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They have a rather unpleasant friendship.
Something less than that, perhaps. Adam simply calls it a "relationship." Nigel knows Adam doesn't consider him a friend yet and he's torn between reasoning why and already being aware.
Nigel knows he makes Adam uncomfortable.
It has never been his intention, yet he can't help it. He had grown accustomed to circles of vicious and treacherous people, ones you could not address with a firm voice and gun in the hand, for they soon find the moment to bury their daggers in your back and disembowel you from behind. It's intimidation in exchange for safety, and over the years he had come to realize that the bad guy mask was his true face.
He is trying differently for Adam.
Maybe their first encounter hadn't been the best, with the boy inadvertently walking into the office at his bar while he was fucking the girl who had accompanied Adam there.
And even having his cock buried to the hilt in some pretty blonde's wet pussy hadn't ignited the furnaces of his lust as much as the first glimpse of those blue eyes, pale ( fidgeting ) hands, and the pinkest, plumpest lips ever put on a man.
He wouldn't count on the terrible first impression, and how much it would cost him to subsequently track Adam down (after extracting all pertinent information from the previous young woman), pretend casually meeting him in the vast streets of New York, and run after him when the tiny man tried to flee, fearful of an unsourced reprisal.
Nigel also knows he's in love. Or at least he experiences the same burning, dark yet light feeling in his stomach’s pic, same one that compelled him to pursue his ex-wife once he realized she no longer habited the same country.
“I think you're a little fucked up.”
She says it matter-of-factly, between giggles and moans as Nigel hits that sweet spot inside her, the thick cock rubbing against the wet walls of her pussy and the man on top bucking as he enters her once again, to hide his face in her neck and bite.
“What?”
“I said you're a little fucked up, Nigel, in the head," Gabi replies, followed immediately by a long whimper as her new husband's calloused hand squeezes a pink nipple, tugging at the already erect button. It is something she always enjoyed very much, both of them. Fiddling with her tits.
But Gabi is spread out on the table in their newlywed home, panties hanging from the same ankle pressing against Nigel's left shoulder and her husband's cock brushing the end of her wet canal. The rest of their clothes have been lying in a shapeless heap in the corner for minutes and the dinner has gone cold.
It's the first time Gabi makes that comment, but not the last. It would be many days before she points it out again, and years later, it would be something she would continually berate him for after finding Nigel gone on cocaine or alcohol, with the cock that brought her so much pleasure, buried in someone else's entrails.
“What... do you mean..." they gasp, as pleasure runs through them both in the form of an electric shock jumping from one to the other where they are connected, starting in Nigel's fingers and ending in his wife's mouth ”... With fucked?
“It's five o'clock in the afternoon and we... “ One hand whips her face gently, never intending to hurt, but to engage senses that might have been out of sync with her husband's steady, powerful penetration and uncaring fingers tugging and stroking every inch of skin. She smiles because she likes it. Or because there's no point in protesting ”...We've fucked three times already today, Nigel.”
She squeals again as he slips one arm under her back and another under her plump ass, lifting her and forcing her to hold onto his strong neck, making her bounce on his cock. Short, explosive thrusts that make her cum in under five minutes.
“What is your point, sweetheart?”
“I’m saying that…” Another long, shuddering moan as the thrusting pace slows and Nigel lets her settle on his long cock, testicles rubbing her labia and every limb is wrapped around him. “Don't you think that's too much, dragostea mea?”
That's when Nigel genuinely stops his gait, not to let her feel his full length inside or give himself time to kiss, suck or lick. He thinks about it for two, or three seconds and then throws his hand against her face, depositing Gabi on the table and his full weight on top of her, something that in time he would discover relaxed her as much as it terrified her. He sinks his fingers into each pale cheek, stained with tears and smeared mascara, to force her mouth open and spit there. Gabi swallows it anxiously, fearfully.
“We are newlyweds, Gabi. That's the way between new spouses, all day long it's for fucking.”
And Gabriella Bayai smiles at Nigel Bayai, a tiny gesture immediately engulfed by pouty, demanding lips. She tries to say something else, but her words turn into a sob as she feels her husband ejaculate inside her.
“It's too fucking early for your shift to end, where the fuck are you going?”
