You Get What You Paid For

You Get What You Pay For by RJ

This fictional story is about the developing relationship between two strangers: an escort and his client.

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~ Chapter 3 ~

Adam holds the die in his hands, shaking them repeatedly as he closes his eyes. "C'mon, baby, gimme a five," he begs before tossing them on the board. He looks distraught, and I just laugh at the snake eye's he just rolled. "Are you fucking kidding?"

"Maybe this just isn't your game," I tease, scooping up the dice to take my turn.

"This is rigged," he suggests, grinning as he watches me. "Those are loaded."

"I think you're just unlucky," I say with a smile, and I burst out laughing when I roll the five he has so desperately needed for the past seven turns. He playfully curses me out as I move my pieces. We've been playing a couple rounds of Backgammon in my bed, both still naked after a long, much-needed fuck. After we finished, he asked if he could stay a little longer since he has to see another client that lives nearby. There was an awkward amount of time between the end of my session and the beginning of his next encounter -- too much time to head over early, and not enough time to go back to his apartment and then come back in this direction. Of course I let him stay. Anything to spend more time with him. We whipped out the Backgammon board on a whim, and though I'm not exactly amazing at this game, Adam has somehow managed to be stuck in jail for quite some time.

"Can I just forfeit?" he asks.

I laugh. "You're giving up?" I ask, and when he just gives me a look while gesturing to the board, I see that it's clear that I'm going to win. I just bite my lip a bit. "I see your point."

"Bastard," he mutters with a grin. "Remind me to never play board games with you ever again," he adds as he shifts onto his back, giving me ample opportunity to study his naked form. I feel my mouth get wet again, still finding myself as attracted to him as I was the first night I saw him. Somehow he looks so sensually elegant wearing nothing but that thin gold chain of his.

"Don't be like that," I say, still sitting Indian-style in front of the board, smiling at him. Then, I ask a question that has suddenly crossed my mind. "Do you ever take that thing off?"

He glances at me before he realizes what I'm referring to. "This?" he asks, tugging on his chain. Then he laughs a little. "Nah, not really."

"Is it special?"

"Sort of." He smiles slightly. "It's kind of all I have left of my mom."

I feel something get caught in my throat, and I freeze a bit. Not more tragedy. "Adam..."

"Don't you dare go all sad on me," he says, smiling. "It happened a long, long time ago."

I try not to feel down, but my heart goes out to him. "How old were you?"

"Five," he says. "Took me a bit to understand really what happened."

"What happened?" I ask tentatively.

He looks at me. "Car accident," he says. "My brother and I became orphans" -- here, he snaps his fingers -- "just like that."

I wince. "You mean... your dad--?"

"Yep," he says, nodding. "Lost them both."

"Fucking Christ," I mutter, looking away. This poor kid. I can't even imagine having your parents taken from you at such a young age. It makes me question whether or not I'm allowed to say that I don't really have parents either, a phrase I so cavalierly toss around whenever the subject of moms and dads come up. Being estranged is not the same as being orphaned.

I see Adam's hand reach over to touch my knee. "It's okay, Teddy. Really." When I look at him, I see that he's smiling slightly.

"It's just... tragic," I say.

"I made it out okay, though," he says. "It was hard on my brother, but... we had each other. And my grandparents raised us pretty well."

I bite my lip. "Do you miss them?"

"I don't really remember them, to be honest," he admits softly, glancing at me as he tugs on his chain. "Is that bad?"

"I mean, you were so young," I say.

"True," he says with a nod before shrugging. "Still." Then, all of a sudden, he sits up quickly, craning his neck to check the clock on my nightstand. "Shit, I'm gonna be late."

I glance at the time and nod. He's pushing it, but I don't say anything because I don't want him to regret hanging out with me for a little bit longer. Off the clock, no less. "Need anything?" I ask as he swings himself off the bed, looking for his clothes.

"I think I'm good," he says, pulling on his shirt first before picking up his pants and scanning the floor curiously. "Where the hell is my underwear?"

"Check the living room," I suggest, smiling slightly. That's where things started, though I can't exactly remember how we got undressed. It was all a blur. A sexy, passionate blur.

"But my pants were right here," he says, looking confused before he shakes his head. "Whatever." He pulls on his tight-fitting jeans, stuffing his cock in before zipping up. "If you find them..." Then he laughs, probably thinking I'll do something pervy with them. Which he's right about. "Just let me know."

I blush but smile. "I will," I say, meaning it. They're a nice pair of underwear, that's for sure. Probably expensive. Maybe I'll wash them for him when I find them... after I jerk off with them, of course.

"Thanks." He smiles and then comes around to the side of the bed before reaching over to grab me. He gives me a quick half-hug and then kisses my cheek. "Bye, Teddy Bear," he teases, chuckling to himself as he leaves my bedroom.

"Bye," I call out, feeling the smile stretch across my lips as I listen to him pull on his boots and head out the front door. Once that door closes, though, there's silence. It's a heavy silence that screams about loneliness, and it slaps the smile right off my face. I sigh heavily. Watching him go and knowing where he's going makes my stomach turn a little, and as I fall back onto the bed, I try my best not to cry.

"You look down."

I glance up at Clark, who, while scrubbing one of my dirty plates, is staring at me curiously. "Do I?" I ask stupidly.

"Up, down, sideways." Clark smiles gently before placing the plate in the drying rack next to all the other dishes of mine that he's so graciously done for me. And what am I doing? Sitting opposite the island sink and resting my face moodily against my fist. "What's going on, Cub?" he asks, using his nickname for me to soften me up.

I've been dying to tell Clark about Adam for a while now. I've seen Adam multiple times a week for the past month, and every time I see him, I get both happier and more depressed. It's like I'm stretching myself in two different directions. Negatives aside, we've really gotten to know each other. In general, when we're together, we act kind of like old friends. But the sex feels hopelessly romantic to me, which makes our encounters feel like dates where I can pretend we're lovers. Then, as soon as he's gone, I know he's off to fuck someone else, to make someone else feel wanted, and try as I might to think about it rationally, it still hurts.

It's killing me, honestly. There's always that part of me that foolishly believes things will work out for me. For us. And it doesn't help that I feel this weird shame about it. It's not something I really want to talk about out loud since it's taboo enough for me to look weird and stupid enough for me to look dumb. But Clark is perceptive. He's noticed how up and down I've been lately. I guess, in the end, I'm not necessarily afraid that he'll judge me. I'm more afraid of him telling me what I need to hear: that it has to end.

I sigh heavily. Fuck it. I have to tell him eventually, don't I? "I have a confession," I say, biting my lip a bit.

Clark looks intrigued before he laughs. "This isn't church."

"You sure, Father?" I ask with a slight grin.

He chuckles before doing the sign of the cross over me. "Three Hail Marys, and a young boy of your choosing," he jokes.

Both of us burst out into laughter before I shake my head. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that."

"Just tryin' to lighten the mood," he says, grabbing one of the bigger pots at the bottom of the sink and pouring some dish soap into it. "Now tell me. What's going on?"

I look down at my hands for a moment before I speak. "I... um... I paid someone."

"Paid someone?"

I clear my throat. "For sex." His eyes shoot right to mine, and I can tell he's surprised. Then, I start rambling. "Well, technically for time, since he's an escort, not really a prostitute, so I paid him to like, be with me, I guess, but sex was part of the deal, and... we had sex. A lot." I say this all very fast, as if I'm making excuses. Really, I'm just ashamed to say it out loud.

