20A/N: HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY, ALIZAH! I LOVE YOU TO DEATH AND I HOPE YOU LOVE THIS. I sort of loved writing it. I haven't written straight-up porn in...too long. Much too long. There is more coming, probably just one more part but it might be three parts in all. I'm not sure yet how this will work out.
And to my Waxen Bones readers who (hopefully!) are reading this, I have definitely not given up on that story, not even close, I'm just taking a little break (and I'm halfway through writing chapter 8).
Reviews make me piss my pants with joy. Okay, not really, but I do get rather excited. Oh and the title is not mine, it belongs to Brand New (it's the title to one of their fabulous albums).
The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me.
"Adam, look at that one."
"Which one?"
"The one in the black, see, he's got grey fingerless gloves, pressed against that chick in the red."
"With the sex hair?"
"That's the one, dude, look at him dance. Sexy fucker."
"More like pretty little thing," Adam scoffs, tipping his drink back, cold glass condensing on his palm so something wet trickles down the cuff of his shirt. "I'm not gay so that I can fuck boys who look like girls."
Stephen shrugs. They study the boy in question. Besides the sex hair, he's got the face of some fey little lolita, plus kohl traced around his eyes and black varnish on his nails and skin translucent like he fashions himself some sort of vampire. He is lovely. Adam doesn't go for lovely. The boy is missing the crunching curl of a work-hardened bicep, the stubble shadowing a square, strong jaw, the flicker of command twinkling in a makeup-free eye. He looks too much like Adam – the nails, the makeup, the inkling that he has probably performed in a drag show once or twice.
He orders a round of shots for his American theatre friends. They are in London for the next three months for a drama school extended workshop, and they are taking full advantage of the better clubs and more-attractive club clientele. Adam runs a hand through his perfectly-styled black hair, trails a finger down a waxed brow, lights the flame of lust and fire and want in those burning blue eyes. He snags the corner of his lip and casts a sultry gaze to the dance floor, calculating the perfect place to jump in and find a worthy dance partner. Anyone with a pair of functioning eyes and hormones could establish that he and his friends were the hottest group there – but Adam wanted to take advantage of the pretty, fresh London scene.
The ones at the bar are all too wasted and – slimy. That leaves the ones on the dance floor. None look particularly appetizing, but he is horny and his pants are beginning to feel unbearably tight and he would like someone to take them off, please. Height doesn't particularly matter to him – he's gotten over the fact that he was taller than just about, um, everyone. Adam likes his picks to be pretty but still masculine. He likes good little church boys that scare easily at the idea of him, at the concept of fucking a man, but dissolve into a hot, sweating puddle when he ushers them into bed. He likes tattooed drummers and slutty glam-haired singers and the occasional ex-football player to rough him up a little bit. He loves sex. He really just loves sex.
Adam glances over to the Sex Hair kid again. He is dancing by himself, a slow sway of skinny hips and a tipping cocktail dangled loosely between a thumb and forefinger. Adam blows air out of his nose and orders another shot, chatting lazily with his theatre friends, and finds himself looking again. Sex Hair kid looks lonely.
Adam sprawls out in a nearby leather chaise lounge and watches the kid dance. The song's tempo is fast and heavy, but the boy's hips pivots slow and languid. His hips look nice to hold, sharp and dangerous. The kid bites his lip and rolls his shoulders, like a kitten. His legs are long and his pants are some silvery grey to match his fingerless gloves. The pants are tight around the boy's thighs, which look slender but still wired with muscle. The fluorescent lights sparkle neon yellow threaded with pink and electric blue and bright flashes of violet. It plays a poetic light show on the boy's face, barely-luminescent, and damn. Adam might be a little turned on. The boy's eyes are still closed.
And then they open, and it's like a firecracker scare, and they burn. Those eyes land right on Adam. The boy's mouth slips open, like peeling back the lid of some frozen confection, lips pink like strawberry ice cream, eyes still lined in kohl but the edges blur.
Adam crooks a finger, cocks an eyebrow, and the boy stumbles forward. Closer now, Adam can see he's taller than he thought, longer, with pretty hands and sharp elbows. Adam pats his knee, and the boy slides into his lap, straddling him, tipping a bit of some cherry-colored cocktail onto Adam's sleeve.