“To Adam Raki's house.”
It doesn't escape Nigel's notice the way Darko's face scrunches up in confusion.
“The kid you brought here a few days ago? The autistic one, right?”
“Yep." Darko quirks an eyebrow at the dry response.
“Did he invite you?”
“No, but he doesn't mind me showing up as a surprise... well, if I call him a few minutes before then-”
“Wait…” and Darko stands up, from the desk and takes off those little glasses that make him look like the kind of person who doesn't deal cocaine and cut fingers for a living. “Are you sure about that?”
“Of course I am, why the fucking interrogation?” He is aware he’s defensive. Darko faces him, hands on his hips and a visage that invites him to guess it on his own.
Nigel doesn't have time for that, it's barely two hours before Adam's bedtime. If he wants to see him long enough to recharge his weekly dose of contact, he has to move now.
“Listen, man, I don't want to hurt your feelings or something, but that little guy wasn't comfortable here.”
“Well, he doesn't like stinking shitholes like this you call a club, plus the lights and all that deafening music.”
“It's not just that Nigel, think for fuck's sake. He wasn't comfortable with you.”
It's his turn to grimace, and Darko is lucky enough to be the only human besides Adam Raki and the few associates in positions greater than Nigel’s, that he respects enough not to squeeze in the ten-millimeter automatic between both his jaws.
“And how the fuck can you be so certain of that? You only met him once here, you don't know shit about how we normally get along, motherfucker.”
“I wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't so obvious, the kid looked about to cry every time you put an arm around. I'd hate to see you following a piece of ass who simply wants nothing to do with you around all of New York again, you're going to ruin all our fucking work.”
Nigel has no immediate response, and it's not like the offense bubbling in his chest allows him to form anything more coherent than an endless string of profanities. Darko spits his mixture of concern and irritation at him but doesn't realize there's little to be done for Nigel at that point.
“Fuck off, you don't know a thing about the two of us and it's none of your fucking business either.”
He doesn't have to say a damn thing, Nigel is conscious of the whole affair.
Nigel thinks he's in love the first second he sees Adam, frightened and disgusted by the sight of the burly gangster fucking his work friend against the desk.
He suspects it when Adam agrees (reluctantly) to let him into his apartment three days after meeting him, after Nigel follows him around his neighborhood. He prepares a cup of tea for Nigel and listens when he rambles about his terrible day and the four different guys, he had to strangle to pay off their debts before coming around.
He's certain he's in love again when two weeks later, he arrives at Adam's place with the equivalent of four thousand newtons of force applied to the face and multiple knuckle marks lining from chin to hairline. Adam cleans every one of Nigel’s wounds despite his shaking hands, and deposits a handful of aspirin in his palm and an ice pack against the swollen areas.
He's sure he's found the love of his life when the casual fucks that had been a vital part of his routine for the past twenty-seven years lose their appeal. Nigel doesn't stop fucking every day, and he doesn't stop fucking a different girl every morning, every dusk, and every night, but each pair of lips suddenly tastes like ashes and their bodies’ heat gets disgusting and tacky, all over the wrong places.
Breasts go flat at the peak of his orgasms, legs become muscular and hairy. Enameled fingernail hands become much shyer against Nigel’s chest and long, blonde and red manes transform into chocolate-colored curls.
It is Adam who cries out his name, with that trembling, soft voice of his. Nigel wants to crush him against his body, never letting him flee. And he wants to sob and tear the skin from their faces with his teeth when he realizes it’s another whore under him.
Still, he can’t pretend that Darko's observations had not begun to affect him.
Had Nigel been less insistent, it is very likely that Adam wouldn’t have let him approach past the first unfortunate encounter. Unlucky for Adam, Nigel knew himself well enough to understand that he needed at least two more interactions with the blue-eyed boy to fully understand his desires, and by then, he was already obsessed.
He makes it a point to check in at least three times a week, text, or call when he feels it's necessary. Adam always responds, with that same dubious but not completely unsure vocabulary and cadence, and talking to him is like communicating with the youngest old man in the world. None of that stops the spell on Nigel's heart.