Thankfully, he doesn't say anything judgmental. "Okay." He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. "So, what, you're ashamed you hired a hooker? Is that it?"

I take a quick cooling breath before shaking my head. "No." That's not all. I have to clear my throat again before I can keep speaking. "He... um... I think I'm in love with him," I admit.

Clark's initial reaction is to be excited for me. He's been dying for me to date and explore and fall in love again, so those words are probably music to his ears. But then I think he realizes the context and how compromising this situation can be, and his smile falters. "Oh."

I can't help but laugh shortly. "Yeah. And," I add, holding my finger up, "he's straight."

Clark frowns, slumping slightly. "Teddy..."

"I know, I know," I say, running my fingers through my hair.

"You're digging yourself a grave," he says, giving me a stern look. "You know how escorting works."

"I know, Clark," I say bitterly, sighing. "I just kept seeing him and... I got caught up in it." I start to ramble a bit about Adam: how we met, how sweet he is, how I feel when we have sex, how often we've seen each other...

Clark cuts me off eventually though. "He's just doing his job, Cub."

"Yeah, but..." I don't really have a response for that, because he's right. Adam's just doing his job. "I just wish..."

"I know," he says. "He sounds great, really, but... Well, you know what I'm going to say," he says with a slight smile.

"That I should stop seeing him."

"Bingo." He sighs, glancing at the pot in his hand before he starts to scrub. "You have to forget about him, sport. It's best for both of you."

"But what if I just told him how I feel?"

"No," Clark says sharply, looking at me hard. He seems more serious this time because he's giving me his undivided attention. "Don't do that."

"Why n--?"

"You might be a treasured client, but don't kid yourself in thinking that you're emotionally significant to him. This is his job. And you can't ask him to give that up." It hurts to hear those words, especially with the paternal way he's saying them. But Clark is just looking out for me. He's always my voice of reason, even if reason isn't what I want. "Plus, it's not safe," he adds, continuing to scrub. "What if he exploits your feelings? He could take advantage of you financially, socially, morally--"

"He wouldn't do that," I say, quick to jump to his defense. I believe it, though. Adam already made severe adjustments to my bill. I can't imagine it's all part of this elaborate scheme to rob me.

But Clark is understandably not convinced. "Do you know that for sure?" he asks, squinting slightly, and when I don't respond, he just sighs, softening a bit. "I'm just looking out for you."

"I know, Pop," I say, and he smiles gently.

"C'mere," he says, rinsing the soap off his hands before beckoning me over.

"What?"

"C'mere," he insists. I sigh but hop off my chair and go around the island, and I smile when he opens his arms to me. I walk into them without hesitation, closing my eyes as he holds me. I feel so comfortable in his arms. Safe. "You deserve so much joy, Teddy."

He's going to make me cry if he doesn't shut up. I just shift my head so that the front of my face is pressed firmly against his chest, taken back to all those times when I was a teenager strung out on heroin, aimless and homeless. The only positive constant in my life were Clark's hugs. "It just sucks. I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid," he says, rubbing my back and my hair. "You're hurting."

He's right. That's probably why I was so quick to let myself get swept up in all that is Adam. "I don't want to give him up," I admit.

"It might be best for you in the long run," Clark says gently before we pull back. He starts fixing my hair for me. "Ultimately it's your choice. But just think about it long and hard for me, okay?"

I sniffle a bit. "Okay."

He smiles a little before leaning against the island a bit as he looks at me. "At least we know you're ready to get back out there."

I don't know if he's exactly right about that, but I just shrug. "I guess."

"What if you just jump into something new? Something real?" he asks, emphasizing the word "real." Then he slaps my chest as a sudden thought comes to mind. "You should finally go out with my nephew!"

I roll my eyes again. "Not this again," I say, groaning. He's been saying this for almost a year.

"What? You guys get along fine."

"Isn't he like, twelve?" I joke.

"He's nineteen, dumbass."

"Still too young for me," I say, shaking my head.

Clark sighs through his nose, giving in. "Fine. But let me set you up with someone."

"Who?"

He seems to think for a moment before he smiles a little secretively. "I know the perfect guy."

"Who?" I repeat, more firmly this time.

"His name is Jackson," he says. "That's all I'm gonna tell you."

I blink. "Seriously?"

He sees how skeptical I look and he takes my arms in his hands. "You'll like him. Trust me."

Clark has never really been wrong, nor has he ever not had my best interests in mind. So I'm inclined to trust him, even if I don't love the idea of a blind date. "Whatever," I mumble. "I'll meet him. But no promises."

He chuckles. "You say that now..."

Waiting outside the restaurant just makes me think back to the first time I took Adam out. I stood there as awkwardly as I'm currently standing, wearing the same blazer. This time, though, I'm not as fussy about my outfit as I was when I was meeting up with Adam since I've kept everything casual underneath: simple t-shirt, classic jeans, and comfy shoes. That being said, I'm still a little bit nervous about meeting this stranger. What am I in for?

It doesn't help that I have no idea who to expect. I don't even know what this guy looks like. Clark didn't give me even the vaguest detail, so every time a guy passes by me, I make mildly-uncomfortable eye contact with him in the hopes that he'll say "Teddy?" and smile. But I've looked into over a dozen sets of eyes so far, and none have been inviting. Did this guy stand me up? Did Clark show this Jackson character a picture of me, causing him to run a mile in the opposite direction? Am I that undesirable?

"Ted?"

I spin around a little too fast, almost completely losing my footing, and a tall form of a man quickly grabs hold of my arms to keep me from falling. I say form because I can't see his face -- not until I crane my neck to look up.

"Careful there," he says with a deep laugh.

I feel my eyebrows raising as I look at him. I'm surprised that he's so handsome. In fairness, it seems like all of Clark's associates are attractive in their own right, but I didn't expect Jackson to be THIS good-looking. He has dark hair tied up in a topknot, striking hazel eyes, a full, groomed beard, and a dazzling set of teeth. Damn, Clark. Not bad.

"Sorry," I say, laughing out of embarrassment.

"All good." He looks me up and down with a smile when I step back.

"Jackson, is it?" I ask.

"Jackson it is," he says with a grin.

I don't know if we should hug or shake hands. I opt on the latter, and immediately regret it, but I have to roll with it. "Have you, uh, been here before?" I ask.

"Never," he says, glancing up at the sign. "Though it's been on my list for a while."

"Right," I say, swallowing thickly. I hate feeling so nervous. He looks so calm and collected, but I guess it's easy to feel secure when you look that good. "Let's go in."

The host grabs menus for us both and then escorts us to a table right by the window. Once seated, a young waitress swoops in with clean glasses and pours water for each of us. "Would you like anything else to drink?" she asks sweetly.

Jackson looks at me as if to tell me I should go first. "I'm good with water," I tell her. Jackson nods and smiles and says the same thing, and she takes her leave to let us check out the menus. Whenever I'm at a Vietnamese restaurant, I always gravitate towards bok choy. With that in mind, I open the menu and nearly knock over my water in the process. Then, just a few seconds later, I nearly knock the glass over again just reaching for it to take a sip. I have to sit back and take a breath, laughing at myself. "Sorry. I'm really nervous."

He chuckles amicably. "First blind date?"

I wince. "How could you tell?" I say sarcastically before laughing. "I don't do this much."

"I'm with you there," he says. "But Clark said some pretty nice things about you, so I had to check you out for myself."

