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Adam lets the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. His body aches. The good kind of ache brought on by a night – a very long night – of fantastically good sex. Eyes closed, he catalogs the bruises and scratches, the marks standing out stark and obvious against his freckled skin.
Damien always, always marks him deep and hard near the end, when both of them know Adam will be leaving within the next couple of days. Damien says it's for Adam to take with him, to have something to ease the first onslaught of returning to his life. It helps. It keeps Adam loose and pliable, lazy-eyed and relaxed while he reconnects with whatever project he's in the middle of.
That isn't the whole of it though. Nowhere near the whole of it.
Because Adam knows Damien. He knows the bites and scratches, the fingertip patterns on his hips and wrists, they're as much for Damien as they are by Damien. Adam knows that this thing they have, this two-week escape from reality, wouldn't work if their emotions and feelings weren't true, if they didn't transcend the physical want.
He knows that when Damien whispers mine, he means it with every ounce of his being. But he also knows, through experience and tears, that this, this odd relationship that mashes all-the-time friends with temporary power play and submission and sex, is what's best for them.
Adam feels out one of the red welts on his chest, follows the path that Damien's fingers made late into the night. His smile is amused and wistful and, in a way, outright sad. Then he shakes his head and, voice husky with affection, mutters, "You arrogant jackass."
He won't be getting laid for at least a week. It'll take that long for the darkest of the bruises to fade.
Wrapped in his blanket, Adam hunts Damien down in the office. He sits down on the pillow, curling his legs to the side, and rests against Damien's leg.
Damien hums and drops a hand to Adam's head, scratching lightly through the damp hair. "Good shower, Adam? Thought you drowned, you've been in there so long."
Adam. Not boy or pretty, but Adam. Another push. Just like when Damien unlocked the cuffs and dropped them in the drawer after breakfast. And then had Adam shower alone. All of them, little pushes.
They make Adam itch.
"Yeah," Adam finally answers. "No drowning, but I might've killed the hot water tank."
Snorting, Damien flicks his fingers lightly over Adam's ear. "I'll send you the bill if you did, brat. I haven't had my shower yet."
Adam grins and presses in tighter. Brat. Not quite boy, but good enough. "Nothing stopped you from joining me," and Adam swallows before purposely adding, "Damien."
Damien. His friend and lover. Not his Dom.
An even playing field. They're almost back on it. Closer than they've been since Adam arrived.
Damien looks down, a brow arched high. "Using my name doesn't mean you're there yet."
Adam drops gaze as a blush spreads over his cheeks and neck. Damien is right. He's not there yet, not enough time between boy and Adam. But, dammit... "Showers are more fun when they're shared."
Chuckling, Damien pushes back from his desk. "Come on," he says, offering a hand for Adam to leverage to a stand with. "You can get dressed while I get a shower."
Adam walks into the bedroom with a pout, not a completely mock feeling but he does play it up more when Damien laughs.
"And, maybe," Damien says before shutting the bathroom door. "Maybe we can fire up the hot tub later. They can be even more fun than a shower."
Adam's dick is still tenting his sweatpants when Damien comes out of the bath, water droplets dappled over his shoulders. He takes one look at Adam's aroused state and bursts out laughing. "Forgot to bring underwear, huh?"
"Fuck off." Adam shakes his head. He didn't forget the underwear. He left them out on purpose. Because he totally forgot that sweatpants did not hold his dick in place the way his jeans do.
And, yeah, maybe, he's closer to breaking away than he'd thought. The fuck off came out without a single hesitation.
Adam stretches, then sinks lower in the water until the jet is pounding between his shoulder blades. "Awesome."
"Do they know?"
Adam blinks his eyes open. "Huh?"
Damien's eyes are dancing with humor. "Your band? Do they have any idea the amount of shit they could get away with if they stuck your sorry ass in a hot tub?"
Adam sticks his tongue out and then starts laughing. "Actually, there was this one time, with Tommy..."