He sits in the small, warm kitchenette of his home and with his hands wrapped around the dull herbal teas his love so enjoyed drinking at night ( coffee keeps me awake, I can't stay up past eleven or I'll wake up late and my whole routine will be disrupted ), to spit out every single experience in forty-five years of Nigel’s earthly existence he deems worthy of retelling. Sometimes they’re amusing to Adam, sometimes terrifying.
Nigel talks about his work; about people he knows and rubs shoulders with. He talks about Darko, life in the slums of northern Romania, and how a stream of questionable decisions brought him to the position he struts about these days. He talks about Gabrielle, their ephemeral marriage, things she couldn't stand in and the day he arrived at the marital home with a nearly thirty-thousand-dollar pearl necklace in hand to find the place half-empty.
He doesn't talk about what happened when he found out who she ran off with, or where to. What Nigel said and did to her when he found her back in America.
But Adam doesn't ask for more details, and that relieves him in a way because his boy never lies and he doesn't like to leave things half-clear either, and Nigel responds to that with the utmost reciprocity.
“So, you're not dating Samantha anymore?”
Samantha. Adam's co-worker, same one Nigel only had to offer a few free drinks to, and throw a couple crooked smiles in her direction to have her open-legged in his office with Nigel's condomless cock scratching her very insides. Nigel wonders if Adam saw his dick that day. What he thinks about it.
“No, gorgeous, I haven't even spoken to her in, what, two months? Doesn't fucking matter.”
Adam looks intrigued.
“I thought you liked her a lot since you had sex on the first day you met. Even in your office, with all that music and noise and strange people.”
“If I'm honest, whether or not I fuck someone at my desk doesn't mean much to me. I just like to fuck, sweetie. A lot, with a lot of women.”
Adam's frown is enough to ignite a spark of insecurity in Nigel’s stomach.
“Do you always sleep with multiple people?”
“Just like that. I think I like to experience something different every day, not to repeat if that makes sense to you. Maybe I get bored easily, who knows.”
Adam wrinkles his nose, still baffled.
“It doesn't. I have the same daily routine and you always see me doing it when you come to visit. Is it boring to you?”
And Nigel can't be quick enough to deny it with hands, head, and tongue: "Not at all, Adam. You’re charming, down to the last hair on your pretty head. There's a huge difference between you and the rest of this filthy world.”
Adam doesn't believe it. Nigel doesn't know how to put it better.
He doesn't know too how to make clear that all that casual, slightly dangerous sex he engages in day after day, is meaningless. How previously served as a way to burn time when he wasn't doing necessary business or stuffing his nostrils full of white powdered shit.
How now it is solely a crappy sedation in the face of desperate affection harbored for one star-eyed boy living in a reality far removed from his own.
The distance between them is abysmal even to his deluded heart, and he fears nothing more than Adam never seeing past the initial facade of nastiness and degeneracy they all clashed with upon meeting Nigel Banyai.
No surprise then to Nigel or Adam, when one evening they find themselves out in Central Park, the romanian lying on an old blanket that his dear boy has brought for their comfort, while he shows him a fairly simple constellation chart, points to the sky and invites him to look through the finder of his well-kept telescope.
Nigel plans to give him a new one in a few weeks, hoping that gift won't gather dust like the rest he's provided for Adam in the last two months of knowing him.
It's another thing he can't help but invite himself to practically every recreational activity his new friend engages in. He's already familiar with Adam's professed passion for space, and now instead of overloading him with flowers, clothes, and jewelry (returned almost immediately), he makes a mental list of libraries and online stores to browse and empty out.
“That is Coma Berenices over there, it's a very simple constellation, its three stars form a fairly recognizable right angle but that's what makes it a good starter item when it comes to star gazing-”
“Adam, I'm sorry to interrupt you but... “ it amazes Nigel how polite, and genuinely considerate he is with Adam. At least with words. He doesn't curse around him anymore after he mentioned how distasteful it is. “I have to ask this question now or I won't have the courage later.”
Adam and his pretty unfocused eyes land on his chin so that Nigel dreams of the day when they can hold each other’s gaze for more than three seconds. It won't be soon. “What's wrong?”
“Am I your friend?”
Adam doesn't think twice, his response is instantaneous.
“You are, Nigel. I don't understand why you ask. I thought we didn’t have to discuss or settle that.”
