"Looking Through The Mirror", Spooks, Adam/Lucas
Title: Looking Through The Mirror
Fandom: Spooks [Half The Truth AU]
Pairing: Adam/Lucas
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3262
Genre: Slash
Spoilers: 7x07
Summary: “Your place or mine?” Lucas’ smile is grim and a little pained, but he seems to be serious.
Author’s Notes: *points pointedly at rating* While obviously I don’t like what happened in episode seven at all… you know, thank God. Because I was seriously starting to think I wasn’t going to be able to push the guys into a sexual situation, and then this happened. So, you know, at least it paid off in that respect. Love to The Ting Tings’ cover of Standing In The Way Of Control, which is mainly what I listened to while writing this.
Secret mole
Getting it together.
- Kaiser Chiefs
Adam’s hands are shaking as he stands in the arrivals hall at Gatwick. People stream past him and around him, chattering and laughing and yelling and babbling away on their mobile phones, but all he can see when he shuts his eyes is the sticky red seeping across the floor. He swallows, and keeps scanning the crowd. Lucas doesn’t have any baggage to pick up, so he should be out soon. Adam curls his fingers into his palms, resolutely staying calm, and pretends that he’s not searching the crowd for Ben; looking for someone who can’t possibly be there simply because he needs him not to be gone. The world has got smaller around them, smaller and tighter and it’s getting hard to breathe.
Another rush of people come out of the doors, pushing luggage trolleys and bickering and Adam narrows his eyes, quickly dismissing them all. He glances down at his watch, and when he looks up again Lucas has arrived, striding purposefully although he’s looking wan. Adam moves to intercept him, falling easily into step with him. Lucas glances in his direction, and all the breath rushes out of his chest.
“Ben,” he says. The word comes out flat, hopeless; apparently he’s figured out all he needs to from Adam’s expression.
“He’s dead,” Adam murmurs, because he thinks Lucas might need the confirmation anyway. He’s proud of himself; his voice doesn’t break on either of the words, though he expects it to.
Lucas nods, passing his left hand over his face. It’s one domino after another, these days; person after person dying and never any reprieve.
“Connie?” he asks, after a moment.
Adam can’t find his voice for a second, swallowing and finding his throat closed. He tries again: “Yes.”
Lucas sighs, but doesn’t try to say anything. Adam, for his part, has nothing to say either; the silence between them isn’t easy but is at least determinedly mutual, and Lucas follows Adam to his car willingly enough. His exhaustion is palpable but not an issue; not yet.
They drive in continued quiet; Adam calls Ros to confirm that Lucas has arrived back safely, but other than that they remain staring out at the road. Uncomfortable car journeys seem to be becoming their thing; Adam almost wants to laugh, raw and inappropriate.
“This is becoming a pattern,” Lucas mumbles at a red light, as though reading Adam’s mind.
Adam taps his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Do you want to talk?”
The corner of Lucas’ mouth twitches into something that isn’t a smile at all, and he doesn’t reply. Adam wasn’t really expecting him to. It’s easier just to sit and share grief and guilt and fatigue and not look at each other and not say a word and just keep breathing because they’re out of any other options. Adam is fully aware that he doesn’t exactly have the greatest track record for coping with bereavement, and Lucas is a man clawing his way back over the edge. Neither of them are equipped for dealing with anything; Adam wants to scream, or break into angry shards, or kill something. Anything will do.
Lucas rolls his neck to look at Adam, head still resting against his seat. “I have one question.”
“What?”
“Your place or mine?” Lucas’ smile is grim and a little pained, but he seems to be serious.
Adam contemplates his answer for a moment, staring up at yet another red traffic light. He thinks this is maybe a bad idea, but then again it’s also inevitable. Lucas told him that they were crossing a line and could never go back; Adam’s aware that this is another decision that can’t be reversed but they’ve already come this far.
“Yours,” he says, foot slamming down on the accelerator.
Lucas’ lips press together, white, for a moment; Adam can’t tell if he’s apprehensive or pleased or regretting speaking at all. Lucas has his secrets and Adam knows better than to try and interpret them. He doesn’t want to take them, doesn’t want to fold them open and gaze into their depths. And that’s fine, because Lucas is tucking them as far away from daylight as he can. Even if he’s willing to slip for hours at a time around Adam, there’s only so far he’ll allow himself to go.