Damien throws his hands up in surrender. "I don't want to hear this. No tour time tales unless it involves hot guys and copious amounts of lube and condoms."
"Oh, well." Adam slides around the hot tub and straddles Damien's lap. "There was this one stop in Germany..."
Damien wraps a hand around the back of Adam's neck. His laughter, and Adam's story, stop abruptly. "I'm glad you came."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yeah."
Adam leans in and brushes his lips across Damien's cheek. "Me too."
Rocking their groins together, Damien growls, "Ride me, Adam. I want you to ride me right here, right now."
Reaching blindly for the supplies, for the condom and lube that he brought out with the towels, Adam smiles. "Right now."
With the sun setting behind them, the remnants of their dinner abandoned on the deck table, Adam sighs. Damien's fingers tighten and dig into the meaty flesh of Adam's shoulders, the impromptu massage slowly turning from relaxing to wanting. Groaning, Adam drops his head forward. "You're entirely too good at that."
A breath of laughter ghosts over Adam's neck. "I'm good at a lot of things, Adam."
Adam snorts, then falls silent, thinking. He's replaying the past two weeks, planning for the next two. He hates this part as much as he hates letting go to begin with. Almost. He hates it almost as much. "So, tomorrow."
Damien trails his hands down from Adam's shoulders, over his back and slip them around his waist, tugging Adam back against his chest. "Tomorrow."
"That sucks." And really not in that whole pleasant come, boy kind of way.
"You say that every time." The words are mouthed along Adam's neck. He can feel the curl in Damien's lips, the slight turn that isn't a full smile, not even a real grin, just a simple quirk of lips.
Adam sighs. "Doesn't make it any less true."
"Just like all that space doesn't change anything between us."
"You believe that?"
Damien drops a hand to Adam's groin. Even with the barrier of sweatpants, he hones in on the marks littered across Adam's skin. Pressing down, catching one mark with his thumb and another with his index finger, he asks, "You doubt it?"
Hissing, Adam shakes his head. "No, don't doubt it. Just wonder."
He always wonders on last night. Wonders what happens if either of them falls in love, if he falls in love again. It didn't work so well the first time.
"Stop worrying about things you can't control." Damien brushes a kiss against Adam's shoulder. "You'll know when it's time to make a lasting break, when you find someone that can give you everything you need."
He can't even imagine that. Can't picture finding someone that can take him out of his head occasionally, and then drop back and let him lead the rest of the time. "No one..."
"The right one will want to, will be able to give you this too. It's a balance, Adam. Until then," Damien taps the bruises with his fingers, "you're mine, no matter where you are, no matter what you're doing. And even then, when this part is over, I'll still be here, ready and willing to listen, to help."
It's not the first time one of them has mentioned this thing between them ending. Still the words, the idea of not having this makes Adam's gut clench. Swallowing a protest, he whispers, "Yeah?"
"You know it." Damien pushes to a stand, offers a hand to pull Adam to his feet. "Come on, let's go to bed."
The left turn in the conversation throws Adam, pulls him away from the self-doubts and worry. "Huh? It's too early to go to sleep."
The look Damien gives him is sultry, full of devilment and arousal. The combination makes Adam's dick twitch.
"Oh," Adam murmurs, grinning. "I see."
"Good that you do."
Long after Damien falls asleep, his breathing heavy and steady, Adam climbs out of bed and, grabbing his blanket, his safety net of sorts, retreats to the deck. He pulls the soft fleece around his shoulders and walks down the steps, curling his toes into the night-chilled sand.
He spies the lounge chair, wide enough for two, out on the beach front. There. That's where he wants to be. Watching the stars and the moon and the light playing over the water.
Adam drops down with a sigh, kicking his feet – and a good amount of sand – onto the end of the chaise. He spends a long string of minutes looking around. Memorizing the sights and the sounds and the smells carried on the ocean breeze. He wants this. Wants it in his memory, in his music, in his soul.
Then, between one thought and the next, Adam closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.