This is for Long Forgotten Light at the End of the World. Part 1 [Michael/Adam]
Title: This is for Long Forgotten Light at the End of the World
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating: Teen +. (I honest to God do not know what to tag this.)
Author: nights_fang / inked_insanity
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Michael/Adam Milligan. Raphael.
Contains/Warnings: Angst, Fluff, mentions of sex and torture and general unpleasantness.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or it's characters.
Notes: This is the end arc of last years NaNoWriMo. Title taken from Nightwish's "The Islander".
The world is white outside, the snow going on for miles and miles, until the horizon, whenever Adam looks out of the window. The clouds obscure whatever little waning dull sunlight there's left in the day. Sometimes it catches on the window pane of one of the houses in the distance. Winter is on it's way and by the looks of the oncoming storm, it plans on coming early and with a bang. A rather frustrating bang. Adam's just glad he's stocked up enough should a snow storm happen. Something he's learned from
experience. He has enough of bare essentials to weather it out for a month, should he need too. Though, he hopes he doesn't have to do that. Mostly because if the storm does get bad, then he'll be delayed in helping or flat out won't be able to help others in the town should they need his services. And Adam hates having patients get worse and being unable to help.
But that is if it gets bad. There's no need for him to think of worse case scenarios already. Dwelling on hem holds little for him. The storm has still to come; and even if it does, the possibilities of it passing quickly are much more than staying. If it does come down to the worst case scenarios, he could always just brave the storm to set up camp at his dispensary. He's done it before. He can easily do it again.
He should probably use the reprieve he's gotten thanks to it, to rest. It's been a hectic last few days in the dispensary. Adam's overworked, his shoulders ache, he's too high strung thanks to all the caffeine he's ingested, and just all out tired to even diagnose the rest. Right now what he needs the most is a nice hot shower. Maybe after that he can curl up on the couch in
front of the fire in a blanket pile with hot cocoa and read something. How long has it been since he's actually done that? A
month or more at the least? The townsfolk are right, he should start taking time off for himself.
He's towelling his hair dry and still debating which book he wants to read from his small collection, when he hears creaking upstairs. Sighing, and wondering if he thought about his break all too soon, and hoping the roof doesn't need fixing now of all times. That would just suck so much for him. He turns around to head to the stairs, already mentally cursing up a storm. What greets him isn't a sight he's prepared to see.
Michael's grey-blue eyes are wide with shock, obscured slightly by his black curls, peppered with white hair. When did Michael's hair
start going white? His cheeks are pink from the cold, his mouth formed into a small “oh”, an unfamiliar expression on his rough features. There's snow in his hair, slush on his boots, and his coat is dripping onto the carpet. The whole sight is so odd for someone like Michael, that for a moment Adam wonders if he's imagining it.
“Adam.” It's the greeting alone, voice soft and neutral, with the barest nod of his head that confirms it. Even Adam who knows the intricacies of Michael's every action, could not replicate it and it's complexities in his imagination. Not that he hasn't tried. He's done it plenty of times, and failed spectacularly every damn time. Michael has too many layers.
Adam finds himself smiling curtly in acknowledgement: tight, controlled, barest nod of his own head, a far cry from the sudden emotional and mental turmoil that the archangel has brought up within him along with his arrival, before he turns away. This was not what he was expecting for this evening. Or looking forward too. No he was looking forward to maybe peace and calm.
Michael coming here means he's not about to get any of that.
Forget the hot cocoa, he's going to need something stronger. Maybe scotch or bourbon. Maybe he should just raid and empty out half his cabinet right now. It's going to be a long... whatever duration Michael's going to stay. And there's the added amount of time it'll take Adam to recover from it. Adam is going to need a lot of alcohol to deal with it.
*
While the familiar sounds of snow and ice crunching under his boots is a comfort, Adam still hasn't gotten used to the cold. Especially cold winter mornings in a place where it snows for more than half of the year. He breathes out a shaky breath, watching it fade off into the sky like smoke would, jiggling his knee. Despite the layers he's donned the chill is still finding it's way into his bones, and he pulls his coat around him tighter, as if the action alone would ward off the cold. Dawn is still a while away, the ice being bathed will dull grey light, which doesn't help his mood much. It's all to dreary and depressing. What had possessed him
to come out here so early in the morning after a night of restless sleep, escaped him.
Oh right, now he remembers. The archangel currently sleeping on his couch back home. The same one who'd had entered his house and back into his life a few evenings ago; akin to the storm he'd been trying to seek shelter from. Adam's not sure why Michael came to Adam's door. The reasons could be numerous, and with Michael it's always hard to guess. But Adam couldn't exactly turn Michael away. Barring other reasons, the most important was, he's never been able to turn Michael away. He's never
ever been able to refuse the archangel anything. Even though he probably should've. Especially considering how Michael seems to throw Adam onto an emotional roller coaster with his sheer presence.
And well it was technically still Michael's house. At least Adam thought it was, as Michael had kept bringing him here over the years. Maybe it was just an unoccupied place Michael had found and claimed. Or he'd simply wished it here with his handy reality warping archangel powers. It wouldn't be the first time Michael had done something like that. Whatever it was, the point being: the house was Michael's. Adam was the one crashing there, for years now. It had never really occurred to him, in all this time. When he'd taken off, he'd just found himself automatically making his way here, to this house, and well stepped in and made it his new home without thinking about it for a moment.
He should've thought of it back then, instead of impulsively claiming it and seeking shelter there. It was only inevitable that Michael would come here one day for whatever. The true surprise lay in the fact it took the archangel so long to stop by. Knowing Michael, he should've done so much earlier. The archangel had admitted to Adam he liked his house here a lot, and would come here whenever they argued back then. Back when Michael and him still had something.
Adam drew a shuddering breath, rubbing his palms together trying to generate some warmth into them. He'd been stupid enough to leave his gloves at home, again, and now his hands were freezing. Were Michael out with him now, he'd not be feeling cold. The archangel would've used the slightest cue to wrap around Adam and cocoon him with his wings. Then he'd probably have wrapped his arms around Adam for added warmth. Furthermore a comment would be made moments later about how the bed in the house would be much, much more warmer than out here, tone completely faux innocent and entirely failing at subtlety. Usually Adam used to follow that up by a badly formed snowball in Michael's face.
He sighs as he tries to shake those thoughts away. Coming here had seemed like a good idea at the time. He'd thought the cold air would help him clear his head. Instead all he can remember is all the memories he has of this place with Michael, and it only serves to make matters worse for him. Those were good memories. He guesses it's maybe why he chose to escape here. This is the one place where any memory he has of Michael here is good. It's the one place untainted by the more royally fucked up so badly it creates it's own universe aspects of their relationship. Though he honestly wonders how much longer it'll stay untainted, now that Michael and him are sharing living space - however temporarily - again. After around seven years of not even seeing each other. He's not sure he can stand this place being tainted too. Not after he's finally made a life for himself here. Made a home for himself here. He's not physically young any more either to have to displace himself and find a new place to call home.