I snort. "Disappointed yet?"

"Not in the slightest," he says, smiling. "I was actually pretty nervous until I saw you."

I bite my lip a bit. "Well, I'm not exactly intimidating, so I get that."

He grins a little wider. "It's not that," he says. "I was just afraid you weren't going to be attractive." I blush a little, my face getting warm, so I busy myself with my drink for a moment. It requires intense focus so that I don't embarrass myself for a third time with this damn drink. "So tell me about you, Teddy," he says, leaning in a bit.

"Apparently you already know stuff about me."

"All I know is that you're a sweet, smart, sensual guy who's been out of the dating pool for a while."

I blink. "Clark said 'sensual'?"

"He might have said 'sensitive'," he says, correcting himself. Both of us laugh. "Something with an 's'."

I smile, looking down at my hands for a moment before shrugging. "Well, he's right. I... don't really get out much."

"Any particular reason?"

I shrug. "The dating scene is kinda terrifying."

Jackson laughs bitterly. "God, I wish that weren't true," he says, shaking his head. "It's ugly out there. It's like there are a bunch of civil wars going on. Tops fight tops, bottoms fight bottoms..."

I can't help but chuckle a little, envisioning a bunch of hungry bottoms fighting to the death for the conquest. "More people should be versatile."

He smiles. "I agree," he says, and his tone takes such a sexy shift that I feel myself tensing a bit. Frankly, his voice is turning me on.

"You strike me as a more dominant person, though," I point out.

"What makes you say that?"

"Just a feeling."

"Good lookin' out," he says with a slight grin before nodding. "Yeah, I'd say I'm pretty dominant in most situations. Even if I'm, uh, giving it up."

I have to take a sip of water to distract myself from the image of him power bottoming. Is it hot in here? I'm hot in here. "So, what do you do for work?" I ask, changing the subject.

Conversation flows pretty smoothly between us. I learn that he's somewhat of an artist who works in production for plays ("NOT musicals. Fuck musicals. I'm probably way too snobby for musicals."), and when he's not doing theater, he volunteers at churches. He was big into his faith when he was younger, and that was of course thrown into question when he realized he was gay. But he went back as a supporter of sorts. "I mean, there are kids and adults who go to church every day still that need the right sort of guidance," he says, "not to be shamed and driven away." I smile when he speaks about his work with the church and "reworking the beast from the inside." I find it exceptionally noble and honest of him. It speaks to his character, which, after a short dinner, I'm already fond of.

I wasn't expecting it, but we sleep together after our first date. Once the bill is paid, he asks me if I'd like to see what he's been working on, since the theater is just half a dozen blocks away. We take a walk together as I feed him small portions of my life to give him a little insight. He's very attentive and asks a lot of non-traditional questions, which I find refreshing.

Once we get to the theater, though, the questions stop. He sneaks us in through the side alley, and when we make our way on stage behind the curtain, he shows that he wasn't lying about his dominant side. Backstage, he pins me up against the wall and kisses me, and I feel dizzy with excitement when he whispers in my ear "You are so fucking sexy." I feel like a little girl being complimented for the first time. It still catches me off-guard, but God, it's so nice to hear. Clothes come off only partially, dicks are sucked until they're dripping with spit, and I get a chance to eat out his hairy hole. He's a talker, too, goading me, egging me on, telling me what to do. I don't think I say a single word while we're fucking, either -- besides the occasional expletive. Otherwise, I'm just enjoying the ride on a couch and letting Jackson power bottom the life out of me.

By the time it's over, I'm sweating and having a hard time catching my breath, and Jackson just smirks at me as he takes the condom off my cock and tosses it aside. He watches me slowly sit up and start to make myself decent before acting like the sex -- the wild, rough, somewhat kinky sex -- didn't just happen. "THIS is what I've been working on the most," he says suddenly, pointing to the backdrop. At the sudden shift in dynamics, I just stare at him before laughing.

It's nice hanging out with Jackson. I end up seeing him relatively regularly, and it's always a pleasant time. He's sweet, respectful, and a devil in the bedroom. The best thing about him, though, is how comfortable he makes me. That's always been the most important thing to me. Somehow, it makes me think "Hey! Maybe I CAN be in a real relationship again. Maybe Adam isn't the only one who can make me feel safe."

But as soon as I think that thought, memories of Adam fill my head. I haven't seen him since I've started seeing Jackson. I haven't reached out to him and, unsurprisingly, he hasn't reached out to me. That's how this exchange works, anyway: I have to be the initiator, and in the interest of attempting to listen to Clark, I have to avoid all temptation. Over the next few weeks, I keep seeing Jackson with the hope that I'll fall for him completely. It makes me feel mildly shitty -- almost like I'm using him to get over Adam. But at the same time, isn't that the point of dating? To see where things lead? Part of me is willing to settle for Jackson, and even though "settling" would hardly be a bad thing in this scenario, I still find myself thinking about Adam. I think about his touch, his smile, his charm and his ability to be both vulnerable and outgoing. No matter what Clark said, I can't help but believe that when we were together, Adam felt comfortable too.

Our glasses clink together with that serene tinkling noise before we each sip our wine individually. I'm not sure what to make of the taste. It's a deep red wine that tastes almost like Pinot Grigio. It's confusing me, but then again, who really cares? Jackson brought it over to celebrate, even though it's ten at night, and that's what matters.

"I'm really proud of you," he says.

I smile bashfully. "Thanks, Jack." I got promoted at work. It's somewhat of an awkward promotion considering the previous holder of the position was arrested for selling sensitive information that she had access to, but still, it's nice to know that the higher-ups have had their eye on me and know that I do good work. Now I get my own office, the power to delegate, the freedom to tackle far more interesting and high-profile projects, and quite the sexy pay raise. The Boys wanted to celebrate with yet another visit to Mimi's, but luckily Jackson suggested a quiet night in. And I couldn't refuse that.

"When do you start, technically?"

"Pretty much immediately," I say, resting cozily against the back of my couch, putting my feet up on my coffee table. "There's some light training, and they have to run over the client list with me, but other than that, they just have to hand over the reins."

"Just don't sell anybody's information," he teases, and I laugh.

"I still can't believe Judy did all that." Working in IT is all about trust. It's so easy for companies as well as the general population to be fooled by one skeevy IT person.

"You know how people are," he says. "Greedy."

"You're not like that," I comment, and then I smirk. "Well, when you're not in the bedroom."

"Oh ho, he thinks he's funny," Jackson says with a laugh, setting his wine down. "Come here."

"No," I say playfully, just continuing to sip my wine.

But he stops me, putting his hand on my glass and slowly tugging it away from me. He sets it down next to his before sliding closer to me, leaning in, and kissing me. I let out a little moan against his lips as he kisses me slowly once, then twice, and then a third, much deeper time. I feel my hands gravitate towards his sides, and slowly, I start reaching around.

Suddenly, there's a loud knock on the door. We break the kiss, both of us glancing at the door before I look towards Jackson. "Were you expecting somebody?" he asks.

"No," I say, furrowing my brow.

Then, another knock, much louder and much more rapid this time. It's followed by a voice I instantly recognize. "Teddy? You home?"

"Adam?" I call out in surprise. Then, almost immediately, my heart swells with joy until I find myself confused. What the hell is Adam doing here? I hop off the couch and head towards the door, and after I undo the lock and open the door, I immediately gasp. "Adam!"

He grimaces. "Hey," he says.