Adam thinks he’s learning to be grateful for that.
They don’t look at each other as Adam parks and they walk up the stairs to Lucas’ flat. Adam lets him take the lead, trying not to think too much. There’s nothing to overanalyse here; they’re painfully simple. Two men playing with blaming themselves and each other, who have been dancing around each other for weeks; making something more complicated than it should be, or even more complicated than it actually is. Lucas glances at Adam as he slots his key into his door; there’s no question in his eyes but his expression still says last chance to walk away.
Adam doesn’t.
The door slamming is the final change of conditions, the catalyst. Lucas pushes Adam up against the back of his front door, Yale lock digging into his shoulder, long thin fingers curling in Adam’s shirt hard enough to pinch the skin beneath. Adam thinks he’s the one who gasps but Lucas’ mouth fastens to his neck, tongue and teeth sliding against his skin. Lucas smells like sweat and compressed plane air and there’s the subtlest incongruous hint of perfume. Adam presses his hands to Lucas’ shoulders, pushing the other man’s jacket down his arms to pool on the floor, grabbing handfuls of the thin purple shirt underneath. Lucas responds with a scrape of teeth against Adam’s collarbone; Adam can feel him shaking and has enough humility to know that most of it isn’t arousal.
He loses most of his clothes on the path from Lucas’ living room to his bedroom, shirt scattering buttons and falling limply over the back of the sofa, shoes stranded several feet apart on the floor. There’s nothing methodical about it, nothing neat or tidy or considered; all Adam can hear is his own ragged breathing synchronised with Lucas’ as they stumble inelegantly through the flat. Lucas’ shirt falls, leaving Adam with his fingers skimming the tattoos, but for once his attention isn’t caught by the lines bisecting the skin. Lucas is smothered in ugly dark bruises; Adam winces just looking at them. They’re scattered across his chest, his sides, his shoulders; he imagines they’re all down Lucas’ back too.
Lucas’ smirk is sharp and rueful. “You should see the other guy,” he murmurs, and then seems to choke. Adam belatedly remembers that none of them know more than the fact Lucas was in Moscow; no one knows what he’s been doing for the last day, though he thinks he might have an idea. His thumb slides over a purple mark on Lucas’ ribs; the other man hisses, mumbling don’t.
Adam whacks his shoulder on the bedroom doorframe hard enough to make him flinch; Lucas presses his mouth to the red mark, fingers moving deftly on Adam’s belt. They’re the wrong side of desperate, hands skidding greedily over each other, less exploratory and more needy, and Adam thinks it’ll be hard to look back on this with dignity. Which is fine, because while he might have occasionally romanticised tracing the dark lines of tattoos and being kissed breathless he’s also ultimately practical. This is real life, this is what they’re stuck with, and he practically trips, sprawling naked over the mattress. It would be hard to expect anything other than this.
The drawer of Lucas’ bedside table is currently inexplicably on the floor, Adam notes vaguely; he can hear the other man’s zipper sliding down, jeans crumpling to the ground. Lucas climbs over him, one hand against Adam’s back, knee denting the mattress between his spread legs. Adam takes a breath, watching Lucas leaning over the side of the bed, scrabbling through the spilt contents of the drawer; condoms and lubricant, whether he was planning or expecting this situation or not (and Adam thinks not, though who really knows; Lucas won’t ever tell, after all), he is prepared for anything and everything. Always.
Foil packets scatter across the sheets; Lucas’ hands are trembling more, now, and Adam won’t ask him what’s wrong because he already knows and anyway he won’t get an answer. Of course he won’t get an answer. Lucas is still leant over him, their skin pressed together in too many places and Adam doesn’t think they’ll ever be able to get back from this. Lucas bites his shoulder and Adam arches into it, back shifting against Lucas’ chest and he thinks about the tattoos, the tattoos that shouldn’t be sexy because what they represent is so horrific it can never be spoken about.