But there's a lot that was still left unsaid, and Adam is worried exactly how badly it would affect him it if comes out in the open. He'd taken so long to fix himself up.
The worst part is, he isn't sure if that's exactly what he wants. For all of this to come out. To spill everything, and have it laid bare between them, because even after all this time, a part of him is still holding onto Michael.
The sound of his stomach grumbling, makes Adam sigh again. He should go back. It's getting more darker outside instead of light, and the snow is beginning to come down harder. Not to mention he's come out farer than he'd originally planned too. Getting stuck out here wouldn't be fun. He'd get frostbite before he made it back. His hands already are beginning to feel like they're going to freeze off. This whole thing had been a waste of time. He's going back with more nostalgia and clouded thoughts than when he came out here.
And apparently maybe a bad back too. What the hell was Michael doing creeping up behind him? Seriously, you do not do something like that, Adam thinks one hand flying to his chest, as he breathes deeply trying to calm his now racing heart, and looks up Michael from the slush and ice. He had not been expecting the archangel, at all. And honestly why the fuck was Michael creeping up on him? He knew better than to do that.
Michael smiles apologetically, and almost hesitantly extends his hand out to Adam. Adam glares at him before accepting it, and using Michael's hulk like strength as leverage to haul himself back up. A reprimand is already half way out of Adam's lips before Michael interrupts softly gaze trained on the ground at the side of Adam's feet; “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”
Michael withdraws his bare hand from Adam's own - he hadn't even noticed he'd been holding onto it - and shoves it into his coat pocket. Adam notes how warm it was; almost fever hot. The same kind of warmth Adam would love to sink into, in this weather. Idly the thought briefly crosses his mind as to how would Michael react if he did latch onto Michael. Maybe haul Michael close to him, like he used to in his more mischievous moments back home, in what seems like a lifetime ago, and kissing those chapped pink lips. Would the angel respond by wrapping his arms around him, deepening the kiss, or would he push Adam away? But that thought is fleeting enough, and Adam doesn't pay it much attention.
“Why are you even out here?” he asks. Michael gives no reaction, just keeps his gaze trained on the ground. Adam wonders exactly what's so interesting about the disturbed snow at his feet. He actually considers asking Michael about it sarcastically.
Michael however chooses that exact moment to reply. “You forgot your gloves and glasses back in the house.” The words are murmured out, still soft, and Michael holds out his hand to Adam again. This time they're holding a pair of aforementioned glasses and gloves. His eyes are sincere, and Adam just realised how the snow in his hair, makes the grey in it stand out more.
“Uh... thanks,” because honestly, what else could Adam say to that? Really any reprimand or comment his mind is coming up with makes him sound like a Grade A douche bag. Accepting the gloves, he dons them on relishing how warm they are. Michael's body heat must've warmed them up. The glasses though, those he pockets. No use of them out here.
“I thought I'd hand them to you on my way out.” Michael adds finally.
“Way out?” Adam echoes, before it hits him. Michael's gaze finally meets his own, and when it does it's hooded, and carefully neutral. Adam should've expected this. He should be glad, that Michael is simply making it easier for both of them. They can both go back to what they were before this chance meeting.
However, Adam can't feel happy about it. Whatever their problems are, Michael is leaving his own house because of Adam. That's not something that'll ever sit well with him. Not with the snow getting worse. Even if technically Michael is an archangel and the snow would have no effect on him, since he could poof away if he wanted too, Adam knows exactly what biting cold reminds Michael off. Or rather who it reminds Michael off. Adam doesn't want that on him. He's not that cruel.
“Stay for a bit.”
The look Michael gives him, at those words makes Adam feel like laughing. Adam will never get used to seeing Michael shocked. It's something he realises that he'll always find amusing.
“Look, the snow's just gonna get worse. It makes no sense to send you off in this weather. Come on, let's head back.”
Michael looks like he's about to say something, but Adam knows just exactly how good Michael is with his words. So before the other can even utter another word, he begins the trek back to the house. When he turns to look behind him, Michael is following, that sulky frown of his tucked into the corner of his mouth, looking like a puppy. This time Adam does chuckle softly into his glove, unable to help himself.
*
The fire in the tiny hearth of the study keeps crackling merrily. Almost engrossed in it's own dance; hypnotic to watch: a blur of yellow, gold, orange, and red, licking the air while it bathes the room in it's glow. Most importantly though, it doesn't seem to care that Michael seems to be trying to have a glaring match at it. If one wanted to be spiteful and poetic, one would say that it's probably laughing at Michael. Right now Michael looks nothing like the influential archangel that he is and more like a middle aged man. Clad in the jeans and shirt he borrowed from Adam, with bed hair, a half pout half frown tucked into a corner of his mouth - a facial expression Adam has found to be unique to this vessel of Michael - that looks more funny with his features. Even if the glare directed at it, is the one that seems to turn normally strong men, gods, and angels, to blithering yes men hoping to not turn into ash at his gaze. Adam himself had had that glare directed at him many a time in the past, in a lifetime long ago but not completely forgotten, and he remembers the effect it used to have on him. How it would make his heart skip in fear, adrenaline
rush through his veins and activate his fight or flight instincts. How it would make his knees weak. How it would make him feel like he
was nothing but an insect who'd dare to even rouse Michael's ire.
Now though, now Michael can't even meet Adam's gaze. He seems to be completely focused on attempting to glare the fire into submission while he downs his umpteenth glass of high priced scotch he mojoed, as evening sets in. And in doing that, resolutely avoiding looking at Adam. Well at least when he thinks Adam isn't looking. Adam's caught him sneaking tiny peeks at him
every now and then. Something he's been doing for a couple of hours, ever since they untangled themselves from the bed, they'd tumbled into during the afternoon while drunk. It's as if, the sight of Adam lounging around comfortably, half clothed and his clothes crumpled, still looking like he just got out of bed, hair mused, chest bare and covered with old scars and new love bites, is shameful.
It's not. At least Adam doesn't feel ashamed about it.
Once upon a time Michael wouldn't have cared. He wouldn't have even given in to human lust. He'd have found the fact that he'd done something like this in his future as an absurd impossibility. Once upon a time the only nakedness Michael would've liked to see on Adam was Adam stripped down to sinew trying to hold his own organs inside his body, while Adam begged and pleaded
for Michael to stop in the Cage. Once upon a time Michael was the one begging a naked Adam for mercy. Once upon a time Adam's
nakedness while he curled in on himself broken battered and fading, had spun Michael into despair in that very same Cage while he cursed his Father. Once upon a time, Michael had been the one to gently cover Adam's nakedness while he wept in the ruins of Adam's abandoned house while whispering assurances and apologies. And then, once upon a time, Michael had shyly averted his eyes from Adam whenever he was in this state much to Adam's amusement. Once upon a time, this state of undress would've probably got Adam back on the bed, a handsy archangel on top of him, discarding Adam's clothes as quickly as he could, because he wanted to move on to much more pleasurable activities. And Adam would laugh and aid him. Once upon a time, a
horrific time, Adam was forced into this state of undress constantly, much to his own disgust. Once upon a time he'd never known what it was to be this way in front of Michael, because it had simply never been.
