I glance up from the paperback on my lap, take in Adam’s puppy-dog expression, and reply calmly, “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Adam gives me a wounded look that he doesn’t really mean, and I go back to my paperback with a sigh. This conversation has become reflexive in the last few days, since that new issue of WOW with our interview in it came out. They took that interview in the Before Kiss era, and apparently Adam was amused by seeing how clueless we sounded. So I bought him a copy.

God, am I regretting that now.

One innocent little comment towards the end of the interview set him off, and for that I have to suffer through days of plaintive begging. Never let it be said that Adam isn’t persistent. Or is that obsessive?

Shifting a little closer, Adam rests his hand on the base of my spine, distracting me while I’m trying to turn the page. “Please?” he tries again.

With a sigh, I try to ignore him and turn the page. It’s not like I’m actually reading a single word, because, let’s face it, Stephen King has nothing on the way Adam’s fingertips run along my spine, but he doesn’t need to know that. He’s smug enough as it is. “Nope.”

His hand slides under my shirt, caressing, and he bends close. Even as I try to ignore him, the brush of his whisper in my ear makes me shiver. “Please?” he purrs, then leans a little closer and sucks my earlobe into his mouth. I melt with a low groan, just like the bastard knew I would.

Still licking and sucking away, he dogears the page, closes the book and shoves it off the bed. That obstacle removed, he pulls me into his arms.

Annoying as my Adam can get, he can do beautiful things with his mouth. Letting go of my earlobe with a last suck, he moves on to lick at my throat. I give a rather undignified whimper as he starts nipping, my hips shifting restlessly against his leg. He chuckles, lifting his head to smirk at me. When I lean in for a kiss, he reaches out and rests his hand over my mouth. “Ah, ah. I get my dance first.”

For a second I just stare at him, not sure if he’s kidding. When he doesn’t move his hand, I push it away. “Prick.”

He gives me the distinctly Edge grin, the one that makes the ringrats melt. Funny how it makes me want to kick his teeth in. Propping myself up, I glare at him. “In case you’ve forgotten, Copeland, there’s a second part of that dance question. Who gets to lead?”

“But you’re willing to dance with me?”

I sigh. God, he’s obtuse sometimes… “Yes, I’m willing to dance with you, if it’ll shut you up.”

He grins again, triumphant as a little boy with a new toy. That worries me. “Then I’m willing to fight you for it.”

“Aw, how sweet. I’m-“

My sarcasm is lost on him as he calmly, sweetly, hooks an arm under my knees and rolls me up for a pin. I break free and struggle away from him. With a distinctly crazed grin, he pounces, and we both go tumbling off the bed in a heap of limbs.

I hit the floor first, yelping as Adam lands on me. Before I can recover, he grabs my wrists and tries to pin my arms down. Twisting in his grip, I manage to grab hold of his arms. That leaves up grappling for position on the floor, pushing and being pushed away whenever someone manages to get the upper hand. It must look ridiculous, both of us grinning like maniacs and panting for breath, a flurry of jerky motions between us.

This brings back memories of years ago, being pent up in Adam’s bedroom on a rainy day and practicing our ‘wrestling’ until his mom yelled for us to stop making such a racket. That poor woman patched up our injuries so many times she deserves a medical degree on field practice alone. I took more bumps back then than I ever have in the ring, but it was worth every second. Judging from the sparkle in Adam’s eyes, he’s sharing my nostalgia. Then that look darkens into something much more adult, and I’m in trouble.

With a sudden shift, he squirms between my knees, which were pressed into his thighs to hold him back. The motion leaves him lying against me full length, his hips firmly pressed against mine. He’s hard, hard enough that I can feel it through two layers of denim. I can’t help it when my breath catches in my throat, feeling myself stir in sympathy. His eyes flare a little as he notices, and, with the playful smirk that means I’m in for it, he rubs his hips firmly against mine. The sweet friction makes me shiver, my grip on his arms starting to slip. It’s cheating, but I can’t draw the breath to bitch about it even if I wanted to.

Still grinding his hips into mine, Adam takes advantage of my distraction. My arms hit the floor with a muffled thump. Leaning his weight on my wrists just heavily enough to pin me without bruising me up, he purrs, “One, two…”

I squirm under him. He seems to enjoy it. “Adam…”

A particularly thorough rub against me shuts me up. Adam pouts down at me. “Aww… I lost count.”

“I’ll bet,” I manage to gasp out. Yay me.

“Hmm… how does that go again?” In time with the numbers, he grinds his hips playfully against mine. “One…” His grip on my wrists start to loosen up. “Two…”

With one sharp motion, I flip him over, pressing one arm over his collarbones to hold him still and resting my full weight against him. While he’s still staring at me, I count off smugly, “One, two, three. I win.”

“You…” he glares at me for a moment, before it finally dissolves into a rueful grin. “That was a fast count.”

“Aw, but honey, I thought you liked it fast…”

To my surprise, Adam actually blushes a little at the reminder. So he does have shame. I was wondering. Not enough shame, though, that it stops him from adding helpfully, “And hard. Don’t forget hard.”

