stiffly to the bathroom, fished the Tylenol out of the medicine cabinet, and when he shut it, he paused and looked at himself in the mirror for a moment.
Because yeah, he was cool with it. Mike knew that the instant he saw it in Adam's eyes. Adam wasn't the problem here, he was, because he needed some time to figure out why, after a lifetime of heterosexuality, his brain bent instantly around the idea of Adam + Kissing = Happy Fun Time. That's what baked Mike's noodle.
Guys came on to him on a regular basis. No big deal. He just wasn't interested in them. Everybody in the backroom at Dallas's knew that Ken swung both ways. There had been a lot of guy-guy horseplay, stuff with a definite undercurrent to it. Not only had Mike had been completely comfortable with it, but he'd also started it just as often as anybody else.
He had just never wanted to kiss a guy or get kissed by him. That was new. But still okay. Mike was South Florida born and bred; some people were gay or bi, just like the sun rose in the East and the beach had sand. So fucking what?
It was like … Mike fumbled for ideas, for words, for anything to explain it.
So. Yeah. Adam. Mike could go there.
Really go there.
~oo(0)oo~
Around midnight, Mike sent one last text and went to bed.
~oo(0)oo~
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway woke him before Adam stumbled through the door a few minutes after 4 am. One took at him told Mike everything: booze, coke, Miss Right Now, no sleep.
Mike wanted to explode on him, "Where were you?!" "Why didn't you answer my texts or calls?!" "Why didn't you answer Brooke?!" "I was worried about you!" The wary and haunted look in Adam's eyes stopped him. He could not afford to have Adam shut down, melt down, or worse, run away again.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and as calmly as he could, Mike said, "Are you okay?"
"I'm -" Adam started to say something, but paused in the doorway, rattled, clearly expecting something else. "W-what?" The word squeaked out.
Mike inched forward, careful to keep the look in his eyes as soft as possible. "Adam, are you okay?"
(You're so strung out, you look like 40 miles of bad road, and I can't deal all over again with you acting like you did right before you split to Miami. I just can't.)
Adam visibly collected himself, but then wiped his nose in that old nervous way of his. "Oh yeah, I'm fi -" His voice cracked. A moment later his facade - all that bravado - the forced coolness, collapsed. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Mike could practically see the words stuck in Adam's throat before Adam finally shook his head no.
"I didn't think so. Have a seat." Mike sank down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him.
Sucking in shivering lungfuls of air in an effort to keep it together, Adam made it to the couch and sat down - almost collapsing, really - and when he got settled in, he kept staring at a spot on the floor between his feet.
"Adam, look at me." Mike spoke softly.
Headshake no.
Mike dropped his voice an octave. "Look. At. Me."
"I can't," Adam whispered, voice raw with desperation.
"Why not? I'm not going to bite."
In a tiny, broken, voice, "You know why."
Mike forced himself to take another calming breath. "No, actually, I don't. Did you get any of my messages to you?"
Adam nodded yes.
"So …" Mike shrugged, "that's not making sense to me." An icicle feeling began to worm its way into his heart. "I'm telling you again, it's okay." Mike smiled over the fear he felt, hoping that it would make its way into his voice, "It's actually better than okay with me …."
The moment the words registered, Adam's head snapped up and Mike had to admit that even like this - bloodshot red-rimmed eyes, hair every which way - dear god, he was striking.
A heartbeat later and the hope that Mike saw shining in those eyes began to dim. "I don't -" Adam swallowed hard. "What do I have to offer you? Why should you have to deal with some fucking college drop-out kid who can't get his shit together worth a damn?" He shook his head. "I'll just drag you down."
"Wait? What?" Mike shook his head to get his bearings. "Adam, do you think you're not good enough for me or something?"
"You're Magic Mike!" Adam burst out. "You've got all this stuff going on in your life - your designs, your detailing business, and you're a way better dancer than I'll ever be. Hell," Adam gestured broadly, "you gave me an easy-peasy job trying to teach me to help you do furniture and I even fucked that up."
"Yeah, but it wasn't boring," Mike interjected, trying to lighten the mood.
"You're Magic Mike," Adam continued. "Nothing fazes you. You just keep on going. You just get up every time you get knocked down. You don't run - " Adam sucked in a deep breath, "- you don't run away from anything. I bet you had no problems when you realized … when you figured out …." Adam's voice trailed off.
When I figured out …? OH. "No, it threw me for a loop, alright," Mike said, shaking his head emphatically. Granted, it took me 12 hours to figure out that casual sex doesn't do it for me - hasn't done it for me in a long time - it's more about if I like somebody and find them interesting, and that yeah, apparently that includes guys, too. Not something I expected, at all. I thought I had it all figured out 15 years ago, and I wasn't expecting anything to change. "Listen, so you're bi-sexual, like I am, apparently -"
"Nope." Bitterness dripped from Adam's voice.
"Really?" Mike said before he could stop himself.
Adam took a deep breath and the words almost tripped over themselves in the rush to leave his mouth. "I left college because I couldn't accept - and then I met you, and - but there were all these girls and I kept hoping that maybe, just maybe, that because I could do it with them it meant that I wasn't really gay, but -" His head shot up and his eyes drilled into Mike's, "I like guys more and I have been so fucking in love with you since that first night, and it has been killing me inside to try and not be."