Lucas doesn’t ask permission but he does hesitate a moment before Adam hears the lid of a bottle popping. A moment for Adam to twist around and say no. To ask for something else. But Adam still doesn’t, knees skidding against the sheets, breathing through his teeth. Lucas’ hands on his arse, fingers cold and unsteady and this could be messy. This could get so messy, and all Adam does is look back over his shoulder and hiss “go on.” Lucas’ lips twitch and a moment later there’s a cool slick finger sliding inside him. He grits his teeth, willing a little of the tension in his body to subside. Not too much, because if he relaxes too much he’ll shatter, but he’s got to ease up a little or this just won’t work. Lucas breathes out, warm breath skittering over Adam’s back, and his finger pushes deeper before slipping back out again.
Adam makes an involuntary noise against the sheets when Lucas curls two fingers inside him; although they’re both shaking with impatience, determined to find anything to distract themselves because the world is too much, just too fucking much, Lucas is being careful and whatever approximation of gentle he’s managed to scrape together and Adam thinks that’s going to sting later. But that’s later, not now. His hips jerk back, pushing against Lucas, hand clenching in the blanket. OhGod mangled in his mouth, and he can hear the way Lucas’ breathing shakes, fingers scissoring Adam open, occasionally skimming deep enough to make Adam’s eyelids flutter, back arching.
By the time Lucas has three fingers inside him Adam can hardly see, broken little noises falling from his lips and he can feel just how badly Lucas is shaking. Please escapes and Lucas pulls his fingers free; Adam can hear the sound of a condom ripping open and he grits his teeth, bowing his head and opening his legs further. He needs, oh God he needs, and when Lucas curls a steadying hand over his hip Adam thinks he’s stopped breathing. Lucas is careful; Lucas is a gentleman, the blunt head of his cock resting against Adam’s entrance for a moment, giving them both time to adjust. Adam takes a breath, and feels Lucas’ fingers tighten against his hips, hard enough that there will be bruises later, as he slowly begins to push in. He’s steady but measured, and Adam screws his eyes shut, willing his body not to move, staying still as Lucas inches deeper until his hips meet Adam’s arse.
It’s almost unreal; Lucas’ tight fingers and the burning stretch of him inside Adam are enough to convince him that this is happening, but although he can feel the other man he can’t see him and Adam wonders if that would make all of this too close, too personal. It’s hard to tell, and there’s a breathless second before Lucas begins pulling back, self-control clearly tumbling away from him, and that’s fine because Adam needs this to be hard and fast and determined because otherwise he’s just going to think about what he could have done and didn’t do and Jo crying with her hands pressed across her mouth in despair.
Lucas clearly feels the same way because he thrusts mercilessly, forceful and certain and almost too hard and Adam groans, pushing back, their skin smacking together loudly in the quiet room. He can hear Lucas’s breathing, unsteady and shallow, setting a pace they won’t be able to keep up, slamming into Adam brutally hard and Adam takes it because he needs it, gasping on every push in. But Lucas stills, quivering mouth pressing against Adam’s spine, and when he pulls out he doesn’t push back in again. Adam isn’t sure he has the words left in his head to ask what’s going on, although that becomes clear when Lucas carefully rolls him onto his back.
He’s flushed, cheeks harsh and red against his white face, lower lip bitten almost bloody, pupils blown wide with lust. Lucas’ chest is heaving, the tattoos rippling on his skin, and they just stare at each other for a moment. Then Lucas leans in, pushing Adam’s legs apart, and Adam obediently bends them, wrapping them around Lucas as he pushes back in. It’s hardly more gentle now, but there’s a human connection that Adam realises he was missing, and he brushes a hand into the back of Lucas’ hair, damp with sweat. Lucas shifts his angle, finding Adam’s prostate and hitting it repeatedly; Adam can hear himself making hungry, desperate noises but Lucas remains silent. He’s never gratuitous in anything; not even with sound.
They’re so close now that their breath mingles; Adam can feel warmth against his open lips as Lucas exhales, intimate as a kiss. And he realises something, as Lucas’ eyes close and his hips shove deep again. This is less about Ben and Connie than either of them want it to be, and it’s probably more about them than they will ever admit.
“Lucas,” he murmurs, just once, the name wavering in his mouth and he feels the shudder that runs through Lucas at the sound. Adam moves the hand not curled over the back of Lucas’ neck between their bodies, curling it around his own cock; the angle is bad but it doesn’t take much, jerking himself in time with Lucas’ thrusts. His head tips back, a moan breaking out of his mouth, and then he’s coming, the world flaring white for a moment.