“How could I?” Reaching between us, I cup him through his jeans, earning myself a low moan. “This has been pressing into me for the last five minutes.”

Adam smirks even as his hips shift up into my hand. “And that is why Vince never lets us catfight. It’s not that kind of pay per view.”

“Yet,” I correct him, doing my best to imitate his grin as I press my palm into the bulge in his jeans.

He groans softly, his eyes going half-lidded. “Jason,” he grits out, in that tone that means he’s trying not to moan my name instead.

I lean down and kiss the tip of his nose. “Yes, oh light of my life?”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Uh huh.”

He opens his eyes. “It’s not working. Lemme up.”

“Damn.” With a last firm rub to show him what he’s missing, I sit up reluctantly. He squirms up, and brushes himself off with a theatrical sigh. “You,” he informs me, “are such a brat.”

“You’re just annoyed that I won.” Accepting his hand up, I cross to the clock radio on the bedstand. “Let’s see what we’ve got here, huh?”

The first few twists of the radio bring only static. When the crackle finally merges into actual music, Adam breaks up laughing, and I groan. “No, I don’t think so…”

Winding his arms around my waist, Adam murmurs, a ripple of laughter in his voice, “Oh, c’mon. It’s got a beat. We can dance to it.”

“You can. Leave me out of this.”

“But such memorable lyrics.” In a low, slightly off key voice he sings along, “Don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart…”

“The Americans have corrupted you, haven’t they?” I reach for the radio, and he lets me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Next.”

Another burst of static.

/”Dance, little tin goddess, dance…”/

“Hey, Metallica…”

“Uh, Adam? I don’t think it’s physically possible to slow dance to Metallica.”

“Yeah, I know.” I can feel him sigh. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

Reaching back with my free hand, I pet his jaw. “Another time.”

He sighs again, but nuzzles at my shoulder with a soft chuckle. “’Kay.”

Another twist of the dial brings more static, then:

/I like big butts and I cannot lie,
You other brothers can’t deny-/

“Hey, maybe we should call Rikishi and Too Cool in here-“

“No, and no.”

Another burst of static and, finally, salvation. The opening strains of Unchained Melody wind their way out of the radio. I turn and smile at Adam. “This work for you?”

“Perfect.” With a content sigh, he lets me turn in his arms to rest my hands on his narrow hips. I’ve got to get him to eat a Twinkie or something. And he wonders why his tights are always sliding down.

His hands slide up from my back to rest on my shoulders, not without rubbing thoroughly over all the terrain between. Shifting a little closer, he rests his head on my shoulder. Must be more tired than he looked.

This… this is perfect. We spend so much time on the road that even if we room together, even if we travel together, we very rarely get time to ourselves. There’s always one more move to be practiced, one more autograph to be signed, one more choice between sex or all-too-precious sleep to be made. We very rarely find this kind of peace, where it’s not Edge and Christian or two more stars on the WWF roster. Where it’s us, Jason and Adam, being together. It makes it all the more precious.

He smells good, sweet and clean from the shower we just shared, with the lingering spicy trace of his cologne. I can feel him breathe softly, stirring my hair. There’s a tension in him that means that he’s deep in thought.

Pressing my lips to the soft place under his jaw, I murmur, “Should I be worried?”

“Hmm?” Sounding distracted, Adam raises his head. “Oh. No, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about this conversation I had with Waltman earlier.”

“’Bout what?”

He hesitates for a moment. Now I’m really worried. Leaning away from him, I study his face. There are shadows under his eyes that weren’t there this morning. He looks haunted. Rubbing at his back, I ask, “Adam?”

Another hesitation, then he looks away, towards the clock radio. His answer is almost lost in the music. “Immortality.”

I blink at him, startled not so much by the answer as by who he had that conversation with. Sean’s a nice guy, one of the few in the fed not to patronize us younger guys, like me, Adam and the Hardys, because of his extra experience. Still, if you’re not Kliq or DX, current or former, he’s not real likely to get into deep philosophical conversations with you. Watching the muscle in Adam’s jaw twitch, I ask carefully, “Immortality in the religious way, or…?”

“No. More like…” After a moment of thinking, he sighs, then looks at me as he explains, “I stopped to get some water before our match on Smackdown, and Sean was there. He wasn’t looking too good, all pale and a little winded, but I thought it was from having to work two matches that night. I offered him some, he took it, and then he asked how filming the Highlander movie went. We went into that for a while, and then he asks, out of nowhere, whether if I ever had the chance to be immortal, would I take it. Except it wasn’t like he was just curious. He sounded… earnest, like it was really important that he find out.” With another heavy sigh, he shifts his weight on his feet. His smile is rueful enough to make my chest ache. “This sounds really crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Nah.” I pull him a little closer, protectively, not liking the look in his eyes. That makes him give me a real, small smile, before he rests his head on my shoulder again. I pet his hair absently, combing through the lighter blond streaks where the sun touched.  “What’d you tell him?”

“I said that I’d have to think about it first. It would depend on some things. He started to say something, but then grabbed his stomach and doubled over like it was hurting him. He muttered something about having to talk to me later, then wandered off.” Adam shook his head, frowning slightly. “I worry about him sometimes, and I barely even know him.”