In love with me. It rolled around in Mike's brain as he took one of Adam's hands in both of his. "Adam, I -" His mouth opened and closed and he realized he had no idea what he wanted to say next.
Adam darted in and kissed him - just the briefest most ghostly feathering of lip on lip - and it jolted Mike like grabbing a live wire.
"I can be a real asshole," Mike said, mind and mouth once again reunited.
Adam nodded, mouth curved in the tiniest of smiles, the hope in his eyes making the expression in them something beautiful and transcendent. "I know."
"And what kind of a kiss was that? C'mon, man, if you're going to kiss me -" Mike didn't get to complete the sentence because Adam knocked him back on the couch, and kissed him so hard and so exuberantly it all felt new again.
Because it was new: getting whisker burn; the angular, strong body pressed up against his; things being hard where Mike was used to soft.
And, speaking of hard? Things were perking up down there. Mike let out a relieved breath when they broke. Yes, he'd worked it all out correctly last night: emotional connection = physical attraction.
"God," Adam breathed, low and throaty. "I could kiss you for hours."
"Me too," Mike whispered.
"Can we …?" Adam left the words hanging.
"Bed?" Mike clarified.
"Yes."
Mike took Adam's hand and led the 10 steps to the bed. They shed their clothes as gracefully as two boys undressing in the locker room, and as Mike slid back the sheet, he said, "Y'know, you're going to have to lead the way here, because I have no idea what I'm doing."
Adam paused for a moment, frozen, before laughing, clearly trying on the idea of being the more experienced one, for once.
Mike waited for Adam to join him, but Adam just stood there, eyes raking over him, until he said, "Y'know that night we met and we ended up with those girls on the bridge, and you teased me about how pregnant I got that girl's mouth?"
"Yeah?"
"I want to do that to you." Adam said, crouching down, leaving no doubt what, exactly, he wanted to do to Mike. "Wanted it since I glanced over that table in the club and saw you looking at me and her ..." his voice trailed off, growing low and raspy.
Mike's mouth formed a perfect O of surprise. His cock positively throbbed at the idea, letting loose with a fresh jolt of precome. Adam licked his lips at the sight of it, and Mike heard himself groaning at the sight of that tongue dragging over those full, pouty lips.
A moment later Adam slid between the V of Mike's legs, his lips surrounding Mike, sucking and slurping as his tongue danced along the underside of the shaft. He cupped one hand around Mike's sack and reached up to curl the other around the blade of Mike's hip. Mike groaned as his pelvis spasmed and bucked of its own accord, his hands rising to tangle in Adam's locks, but mindful not to grip too tightly. He didn't last as long as he would've liked - the exhausting stress of the day combined with Adam's relentless assault caused him to seize and shoot after only a few minutes. He tried to warn Adam, tugging on his hair, but Adam went down that last little bit, swallowing when Mike released his payload. He looked so fucking hot doing it, that Mike felt almost woozy and flopped back on to the mattress, gasping for air, as his cock gave the last jolt into Adam's mouth.
And then Adam was above, scooting him over on the mattress, climbing on top.
"What do I -?" Mike's tongue struggled to form the words as he tried to sit up.
Adam shushed him with a finger to the lips. "It's okay, Mike, lay down, you'll see." He pressed his gloriously hot and strong body the length of Mike's, his cock hard and full against Mike's pelvis. He began kissing Mike as he gave a few short rocking thrusts with his hips. "I think -" push, kiss, wet break for air, "that I can go -" rocking thrust, hitching breath, "for some bump -" a short sharp jab, "and grind -" a long full stroke.
Mike smiled up at him. "Sounds good to me."
Adam didn't need to be told twice, and Mike found himself somewhere in between giving as good as he got, and just hanging on for the ride, because Jesus fuck, Adam was strong, and eager, and hungry, and if Mike was 10 years younger, or if it wasn't oh-dark-thirty out, this would have kicked off round two for him.
It didn't take long before - all sweat and friction - Adam shot his load between them, hot and salt-musky, before collapsing on top of him, trembling slightly, panting, breath coming in hot damp bursts against Mike's neck.
"So, when are we going to tell Brooke about this?" Adam asked into Mike's collarbone when he got his breath back, yawning hugely as soon as the words left his mouth.
Mike looked over at the alarm. It was almost 5 am. "At nine when we have breakfast with her. Alarm goes off at eight-thirty."
"What?" Adam asked, rolling off of Mike, swiping at his come with a corner of the sheet.
"Remember, I have breakfast with Brooke every Friday morning, and believe you me, we don't want to stand her up."
Adam lifted his head and smiled blearily over at Mike. "You're right, we don't." To Mike's relief, the hollow, haunted look had left his eyes, and the Adam he remembered from their first days together was back.
Mike kissed him on the forehead and shut his eyes as he settled onto the pillow. Brooke was going to be pissed at first, but this was what Adam wanted - had been wanting for a long time - and ultimately, like any good sister, that's what Brooke cared about, Adam's happiness.
Just before sleep pulled him under, Mike felt Adam snuggle against him, breath slow and even, and he thought he could get used to this, because it was the rightest thing in the world.