Lucas is still thrusting into him when Adam regains his perspective, the occasional bumps against his prostate too soon after his orgasm that they’re almost like pain. But Lucas is tipping over the edge, Adam can see, can feel him trembling more than ever. When he finally does come, it’s with a sharp gasp, the most sound that’s come from him so far. Adam clings to him, feeling release crashing through Lucas, cock pulsing inside him until he has to grit his teeth.
There’s a moment of pure silence.
Adam lets out a soft sound between his teeth as Lucas slowly pulls out of him and rolls onto his back, pulling off the condom and neatly wrapping it in a tissue. Adam shifts, all his muscles feeling like they’re seizing, and he knows he’s going to be in pain later. Later, when they’re back on the grid trying to stop the world from falling apart any further. He grimaces, and tries not to think beyond the next couple of minutes. Lucas silently passes him a tissue and Adam carefully wipes his own come off his stomach, glancing sideways just in time to watch Lucas doing the same. Smears of white over the black curves of gnothi seauton, over the curling image that covers his chest, and it makes something in Adam shiver.
They lie on their backs in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling, saying nothing. Adam isn’t sure there’s anything to say, and they’re going to have to move soon, tidy themselves up and get to where they’re needed. Eventually, Adam looks at Lucas. The other man has his arm thrown over his eyes, and something occurs to Adam. The question he knows he shouldn’t ask, but does anyway.
“When was the last time, you know, you…”
Lucas moves his arm, turning his head to look at Adam. “A while,” he says. Adam can read years into that, and thinks he’s meant to; he grimaces, belatedly feeling performance pressure.
“Is it how you remember?” he asks.
Lucas laughs softly. “No. It’s different. Not bad, but different.”
Adam is beginning to suspect that’s how Lucas would sum up most of his life now: not bad, but different. And then Adam thinks that’s everyone’s lives these days, in this stupid world where nothing stays the same for five minutes and often it just gets worse.
“You went back to Moscow,” he says at last.
“I did.” Lucas’ voice is closed, firm, giving nothing away. They’re stripped bare, sheets tangled around their legs, but they’ll never be naked for each other.
Adam’s mind flicks through a dozen questions, none of which he can say aloud. He finally settles for: “Are you ok?”
Lucas is silent for a moment. “I was taken in Moscow,” he says finally. Adam doesn’t reply, waiting. Lucas sighs, and adds: “I wasn’t naïve enough to think I’d never have to go back.” Another pause. “But I hoped I’d have a little more time.”
It’s enough. It’s all Adam’s going to get; Lucas was scared, he realises. Not terrified, not numb, but scared. It’s understandable and plausible and Adam doesn’t try to pry further. The quiet strings warm between them, as they stretch out the moment, prolonging the inevitable.
“I got Ben killed,” Lucas says, entirely unexpectedly. His voice is colourless, his face is expressionless; the starkness of the statement makes Adam feel queasy.
“You didn’t.”
Lucas chokes off a bitter laugh. “Please, I don’t need you forcefeeding me sugarcoated lies so I can sleep at night.”
Adam shakes his head. “Ben already knew. He’d put it together; you just provided the confirmation and the evidence. Ben had worked it out. Honestly.”
Lucas stares at the ceiling for a while longer; after a moment, a single tear drips down the side of his face to be lost in his hair. Just one. The only tear Adam has seen him cry, and he instinctively knows it’ll probably be the only one he’ll ever see.
“You’re not strong enough to hold me together,” Lucas states at last. “And I certainly can’t hold you together.”
Adam sighs. “I know.”
Lucas shifts, rolling over to cover Adam completely. His hands cup Adam’s face before he leans in, their mouths meeting already open. The kiss is deep and desperate and passionate and Adam wonders if this is the last kiss he gets; if this is where they have to acknowledge that to string this along will destroy them both. His fingers curl over the back of Lucas’ neck, pulling him closer, their tongues entwining; it’s very close to sweet. Neither of them are enough for each other and sooner or later they’ll have to face up to it.
In five minutes they will have to get up and wash and dress and return to the grid and try to keep the lid on the world as it boils over far too fast. Reality will have to return and this will not have happened. They will work together and they won’t look too closely at each other and Adam will remember that Lucas doesn’t require friends or family or lovers or anyone. And somehow they will cope with the knowledge that today their little unit has been torn into pieces.