"What the fuck happened?!" I ask, bewildered. He's a fucking mess. His hair is disheveled, his eye is a little bruised, his cheek is cut, there are streaks of dried blood from his nostrils to his chin, his teeth are bloody... Jesus Christ.

"I'm a little messed up."

I freeze for a moment to take in the sight of him. He's wearing a leather jacket with a simple white tee (which is bloodstained) and jeans underneath. He's also clutching hard onto something: a dark, soaked-looking rag of some sort. Lord have mercy. I haven't seen him in three weeks and this is how we're reunited? He tries to smile at me, but he's clearly in pain. I notice he's clutching his side slightly. "Everything okay?" I hear Jackson ask from the living room.

But I ignore him for a moment, my focus on Adam. I reach forward and, careful not to tug on him too hard, I grab his hand and bring him inside. When he steps in, he notices Jackson on the couch and gives him a small, friendly wave. "Hey, man."

Jackson looks surprised and quickly stands up. "Are you okay?"

"It's nothing," Adam says, waving him off before wincing again.

"C'mon," I tell Adam, pulling him towards my bedroom. I feel like I'm in crisis mode: focused but stressed. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"You need my help or anything?" Jackson asks me, though he's still eyeing Adam.

"I got it," I say calmly, and Adam and I disappear into the bedroom. I lead him straight to the master bathroom, praying that I have wipes and disinfectant and the like in here. I guide him towards the toilet and, after putting the lid down, I have him sit down on it.

"Ow," he groans, sighing through his nostrils as he sits. Then he smiles a little at me, looking tired. "How bad do I look?"

"Pretty fucking bad, Adam," I say, surely looking worried. I know how he is. He's just trying to play it cool. I quickly scan him over before taking the rag out of his hand. That's when I notice his knuckles: they're all fucked up too, like he had punched a brick wall or something. "Jesus Christ, Adam," I say, wincing before tossing the bloody rag in the garbage. "What happened?"

"It's not that bad," he says, not answering my question.

I just take a breather to center myself. First things first: let's see what I have. I rummage through my medicine cabinet and pull out everything I could possibly need, ranging from hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin to Q-tips and Band-Aids. The only thing I don't have are bandages, and that hand definitely needs to be wrapped up. "Jackson!" I call out. "JACKSON!"

Within seconds, Jackson's at the door, peering in. "Yeah?"

"Can you run across the street and get bandages for me?" I ask as I open the bottle of peroxide and make sure I have enough.

"Yeah, of course," he says, nodding. "Text me if you need anything else." And with that, he hurries out. I hear the door open and close before Adam and I are left alone in the apartment.

"Alright," I say, standing up. "Take your jacket off."

"Now, now, Teddy, you haven't paid me yet--"

"Adam, I swear to God--"

"Okay, okay," he says, seeing that I'm not in a joking mood right now. He leans forward slightly, and when I see him struggling to get the jacket off, I help him out of it. I'm careful around the hands, and taking it off his arms proves to be tricky since his side is clearly bothering him. "What's hurting?"

He gestures to his face. "I can't feel my face," he says with a grimace.

I breathe out through pursed lips before gesturing to his shirt. "You're dripping blood all over your shirt," I tell him before grabbing a paper towel and dabbing at his chin. I then try to help him out of his shirt, but that proves to be too painful for him.

"My side," he says, groaning. "I think it's my ribs." I scratch my head. Guess he can't lift his arms much. "Can't you cut it off or something?"

Fair enough. It's just a white t-shirt, after all, so I'm sure he won't miss it. I grab some scissors from the kitchen and carefully cut the shirt off his body. I toss the scraps in the trash before I scan his body. He looks okay. Seems his face got the brunt of... whatever the fuck happened. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" I say again, and Adam just nods.

I start by carefully wiping away the dried blood from his face. Once I do that, I feel the stress leave my body almost instantaneously. He doesn't look nearly as bad. Just a few cuts and bruises, really, and nothing that looks like it'd need stitches, so his face will be fine. I clean up the cut on his brow, cheek, and the bridge of his nose. He winces at the latter, so I gently check to make sure his nose is secure.

"Doesn't feel broken," I say. He must have winced because that seems to be the deepest cut.

He laughs. "That's good."

"You gonna tell me what happened?" I ask as I grab a small Band-Aid.

Once I secure the bandage on the bridge of his nose to cover that cut, he finally speaks. "I had a bad client."

I arch my eyebrows. "What happened?" I ask, and as I start cleaning up his knuckles with a cotton swab, he tells me.

He met up with someone who claimed to be an older married father looking for something discreet. "Discreet is my middle name, and I didn't see anything weird about him, so... I met him." When he got there, he was drunk as shit. And aggressive. Apparently his wife left him after catching him with one of her gay friends. "I knew he was bad news after that. Kept calling me Pretty Boy and tried, like, doing all this humiliation stuff. And I'm not into that." Adam attempted to leave after a bit, but the guy was incredibly insistent, and eventually things got physical.

"Like, he punched you?" I ask.

Adam sighs, shrugging so lightly that I almost missed it. "He tried to..." Adam says, looking at me sadly, and I know exactly what he's talking about. He doesn't have to tell me that this man almost forced himself on him.

I try to focus on the positive. "But you got out."

He smiles and nods. "I got out." A bit of blood escapes his nostril and drips onto his chest, and he tries catching the flow with the paper towel. "But I lost my shit along the way. Wallet, phone, keys to my apartment..."

"So you came here?" I ask, inspecting his knuckles to make sure I did a good job.

"It was only a couple blocks away. I was hoping you were home. And here you are," he says with a smile.

I'm not smiling, though. "We should call the police."

"No, Teddy."

"Why not?"

"Because this guy is a cop," he says.

"So?"

"So? Cops look out for cops, not guys like me." I'm about to speak up but he cuts me off. "Trust me, it's no use. Remember when I got scammed?"

I nod. He told me a story once about how someone had catfished him. She pretended to be a client and faked all these insecurities for Adam to let his guard down, and when Adam invited her over, she ended up robbing him blind. And the cops just laughed in his face. Took his name down but didn't do anything. Ever since then, he's been particularly bitter about cops, and it doesn't help that any time he has to deal with them, something goes awry.

"I don't fuck with cops."

"What about your stuff?"

"I'll figure it out."

"He should still get in trouble," I mutter.

"He's protected--"

"And he's dangerous!" I say, wanting nothing more right now than to see this cop taken down.

"And protected," Adam repeats. "I'm not dealing with it."

"Okay, fine," I say, rubbing my face. "No cops." I say. Even though I completely disagree, I guess I have to respect his decision, don't I?

He smiles. "I'm sorry for showing up like this."

"Don't say that," I tell him. "But now I'm officially worried about you." I had never really considered the dangers of his occupation. This is serious. He was almost raped, and he could have been killed easily.

"The risks I take for this job..."

"Maybe you need a new job," I mutter, and then I look at his torso. "Do you think your rib is busted?"

"I don't know," he says. "It just feels sore or something."

"Maybe we should go to the hospital," I suggest.

"No. No hospital," he says.

"Adam--"

"I don't have insurance."

I groan. No cops, no insurance... "You're killing me, here."

"Don't be mad at me," he says, smiling slightly.

I give him a look. "I'm not mad at you, dumbass," I say before leaning forward to fix his hair. He just closes his eyes and lets me do my thing. "What are you gonna do now?"

"Can't do anything until tomorrow, so..."

I pause, remembering that he can't get into his apartment. "Do you need somewhere to stay?"