Nigel smiles and every day it's sadder how sentimental he is. Adam is always honest and to be called his friend must be plain truth. Nigel might ask if he genuinely likes him, or if there’s another reason for his tolerancel beyond the obvious, unintentional intimidation he exerts on him with his vigorous mannerisms, loud, gruff voice, and volatile stubbornness.
Those are things he can learn about afterward, since now he prefers to savor their bond, like a mint candy swirling around in his mouth. How he wishes he could be chained or cuffed to Adam, melt into his fair skin to feed on his blood forever, like the parasite he already is in the man’s life.
By the five-month mark of acquaintance, (or friends, as finally declared), Nigel can admit to himself and Darko on nights out, that he has a problem. Two very serious problems.
He is absolutely, irrevocably fixated in the least healthy way possible with Adam fucking Raki (but when had anything ever been healthy with Nigel? Less alone with his obsessions), and equitably, he can't stop fucking anything pretty with two legs, eyes and breasts that stands ahead. It’s not even fun anymore. Just draining and very frustrating.
If Adam's strict routine consisted of an hour-by-hour list of every functional adult activity he had to perform, Nigel's consisted of getting up around ten in the morning to jerk off, get high, and miserably contemplate young Raki's name on his cell phone, deciding if it was the day for doing something besides whining in the shower as he ejaculated against the linoleum.
So, in a drastic change of plans, Nigel gets up early, showers, and even combs his blond head. Puts on the same dachshund-printed shirt he knows Adam finds funny, and by the time Adam has arrived home according to the familiar schedule, Nigel is walking up the stairs.
Perhaps Adam has already realized to what depths Nigel's emotions run. Perhaps that is the reason for his uneasiness in Nigel’s proximity. There may be a thousand and one reasons but none is enough to stop Nigel Banyai, who is prone to madness by both love and rage.
What he doesn't expect is to find the sweet yet dull Beth Buckwald sitting on Adam's couch, one hand on his knee and the glow of joy lighting up the boy's face.
Each time that venomous name slips past Adam's lips, Nigel realizes he's closer to going to her apartment and strangle Beth Buckwald with a pair of pantyhose. Maybe stuff her underwear in her nasty mouth and squeeze her neck until veins burst and eyes pop out of their sockets.
Adam clearly likes her.
He is honest when asked about most stuff, but in his own words, has learned with time and enough socialization that some things are best kept to yourself if not directly requested.
Adam sporadically mentions his sexual habits. One hundred percent heterosexual, as far as Nigel is concerned. Adam has only had one girlfriend in the past and the relationship ended quickly when the little guy's personality proved too demanding to whoever the dumb bitch was.
He mentions two other women, from many years ago and the pleasant sexual experiences they provided. Nigel makes questions and absorbs all information like a cactus holds all the water for the next drought.
His first blowjob, the first time he gave head to a woman. His first handjob, by himself and or by someone else. His first kiss and the first time he fell in love with a girl. The first time he had an orgasm, whether he ejaculated or not. He masturbates at night when he mentally goes over the stories, told in Adam Raki's wonderfully even voice.
He obsessively asks about Beth and when was the last time they saw each other. He must have scared her enough that unlucky afternoon when he wandered into the modest apartment and found them together. She's avoided Nigel ever since and it's been at least three weeks.
Adam momentarily suspects he's interested in his neighbor when the questions become constant and invasive, but Nigel denies it right away.
“Not at all, gorgeous. I'm just interested in your new friends; you don't have many.”
Adam's face falls slightly at the comment and it is painful as it is encouraging. It’s the reason Nigel has been able to thrive in Adam Raki's tiny social circle, invading and occupying the role that is consuming most of his life. He can't allow others to even come close.
It’s almost three weeks. Nigel sends a message or two every day. Calls him at the end of his shit to let him know of his upcoming arrival. Adam doesn't respond within the usual five to ten minutes range.
Two hours pass before his first message is answered and Nigel nearly bites off one finger.
He says he'll stop by his house later, but Adam, lovely and polite, warns him that this night is out of the question, he has plans to see Beth out in the park. He invited her to see the stars. Nigel wants to throw up his dinner when he reads it.
Nigel: [All right, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?]
The answer is not concrete.