They had far too many once upon a times, just the two of them. And perhaps even more than the ones he remembers. Enough of them to weave so many tales that the Grimm brothers would have had a field day with it. It could become a whole anthology just by itself. Adam is constantly surprised, just how big a part of his life is filled with Michael. Every time he thought the chapter dealing with the archangel in the series of his life had closed, had ended abruptly; Michael would start up a new book altogether. And yet up till now, despite all of that, all those numerous starts; they still didn't have a happy ending.
It's kind of funny, Adam thinks. Not funny in the way that you can split your sides laughing and roll off the couch, and possibly hit your head and still keep laughing. Nor is it that quiet chuckle of amusement kind of funny. It's not the thing where you're trying to keep a straight face at the professor who's unintentionally uttered out some innuendo in front of the whole class. It's the sort of ironic hilarity that comes in a situation when the tables have finally been turned. It's that sick sense victory over a tormentor. It's that feeling of accomplished vengeance settling to sleep sated, in your gut. It's that kind of funny. At least that's what it should be in this situation.
Except there's no sense of satisfaction or victory on Adam's part at all. The hilarity of the situation comes from the fact that Adam feels none of all those vicious feelings he thought he'd feel, and probably what Michael was expecting him to feel. Neither does he feel sorry about himself. What he does feel instead is frustration and annoyance. Not at what happened, but at the fact that Michael refuses to look at him. What he finds funny is that he can actually look at this in an objective detached light in some part of his brain, and laugh at how pathetic Michael's acting and how much it irritates him.
They had sex, and it was good. Great even. Even though the hangover makes it difficult to remember, he can vaguely recall the feeling of Michael's fingers and mouth on his skin, hesitant and hasty and the same time, even in the angel's alcohol induced state. He recalls enjoying it. He recalls drunkenly demanding for more into Michael's mouth, as he dug his fingers into Michael's back holding on.
And Adam thinks that maybe he should feel victorious that he can think this way again. That he can tumble into bed with Michael
of all people - no people would not be the correct term since Michael's not human - entities, and wake up without finding the very air he's breathing oppressive and suffocating him with shame, disgust, regret, and dwindling self worth. That he can wake up, and even if he does remember their past, and not have it weigh him down, tear at him, sink it's nasty claws in his heart. That he can still feel like the Adam he was now, the Adam he worked so hard to become on his own. He's honestly surprised with himself that he woke up with Michael on top of him, with that familiar pleasant ache in his muscles, sweaty and sticky, with the room smelling like sex, and felt light. He felt happy.
He felt like he used too when things were still good between them. When they used to wake up in the same bed frequently in the same way, with the sun on their faces, and smile at each other, remembering a night and early morning well spent. And sometimes one of them would demand an encore, hands already running over the other's body, while the other would happily comply. Or Michael would insist on them having breakfast in bed, mostly because he wanted an excuse to taste whatever exotic coffee he'd summoned, from Adam's mouth. Or they'd simply lay in, pressed against each other, too lazy to move, until the sun was high in the sky and Adam couldn't put off his stomach's demand for food any longer. They have a lot of good memories. A lot of them in this
house alone, on that bed.
He'd felt so good, that he'd been the one to reach out for Michael, even though Michael was too busy averting his eyes and hastily throwing his clothes on. All Michael had wanted to do was get out of the room, and pretend whatever happened didn't. While Adam wanted more.
God, he still wants more. He forget how good Michael was in bed. Today's brought back all those memories back full swing. The taste of Michael's kisses, the way his fingers felt, his all encompassing heat, that incredibly good friction, and just how easily it was to get lost in all those sensations. How easy it was to turn into a bundle of nerves under Michael. The archangel is still good in the sack, if Adam's few drunken recollections of hours ago are any indication. He feels like laughing again at how blasphemous that sounds in his head, and how he doesn't care. Facts were facts were facts. No changing those.
And it's not just the sex. Yes, it helped put certain things in perspective, there's no denying that. However, if Adam were honest with himself, what he truly missed more was the intimacy. Sex he can get anywhere, if he really wants it. But it's never been completely only sex when it comes to Michael and him. Barring of course that one period of Adam's life he likes to pretend never happened. Even then, there were far too many emotions and a twisted sense of closeness associated with it. Adam's missed all of that so much more than the sex. It's stupid and corny, and sounds like something straight out of a teenager's romance novel, but it's true.
And if he was going to go thinking about honesty and facts the predominant one is: He wants Michael. He's never stopped wanting Michael. He's pretty sure he'll never stop wanting Michael. Even after all the shit that's happened.
It's odd how much has changed, and how much hasn't. How much of a full circle they've come from where they were. And at the end of it, Adam still wants Michael. He wants to attempt to build something with the archangel again. The only difference is this time, he knows what can happen, knows all those possible dead ends and bad roads. Adam's going to make sure they take a different path, because he's sure neither of them want to repeat the same stupid cycle of mistakes that got them here.
It means he's finally ready to forgive Michael, even if Michael still hasn't forgiven himself. Honestly this time, from everything Adam is. Not that impulsive forgiveness fuelled and blinded by his love, and childish hope, and need, and habit, that only and emotional wreck of a boy could be capable off. That was what had made them both reckless, and drove them further apart like this. Drove them to become what they were now.
Adam's realised in these years, and once again in these past few days once the sheer mess of emotions he'd become with Michael's arrival had finally settled, that he couldn't hold Michael completely responsible for what happened between them. Sure, some things were purely Michael's fault, and those do make up the bulk of their problem, but he isn't responsible for everything. There were other things, things they were both responsible for, and things that were completely on Adam - as much as he hated to admit it. He still hates admitting it sometimes, but he reasons it out with the fact that no one would want to take the blame for all the shit that had
happened. Especially what happened between them. After all they weren't the most normal set of people with the most normal
circumstances in existence.
He's not a boy any more. Though, in someone like Michael's eyes - who's existed before the world did, Adam guesses he'll always be a boy even if he's a withered old man of ninety, with white hair and more creases on his skin than the crumpled shirt he was currently wearing. Yet, it doesn't change the fact that he's no longer that wide eyed innocent boy he was when Michael first met him. He's thirty seven. You can't be wide eyed and innocent at thirty seven. Not with the additional years he's existed for, thanks to Michael. He gained around two centuries in the Cage alone. Time has changed him, and age has been kind to Adam in many ways. It means he's grown up now. He had too with how long he's lived. He's older now, wiser, tempered and sobered down and maybe still a bit of an idealist; but he knows exactly what he wants.
He wants Michael, and he wants his happy ending. He's not getting any younger by the day. And if there's anything else time and age has taught him, it's that sometimes, he needs to give a fuck about the world and just take what he wants. What he deserves. And Adam knows, he deserves his happy ending.