He winces but nods. "Yeah. I hate to ask--"

"No you don't," I say with a slight smile.

He laughs. "You're right. I don't."

I step back when his hair is back to normal. "You're lucky I was home. I almost went out tonight."

"You? Yeah right," he teases.

"I don't think you're in a position to be a dick," I fire back, smirking.

"You're right, you're right," he says with a small chuckle. "My apologies." Then he looks up at me. "How have you been anyway?"

I arch my eyebrow at the change in topic. "I've been okay," I say. Somehow it seems inappropriate to mention the promotion right now.

"I haven't heard from you in a while," he comments. "I was worried."

Does that mean he was thinking about me? "Sorry."

"Did I... do something?" he asks hesitantly.

Besides be straight? "What? No," I say, laughing and looking down at my hands. "I've, uh... I've been dating."

"Shit, really?" he asks, excitement in his voice. "That's great! Wait, is it... that guy out there? What's his name?"

"Jackson," I say with a smile.

"Atta boy!" he says, beaming, clearly happy for me. "How's that going?"

I just shrug. "I don't know."

He can't help but laugh. "Uh oh. Not into it?"

"No, it's just..." I sigh. This is the first time I'm saying this out loud, so I hope I sound articulate. "It's fine and all. And it's easy. I'm just... not really sure he's what I want."

"Well, what DO you want?" he asks curiously.

I don't know how to answer that question, so thank God for Jackson showing up at the right moment. I hear the front door open and I excuse myself before meeting him in the living room. Jackson holds up a small CVS bag before pulling out the bandages. "Hope these are okay."

"They're perfect," I say, taking the bandages and smiling. "Thanks."

"Sure," he says before glancing towards the bedroom. "How is he?" he asks in a quiet voice. "And... who is he?"

"An old friend," I say, thinking that's a simple enough explanation. "He's banged up a bit but I think he'll be okay, honestly. He looked worse than he is."

"Well that's good," he says, looking relieved.

"Yeah. Listen," I say, staring at his chest, "I hate to ask this, but..."

"Can I leave?" he asks, and when I look up at him, he's smirking a bit.

I wince. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, babe," he says, laughing. "I get it. Go be with your friend." Then he leans down and kisses me gently. "Keep me posted, okay?"

"I will," I say. I escort him to the door and kiss him goodbye before locking up. I do feel bad that I essentially kicked him out, but it felt weird having both Jackson and Adam in my apartment. And regardless of how I feel about them comparatively, Adam needs me more right now.

I head back into the bathroom and smile. "Got the bandages."

"Goodie," he says, holding out his hand. I wrap it up carefully for him, just enough to cover up the cuts and avoid infection. "Were you a doctor in a previous life?" he asks.

I look at him and laugh. "No."

"Huh. You have a doctor's touch," he says with a smile.

"Not really," I tell him. "I've just had to deal with this sort of thing before."

When I give him a look, he understands what I'm talking about: drugs, and all the people I've known to be affected by them. "Oh," he says, and leaves it at that.

Once I'm satisfied that he's cleaned up and mostly taken care of, I decide that he needs to rest. I get him out of his tight jeans (which is a challenge in and of itself) and give him sweatpants to borrow before setting him up on the couch. He's slow about his movements as to avoid sharp pains in his side, but I think he's fine. Probably just bruised.

"What are you gonna do?" he asks once I tuck him in.

"Probably sleep," I say with a small laugh. "You wore me out."

"I'm sorry," he says, patting my arm.

"Don't be," I tell him, taking his uninjured hand and giving it a squeeze. "I'm really glad you're okay, Adam."

He gives me a little smile, just nodding. I tell him that he can call out for me if he needs anything before I leave him alone in the living room. Once I get to my bedroom, I collapse right on top of the blankets. Fuck. What just happened? It seemed like it all passed by in a bloody blur. I truly am glad that he's okay, but part of me is almost... mad, in a way: mad at him for getting himself into this situation, mad at him for having such an apparently high-risk job, mad at him for showing up at my door and making my feelings for him flare up all over again... I can't forget how mortified I was to see him all banged up like that. The fear I felt was too visceral for my liking. I wanted nothing more than to fix him up and hold him until he felt better. I still want to do the latter.

I groan a bit. Barely shifting, I wiggle my way out of my pants and kick them onto the floor, leaving myself in my underwear and an old yellowed t-shirt. I'm too tired to move. Or think. I don't want to think about how I feel about Adam versus Jackson, so I force myself to crawl under the covers and try and sleep.

I hear the floor creaking after a while, followed by a small knock on the open door. "Teddy? You awake?" Adam asks in a half-whisper. "I can't sleep."

I roll onto my back and look at him. "Yeah, I'm awake," I say.

"Cool," he says. Then he joins me in bed as if accepting an invitation. Not that I'm complaining. If he had asked outright, I wouldn't have hesitated to say yes. He climbs in slowly and lies down next to me with a deep sigh, joining his hands together just below his belly button.

"What's keeping you up?" I ask.

"Stress," he grumbles.

"Understandable."

He keeps his eyes on the ceiling as he says "I was so scared, Teddy."

The shakiness in his voice is surprising and makes me want to cuddle him. But all I do as far as physical affection goes is rub his shoulder gently, mostly as a nonverbal way to let him know that I'm here. "You're safe here," I assure him.

He turns to me and smiles, nodding. "I know." He sniffles a little as if he had just caught himself before he started crying. "I missed you."

I feel goosebumps all over me. On the inside, too. Christ, the things he does to me... "Bet you say that to all the boys," I say, mostly to deflect my need to smile like a goon.

Adam laughs. "I promise I don't." For a moment, we're just smiling at each other, and I'm relieved when he speaks up because I was on the edge of gushing over him. "Tell me about this boyfriend of yours."

I roll my eyes. "I don't wanna talk about him."

He laughs. "Trouble in paradise?"

"No. I told you, everything's... fine." Just fine -- and not comparable to how I feel with and about Adam. There's just something about the way my body responds to his presence that's impossible to ignore.

"'Fine'," he teases, chuckling to himself.

"Shut up," I say. "Tell me about you instead. What have you been up to?"

"Me?" he asks before shrugging a little. "Not much. Working a little. My grandparents are in town so I've been taking a little time off here and there. Playing a lot more music too."

I almost forgot he plays saxophone. "You any good?"

He looks at me as if I've offended him. "Am I any good? Hell yeah, I am," he says, laughing.

I just smirk. "I'm gonna need proof."

He stares at me before cocking his chin. "Where's your laptop?"

I hop off my bed and grab my laptop from my desk. As I bring it back to bed, I log in quickly and make sure I don't have anything incriminating up, like porn, or Adam's profile. "What do you want?" I ask.

"My email," he says, reaching his arms out and beckoning for the laptop. I hand it to him and he sets it in his lap, pulling up Chrome and logging into his Gmail. After a quick search through his inbox, he finds what he was looking for: an email with a video attached to it. "Aha!" He downloads it, and when the video pops up on the screen, he tilts the laptop towards me.

Immediately, the sound of his jazz band fills the room. It consists of a drummer, a pianist, a bassist, a guitarist, two trumpets, and two saxophonists, one of which is Adam. It looks like they're practicing in a studio or something, jamming out to something upbeat. I smile slightly, partially watching Adam's finger tap along to the intricate rhythm before he points to the screen. "Wait for it," he says, and then, Adam gets his shot at a solo. It's just him, the bass, the drums, and hints of piano while he goes through riffs and runs with total ease. I can't help but smile while I watch him play. Even he looks like he's smiling in the video, his fingers going wild.