Five weeks. Nigel hasn't seen Adam in two.
Nigel has heard very little from him, from what Adam lets him guess through an occasional text message or when he deigns to answer his calls. Everything is spinning around in Nigel’s head, like a wounded animal that doesn't know what position to lie in to ease the pain or die at once.
Nigel vomits in the morning; everything tastes like bile and he washes his mouth with more whiskey followed by ten chain-smoked cigarettes inside the cavern he calls an apartment.
His chest aches when he remembers Adam's clean and tidy place, wishing he could go and curl up in fetal position over Raki’s couch. Feel cool hands against his skin or hair. Adam touched him very little, but he always let himself be touched in return.
Beth must be planting ideas in him, spreading her contempt for Nigel to sweet Adam and fill the hole he had dug with both hands in the spaceman's existence.
He doesn't notice the increasingly violent way he fucks the prostitutes he hires, nor the parishioners who have the terrible luck to cross paths with him during nights when both liquor and cocaine are wreaking havoc on an already unstable psyche.
He is not concerned when bruises begin to appear on his lovers’ hips, nor when they spread to their chests and faces. Skin where scratches, bites, and cuts flourish, moans that are not of pleasure but of horror and it is blinding, hot rage that mists the eyes when he nearly snaps a girl's neck as he rams against her cunt.
She whimpers while running away in fright, but Nigel can think of nothing else but the little engineer hugging and kissing a strange woman in his apartment, as he has never done (or will ever do) to him.
“What the hell do you want a party for? Your birthday's about a month away.”
“Been a while since we've had a good one. And drinking cheap liquor till we pass out in your nasty bar doesn't count as a partying.”
“All right shithead, when?”
“Tomorrow, it's Saturday.”
“Where?”
“Your apartment.”
“Don't even think about it, you bastard.”
“Yours is so much better than mine, you shitty Hans Bitterman. ”
Darko considers for a minute before reluctantly agreeing.
“You're going to pay for the afterwards cleaning, and you're not pissing on my fucking plants.”
Nigel tells Adam in the morning, coincidentally the first time in fifteen days that Adam decides to answer the phone quickly.
“Hello?”
His sweet voice functions both as a balm and salt to the wound of his paranoia.
“Hi, gorgeous. How is your pretty ass doing today?”
“A little tired, but it's my day off. I'll be able to rest. How are you feeling, Nigel?” He punctuates his answer with an adorable yawn and Banyai wants to bury the nails into his thigh to keep from screaming.
“Tired too, baby, I guess it’s been busy for both of us,” Only for Adam, Nigel ponders. He's the one who doesn't have time for Nigel anymore, while Nigel could postpone a date with the devil himself just to see him for three more minutes. “But listen, I know it's not your thing, but Darko and I are having a party tonight, about eight o'clock. It's kind of improvised, it won't be crowded.”
Adam hums on the other line’s end, spiking Nigel's nerves. He's about to hang up, only to avoid hearing Adam say no.
“It's not your birthday, is it Darko's? Is that why you're having a party?”
“No, sweetie, it's just a get-together with friends. Something simple, I guess. But I'd like you to come, it's been days since we've been... since I last saw you.”
There's silence, something Nigel does not feel fond of.
“All right. I don't think I can stay too long, but I'll go. I want to see you too, Nigel.”
Nigel’s heart swells so much that he wonders if he's dying.
The surprise for the evening is hearing the unvarying series of knocks on the door of a house already filled with too many people and Nigel, who had been more than attentive to the entrance and everyone arriving, almost trips over his own feet to be the first to open and therefore the first to greet Adam.
The second surprise is seeing him come, with Beth hanging on his arm.
“I hope you didn't mind me bringing Beth along, she was very insistent on accompanying me.”
From her distrustful look, Nigel doesn’t comprehend why she decided to attend a celebration alongside a bunch of humans she'd probably hate instantly. Nigel tries not to focus on that. Adam looks handsome and bright as always, even if under his sweet cerulean eyes there are noticeable dark circles and the smile hints more for exhaustion than cheerfulness.
His boy is visibly fatigued, but he still decided to reach that sketchy gathering and see Nigel again. If he were a bigger pussy than he already is, Nigel would burst into tears right there.
They are good friends.
