I grunted, not bothering to look up from dinner at Adam. Don’t get me wrong here; I love Adam dearly, as a partner, a brother and a friend. He’s been the favorite, and most unlikely to attain, object of my unrequited lust two years running. But food is food, especially when it’s the first food I’ve seen since a granola bar on our flight in to O’Hare this morning.  Sweet, greasy, over-priced and utterly bad for me pizza as only Chicago can make it. I can almost feel my arteries clogging, but the flare of sweet sauce and salty cheese on my tongue makes it worth it. Food, sweet food…

“Jas, are you even listening to me?” Adam has that fondly amused note in his voice, the one that makes me want to kick him under the table.

Looking up, I inform him calmly, “No. Because I’m hungry, and you’re keeping me from my food. Unless you want to lose a hand, let me eat.”

He lifts an eyebrow, then chuckles and leans his elbows on the battered club table. “You know, it’s not like somebody’s going to yank it away if you stop eating for three seconds.”

That earns him a dark look through my eyelashes. “Yes, you will. If I leave the pizza alone, you’re going to devour it. All of it.”

With a small, indignant noise, he puts a hand on his chest, pretending great hurt. “I am shocked and appalled. I would never do a thing like that.”

He would. He has, in fact, several times since we became roommates in college what feels like an eternity ago. While Adam might look skinner than an anorexic rake, the man can put away food like a Hoover. To someone who has to torture themselves in the gym daily to look even moderately fit, such as me, it’s kind of sickening. Muttering something impolite just at the thought of it, I bite into the slice of pizza a little more viciously than necessary.

“I heard that,” he informs me calmly, swinging his mostly empty beer bottle between two fingers and propping his chin up with the other hand. If I tried to do that, the bottle would go flying. Thus the mystery of Adam’s innate luck. Raising his bottle to his lips, he finishes off the rest of the beer and sets it down with a thump. “Much better than American,” he declares, apparently unaware that I’m still distracted from watching the way his lips wrapped around the bottle. Damn… if I didn’t know he was oblivious, I’d kill him just in self-defense.

Shaking that thought away, I finally give up on eating the pizza and smirk at him. “Careful there, man. We’re not in Canada anymore. Americans get a little defensive about their alcohol in these parts.”

He snorts. “And I’m sure Mobsters are just flocking to this club these days.” With a flick of his hand, he indicates the club, a tacky mix of film noir and Dracula done badly. “And if someone had looked at the phone book closer, we wouldn’t be here either.”

“Hey, it was the only place open where we could get food, a drink and a place to sit without getting harassed by an asshole who wanted to prove himself by beating up on a ‘prettyboy wrassler’.” Sitting back, I cross my arms over my chest in a pose that he probably knows by now is sulking. “At least here we’re not going to get jumped.”

“Good point.” Adam glances out of the booth at the other customers, those he can see through the cigarette smoke. One thing that the phone book didn’t mention: this place gets mobbed by goths on Saturday nights after midnight. If I hear one more song that’s even vaguely industrial, I may weep openly.

As bad as the music is, it’s comforting that the clientele makes even us seem normal. We’re among the more butch looking men in this place, so that should save us from the obligatory comments over our ‘purty mouths’. And the clothing… Christ, I may have to apologize to Vince for resenting the poet shirt. It could’ve been so much worse. Although that interesting black leather strap outfit one kid’s wearing to showcase his multiple tattoos and painful looking piercings might’ve been a little hard to wrestle in. ‘Cause, ow.

 I can’t honestly say that I’m not looking, though, checking out the ghostly figures in period costumes and leather pants. I can look. If I wasn’t with Adam, I might even pick one of them up for the night. I have a weakness for pretty things, male and female. There are advantages to swinging, even for all the shit I have to take in the locker rooms. At the moment, it means that I can check out the young man dancing in the middle of the floor, soft brown curls brushing over his bare shoulders, muscles flexing under his sweaty chest, navel ring flashing in the gentle lights. Very, very nice…

“Flashing back on the poet shirt?” The low murmur of Adam’s voice jolts me back to the real world. I look up at him, and he smirks, the look in his half-lidded eyes whispering that he knows what I was thinking. I get that look a lot, probably because he usually does know what I’m thinking.