They both deserve it.
“Michael,” he starts, but the archangel just keeps staring into the fire.
He's been trying to get his attention for a while now. Michael however just keeps refusing to acknowledge Adam. And now this is really starting to get on Adam's nerves. Everyone has a limit to their patience, and Adam's is close to running out.
“Michael.” He tries again, this time pushing off from where he was leaning and coming straight into Michael's line of sight. Michael now either has the choice of looking up at him, or closing his eyes, or staring resolutely at Adam's hipbones. Whichever choice he takes, Adam still has his attention. There's no way he can avoid it. “We need to talk.”
Michael, still ever the master of avoiding things and getting lost into nothing whenever it's convenient, simply grunts taking another sip of his scotch. Whatever memory the archangel is currently lost in, it holds most of his attention. Adam huffs annoyed as he tries again to get Michael's attention. Finally with an irritated sigh at how ridiculous this is getting, he simply pulls the glass out of Michael's hand and straddles the archangel.
The reaction is immediate. Michael tenses, going almost rigid. His hands fly to Adam's hips gripping tight and pushing away, while his gaze flies to Adam's own, wide eyed and panicked. Suddenly Adam knows exactly where Michael's been, and with a wince he realises maybe this measure was a bad idea. He considers getting off, and apologising for bringing those bad memories they both like to push away into stark clarity. Still though, it's just better to ignore it and push on.
“Hey, I'm still here. This is a hundred percent Adam. Snark, sass, and all.” Adam murmurs softly, comfortingly, as he presses their foreheads together.
Michael relaxes slightly, but still searches Adam's eyes for something. When he finally finds what he was looking for, he sags completely against Adam in relief. And Adam hides the smile blossoming on his lips, when Michael lets his hands stay on Adam's hips. When his thumbs automatically start stroking the bare skin there. It's familiar, intimate, missed, and so very them. “Don't do--”
Adam cuts him off before he can speak further, leaning in so that his lips nearly brush Michael's own as he speaks. Sure he doesn't have to do it this way, but he wants too. Wants to lay himself bare and open for Michael like he used too. He wants to get the point across in a way that books no room for misinterpretation: unintentional or deliberate. “I want you to stay.”
Michael looks like he's about to protest, but Adam is having none of it. He's made up his mind. It's clear that they both want this. If Michael didn't, he'd have left back then in the snow instead of following Adam back to the house. He'd have left after they woke up naked next to each other. Michael clearly doesn't want to leave. It's obvious that some part of him is looking to stay here. And Adam is done with the both of them tormenting themselves like this. Yes the separation was good for him, it helped him figure out a lot of things; but Adam's missed Michael, and he doesn't want to continue living the rest of his life missing Michael. In the end this is what he wants the most.
“Whatever excuse you're going to come up with, can it. I know you want to stay. I want you to stay. So just stay.” Adam doesn't honestly understand what's so hard about it and why Michael has to even begin to try and complicate matters.
Michael sounds old when he sighs. Like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders and it's withered him down to a point where he can't even begin to talk about pushing it off. His thumbs keep rubbing circles into Adam's hips. “I don't want to hurt you again,” he murmurs. “I've already broken you enough. I don't know what I'd do if I....” Michael trails off and lets the words hang ominously in the air around them.
God, Adam hates how much Michael sounds like a kicked puppy. Moreover, he hates the condescending tone implying that Adam will obviously break again. That's he's weak enough to let it happen. Adam's damaged. Yes, he knows that. It's why he left, because he needed space, but mostly to fix himself. But, so is Michael. More than Adam is. And they're the type of couple who make each other whole by fitting their jagged edges together.
“Then break me, but fix me once you're done.” Adam hates sounding this dramatic, but he's learned with time that sometimes the only way to get through to Michael is corny and dramatic.
“I seem to have a problem doing that. Every solution seems to make matters worse.”
“Sending me to alternate universe where we never met, and trying to erase my memories isn't fixing me. Especially when you couldn't take away my tendency to Hulk out. That's being a coward, taking the easy way out and running away.” Michael looks like he's been slapped but Adam doesn't care. He's had enough of Michael's excuses, and Michael being a coward. “Michael, I mean it this time. Stay.”
Michael sighs again, defeat in his eyes, and hangs his head, resting it against Adam's shoulder. His hands wrap around Adam's hips, and Adam smiles counting it as a win. Something that only gets confirmed when Michael softly mumbles, “I'll stay.”
Maybe now, they can finally, finally, move forward again.
“Good,” Adam mumbles against Michael's lips, shrugging out of his shirt, as he kisses Michael.
“Adam what...”
Adam rolls his eyes. “Sex, Michael. You. Me. Us. Now.” Adam punctuates it with a grind down into Michael's hips.
Michael's breath hitches, and his hands grip Adam's hips tightly. “Adam are you sure?”
“Damn sure. I want you to fuck me. Possibly like we did that night when we went round for round for round. You remember what I'm talking about right? Right of course you do.” He breathes out, grinding down again, to get a better angle, better friction. “Now are you going to undress or do I have to do the honours?”
“Here?”
“Yeah, here. Seriously Michael. Get naked already.”
*
Morning comes, weak sunlight waking him up. Adam shifts slightly wincing at the pain in his back when he does. Sometimes he forgets that his body is now thirty seven, that it's actually aged. It's easy to lose track of time when you've lived for longer years. And even though Adam does everything he can to stay fit, it's starting to show. Sleeping on the sofa doesn't seem like a good idea now, on the other side of the morning, than it did last night, when he'd pressed himself and made himself comfortable against Michael, when he'd pulled Michael in, demanding sex right there and then. Especially after marathon sex, and hell his ass hurts. Sitting might be a problem today. But he hadn't curled up with Michael like that for years, hadn't had Michael while sober for so long, and honestly the temptation was far too enticing to resist it. The pain is definitely worth it, Adam thinks with a smile.
When he opens his eyes though, the smile vanishes. Michael is not next to him, or sitting on the armchair across the sofa like he used too whenever he woke up before Adam. Adam strains to catch any sounds coming from the kitchen or any other room of the house; but the only sound he can hear is the soft whoosh of snow outside. It's only then that his gaze finds the piece of paper edged under the glass Michael was using the previous night. It's still has some scotch in it too.
It's a note, written in pencil, on torn off newspaper of all things. And in Michael's scrawl, it simply reads “Sorry.”
Adam crumples it up, before tossing it into the embers of last night's fire. It figures that, just when Adam thought that things were finally starting to get better, Michael would take off just like this. No explanation, nothing. Without even a goodbye to his face. It's just
like the archangel to behave in this manner. Adam's not even sure why he'd got his hopes up. Maybe he is that pathetic after all, for still wanting Michael.
He picks up his discarded pants off the rug, sets about folding the blanket Michael had summoned for the both of them, and then he bitterly picks up the glass and swallows down the remaining scotch. It tastes as bitter as he feels, and there's not even the slightest hint of solace to be found in it.