Nigel wishes the optimistic feeling had lasted longer.
The celebration engulfs both of them and Nigel is forced to greet a dozen idiots for whom he feels no appreciation, while poor Adam is cornered by the pathetic excuse of a girlfriend he has or other attendees, all asking questions, all noticing how the boy and the young lady don't fit in such place.
Nigel might have felt a lot guiltier for dragging his friend into that hodgepodge of displeasing music, lights, and people, if he wasn't so desperate for a shred of attention.
All he gets is absolute resvulsion with every brushing hand between Adam and Beth, or little whisper in his ear when overstimulation takes over. He's about to crack the beer in his grip when Darko comes up behind and places a hand on his shoulder.
“I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but you're two seconds away from setting something on fire with the eyes. Relax a little, goddamn.” His resigned voice doesn't help to control Nigel’s dread.
The reminder echoes in his head for another half hour and he drinks leisurely in a corner as the night gets denser, the crowd thinner and the party loses steam. Everyone is high on diverse substances and Adam has been noticeably uneasy for a while amidst such scenery. His leaving time is approaching.
Fury and despair slowly boil in his ribcage, and one hand trembles as he notices how increasingly uncomfortable Adam is, the stressed look he bears and how every chance he regards as the right one to clear things, turns into Beth wrapping the young man in what she must consider a reassuring embrace.
Darko walks beside him and Nigel catches him by one arm, forcing him to hunch down and listen over the din of the party.
“Are you still taking temazepam to sleep?”
“No, gave up on that shit up few weeks ago. Made me puke in the mornings. Why?”
“Do you have any left?”
“What the fuck are you planning now, Nigel?”
“Do something nice and distract that hoe for an hour,” he says, pointing towards Beth. “I need to talk to Adam. I'll assume you have some pills in the bathroom.”
When he stands up, is Darko who holds him by an elbow and murmurs in his ear, careful not to draw any attention.
“Is it going to be the same thing again as with Gabrielle, you sick son of a bitch? Leave the fucking kid alone.”
Nigel doesn't respond with anything besides a withering look and stealthily walks away.
It's easy to sneak up behind Adam once he’s off of Beth's claws. It's easy to put a hand on his waist and inhale the strawberry scent from his fluffy curls. To soften his face once the lovely spaceman swirls around, grinning so broadly Nigel feels sick at what he's about to do.
It's even easier to place a glass of cranberry juice between his delicate hands, because he hasn't had much to drink all night and Adam detests alcohol. It's easy to grind a pill into the beverage and laugh when Adam sticks out his tongue to show the red hue it takes on after some sips.
His eyes sparkle, with real mirth and he even runs a hand from Nigel’s shoulder, all down his forearm. “Finally, we can talk, I thought you were too occupied with the other guests.”
“No honey, I always have space for you.”
It's very easy to give him a hand and a little support when Adam starts to feel drowsy, and his long legs buckle under his weight. He stumbles a couple of times down the hallway, and it gets difficult for him to articulate coherent phrases. His eyes become hazy and unfocused, and twenty minutes pass between the initial gulp and the moment he is lying down in the gloomy room.
“We’re here at last.”
Nigel sucks on Adam’s neck. He senses lethargic hands exploring his back, quite clear that the poor boy is trying to decipher both the situation and the complete sense of sudden somnolence that has taken hold of him.
He hears it when Adam calls his name. A muffled voice, with still detectable distress, asking what’s going on, where are they, at what point did everybody disappear.
Nigel lifts his cute blue sweater to appreciate how pale the hidden skin is. Nigel runs his tongue along the crease running from his chest to his navel, and lifts a hand to caress the flatness of Adam’s stomach. There is so little hair.
He licks a perky rosy nipple as fingers tug at Adam's pants, just enough to free his cock. Nigel wastes no time getting a hand down there and rubs aggressively, looking for a single, specific reaction. Adam is beautiful from head to toe.
On deaf ears come pleas that gradually subside and it's a soft, imperceptible whisper in the back of the head that begs him to stop and run away. Never see Adam's face again.
It all fizzles out as the younger man moans and those milky hands limply grip Nigel's blond hair, once he engulfs all of his half-hard cock. Nigel doesn't know wether he’s attempting to stop or keep him going. He would not have quit, even if Adam had been conscious enough to request it.