"Alright, I'm impressed," I admit with a laugh.

"Told you," he says with a grin. Suddenly, someone lets out a whoop when Adam hits a high, elongated trill, and whoever's recording turns the camera around towards the small crowd behind them. Amongst a dozen or so people is an elderly couple, both with bright, excited smiles. "Those are my grandparents," Adam points out.

"Really?" I ask, leaning in to look at them better. The grandfather seems particularly energized by the music. "They're so cute."

"They really are. And, as you can tell, they love jazz."

I smile. "Do they know what you do for work?"

He snorts a bit before closing the laptop. I'm a little disappointed because I wanted to keep watching. "Oh yeah."

I'm surprised that he told them. "Even the part about... y'know... men?"

He laughs. "Not explicitly, but... I feel like they might know."

"How do they--?"

"Feel about it?" he asks. "They hate what I do. Would much rather me pursue jazz than, y'know, sell myself."

I wince. "Jazz is a little more noble, no?"

He laughs. "Much more righteous," he teases before shaking his head. "My grandma thinks I'm going to hell." Then he looks at me and smiles. "Seems we're both bound for eternal damnation, aren't we? A gay guy and a prostitute?"

"You could probably convince God that it's not technically prostitution," I say.

"Sure, but at the end of the day, I'm still fucking dudes."

I laugh. "But you don't love them."

"I don't think that matters to God."

Fair point. "Well, then, maybe you're worse off than I am. You get more action than I do."

He chuckles a bit, nodding. "I better start praying for forgiveness soon." Then Adam turns to me. "Do you think I'm proud?"

I look at him in confusion. "What?"

"Like, am I too cocky?"

I grin. "Where is this coming from?"

"My grandma says that's my deadly sin," he says. "Pride. But I think she's just reading my playful defiance incorrectly," he adds with a smile.

I shake my head. I can see it pretty clearly: Adam shirking religion and probably cracking inappropriate jokes at the expense of his grandmother. All in good fun, of course. But I decide to mess with him a bit. "Maybe Grandma's right," I tease.

He hits me and I laugh, pushing his hand away. "What's YOUR sin?" he asks.

"My sin? I'm an angel."

"Bullshit," he says with a grin.

I give it some thought before saying "Probably envy."

He looks intrigued. "Really? Envy?"

"Yeah, big time," I tell him. "I'm envious of... I don't know." I let out a nervous laugh. "Everyone."

"Why?"

Why? Countless reasons, my sweet Adam. "Well, perfect example: you're confident and good-looking and smart and care-free, and I'm--"

But Adam cuts me off. "Don't."

I look at him, uncomfortable with the look he's giving me. "Don't what?"

"Do that 'put yourself down' thing you always do."

I blush. "Do I do that that often?"

"Often enough," he says. "Makes me wonder why."

"Um. I don't know," I tell him. "It's kind of a habit."

"A bad one," Adam says before looking at me curiously. "Not that you asked, but here's my psychoanalysis of you."

I laugh. "Oh God."

He smiles. "I think it probably stems from your parents," he says, "and their rejection of you. I mean, you're always making little comments about how undesirable you are, how ugly and dumb you are, blah fuckin' blah. Which are lies, by the way."

"Shut up," I say, laughing and hiding my face.

"Am I wrong?" he asks, and then he chuckles before saying "Don't answer that. I'm not wrong. Because I'm always right. And Mr. I'm-Always-Right is telling you that you deserve good, Teddy. You deserve it, and you'll get it."

I peer up at him slightly, half of my face hidden by my pillow. "Sucks that you're straight."

I can't believe I just said that. I want to do nothing more besides swallow my words and never speak again, but thankfully he doesn't read too much into it. He just chuckles and smiles at me. "You saying you'd treat me right?"

Going along with the playful tone, I say "I'm a little offended that you have to ask that question."

Adam bursts out laughing before clutching his side, clearly trying to fight the urge to laugh so that he doesn't hurt himself. "Oh, Teddy," he says, chuckling. "Teddy, Teddy, Teddy."

"What?" I ask, amused.

He smiles. "I love you, man," he says, and I immediately tense up. But then he keeps speaking. "I'll deny it if you say it, but you're my favorite client." He chuckles, scratching his stomach. "Kinda wish you weren't dating. Is that selfish?"

I feel a strange mix of emotions. Being the favorite of anything is generally a compliment, but it's hard to accept that compliment when it's tied to a word like "client." It still seems like we're not acknowledging our personal connection. It's a word that keeps us within the bounds of professionalism. Was that intentional? Probably not, but it still, in a weird way, hurts -- especially since any romanticism of his "I love you" was completely deflected by him tacking "man" at the end.

But I play it off as best I can. "Maybe a little," I say with a smile.

"Isn't that one of the deadly sins? No, right?"

"Greed," I clarify. "Or gluttony, I guess."

He laughs a little. "Maybe selfishness is a baby sin."

"Maybe," I say in a soft voice.

When we make eye contact, I can't help but feel them all over again: those stupid fucking butterflies. Two seconds ago, I felt hurt by him referring to me as nothing but a name on his customer list, and now, my stomach feels light and fluttery, the sensation slowly expanding towards my chest. I notice my heart rate more, too -- fast and alert. There's a sense of urgency within me now. Suddenly, I need to kiss him. I need to feel him. I need him to feel me. The need sweeps over me so suddenly and so completely that I could almost cry right now.

Adam's face shifts. "You okay?"

Apparently I AM crying. My eyes are welling up with tears, but I blink them away and keep myself composed. "Yeah, sorry." I wipe a stray tear away, feeling embarrassed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, clearing my throat. "I'm just--" What? An idiot? Yep. That's it.

He smiles gently at me before shifting onto his side with a grunt and then reaching out for my shirt. "C'mere." I don't think about whether or not it's a good idea. I quickly slide forward and let him put his arm around me while I bury my face in his neck. I feel calm right now. Soothed. Protected from my feelings. That is, until he starts speaking again. "Don't be so down about it," he says. I open my eyes, still nuzzled into his neck and shoulder. Don't be so down about what? "You'll find someone who's perfect for you," he says. "Don't worry."

Is that why he thinks I'm upset? Relationship issues? Oh, Adam. Silly, naive Adam. Why'd you have to hit me with the "you'll find someone eventually" spiel? This situation makes me want to both crawl out of my skin and slap the hell out of him. And kiss him. And make love to him.

I'm so confused and torn. Sad and horny. Loving even though I'm not loved back. I grip onto Adam a little tighter as all my emotions blend into one motivation: closeness. I want closeness. If Jackson were here, I'd be on him, needy and desperate. But I've got Adam tonight, whether or not he wants me.

I kiss his neck a few times and Adam squirms a little. "Teddy?"

"Shhh," I say softly, continuing to kiss.

He grips my shoulders. "What are you doing?"

I sigh. "Please, Adam," I say softly. I sound so damn desperate, but in this moment, I couldn't care less. I just grab onto his shoulder with a tight grip to emphasize my need. "Please."

He leans back a little so that he can see my face, and he peers into my eyes, trying to understand what's going on. "You don't want to talk or anything?" he asks.