So much for dreaming of another happy ending.
Part 2
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating: Teen +. (I honest to God do not know what to tag this.)
Author: nights_fang / inked_insanity
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Michael/Adam Milligan. Raphael.
Contains/Warnings: Angst, Fluff, mentions of sex and torture and general unpleasantness.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or it's characters.
Notes: This is the end arc of last years NaNoWriMo. Title taken from Nightwish's "The Islander".
The world is white outside, the snow going on for miles and miles, until the horizon, whenever Adam looks out of the window. The clouds obscure whatever little waning dull sunlight there's left in the day. Sometimes it catches on the window pane of one of the houses in the distance. Winter is on it's way and by the looks of the oncoming storm, it plans on coming early and with a bang. A rather frustrating bang. Adam's just glad he's stocked up enough should a snow storm happen. Something he's learned from
experience. He has enough of bare essentials to weather it out for a month, should he need too. Though, he hopes he doesn't have to do that. Mostly because if the storm does get bad, then he'll be delayed in helping or flat out won't be able to help others in the town should they need his services. And Adam hates having patients get worse and being unable to help.
But that is if it gets bad. There's no need for him to think of worse case scenarios already. Dwelling on hem holds little for him. The storm has still to come; and even if it does, the possibilities of it passing quickly are much more than staying. If it does come down to the worst case scenarios, he could always just brave the storm to set up camp at his dispensary. He's done it before. He can easily do it again.
He should probably use the reprieve he's gotten thanks to it, to rest. It's been a hectic last few days in the dispensary. Adam's overworked, his shoulders ache, he's too high strung thanks to all the caffeine he's ingested, and just all out tired to even diagnose the rest. Right now what he needs the most is a nice hot shower. Maybe after that he can curl up on the couch in
front of the fire in a blanket pile with hot cocoa and read something. How long has it been since he's actually done that? A
month or more at the least? The townsfolk are right, he should start taking time off for himself.
He's towelling his hair dry and still debating which book he wants to read from his small collection, when he hears creaking upstairs. Sighing, and wondering if he thought about his break all too soon, and hoping the roof doesn't need fixing now of all times. That would just suck so much for him. He turns around to head to the stairs, already mentally cursing up a storm. What greets him isn't a sight he's prepared to see.
Michael's grey-blue eyes are wide with shock, obscured slightly by his black curls, peppered with white hair. When did Michael's hair
start going white? His cheeks are pink from the cold, his mouth formed into a small “oh”, an unfamiliar expression on his rough features. There's snow in his hair, slush on his boots, and his coat is dripping onto the carpet. The whole sight is so odd for someone like Michael, that for a moment Adam wonders if he's imagining it.
“Adam.” It's the greeting alone, voice soft and neutral, with the barest nod of his head that confirms it. Even Adam who knows the intricacies of Michael's every action, could not replicate it and it's complexities in his imagination. Not that he hasn't tried. He's done it plenty of times, and failed spectacularly every damn time. Michael has too many layers.
Adam finds himself smiling curtly in acknowledgement: tight, controlled, barest nod of his own head, a far cry from the sudden emotional and mental turmoil that the archangel has brought up within him along with his arrival, before he turns away. This was not what he was expecting for this evening. Or looking forward too. No he was looking forward to maybe peace and calm.
Michael coming here means he's not about to get any of that.
Forget the hot cocoa, he's going to need something stronger. Maybe scotch or bourbon. Maybe he should just raid and empty out half his cabinet right now. It's going to be a long... whatever duration Michael's going to stay. And there's the added amount of time it'll take Adam to recover from it. Adam is going to need a lot of alcohol to deal with it.
*
While the familiar sounds of snow and ice crunching under his boots is a comfort, Adam still hasn't gotten used to the cold. Especially cold winter mornings in a place where it snows for more than half of the year. He breathes out a shaky breath, watching it fade off into the sky like smoke would, jiggling his knee. Despite the layers he's donned the chill is still finding it's way into his bones, and he pulls his coat around him tighter, as if the action alone would ward off the cold. Dawn is still a while away, the ice being bathed will dull grey light, which doesn't help his mood much. It's all to dreary and depressing. What had possessed him
to come out here so early in the morning after a night of restless sleep, escaped him.
Oh right, now he remembers. The archangel currently sleeping on his couch back home. The same one who'd had entered his house and back into his life a few evenings ago; akin to the storm he'd been trying to seek shelter from. Adam's not sure why Michael came to Adam's door. The reasons could be numerous, and with Michael it's always hard to guess. But Adam couldn't exactly turn Michael away. Barring other reasons, the most important was, he's never been able to turn Michael away. He's never
ever been able to refuse the archangel anything. Even though he probably should've. Especially considering how Michael seems to throw Adam onto an emotional roller coaster with his sheer presence.
And well it was technically still Michael's house. At least Adam thought it was, as Michael had kept bringing him here over the years. Maybe it was just an unoccupied place Michael had found and claimed. Or he'd simply wished it here with his handy reality warping archangel powers. It wouldn't be the first time Michael had done something like that. Whatever it was, the point being: the house was Michael's. Adam was the one crashing there, for years now. It had never really occurred to him, in all this time. When he'd taken off, he'd just found himself automatically making his way here, to this house, and well stepped in and made it his new home without thinking about it for a moment.
He should've thought of it back then, instead of impulsively claiming it and seeking shelter there. It was only inevitable that Michael would come here one day for whatever. The true surprise lay in the fact it took the archangel so long to stop by. Knowing Michael, he should've done so much earlier. The archangel had admitted to Adam he liked his house here a lot, and would come here whenever they argued back then. Back when Michael and him still had something.
Adam drew a shuddering breath, rubbing his palms together trying to generate some warmth into them. He'd been stupid enough to leave his gloves at home, again, and now his hands were freezing. Were Michael out with him now, he'd not be feeling cold. The archangel would've used the slightest cue to wrap around Adam and cocoon him with his wings. Then he'd probably have wrapped his arms around Adam for added warmth. Furthermore a comment would be made moments later about how the bed in the house would be much, much more warmer than out here, tone completely faux innocent and entirely failing at subtlety. Usually Adam used to follow that up by a badly formed snowball in Michael's face.
He sighs as he tries to shake those thoughts away. Coming here had seemed like a good idea at the time. He'd thought the cold air would help him clear his head. Instead all he can remember is all the memories he has of this place with Michael, and it only serves to make matters worse for him. Those were good memories. He guesses it's maybe why he chose to escape here. This is the one place where any memory he has of Michael here is good. It's the one place untainted by the more royally fucked up so badly it creates it's own universe aspects of their relationship. Though he honestly wonders how much longer it'll stay untainted, now that Michael and him are sharing living space - however temporarily - again. After around seven years of not even seeing each other. He's not sure he can stand this place being tainted too. Not after he's finally made a life for himself here. Made a home for himself here. He's not physically young any more either to have to displace himself and find a new place to call home.