Right now, though, there are five more minutes.
Fandom: Spooks [Half The Truth AU]
Pairing: Adam/Lucas
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3262
Genre: Slash
Spoilers: 7x07
Summary: “Your place or mine?” Lucas’ smile is grim and a little pained, but he seems to be serious.
Author’s Notes: *points pointedly at rating* While obviously I don’t like what happened in episode seven at all… you know, thank God. Because I was seriously starting to think I wasn’t going to be able to push the guys into a sexual situation, and then this happened. So, you know, at least it paid off in that respect. Love to The Ting Tings’ cover of Standing In The Way Of Control, which is mainly what I listened to while writing this.
Secret mole
Getting it together.
- Kaiser Chiefs
Adam’s hands are shaking as he stands in the arrivals hall at Gatwick. People stream past him and around him, chattering and laughing and yelling and babbling away on their mobile phones, but all he can see when he shuts his eyes is the sticky red seeping across the floor. He swallows, and keeps scanning the crowd. Lucas doesn’t have any baggage to pick up, so he should be out soon. Adam curls his fingers into his palms, resolutely staying calm, and pretends that he’s not searching the crowd for Ben; looking for someone who can’t possibly be there simply because he needs him not to be gone. The world has got smaller around them, smaller and tighter and it’s getting hard to breathe.
Another rush of people come out of the doors, pushing luggage trolleys and bickering and Adam narrows his eyes, quickly dismissing them all. He glances down at his watch, and when he looks up again Lucas has arrived, striding purposefully although he’s looking wan. Adam moves to intercept him, falling easily into step with him. Lucas glances in his direction, and all the breath rushes out of his chest.
“Ben,” he says. The word comes out flat, hopeless; apparently he’s figured out all he needs to from Adam’s expression.
“He’s dead,” Adam murmurs, because he thinks Lucas might need the confirmation anyway. He’s proud of himself; his voice doesn’t break on either of the words, though he expects it to.
Lucas nods, passing his left hand over his face. It’s one domino after another, these days; person after person dying and never any reprieve.
“Connie?” he asks, after a moment.
Adam can’t find his voice for a second, swallowing and finding his throat closed. He tries again: “Yes.”
Lucas sighs, but doesn’t try to say anything. Adam, for his part, has nothing to say either; the silence between them isn’t easy but is at least determinedly mutual, and Lucas follows Adam to his car willingly enough. His exhaustion is palpable but not an issue; not yet.
They drive in continued quiet; Adam calls Ros to confirm that Lucas has arrived back safely, but other than that they remain staring out at the road. Uncomfortable car journeys seem to be becoming their thing; Adam almost wants to laugh, raw and inappropriate.
“This is becoming a pattern,” Lucas mumbles at a red light, as though reading Adam’s mind.
Adam taps his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Do you want to talk?”
The corner of Lucas’ mouth twitches into something that isn’t a smile at all, and he doesn’t reply. Adam wasn’t really expecting him to. It’s easier just to sit and share grief and guilt and fatigue and not look at each other and not say a word and just keep breathing because they’re out of any other options. Adam is fully aware that he doesn’t exactly have the greatest track record for coping with bereavement, and Lucas is a man clawing his way back over the edge. Neither of them are equipped for dealing with anything; Adam wants to scream, or break into angry shards, or kill something. Anything will do.
Lucas rolls his neck to look at Adam, head still resting against his seat. “I have one question.”
“What?”
“Your place or mine?” Lucas’ smile is grim and a little pained, but he seems to be serious.
Adam contemplates his answer for a moment, staring up at yet another red traffic light. He thinks this is maybe a bad idea, but then again it’s also inevitable. Lucas told him that they were crossing a line and could never go back; Adam’s aware that this is another decision that can’t be reversed but they’ve already come this far.
“Yours,” he says, foot slamming down on the accelerator.
Lucas’ lips press together, white, for a moment; Adam can’t tell if he’s apprehensive or pleased or regretting speaking at all. Lucas has his secrets and Adam knows better than to try and interpret them. He doesn’t want to take them, doesn’t want to fold them open and gaze into their depths. And that’s fine, because Lucas is tucking them as far away from daylight as he can. Even if he’s willing to slip for hours at a time around Adam, there’s only so far he’ll allow himself to go.