It’d be annoying if it didn’t go both ways. It’s a side effect of knowing each other so long, like the memories of him rubbing my back while I was miserably hung-over and hurling up everything I’d ever eaten, me holding him when too many nights of sleeping in the car and living off of a tin of tuna a day with no results got to him and he broke down sobbing. I could almost convince myself that I love him just like a brother. That doesn’t explain why he looks beautiful to me in the half-light, made to be pulled across the table and kissed until he was gasping.

That’s the funny thing about Adam. In some lights he just looks skinny and odd, but when he hits those right lights… God. He’s an angel that crashed to Earth. Like now. With that soft, knowing smile on his lips, his head slightly tilted like he’s listening to some private music, his eyes sleepy and green as a cat’s, the lights giving his hair the faintest blue halo… he’s just beautiful. It cripples me sometimes, how much I want him. Sweet natured, beautiful, utterly straight Adam. My Adam. It’s a title I’ve never had rights to, but it’s always been there anyway, invisible between us since we were children meeting in backyards to risk our lives for an impossible dream. My Adam. Mine.

God, is that one ever going to come back to haunt me. I can just see him bringing a fiance over for my approval, like he undoubtedly will one day. I’ll choke back my anger and offer my congratulations when all I really want to do is throw myself at him. I’ll let him go. I mean, really, what else can I do? And then I’ll go quietly into a corner and drink myself into a coma. It’ll be business as usual.

This whole scene suddenly seems a little too much, pressing down around us, choking. I push the plate of food away, not hungry anymore. Can’t imagine why. Tugging a hand halfway through my hair, I address the table. I don’t think I could manage to look at Adam without breaking down, and seriously, my ego doesn’t need that little extra kick where it hurts right now. “Look, you wanna go back to the hotel? I’m tired.”

“Sure, man.” There’s a little note of concerned surprise in his voice, but he knows better than to ask. Sliding off the stool easily, he waits for me and nods down at the dance floor. “Shall we?”

I nod and slip past him, not fast enough to keep him from reaching out and resting a hand on my shoulder. He lets me lead him through the dancers, holding on like if he let go he would lose me. Right now I can’t promise that he wouldn’t.

Stepping outside was the first gasp of air after almost drowning, a cool and sweet salvation. I lean against the railing for a moment, tilting my head back to enjoy it. My head feels clearer now, like the smoke and heat in there were clouding my thoughts. The nearly cold night air feels good on my skin. It feels like home for a moment, not thousands of miles away from the nice comfortable apartment where I wouldn’t have to deal with this.

Adam, bless him, doesn’t ask questions and simply waits for once. When I finally open my eyes, he’s standing beside me, looking down at me with a solemn expression that makes me chuckle. “No, Adam, before you ask. I’m not cracking.”

Reassured, he smiles warmly and pats my stomach. “No, you’ve already cracked. Want me to hail the cab?”

I glance around, considering. The neighborhood isn’t too bad, and the weather is perfect wandering weather, cool and brisk. It rained while we were inside, leaving the streets wet and reflecting back the gold of the streetlights. The briskness of the air brushes away my brooding from inside like a fever dream. All in all, it’s too perfect to waste sitting in a cab. “We’re only a few blocks from the hotel. Mind if we just walk?”

“Weren’t you tired a minute ago?” When I shrug, trying to look innocent, he rolls his eyes playfully. “The things I put up with… well, c’mon then.”

We walk in silence for a moment, the only sound our footsteps and the occasional whistle of wind. My head still aches faintly from the smoke and noise of the club, so I reach up and rub at my temples. Adam glances at me, his expression softening to concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll live.” I let my hand drop, sliding it into my jeans pocket. “It was just a little much, y’know?”