But there's a lot that was still left unsaid, and Adam is worried exactly how badly it would affect him it if comes out in the open. He'd taken so long to fix himself up.
The worst part is, he isn't sure if that's exactly what he wants. For all of this to come out. To spill everything, and have it laid bare between them, because even after all this time, a part of him is still holding onto Michael.
The sound of his stomach grumbling, makes Adam sigh again. He should go back. It's getting more darker outside instead of light, and the snow is beginning to come down harder. Not to mention he's come out farer than he'd originally planned too. Getting stuck out here wouldn't be fun. He'd get frostbite before he made it back. His hands already are beginning to feel like they're going to freeze off. This whole thing had been a waste of time. He's going back with more nostalgia and clouded thoughts than when he came out here.
And apparently maybe a bad back too. What the hell was Michael doing creeping up behind him? Seriously, you do not do something like that, Adam thinks one hand flying to his chest, as he breathes deeply trying to calm his now racing heart, and looks up Michael from the slush and ice. He had not been expecting the archangel, at all. And honestly why the fuck was Michael creeping up on him? He knew better than to do that.
Michael smiles apologetically, and almost hesitantly extends his hand out to Adam. Adam glares at him before accepting it, and using Michael's hulk like strength as leverage to haul himself back up. A reprimand is already half way out of Adam's lips before Michael interrupts softly gaze trained on the ground at the side of Adam's feet; “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”
Michael withdraws his bare hand from Adam's own - he hadn't even noticed he'd been holding onto it - and shoves it into his coat pocket. Adam notes how warm it was; almost fever hot. The same kind of warmth Adam would love to sink into, in this weather. Idly the thought briefly crosses his mind as to how would Michael react if he did latch onto Michael. Maybe haul Michael close to him, like he used to in his more mischievous moments back home, in what seems like a lifetime ago, and kissing those chapped pink lips. Would the angel respond by wrapping his arms around him, deepening the kiss, or would he push Adam away? But that thought is fleeting enough, and Adam doesn't pay it much attention.
“Why are you even out here?” he asks. Michael gives no reaction, just keeps his gaze trained on the ground. Adam wonders exactly what's so interesting about the disturbed snow at his feet. He actually considers asking Michael about it sarcastically.
Michael however chooses that exact moment to reply. “You forgot your gloves and glasses back in the house.” The words are murmured out, still soft, and Michael holds out his hand to Adam again. This time they're holding a pair of aforementioned glasses and gloves. His eyes are sincere, and Adam just realised how the snow in his hair, makes the grey in it stand out more.
“Uh... thanks,” because honestly, what else could Adam say to that? Really any reprimand or comment his mind is coming up with makes him sound like a Grade A douche bag. Accepting the gloves, he dons them on relishing how warm they are. Michael's body heat must've warmed them up. The glasses though, those he pockets. No use of them out here.
“I thought I'd hand them to you on my way out.” Michael adds finally.
“Way out?” Adam echoes, before it hits him. Michael's gaze finally meets his own, and when it does it's hooded, and carefully neutral. Adam should've expected this. He should be glad, that Michael is simply making it easier for both of them. They can both go back to what they were before this chance meeting.
However, Adam can't feel happy about it. Whatever their problems are, Michael is leaving his own house because of Adam. That's not something that'll ever sit well with him. Not with the snow getting worse. Even if technically Michael is an archangel and the snow would have no effect on him, since he could poof away if he wanted too, Adam knows exactly what biting cold reminds Michael off. Or rather who it reminds Michael off. Adam doesn't want that on him. He's not that cruel.
“Stay for a bit.”
The look Michael gives him, at those words makes Adam feel like laughing. Adam will never get used to seeing Michael shocked. It's something he realises that he'll always find amusing.
“Look, the snow's just gonna get worse. It makes no sense to send you off in this weather. Come on, let's head back.”
Michael looks like he's about to say something, but Adam knows just exactly how good Michael is with his words. So before the other can even utter another word, he begins the trek back to the house. When he turns to look behind him, Michael is following, that sulky frown of his tucked into the corner of his mouth, looking like a puppy. This time Adam does chuckle softly into his glove, unable to help himself.
*
The fire in the tiny hearth of the study keeps crackling merrily. Almost engrossed in it's own dance; hypnotic to watch: a blur of yellow, gold, orange, and red, licking the air while it bathes the room in it's glow. Most importantly though, it doesn't seem to care that Michael seems to be trying to have a glaring match at it. If one wanted to be spiteful and poetic, one would say that it's probably laughing at Michael. Right now Michael looks nothing like the influential archangel that he is and more like a middle aged man. Clad in the jeans and shirt he borrowed from Adam, with bed hair, a half pout half frown tucked into a corner of his mouth - a facial expression Adam has found to be unique to this vessel of Michael - that looks more funny with his features. Even if the glare directed at it, is the one that seems to turn normally strong men, gods, and angels, to blithering yes men hoping to not turn into ash at his gaze. Adam himself had had that glare directed at him many a time in the past, in a lifetime long ago but not completely forgotten, and he remembers the effect it used to have on him. How it would make his heart skip in fear, adrenaline
rush through his veins and activate his fight or flight instincts. How it would make his knees weak. How it would make him feel like he
was nothing but an insect who'd dare to even rouse Michael's ire.
Now though, now Michael can't even meet Adam's gaze. He seems to be completely focused on attempting to glare the fire into submission while he downs his umpteenth glass of high priced scotch he mojoed, as evening sets in. And in doing that, resolutely avoiding looking at Adam. Well at least when he thinks Adam isn't looking. Adam's caught him sneaking tiny peeks at him
every now and then. Something he's been doing for a couple of hours, ever since they untangled themselves from the bed, they'd tumbled into during the afternoon while drunk. It's as if, the sight of Adam lounging around comfortably, half clothed and his clothes crumpled, still looking like he just got out of bed, hair mused, chest bare and covered with old scars and new love bites, is shameful.
It's not. At least Adam doesn't feel ashamed about it.
Once upon a time Michael wouldn't have cared. He wouldn't have even given in to human lust. He'd have found the fact that he'd done something like this in his future as an absurd impossibility. Once upon a time the only nakedness Michael would've liked to see on Adam was Adam stripped down to sinew trying to hold his own organs inside his body, while Adam begged and pleaded
for Michael to stop in the Cage. Once upon a time Michael was the one begging a naked Adam for mercy. Once upon a time Adam's
nakedness while he curled in on himself broken battered and fading, had spun Michael into despair in that very same Cage while he cursed his Father. Once upon a time, Michael had been the one to gently cover Adam's nakedness while he wept in the ruins of Adam's abandoned house while whispering assurances and apologies. And then, once upon a time, Michael had shyly averted his eyes from Adam whenever he was in this state much to Adam's amusement. Once upon a time, this state of undress would've probably got Adam back on the bed, a handsy archangel on top of him, discarding Adam's clothes as quickly as he could, because he wanted to move on to much more pleasurable activities. And Adam would laugh and aid him. Once upon a time, a
horrific time, Adam was forced into this state of undress constantly, much to his own disgust. Once upon a time he'd never known what it was to be this way in front of Michael, because it had simply never been.