Adam thinks he’s learning to be grateful for that.
They don’t look at each other as Adam parks and they walk up the stairs to Lucas’ flat. Adam lets him take the lead, trying not to think too much. There’s nothing to overanalyse here; they’re painfully simple. Two men playing with blaming themselves and each other, who have been dancing around each other for weeks; making something more complicated than it should be, or even more complicated than it actually is. Lucas glances at Adam as he slots his key into his door; there’s no question in his eyes but his expression still says last chance to walk away.
Adam doesn’t.
The door slamming is the final change of conditions, the catalyst. Lucas pushes Adam up against the back of his front door, Yale lock digging into his shoulder, long thin fingers curling in Adam’s shirt hard enough to pinch the skin beneath. Adam thinks he’s the one who gasps but Lucas’ mouth fastens to his neck, tongue and teeth sliding against his skin. Lucas smells like sweat and compressed plane air and there’s the subtlest incongruous hint of perfume. Adam presses his hands to Lucas’ shoulders, pushing the other man’s jacket down his arms to pool on the floor, grabbing handfuls of the thin purple shirt underneath. Lucas responds with a scrape of teeth against Adam’s collarbone; Adam can feel him shaking and has enough humility to know that most of it isn’t arousal.
He loses most of his clothes on the path from Lucas’ living room to his bedroom, shirt scattering buttons and falling limply over the back of the sofa, shoes stranded several feet apart on the floor. There’s nothing methodical about it, nothing neat or tidy or considered; all Adam can hear is his own ragged breathing synchronised with Lucas’ as they stumble inelegantly through the flat. Lucas’ shirt falls, leaving Adam with his fingers skimming the tattoos, but for once his attention isn’t caught by the lines bisecting the skin. Lucas is smothered in ugly dark bruises; Adam winces just looking at them. They’re scattered across his chest, his sides, his shoulders; he imagines they’re all down Lucas’ back too.
Lucas’ smirk is sharp and rueful. “You should see the other guy,” he murmurs, and then seems to choke. Adam belatedly remembers that none of them know more than the fact Lucas was in Moscow; no one knows what he’s been doing for the last day, though he thinks he might have an idea. His thumb slides over a purple mark on Lucas’ ribs; the other man hisses, mumbling don’t.
Adam whacks his shoulder on the bedroom doorframe hard enough to make him flinch; Lucas presses his mouth to the red mark, fingers moving deftly on Adam’s belt. They’re the wrong side of desperate, hands skidding greedily over each other, less exploratory and more needy, and Adam thinks it’ll be hard to look back on this with dignity. Which is fine, because while he might have occasionally romanticised tracing the dark lines of tattoos and being kissed breathless he’s also ultimately practical. This is real life, this is what they’re stuck with, and he practically trips, sprawling naked over the mattress. It would be hard to expect anything other than this.
The drawer of Lucas’ bedside table is currently inexplicably on the floor, Adam notes vaguely; he can hear the other man’s zipper sliding down, jeans crumpling to the ground. Lucas climbs over him, one hand against Adam’s back, knee denting the mattress between his spread legs. Adam takes a breath, watching Lucas leaning over the side of the bed, scrabbling through the spilt contents of the drawer; condoms and lubricant, whether he was planning or expecting this situation or not (and Adam thinks not, though who really knows; Lucas won’t ever tell, after all), he is prepared for anything and everything. Always.
Foil packets scatter across the sheets; Lucas’ hands are trembling more, now, and Adam won’t ask him what’s wrong because he already knows and anyway he won’t get an answer. Of course he won’t get an answer. Lucas is still leant over him, their skin pressed together in too many places and Adam doesn’t think they’ll ever be able to get back from this. Lucas bites his shoulder and Adam arches into it, back shifting against Lucas’ chest and he thinks about the tattoos, the tattoos that shouldn’t be sexy because what they represent is so horrific it can never be spoken about.
Lucas doesn’t ask permission but he does hesitate a moment before Adam hears the lid of a bottle popping. A moment for Adam to twist around and say no. To ask for something else. But Adam still doesn’t, knees skidding against the sheets, breathing through his teeth. Lucas’ hands on his arse, fingers cold and unsteady and this could be messy. This could get so messy, and all Adam does is look back over his shoulder and hiss “go on.” Lucas’ lips twitch and a moment later there’s a cool slick finger sliding inside him. He grits his teeth, willing a little of the tension in his body to subside. Not too much, because if he relaxes too much he’ll shatter, but he’s got to ease up a little or this just won’t work. Lucas breathes out, warm breath skittering over Adam’s back, and his finger pushes deeper before slipping back out again.