“That’s because you’re a big softie.” When he huffs out an indignant breath, I kiss his chin. “Well, you are. Don’t worry about it, he was probably just cramping from the match. He’ll be okay. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll drop by and check on him tomorrow.”

Even though I basically just promised to get my ass chewed out for hovering, the way Adam’s face brightens makes it worth it. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No, but I will anyway. After all, you’re headed home, I don’t want you wasting your time off worrying about it.”

“And I’m the big softie?” Still smiling, Adam lets his arms drift down from my shoulders to wrap around my ribs. It’s not exactly letting me lead, but I don’t mind. The music changes, going from the Righteous Brothers to Eric Clapton. He relaxes a little against my chest. “I like this song.”

“It’s nice,” I agree, not really listening to the song. I still can’t get over how he feels in my arms, warm and solid, soft and strong, just like I always dreamt he would be. It was worth the wait to finally have him. Without thinking, I let my fingers slide under the waistband of his jeans, feeling the rougher edges of his underwear, the softness of his skin. He shivers a little, lifting his head to smirk faintly at me. I hook my fingers in his waistband, swaying with the music as best as I can manage with the weight of those green eyes resting on me. One more song. Then I get to touch him all I want. “You’re nice.”

That makes Adam smile, the look in his eyes softening to something that neither of us have the nerve to name yet. The question that comes out of his mouth makes me blink. “Would you choose to be immortal?”

“Me?” I consider that for a second, pursing my lips in thought. When the answer comes to me, it’s not in my words. “’Death is the mother of beauty’.”

It’s Adam’s turn to shift back a little. “Huh?”

“It’s from a poem I had to read in college, by this guy named Wallace Stevens. God, I didn’t even know I remembered that…” With a frown, I explain as best I can remember, “He meant that the world’s only beautiful because, since we’re all going to die, we won’t get to see it forever. If I lived forever, I wonder if anything would be beautiful anymore.” A sudden thought occurs to me, and I say it without thinking it over first. As always. “Anything except you, anyway.”

Tilting his head, he asks, “Why not me?”

Ooo, this is gonna sound cheesy as all fuck… “Because I know you’re going to be beautiful, no matter how long I end up living.”

He gives me that ‘aw, how cute!’ goofy smile, even though he would never admit that he has one, and holds me a little tighter.  Using that extra height to his advantage, he kisses my forehead. I can feel his voice like a purr against my skin. “You know what the conditions are for me to agree to live forever?”

“What’s that?”

His breath warms me, brushes against my ear as he whispers, “That you’re there with me. Otherwise it wouldn’t be worth it.”

Oh, fuck. I’m blushing. Burying my face in his shoulder, I make a embarrassed noise that makes him chuckle. His hand rubs up and down my side, not quite tickling but enough that I shiver in his arms. That seems to be his cue to pull me closer, one hand cupping the back of my head where it rests on his chest.

I should bitch about this, the way he turned the tide on me. I should make some wiseass comment to defuse the tension. I can’t seem to draw in the breath or the will to do it. If it was anyone but Adam, I’d be gagging. But…

His fingers comb through my hair as he lets me guide him for once. He seems obsessed with playing with my hair. Not like I’m complaining. His voice is a soft, low rumble in his chest as he sings absently along with Clapton, so softly that I can barely hear the words. “I feel wonderful, because I see the love light in your eyes…” Tilting his head, he looks down at me, catching my gaze and holding it. Easily, deliberately, he adds the last few lines like he wrote them for me. “And the wonder of it all is that you just don't realize how much I love you…”

He’s off-key, husky, but it still rips me open inside. It’s the sweetest kind of pain. My breath hitches in my chest as I stare up at him helplessly. With an indulgent smile, he cups my face in one hand before leaning down to kiss me gently. He tastes like tea, and salt, and for a distracted second I can almost taste those three little words on his tongue.

“I thought I was leading,” I whisper against his lips, steadying myself on his chest. I can feel him smile.

“Tell you what. I’ll let you lead for the rest of the night to make up for it.” Pressing himself against me, he adds, “Unless you’d rather sleep?”

I chuckle, then swat his thigh lightly. I don’t hit him hard, but it does make a satisfying sound. He shivers, almost squirming in my arms, and my eyebrows go up. Huh. There’s a little kink I never noticed… Rubbing at the place I swatted, I command, “Get out of those clothes and into my bed, Adam.”

“Yes, Master,” he drawls playfully, then dodges my swat. It takes him all of three seconds to yank his shirt off, and it falls, forgotten to the floor. Only serious self control makes me turn away to go shut the radio off. We can’t leave it on all night.

Twisting the radio dial off, I glance at myself in the mirror, watching as Adam crawls into bed. A smile takes me by surprise. I turn back around, tugging at my shirt as I head towards the bed and the warm, naked, beautiful man that I love.

Who needs immortality when I feel this alive?
---
- Lyrics belong to, respectively, Billy Ray Cyrus, Metallica, Sir Mixalot, The Righteous Brothers, and Eric Clapton. (whew!)