“Yeah. But at least they didn’t play Manson.” His nose wrinkles slightly at the thought, just enough to be nauseatingly cute. Damned if it doesn’t make me want to throw him against the wall and kiss him senseless, though. Stupid hormones. “I might’ve snapped.”

“Can’t have that.” Turning to smirk at him, I add, “It would be soooo totally in the bowels of sucktitude.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes. “You’re a brat. So, who were you checking out so heavily in that club?”

The abrupt change of subject makes me jump and almost tell the truth. Biting my lip, I study the cracks in the sidewalk. “Nobody.”

“Uh huh. After this many years, man, I know the look of Jason Reso on the prowl.” Moving closer, he slings an arm around my shoulder. His leather jacket is soft with use and smells like his cologne, his breath warm against my ear and stirring my hair. I want him. Even while he’s teasing me, all I can do is take in his scent like a starving animal. “C’mon, you can tell me. Was it that girl with the red hair and the sweet curves, the one in the corset? She was checking you out on the way out. Or maybe that brunette with the old lace shirt and the leather jacket? She was staring at you, too.” With a playful tug at my hair, he teases, “Reso, you’re a babe magnet, face it.”

I can’t get up the energy to play back. Instead, I just cross my arms over my chest for warmth and keep walking, giving myself away with my silence.

His voice gentles, a sure sign that he’s slipping into big brother mode. “You weren’t checking out the girls, were you?” I shrug and walk a little faster, trying to move out from under his arm. It’s no good, he keeps pace with me and keeps talking. “I’m not going to stop bugging you until you give me a yes or no answer, you know.”

With a sigh, I stop walking. It’s a lost cause. I hate talking about the bisexual stuff with Adam, though. It always gives me this uneasy feeling that he’s going to realize what he’s doing, that his best friend since childhood is a fag, and turn his back on me. Paranoid, yeah. But it doesn’t count as paranoid when half the world’s population really is out to get you. “Yeah,” I admit grudgingly, “I was checking out the guys.”

“Good. You should check out the guys.” It’s such a ludicrous, unexpected comment that it startles me into looking up at him. Once he has my gaze, he holds it to him. Moving back, he holds me at arms length, giving me that fond smile that only I ever get. “What, you were expecting me to snatch up a torch? I don’t mind the bi thing. I was right there beside you when you were deciding that you were bi in the first place, remember?”

I nod slowly, flashing back on all the times Adam dragged me home from bars where I tried to drink away the knowledge of who I wanted, on his warm smile when I finally got up the nerve to come out to him. He was the first to know about it, the one who held me together after Dad pretty much disowned me. I wonder how much of that would’ve changed if he knew exactly who I began lusting after in the first place.

His hands slid down to my bare arms, gripping lightly. “You know,” he says suddenly, “you can always talk to me about this stuff. We never talk anymore, Jas. I miss you.”

Something in me melts at the three simple words, trying to turn them into something they’re not. I force a laugh past it, shoving my hands in my pockets again so he can’t see that they’re shaking. “We spend almost every day together, man.”

“Not like we used to. We should go out together, see the world, see a movie…”

I chuckle bitterly, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. The slight ache is turning into a raging monster of a headache, I can feel this one coming. So much for sleeping tonight… “Adam, if you want to go out on a date, get a girlfriend. I thought you didn’t swing.”

I realize at moment too late that he could take offense to that. Adam, being Adam, doesn’t. Tilting his head, he frowns faintly at me. “Your head’s really hurting, isn’t it?”

“It’s fine.” Faintly alarmed as his hands curl over my shoulders and we start backing up, I look warily over my shoulder, trying to ignore the stab of pain that motion brings. Behind me there’s a brick wall, not much for leverage.  “Um, where are we going…? What’re you doing?”