Adam makes an involuntary noise against the sheets when Lucas curls two fingers inside him; although they’re both shaking with impatience, determined to find anything to distract themselves because the world is too much, just too fucking much, Lucas is being careful and whatever approximation of gentle he’s managed to scrape together and Adam thinks that’s going to sting later. But that’s later, not now. His hips jerk back, pushing against Lucas, hand clenching in the blanket. OhGod mangled in his mouth, and he can hear the way Lucas’ breathing shakes, fingers scissoring Adam open, occasionally skimming deep enough to make Adam’s eyelids flutter, back arching.
By the time Lucas has three fingers inside him Adam can hardly see, broken little noises falling from his lips and he can feel just how badly Lucas is shaking. Please escapes and Lucas pulls his fingers free; Adam can hear the sound of a condom ripping open and he grits his teeth, bowing his head and opening his legs further. He needs, oh God he needs, and when Lucas curls a steadying hand over his hip Adam thinks he’s stopped breathing. Lucas is careful; Lucas is a gentleman, the blunt head of his cock resting against Adam’s entrance for a moment, giving them both time to adjust. Adam takes a breath, and feels Lucas’ fingers tighten against his hips, hard enough that there will be bruises later, as he slowly begins to push in. He’s steady but measured, and Adam screws his eyes shut, willing his body not to move, staying still as Lucas inches deeper until his hips meet Adam’s arse.
It’s almost unreal; Lucas’ tight fingers and the burning stretch of him inside Adam are enough to convince him that this is happening, but although he can feel the other man he can’t see him and Adam wonders if that would make all of this too close, too personal. It’s hard to tell, and there’s a breathless second before Lucas begins pulling back, self-control clearly tumbling away from him, and that’s fine because Adam needs this to be hard and fast and determined because otherwise he’s just going to think about what he could have done and didn’t do and Jo crying with her hands pressed across her mouth in despair.
Lucas clearly feels the same way because he thrusts mercilessly, forceful and certain and almost too hard and Adam groans, pushing back, their skin smacking together loudly in the quiet room. He can hear Lucas’s breathing, unsteady and shallow, setting a pace they won’t be able to keep up, slamming into Adam brutally hard and Adam takes it because he needs it, gasping on every push in. But Lucas stills, quivering mouth pressing against Adam’s spine, and when he pulls out he doesn’t push back in again. Adam isn’t sure he has the words left in his head to ask what’s going on, although that becomes clear when Lucas carefully rolls him onto his back.
He’s flushed, cheeks harsh and red against his white face, lower lip bitten almost bloody, pupils blown wide with lust. Lucas’ chest is heaving, the tattoos rippling on his skin, and they just stare at each other for a moment. Then Lucas leans in, pushing Adam’s legs apart, and Adam obediently bends them, wrapping them around Lucas as he pushes back in. It’s hardly more gentle now, but there’s a human connection that Adam realises he was missing, and he brushes a hand into the back of Lucas’ hair, damp with sweat. Lucas shifts his angle, finding Adam’s prostate and hitting it repeatedly; Adam can hear himself making hungry, desperate noises but Lucas remains silent. He’s never gratuitous in anything; not even with sound.
They’re so close now that their breath mingles; Adam can feel warmth against his open lips as Lucas exhales, intimate as a kiss. And he realises something, as Lucas’ eyes close and his hips shove deep again. This is less about Ben and Connie than either of them want it to be, and it’s probably more about them than they will ever admit.
“Lucas,” he murmurs, just once, the name wavering in his mouth and he feels the shudder that runs through Lucas at the sound. Adam moves the hand not curled over the back of Lucas’ neck between their bodies, curling it around his own cock; the angle is bad but it doesn’t take much, jerking himself in time with Lucas’ thrusts. His head tips back, a moan breaking out of his mouth, and then he’s coming, the world flaring white for a moment.