"I want you to do your job," I tell him. I'm sure that came off as harsh, because he raises his eyebrows a bit in surprise. Fucking hell. What's happening to me? I'm on an internal roller coaster right now, and I'm riding it blind. I sigh and try to shake my feelings off, pulling away from him and shifting onto my back. "Fuck. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he says softly.

I just put my hands in my face, groaning. "I hate this. I fucking hate this."

"Hey," Adam says, and I feel him grab one of my wrists and pull my hand away from my face. Then he cups my face, tilting it towards him. "Talk to me."

All I do is sigh. "I'm never gonna get what I want, am I?"

I don't expect him to know what I'm talking about, to know what I'm implying. He looks just as confused as I feel. But his hand feels nice on my cheek, and his concerned gaze is somewhat comforting, so I let the moment linger. I need to get over him, though. I need to move on. I need to focus on what I have: Jackson. Jackson's good. He's good and funny and stable and sexy and he wants me for me, and that should be enough... So why isn't it?

I find myself staring at Adam for so long that I don't know who leans in first. Me, or Adam? Probably me. But all I know is that we meet halfway. Adam smoothly slides his hand to the back of my head and pulls me into him for that last inch, making our lips finally touch. Whatever confusion I felt, whatever anger I was harboring, it all evaporates as soon as we start kissing. This feels right. Regardless of the fact that I'll probably have to pay him after this, or the regret I'll probably feel when it's over, or the act he's putting on for my sake, I'm committed to this moment.

I slide my arm around him, careful not to hurt him as I slide even closer. Our kisses deepen, and I do my best not to moan too much since Adam isn't making a sound. He just has his fingers in my hair, gripping slightly before he starts to slide it down my back, grab my ass, and tug me close enough for our groins to touch.

I notice that I'm doing most of the grinding, but I don't care. I keep it up, locking our legs together and moving my hips against his as we kiss. My thigh resting on his hip gives him easy access to me, and I feel my body heat up as he slides a hand right up the leg of my boxers. His fingers grip one cheek before they tease in the crack, and I let out the softest moan when I feel him lightly brush against my hole.

He teases me a few times before rubbing it in slow circles with his middle finger. In response, I reach between us to grope his bulge. As soon as my hand makes contact, he grunts and breaks the kiss. I decide to make my move. I shift him onto his back and then carefully straddle his legs. Looking up at him, I pull his sweatpants down and move my head down to his crotch to inhale. He smells so good that my eyes flutter closed. It's that intoxicating musk. It makes my mouth water. I lick my lips before starting to lap at the fabric of his underwear, feeling out his cock through his boxer briefs. Then, I grip his bulge and wrap my lips around it, humming gently.

I peel back the boxers to give me access to his beautiful cock. I take a breath before lapping at his softie and then taking him into my mouth. I relish in the taste and the scent of him for a minute, anticipating the feeling of him hardening. But then I look up. He's biting his lip, closing his eyes. That's when I notice that he's not getting hard. So I stop. "You okay?" I ask. I shift my hand so that I'm rubbing his dick gently.

He opens his eyes and looks at me. "Yes," he says shortly.

"We don't have to--"

"Just... keep going," he says, looking down at my hand stroking him.

So I keep it up for another minute or so. Still no progress. "If you're not up to it, we can just--"

"Shhh," he says, cutting me off. I can't tell if he's trying to focus or trying to relax. He could still be in pain or something, or just not in the mood after his ordeal tonight. I should probably stop, right? He's only doing this for me. I'm about to spare him when he makes another request. "Kiss me."

If you say so. I let go of his cock and climb over him, leaning down to kiss him while making sure I don't put any of my weight on his side. Mostly, I just hover over him. As we kiss, though, he guides one of my hands right back to his cock, signaling for me to keep jerking him off. I do it slowly, pumping his dick and sliding my tongue against his.

My guess is he thought a little lip action would help him get it up -- and he was right. Soon, I feel life flooding into his dick. He gradually gets stiffer, filling my fist until he's almost rock hard and moaning against me. I rub the underside of his head with my thumb and he twitches slightly before letting out a small laugh against my lips.

I pull back a little. "Can I?" I ask.

He licks his lips slightly but just nods. I smile before going back to my original position, holding his hardness up and ogling it up close. Fucking beautiful. It's perfect, and I missed it. Jackson has a great dick (in fact, he's incredibly hung), but Adam's just has a certain appeal to it that I can't quite put my finger on. I kiss the center, then the head, and then wrap my lips around the tip. Adam lets out a moan when my tongue does a little dance around his glans, and I hear him inhale sharply through his nose when I take him in.

My goal is to take my time. I don't care how much it'll cost me. I just want to relish every moment I have with him, starting with his cock. Holding the base of his cock firmly, I keep my strides deep and extremely slow, my tongue lathering his cock in saliva. Every time I pull off, I give the head a kiss or a lick. Sometimes I'll run my moist lips down the sides of his shaft before sliding my tongue back up. This is me worshipping, practically. Even as I struggle repeatedly to take him into my throat, I keep on trying and maintain a slow, sensual, pace. By the end of this blowjob, he'll really know how into his cock I am.

When he says he's getting close, I pull off, giving him teasing strokes or kisses but making sure he doesn't cum. Not yet. Usually I'll switch over to his balls and completely focus on them while his body steps away from the edge of orgasm, slapping his hand away whenever he tries reaching for his dick to give himself relief. He's mine.

After a while, I pull off just so I can take my clothes off. I'm heating up and my cock is painfully hard in my underwear and I know Adam won't be bothered by my nudity. However, I'm surprised when, as I toss my underwear to the floor, he reaches forward to grab the head of my cock. I huff slightly before pushing my hips forward to allow him enough reach to wrap his fingers around it. He strokes me slowly, feeling me out with his fingers before he tugs me closer.

I look at him inquiringly, and he just says "Come up here."

I shift on the bed, kneeling beside his head. Adam doesn't let go of my cock until I'm close enough for him to crane his head forward and take me into his mouth. I moan softly, my hand automatically going to the back of his head to give him some support. It's hot to watch him blow me like this. His eyes are closed as he bobs back and forth, lightly touching himself with the exposed fingertips of his bandaged hand as his uninjured hand gropes my balls tenderly with his other hand. If ever my cock slips from his lips, he kisses and laps at the underside of my shaft, making my dick bounce and leak precum on his cheek.

He does take a breather pretty early on, though. However, as if to make up for it, the hand on my balls slides back a little further, and I feel his fingers glide across my taint until they get to my hole. I bite my lip, my grip on his hair tightening as he rubs my pucker back and forth. I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation before Adam's voice breaks my concentration.

"Sit on my face."

I open my eyes and look down at him. "What?"

"Sit on my face," he says again, and I notice a different look in his eyes. Something more fiery than I'm used to seeing.

"Um... You sure?" I ask, skeptical considering his injuries.

"Yes," he says, and he leaves it at that.

Well... Okay. I swing my legs over his body and straddle his torso before sliding back carefully. Adam leaves his arms by his sides, both hands lightly toying with his cock. When I push back enough, I feel Adam hum against me before that warm, wet tongue of his slides against my hole and sends shivers up my spine. I gasp, the sensitivity striking me as he laps over and over and over. I do everything in my power to focus and make sure I don't hurt him, but damn, it feels so good that it's almost blinding. Coupled with his scratchy facial hair, I'm on cloud nine.