The brick wall thumps firmly against my back, and I’m pinned. Adam smiles crookedly down at me. “Right about here.” His hands slide up into my hair, holding me still, and I bite back panic. “And right about this.”

His thumbs trace over my temples, unerringly seeking out the ache and easing them. I’m lost, struggling weakly against him but fading. Finally, with a low moan, I close my eyes and relax into it. He’s too good at this, his hands warm and strong and dry, stroking away the headache. I melt under his touch, almost managing to forget exactly why he’s doing this to me. He chuckles again, a low purring noise, and that rough coffee and cream voice murmurs, “Better?”

“Mmm… don’t stop.” His hands slide further into my hair, kneading at my scalp with gentle circles. I moan, slumping against the wall. I don’t know where the hell this came from, but I don’t want it to end. Feels so good…

Leather creaks softly as he leans a little closer. A warm body presses against mine, a jolting contrast to the cold brick wall. When I open my eyes, Adam is close enough to make me start, leaning one elbow on either side of my head. He has a strange, thoughtful look on his face, the slightest furrow between his eyebrows that means he’s considering something earth-shattering. I blink, off guard, and ask, “Adam, what-“

He leans forward just a little and presses his lips to mine. The world around us comes to a shuddering halt.

I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed this sweetly, by a man or woman. He moves like he’s afraid to hurt or scare me, just holding his lips against mine. The first tentative brush of his tongue against my lower lip makes me moan. He takes that as a hint and slips his tongue between my lips, still testing, still sweet, as he slowly takes me apart. I always thought I was being over-generous in my fantasies about the way Adam would kiss, but it turns out that I wronged him; he’s better at this then I could’ve dared guess.

Working up my nerve, I draw his tongue into my mouth and suck gently on the tip. He moans low in his throat, molding his body against mine, and I shudder. It feels like I’ve never been this hard, and he hasn’t even touched me anywhere important yet.

All too soon, he draws back, leaving me with the lingering taste of beer and salt. His eyes are wide as he looks down at me, surprised. His lips are swollen, I notice with a twinge of pride. The streetlights give him a sort of golden rumpled halo that makes me want to drag him close and kiss him harder. Swallowing a few times, he manages to whisper, “Jas… that was… I didn’t mean to… you were just-“

“You’re babbling,” I inform him gently, whispering back. “And I don’t mind if you don’t.”

There, my voice sounds almost normal. Almost like it won’t kill me if he did mind. He doesn’t need to know that if he even starts to look disgusted, it’ll break me.

A slow, beautiful smile touches his lips. His hands come up to cup the sides of my head, cradling me. “You were you,” he murmurs, more than half to himself. “And I finally saw it. After all these years.”

It’s my turn to stare. “You… what?”

He laughs softly, relaxing. His hand smoothes over my hair, petting me as he replies, “I don’t mind that I kissed you, Jas.” Looking almost shy, he adds, “In fact, if you don’t mind… I’d like to do it again. A lot.”

“I… uh… oh.” Yeah, that’s how I got to be one of the top heels of the WWF, my verbal skills… With a wan smile, I try again. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Still smiling, Adam rests his forehead against mine. Funny how my headache seems gone now. We stay in silence for a moment, pressed together, listening to the sound of our breathing. Finally I speak up.

“Adam?”

“Hmm?”

“Do we have to do that more kissing in the alley?”

Adam blinks and raises his head, as if suddenly realizing where we are. “Oh. Right.” Unfortunately for me, the realization makes him straighten and step back. The loss of his heat makes my body feel cold, except for a small, warm glow deep in my stomach. My Adam. I think I can actually call him that now. The thought sends a little thrill through me.

He turns to look back at me over his shoulder, then offers his hand. “You still with me?”

 The  note of insecurity in his voice makes me smile fondly at him. There are so many questions just waiting to be asked, important and panic inducing questions, but that can wait for a while. For now, I take his hand, twining our fingers together. With the first genuine cheer I’ve felt all night, I promise, “Always. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

We do.
---
End.