Lucas is still thrusting into him when Adam regains his perspective, the occasional bumps against his prostate too soon after his orgasm that they’re almost like pain. But Lucas is tipping over the edge, Adam can see, can feel him trembling more than ever. When he finally does come, it’s with a sharp gasp, the most sound that’s come from him so far. Adam clings to him, feeling release crashing through Lucas, cock pulsing inside him until he has to grit his teeth.
There’s a moment of pure silence.
Adam lets out a soft sound between his teeth as Lucas slowly pulls out of him and rolls onto his back, pulling off the condom and neatly wrapping it in a tissue. Adam shifts, all his muscles feeling like they’re seizing, and he knows he’s going to be in pain later. Later, when they’re back on the grid trying to stop the world from falling apart any further. He grimaces, and tries not to think beyond the next couple of minutes. Lucas silently passes him a tissue and Adam carefully wipes his own come off his stomach, glancing sideways just in time to watch Lucas doing the same. Smears of white over the black curves of gnothi seauton, over the curling image that covers his chest, and it makes something in Adam shiver.
They lie on their backs in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling, saying nothing. Adam isn’t sure there’s anything to say, and they’re going to have to move soon, tidy themselves up and get to where they’re needed. Eventually, Adam looks at Lucas. The other man has his arm thrown over his eyes, and something occurs to Adam. The question he knows he shouldn’t ask, but does anyway.
“When was the last time, you know, you…”
Lucas moves his arm, turning his head to look at Adam. “A while,” he says. Adam can read years into that, and thinks he’s meant to; he grimaces, belatedly feeling performance pressure.
“Is it how you remember?” he asks.
Lucas laughs softly. “No. It’s different. Not bad, but different.”
Adam is beginning to suspect that’s how Lucas would sum up most of his life now: not bad, but different. And then Adam thinks that’s everyone’s lives these days, in this stupid world where nothing stays the same for five minutes and often it just gets worse.
“You went back to Moscow,” he says at last.
“I did.” Lucas’ voice is closed, firm, giving nothing away. They’re stripped bare, sheets tangled around their legs, but they’ll never be naked for each other.
Adam’s mind flicks through a dozen questions, none of which he can say aloud. He finally settles for: “Are you ok?”
Lucas is silent for a moment. “I was taken in Moscow,” he says finally. Adam doesn’t reply, waiting. Lucas sighs, and adds: “I wasn’t naïve enough to think I’d never have to go back.” Another pause. “But I hoped I’d have a little more time.”
It’s enough. It’s all Adam’s going to get; Lucas was scared, he realises. Not terrified, not numb, but scared. It’s understandable and plausible and Adam doesn’t try to pry further. The quiet strings warm between them, as they stretch out the moment, prolonging the inevitable.
“I got Ben killed,” Lucas says, entirely unexpectedly. His voice is colourless, his face is expressionless; the starkness of the statement makes Adam feel queasy.
“You didn’t.”
Lucas chokes off a bitter laugh. “Please, I don’t need you forcefeeding me sugarcoated lies so I can sleep at night.”
Adam shakes his head. “Ben already knew. He’d put it together; you just provided the confirmation and the evidence. Ben had worked it out. Honestly.”
Lucas stares at the ceiling for a while longer; after a moment, a single tear drips down the side of his face to be lost in his hair. Just one. The only tear Adam has seen him cry, and he instinctively knows it’ll probably be the only one he’ll ever see.
“You’re not strong enough to hold me together,” Lucas states at last. “And I certainly can’t hold you together.”
Adam sighs. “I know.”
Lucas shifts, rolling over to cover Adam completely. His hands cup Adam’s face before he leans in, their mouths meeting already open. The kiss is deep and desperate and passionate and Adam wonders if this is the last kiss he gets; if this is where they have to acknowledge that to string this along will destroy them both. His fingers curl over the back of Lucas’ neck, pulling him closer, their tongues entwining; it’s very close to sweet. Neither of them are enough for each other and sooner or later they’ll have to face up to it.
In five minutes they will have to get up and wash and dress and return to the grid and try to keep the lid on the world as it boils over far too fast. Reality will have to return and this will not have happened. They will work together and they won’t look too closely at each other and Adam will remember that Lucas doesn’t require friends or family or lovers or anyone. And somehow they will cope with the knowledge that today their little unit has been torn into pieces.
Right now, though, there are five more minutes.