They had far too many once upon a times, just the two of them. And perhaps even more than the ones he remembers. Enough of them to weave so many tales that the Grimm brothers would have had a field day with it. It could become a whole anthology just by itself. Adam is constantly surprised, just how big a part of his life is filled with Michael. Every time he thought the chapter dealing with the archangel in the series of his life had closed, had ended abruptly; Michael would start up a new book altogether. And yet up till now, despite all of that, all those numerous starts; they still didn't have a happy ending.
It's kind of funny, Adam thinks. Not funny in the way that you can split your sides laughing and roll off the couch, and possibly hit your head and still keep laughing. Nor is it that quiet chuckle of amusement kind of funny. It's not the thing where you're trying to keep a straight face at the professor who's unintentionally uttered out some innuendo in front of the whole class. It's the sort of ironic hilarity that comes in a situation when the tables have finally been turned. It's that sick sense victory over a tormentor. It's that feeling of accomplished vengeance settling to sleep sated, in your gut. It's that kind of funny. At least that's what it should be in this situation.
Except there's no sense of satisfaction or victory on Adam's part at all. The hilarity of the situation comes from the fact that Adam feels none of all those vicious feelings he thought he'd feel, and probably what Michael was expecting him to feel. Neither does he feel sorry about himself. What he does feel instead is frustration and annoyance. Not at what happened, but at the fact that Michael refuses to look at him. What he finds funny is that he can actually look at this in an objective detached light in some part of his brain, and laugh at how pathetic Michael's acting and how much it irritates him.
They had sex, and it was good. Great even. Even though the hangover makes it difficult to remember, he can vaguely recall the feeling of Michael's fingers and mouth on his skin, hesitant and hasty and the same time, even in the angel's alcohol induced state. He recalls enjoying it. He recalls drunkenly demanding for more into Michael's mouth, as he dug his fingers into Michael's back holding on.
And Adam thinks that maybe he should feel victorious that he can think this way again. That he can tumble into bed with Michael
of all people - no people would not be the correct term since Michael's not human - entities, and wake up without finding the very air he's breathing oppressive and suffocating him with shame, disgust, regret, and dwindling self worth. That he can wake up, and even if he does remember their past, and not have it weigh him down, tear at him, sink it's nasty claws in his heart. That he can still feel like the Adam he was now, the Adam he worked so hard to become on his own. He's honestly surprised with himself that he woke up with Michael on top of him, with that familiar pleasant ache in his muscles, sweaty and sticky, with the room smelling like sex, and felt light. He felt happy.
He felt like he used too when things were still good between them. When they used to wake up in the same bed frequently in the same way, with the sun on their faces, and smile at each other, remembering a night and early morning well spent. And sometimes one of them would demand an encore, hands already running over the other's body, while the other would happily comply. Or Michael would insist on them having breakfast in bed, mostly because he wanted an excuse to taste whatever exotic coffee he'd summoned, from Adam's mouth. Or they'd simply lay in, pressed against each other, too lazy to move, until the sun was high in the sky and Adam couldn't put off his stomach's demand for food any longer. They have a lot of good memories. A lot of them in this
house alone, on that bed.
He'd felt so good, that he'd been the one to reach out for Michael, even though Michael was too busy averting his eyes and hastily throwing his clothes on. All Michael had wanted to do was get out of the room, and pretend whatever happened didn't. While Adam wanted more.
God, he still wants more. He forget how good Michael was in bed. Today's brought back all those memories back full swing. The taste of Michael's kisses, the way his fingers felt, his all encompassing heat, that incredibly good friction, and just how easily it was to get lost in all those sensations. How easy it was to turn into a bundle of nerves under Michael. The archangel is still good in the sack, if Adam's few drunken recollections of hours ago are any indication. He feels like laughing again at how blasphemous that sounds in his head, and how he doesn't care. Facts were facts were facts. No changing those.
And it's not just the sex. Yes, it helped put certain things in perspective, there's no denying that. However, if Adam were honest with himself, what he truly missed more was the intimacy. Sex he can get anywhere, if he really wants it. But it's never been completely only sex when it comes to Michael and him. Barring of course that one period of Adam's life he likes to pretend never happened. Even then, there were far too many emotions and a twisted sense of closeness associated with it. Adam's missed all of that so much more than the sex. It's stupid and corny, and sounds like something straight out of a teenager's romance novel, but it's true.
And if he was going to go thinking about honesty and facts the predominant one is: He wants Michael. He's never stopped wanting Michael. He's pretty sure he'll never stop wanting Michael. Even after all the shit that's happened.
It's odd how much has changed, and how much hasn't. How much of a full circle they've come from where they were. And at the end of it, Adam still wants Michael. He wants to attempt to build something with the archangel again. The only difference is this time, he knows what can happen, knows all those possible dead ends and bad roads. Adam's going to make sure they take a different path, because he's sure neither of them want to repeat the same stupid cycle of mistakes that got them here.
It means he's finally ready to forgive Michael, even if Michael still hasn't forgiven himself. Honestly this time, from everything Adam is. Not that impulsive forgiveness fuelled and blinded by his love, and childish hope, and need, and habit, that only and emotional wreck of a boy could be capable off. That was what had made them both reckless, and drove them further apart like this. Drove them to become what they were now.
Adam's realised in these years, and once again in these past few days once the sheer mess of emotions he'd become with Michael's arrival had finally settled, that he couldn't hold Michael completely responsible for what happened between them. Sure, some things were purely Michael's fault, and those do make up the bulk of their problem, but he isn't responsible for everything. There were other things, things they were both responsible for, and things that were completely on Adam - as much as he hated to admit it. He still hates admitting it sometimes, but he reasons it out with the fact that no one would want to take the blame for all the shit that had
happened. Especially what happened between them. After all they weren't the most normal set of people with the most normal
circumstances in existence.
He's not a boy any more. Though, in someone like Michael's eyes - who's existed before the world did, Adam guesses he'll always be a boy even if he's a withered old man of ninety, with white hair and more creases on his skin than the crumpled shirt he was currently wearing. Yet, it doesn't change the fact that he's no longer that wide eyed innocent boy he was when Michael first met him. He's thirty seven. You can't be wide eyed and innocent at thirty seven. Not with the additional years he's existed for, thanks to Michael. He gained around two centuries in the Cage alone. Time has changed him, and age has been kind to Adam in many ways. It means he's grown up now. He had too with how long he's lived. He's older now, wiser, tempered and sobered down and maybe still a bit of an idealist; but he knows exactly what he wants.
He wants Michael, and he wants his happy ending. He's not getting any younger by the day. And if there's anything else time and age has taught him, it's that sometimes, he needs to give a fuck about the world and just take what he wants. What he deserves. And Adam knows, he deserves his happy ending.
They both deserve it.