I sit up pretty straight for a few minutes, grinding gently against his mouth and stroking myself as his tongue enters me. When I finally open my eyes, my sight hones in on his cock, and suddenly, I need my lips around it again. So I bend over, making sure he still has good access to my hole before I take the head of his dick into my mouth. He lets out a muffled groan against my ass, the sensation of which only excites me further. I don't go crazy with the blowjob. Mostly I just like how he feels taking up space in my mouth, and I bob slowly, moan, and let my tongue roam.

Eventually, he pats my arm and makes some sort of muffled noise against my ass. I'm not sure what he wants at first -- all I know is that his patting becomes more insistent, like he needs my attention. So I move off his cock and then pull away from his face. Immediately, Adam takes a huge breath, panting slightly, and I turn to face him. "Christ, are you okay?"

He laughs while catching his breath. "Yeah, just... nearly suffocated."

I blush, laughing slightly. "Oh my God."

"I'm exaggerating," he says, rubbing my thigh with a smile. "Though you ARE putting me to work."

"You're a working boy, aren't you?" I tease, and he grins a bit. For a moment, we just look at each other, eye to eye, our gaze never wavering. Then, he forces himself to sit up. "Easy," I say, quick to put a hand on his back.

"I got it," he says, and then, to completely catch me off-guard, he kisses me. He holds onto the back of my head tightly as our lips move against each other's, and gradually, I find myself on my back with Adam on top of me. Lips still planted on each other's, Adam grunts a bit as he gets into position. I spread my legs a little more, making sure I look inviting, my heart pounding in anticipation for what's to come. He breaks the kiss to focus on getting his underwear and sweatpants down enough for him to rub up against me. I moan when I feel his bare cock nudging against my hole, wet from the exceptional rimjob he just gave me. He grinds a few times, somewhat insistently, before spitting onto his palm and wetting his cock even more. Then, he targets himself and very slowly pushes forward.

It doesn't strike me that he's not wearing a condom until he's buried inside of me. Something feels different, and then I realize why: it's skin on skin. There's nothing between us. I gasp slightly and look up at him, and when I see him staring down at me, I find myself unable to look away. The discomfort isn't even a bother right now, I'm that distracted. I could do with some lube, but the regular amounts of sex I've been having lately has made this bearable. He just holds himself deep in me for... how long? A few moments? A full minute? However long it is, for one blissful stretch of undetermined time, we're completely connected.

As soon as he moves, I start moaning, my eyes struggling to stay open. He bites his bottom lip hard enough for it to turn white around his teeth, moving his whole body as he thrusts. One of his eyes closes, and he looks a little pained and confused, and then I realize this probably isn't the easiest position for him if his side is still bothering him.

"Fuck," he grunts after a while, and then he pulls out and collapses onto his back beside me.

"Your side?" I ask.

He nods. "Fuckin' hurts, Teddy."

"We can stop," I tell him, gently gliding my palm around his lower torso.

"Just give me a sec," he says, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

So he wants to keep going? He's sweet. I bite my lip, waiting a few moments before deciding to take charge. I don't want him to further injure himself, so I decide to take the reins a bit. I straddle his hips, and Adam looks up at me with a cocked eyebrow before his eyes flicker down to my hand. It's moving between my legs, underneath me, to grab at his cock and lift it up. As I hover over his manhood, I look up at him, watching him focus so intensely on our bodies about to connect again.

I sink down just as slowly as when he took me earlier. I watch as his mouth slowly opens but no sound comes out. And then, when my ass meets his thighs, he closes his eyes and leans his head back into the pillow a bit. "Fuck," he moans softly, his hands sliding up my thighs and then loosely holding my hips.

I grind slowly, and when Adam's eyes slide up my body to meet mine, they lock again. It feels more intense this time because Adam's not distracted by pain. He can relax and let me handle this. There's a lot to feel while he's watching me: I feel powerful, sexy, pleasured. As I work my hips in circles and cross-sections, our eyes never leave each other's. I hate that he's such a good actor, because he's playing exactly what I need so fucking well. I could almost tell him, right here, right now, that I'm in love with him. That I want him, not Jackson. That he is the reason I'm not satisfied with a far-better-than-average man. That he's the one I think about when I'm lonely, or sad, or horny, or happy. That he's the one I want to share everything with. It would feel so natural in this moment.

But it's smarter not to. Much, much smarter. This isn't real, Teddy. Don't let yourself forget that. I distract myself by reaching between my legs and gripping my cock. I let out a little moan, fucking my fist every time I move my hips forward. And still, our eyes are locked. How am I managing to maintain such intense eye contact right now? How is he? It's like I'm hypnotized. I don't even feel the urge to turn away bashfully, nor do I want to close my eyes and miss a second of this moment. Can he feel it? Can he feel us? Is this fake still, or is there a hint of reality in there?

I start to let out a few moans the more my orgasm builds. It's slow and steady, but when I finally reach climax, it's like nothing else. I try my best to keep eye contact, but when Adam merely nods as if allowing me to cum and that first rope of cum spews from the head of my dick, I'm gone. My eyes roll back as my lower body heaves and heaves, spilling a thick, creamy load all over my straight, battered lover.

When I come to, I'm panting like crazy, dizzy from the intensity and finding it difficult to focus my eyes for a moment. After I blink a few times, I look up at Adam, but he's looking down at the mess I made. I watch as he scoops some up in his fingers and then, without a word, brings his hand to my lips. I open my mouth automatically, letting him push his fingers past my lips and onto my tongue. I suck his fingers clean, rolling my tongue around each digit and then swallowing my own cum when he pulls his fingers away. He does it again right after, but this time, before I swallow anything, he moves his hand to the back of my head and tugs me down for a kiss. I moan, surprised at the mix of intimacy and filth that accompanies this moment, but I'm all about it. I kiss him back eagerly and sloppily, swapping my load back and forth without a care. As we make out, Adam moves his hands back to my hips and starts thrusting up into me. If his side is bothering him, he makes no mention of it. Maybe he just doesn't care. Maybe the need to cum is overpowering enough for him to block out the pain, because his grip on me is firm and his movements are adamant. As he gets closer and closer, he starts moaning against my lips, unable to focus on kissing back properly. I just stay close, panting against his lips as he lets out a little cry and then tenses, his face getting red. Finally, I feel him cumming -- right inside of me. I stay totally still, watching his face until he finishes.

When he finally relaxes, he looks dead tired. He doesn't even open his eyes for nearly a full minute, and when he does, they're sleepy eyes, half-lidded and dark. I can't tell what his expression is. It's not the normally playful, joyous expression he gives me. He looks almost confused, and I notice he doesn't look at me directly anymore. He's looking everywhere else except my face.

I get the sense that he wants me to get off, so I slowly pull off of him and then rest on my back beside him. I lick my lips, suddenly nervous. He's uncharacteristically quiet, and when I look over at him, he seems to be asking himself the same question I am: What just happened?

I don't remember how and when I fell asleep last night. I remember it took me a damn long time to stop thinking about the sex. I kept wondering what I'd tell Jackson, and questioning where the line between real and acted was drawn, and worrying about why he was so quiet afterwards. We didn't exchange any words. Not even a "Goodnight." I think he fell asleep before I did, but I must have thought myself into exhaustion.

When I wake up, I'm a bit cold. I must have fallen asleep without covers over me, so I'm lightly shivering, eager to cover up my naked body. With my eyes still closed, I feel around for the edge of the blanket. That's when I notice that where Adam's body should be, there's an empty space beside me. I sit up quickly, looking at the bed and then glancing around the room. "Adam?" I call out. But there's no answer. Adam's gone.