“Nigel…”
God, he loves him. He loves him and he craves him and none of it is ever going to let him live in ease. It is not available for neither Nigel nor Adam. A pact signed outside both their knowledge.
“...Missed you so badly, Adam, like you will never know.”
Adam writhes, sighs under his mouth and fingers. It sounds like a sob; Nigel is not sure.
Unusually warm fingers scratch the back of Nigel's neck and he notices how toes curl as Adam cums down his throat. For several minutes now someone has been hitting the door, a persistent string of knocks as Beth's voice whines for Adam.
“I missed you too, Nigel.”
“Did you, love?” Nigel croaks. He aligns their bodies, holds the young man’s bobbing head and wants to meet his eyes, but they remain closed. Adam is too lax, and the breathing has become a deep, irregular vibration. They kiss once, when the boy perks up his head high enough and Nigel feels like he owes it. Very soothing amidst catastrophe.
With one free hand, Nigel clasps their cocks together to squeeze up their coupled lengths, rubbing himself against the adorably pink dick. If he's depraved enough, he'll cum on Adam’s face and burn it into his memory.
“Of course I did, you're my friend…”
They're doomed.
Darko punches him in the face hard enough to make his nose crunch and a bruise draws its ugly colors under the right eye. He can excuse himself with all the alcohol (plus one line of blow) he ingested during the night, before and after everything was fucked up.
But Beth hears none and takes Adam away several hours later, when the apartment is completely empty. Darko is pacing back and forth through the rooms and mumbling how stupid Nigel is, how low he's fallen, how he doesn't understand why he allowed it all to occur again.
He takes one last look towards the man he loves so much as he is led downstairs and Darko offers to drive them home, leaving Nigel alone for a risky little while.
After that, there is a six-day gap.
Nigel doesn't call Adam, doesn't text or goes to see him. He drives a couple of times around his neighborhood, and the building he works at. He slips away before there's even a chance of getting a glimpse of his curly little head and Nigel thinks he's never in his life experienced so much pain.
It is until one particularly hot night when the abandoned telephone in his living room vibrates over the table and Nigel leaps from his chosen whimpering corner to get it.
“Nigel here.” God, please let it be him .
“Nigel," dear, calming voice. His name never sounds so nice. “Do you think you can come and see me? Not at home, but in the park out back. Exactly seven o'clock in the evening.”
By the time he realizes, Nigel is already halfway out of his home.
Adam is glowing before his eyes like any other day, but the aura around feels slightly different. Nigel had always made him scarcely alert, but this time, Adam seems like he can’t be cautious enough.
Dusk has begun and ended, the darkness settles around and all Nigel has to light him up is the streetlamp a few meters away and Adam's face, which does not lose its luminosity despite the obvious gloom on his features.
Nigel remembers Gabi's rejection, when she left and when she made it clear why she couldn’t love him anymore. Whatever Adam has to say, Nigel is sure it will elicit a highly different emotion. Restlessness gnaws at his guts, and he’s about to puke. The confrontation with Gabi was infuriating, almost humiliating.
The prospect of being rejected by Adam is utterly devastating. As soon as he declares his aversion, Nigel knows he'll be crawling back home to place a shotgun under his palate and redecorate the kitchen tapestry.
“Hello Nigel.”
“Hello Adam.”
There is a little silence for seconds. Adam opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, searching for what to say or how to initiate.
Nigel could unravel in a myriad of excuses and apologies, for the first time facing the consequences of his commonly terrible decisions. All he would ask in return is to hold Adam's hand one time and be able to reminisce about the feeling for the remaining of his miserable life.
“Are you mad at me, Nigel?”
“What?”
“I asked if you're mad at me.”
Nigel is puzzled, Adam looks genuinely expectant for the answer.
“I have no reason to be, Adam. You're the one who should be furious with me, hating my guts.” He counters as Adam anxiously rubs his hands against each other and begins drumming his fingers on his slender thigh.
“I didn't talk to you for several days and I didn't get to see you either. I've been busy with work and with applying to a new company to finally start developing microchips for positioning systems in lunar rovers. It's something I've always wanted to do, and I wanted to, uh, surprise you with it. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner.”