“Michael,” he starts, but the archangel just keeps staring into the fire.
He's been trying to get his attention for a while now. Michael however just keeps refusing to acknowledge Adam. And now this is really starting to get on Adam's nerves. Everyone has a limit to their patience, and Adam's is close to running out.
“Michael.” He tries again, this time pushing off from where he was leaning and coming straight into Michael's line of sight. Michael now either has the choice of looking up at him, or closing his eyes, or staring resolutely at Adam's hipbones. Whichever choice he takes, Adam still has his attention. There's no way he can avoid it. “We need to talk.”
Michael, still ever the master of avoiding things and getting lost into nothing whenever it's convenient, simply grunts taking another sip of his scotch. Whatever memory the archangel is currently lost in, it holds most of his attention. Adam huffs annoyed as he tries again to get Michael's attention. Finally with an irritated sigh at how ridiculous this is getting, he simply pulls the glass out of Michael's hand and straddles the archangel.
The reaction is immediate. Michael tenses, going almost rigid. His hands fly to Adam's hips gripping tight and pushing away, while his gaze flies to Adam's own, wide eyed and panicked. Suddenly Adam knows exactly where Michael's been, and with a wince he realises maybe this measure was a bad idea. He considers getting off, and apologising for bringing those bad memories they both like to push away into stark clarity. Still though, it's just better to ignore it and push on.
“Hey, I'm still here. This is a hundred percent Adam. Snark, sass, and all.” Adam murmurs softly, comfortingly, as he presses their foreheads together.
Michael relaxes slightly, but still searches Adam's eyes for something. When he finally finds what he was looking for, he sags completely against Adam in relief. And Adam hides the smile blossoming on his lips, when Michael lets his hands stay on Adam's hips. When his thumbs automatically start stroking the bare skin there. It's familiar, intimate, missed, and so very them. “Don't do--”
Adam cuts him off before he can speak further, leaning in so that his lips nearly brush Michael's own as he speaks. Sure he doesn't have to do it this way, but he wants too. Wants to lay himself bare and open for Michael like he used too. He wants to get the point across in a way that books no room for misinterpretation: unintentional or deliberate. “I want you to stay.”
Michael looks like he's about to protest, but Adam is having none of it. He's made up his mind. It's clear that they both want this. If Michael didn't, he'd have left back then in the snow instead of following Adam back to the house. He'd have left after they woke up naked next to each other. Michael clearly doesn't want to leave. It's obvious that some part of him is looking to stay here. And Adam is done with the both of them tormenting themselves like this. Yes the separation was good for him, it helped him figure out a lot of things; but Adam's missed Michael, and he doesn't want to continue living the rest of his life missing Michael. In the end this is what he wants the most.
“Whatever excuse you're going to come up with, can it. I know you want to stay. I want you to stay. So just stay.” Adam doesn't honestly understand what's so hard about it and why Michael has to even begin to try and complicate matters.
Michael sounds old when he sighs. Like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders and it's withered him down to a point where he can't even begin to talk about pushing it off. His thumbs keep rubbing circles into Adam's hips. “I don't want to hurt you again,” he murmurs. “I've already broken you enough. I don't know what I'd do if I....” Michael trails off and lets the words hang ominously in the air around them.
God, Adam hates how much Michael sounds like a kicked puppy. Moreover, he hates the condescending tone implying that Adam will obviously break again. That's he's weak enough to let it happen. Adam's damaged. Yes, he knows that. It's why he left, because he needed space, but mostly to fix himself. But, so is Michael. More than Adam is. And they're the type of couple who make each other whole by fitting their jagged edges together.
“Then break me, but fix me once you're done.” Adam hates sounding this dramatic, but he's learned with time that sometimes the only way to get through to Michael is corny and dramatic.
“I seem to have a problem doing that. Every solution seems to make matters worse.”
“Sending me to alternate universe where we never met, and trying to erase my memories isn't fixing me. Especially when you couldn't take away my tendency to Hulk out. That's being a coward, taking the easy way out and running away.” Michael looks like he's been slapped but Adam doesn't care. He's had enough of Michael's excuses, and Michael being a coward. “Michael, I mean it this time. Stay.”
Michael sighs again, defeat in his eyes, and hangs his head, resting it against Adam's shoulder. His hands wrap around Adam's hips, and Adam smiles counting it as a win. Something that only gets confirmed when Michael softly mumbles, “I'll stay.”
Maybe now, they can finally, finally, move forward again.
“Good,” Adam mumbles against Michael's lips, shrugging out of his shirt, as he kisses Michael.
“Adam what...”
Adam rolls his eyes. “Sex, Michael. You. Me. Us. Now.” Adam punctuates it with a grind down into Michael's hips.
Michael's breath hitches, and his hands grip Adam's hips tightly. “Adam are you sure?”
“Damn sure. I want you to fuck me. Possibly like we did that night when we went round for round for round. You remember what I'm talking about right? Right of course you do.” He breathes out, grinding down again, to get a better angle, better friction. “Now are you going to undress or do I have to do the honours?”
“Here?”
“Yeah, here. Seriously Michael. Get naked already.”
*
Morning comes, weak sunlight waking him up. Adam shifts slightly wincing at the pain in his back when he does. Sometimes he forgets that his body is now thirty seven, that it's actually aged. It's easy to lose track of time when you've lived for longer years. And even though Adam does everything he can to stay fit, it's starting to show. Sleeping on the sofa doesn't seem like a good idea now, on the other side of the morning, than it did last night, when he'd pressed himself and made himself comfortable against Michael, when he'd pulled Michael in, demanding sex right there and then. Especially after marathon sex, and hell his ass hurts. Sitting might be a problem today. But he hadn't curled up with Michael like that for years, hadn't had Michael while sober for so long, and honestly the temptation was far too enticing to resist it. The pain is definitely worth it, Adam thinks with a smile.
When he opens his eyes though, the smile vanishes. Michael is not next to him, or sitting on the armchair across the sofa like he used too whenever he woke up before Adam. Adam strains to catch any sounds coming from the kitchen or any other room of the house; but the only sound he can hear is the soft whoosh of snow outside. It's only then that his gaze finds the piece of paper edged under the glass Michael was using the previous night. It's still has some scotch in it too.
It's a note, written in pencil, on torn off newspaper of all things. And in Michael's scrawl, it simply reads “Sorry.”
Adam crumples it up, before tossing it into the embers of last night's fire. It figures that, just when Adam thought that things were finally starting to get better, Michael would take off just like this. No explanation, nothing. Without even a goodbye to his face. It's just
like the archangel to behave in this manner. Adam's not even sure why he'd got his hopes up. Maybe he is that pathetic after all, for still wanting Michael.
He picks up his discarded pants off the rug, sets about folding the blanket Michael had summoned for the both of them, and then he bitterly picks up the glass and swallows down the remaining scotch. It tastes as bitter as he feels, and there's not even the slightest hint of solace to be found in it.
So much for dreaming of another happy ending.
Part 2