Adam smiles very faintly and it's enough to evoke a similar gesture from Nigel, even if he still does not feel completely reassured.
“Did you get the job?”
“Yes! I'll be starting soon, in a few weeks.”
“Then congratulations, darling. You are simply brilliant, you can achieve anything you want.”
They don't talk for another moment, again.
“I don't want you to feel angry with me, Nigel. I'm sorry I kept that from you.”
It's time to address the real issue and Nigel takes a deep breath, just to make sure he doesn’t have a meltdown right now.
“Adam, do you remember what happened at Darko's apartment? When you felt… dizzy.”
Adam startles spontaneously and it's clear to Nigel that he remembers and that it's probably something he didn't want to touch either.
“Not quite... “ His uneasy gaze flickers between Nigel's chin, his bruised nose, and the honey-colored eyes that stare at him. “I felt bad the next day, that's for sure. I had a terrible headache and nausea. Beth was furious, said you did something awful to me, that I should call the police. But I don't think so.”
It's disconcerting to say the least. Adam tenses his shoulders and his hands close with a unyielding grip onto his knees. Nigel is in a loss of words, that Adam takes as an opportunity to go on.
“I know strange things happened between us and maybe I should be really angry, like you and Beth said. Yet... I'm not.”
“Why not? Beth isn't lying. I did something bad, Adam.”
And one of his pale hands darts out to grab Nigel's wrist, from the one hand curled around the bench’s edge where he grips so tightly his knuckles have turned white. Adam's hold is secure against his arm, as if wanting to emphasize what he will enunciate or not allowing Nigel to pull back before listening.
“I like you, Nigel. Very much. I've only had one girlfriend and I don’t spend much time with people, and a lot of them don’t like me nor are this attentive to me. You let me talk for hours about the topics that interest me and you actually listen and remember things. You don't mind following my routine. You respect my bedtimes and even that ocassion you invited me to Darko's club, you took me out of there right away I told you... “ He Adam’s fingers tighten around his hand. “And you like being with me. I've never had a friend come to visit me in the evenings just to watch TV with me or talk.”
Finally, blue eyes meet honey-colored ones and Nigel feels sick. Not sick like when he has chugged down two bottles of vodka in less than six hours, or when he's smoked so much weed and snorted so much cocaine that the passages from his nose to the back of his throat are sore as hell and he never ever wants to smell a little bit of even a cigarette burning near.
Or like when he has fucked so much throughout the day and week that his legs give out and he wants to take a three-hour shower to peel off every remnant of others’ humanity, maybe even remove his own skin out of unadulterated disgust.
He feels profoundly ill and for a fleeting, first occasion, Nigel actually contemplates his place around this young man. A benevolence that shouldn't touch him for at least one century and the slender-fingered hand that slips into his to squeeze and share affection he doesn't deserve. Adam is a precious, lonely creature who has chosen terribly.
Nigel owns a customized lake of fire in hell for giving in so fast. If only Adam was aware of how deep the roots of that very bad man's selfishness grew.
“I enjoy having you around, a great deal. I wouldn’t like for you to go away, Nigel.”
“You need to know some stuff isn’t mean to be overlooked that easily, Adam.” Nigel can take comfort in that simple last warning. Adam doesn't let go of his hand and the distance between them is gone, they sit shoulder to shoulder.
“I've talked to my other friends and co-workers about you. No one says particularly nice things, but I don't think they understand. They can't.”
Adam's voice trembles slightly and there are traces of doubt permeating his decision. Honestly, Nigel doesn't care much anymore. They're knee-deep in this, and even if he wanted to, there would be no way out.
“It's all right, isn't it? I was always nervous about doing or saying something that would upset you and make you dislike me. Or boring you.”
“I'm not mad at you, sweetheart. Ever.”
Adam smiles shyly but there are new things behind it. The awkwardness of so many months doesn't seem to go away completely but Nigel at least now understands that it wasn't exactly arising from where he guessed.
At some point in the night, Adam's head ends up in the hollow of Nigel’s neck, and he asks what happened to his face. Nigel goes over everything more than three times. He still sustains a good amount of guilt and self-loathing that quickly dissolves into bliss when Adam's lips brush against his own.