"Sorry," he says, his voice brighter than Adam imagined, younger too. Up close now, with the boy's little angel-face pressed nose-to-nose with his own, the kid couldn't be more than eighteen.
"You sort of look like a God," the boy continues when Adam still hasn't said anything. "A God!" He giggles, "Heh, I'm in God's lap, ha ha."
"Well you sort of look like an angel," Adam whispers, a whiskey-and-nicotine smooth rush of breath, husky in the back of his throat. His nose nestles in the sweet place behind the boy's ear. The boy shivers in his lap. "What's your name, angel?"
"Jamie," the boy says, softer now, curling his long arms around Adam's neck. He kisses his nose and giggles drunkenly, mumbling something that sounds like "I kissed God."
"Jamie," Adam considers, bending his neck to study his face. His eyes are pale green and a little bit innocent, sparkling something sweet but also maybe dangerous. "Call me Adam."
"Can I call you God instead? I would really like to tell my mates over there that I fucked God," the boy says cheekily, pressing his face into Adam's neck and kissing gently, settling deeper into his lap.
"So you planning on fucking me? Can I call you slut?" Adam whispers, taking the boy by his chin, dragging his thumb along a soft, rounded jaw. Jamie eyes darken and bore into his own.
"You can call me whatever you want," Jamie says. The mood changes. "In fact," he begins darkly, "make me forget my name." Eyes gone from pale sea-foam to a deep and stormy Atlantic-green. Adam twirls a piece of Jamie's wild, light brown hair between his fingers.
"That is so cliché."
"Please," Jamie begs in his lovely accent. "Please just for one night, just have me for one night. Make me forget," he dissolves into a messy, nonsensical whisper. "Adam."
The hushed utterance of his name goes straight to Adam's dick, and Jamie's weight is so sweet and warm in his lap and it all goes to hell. "The bathrooms, then?" His voice is so hoarse it scratches his throat.
"Yes, please."
They go. Down down down a dark, graffitied corridor behind the DJ's turntable and off the floor, to a faded-red door with a makeshift "Blokes" sign fashioned by way of crude notebook paper. The lights dim and flicker, and Adam shoves Jamie inside. There are two stalls and a rusted sink.
He pulls Jamie into the second and doesn't bother to pull the flapping stall door shut. He doubts it would stick anyways. Even with the sick, muted glow of dim flickering light bulbs splattered with grime and age, Jamie still glows with something undeniably lovely. Adam presses him to the wall, cradles the boy's head with one hand, curling the soft hair in his fist, and clutching at a sharp hip with the other, trailing down to grab his ass.
Jamie rolls his hips, thinking he might be the luckiest boy to live. Adam is a God. He is drunk and his inhibitions unfettered and dangerous and he shouldn't be doing this at all but how can he resist. He tears off Adam's shirt in a desperate scramble and reveals a torso like an Adonis, cased in skin like burnished gold, dyed black hair falling into blue eyes that haunt and smolder beneath painted eyelashes. Jamie feels small and insignificant and slutty, but then, he is, so he focuses on the magnificent pressure of Adam's strong lips against his to forget. What he came here to do. To forget.
Adam kisses his lips, his cheeks, his chin, his pert little nose, his too-big ears, snagging silken flesh between his teeth. Jamie accidentally smiles, because god, this is wonderful, but then regrets it because he remembers his horrible, crooked teeth that must glare at Adam like ugly daggers, utterly repulsive, really. Instead Adam drags his finger down the smooth pink curve of Jamie's bottom lip and kisses it, gently. Jamie tastes like cherries and cigarettes. Adam suckles down his chin to his throat, pulling at the ivory skin. Jamie moans embarrassingly loud and tips his head back into the door, mouthing quiet, wanton pleas that he's too shy to voice whilst Adam fingers his zipper and slowly shimmies his pants down his hips, revealing sharp bone with translucent-white skin stretched over. Jamie peels off his shirt. Adam's nails paint harsh pink lines down his chest.
"Please, please," Jamie whimpers, "please do something. Adam…"
It's the name thing that does it. Adam figures he must have some kind of fetish for that. He takes Jamie's girl-thin wrists in one fist and shoves his other hand down the boy's little white Calvin Klein's. Jamie's eyes flutter shut, moans low in his throat, and Adam kisses the pulse thrumming madly beneath Jamie's skin. He grasps the hard length, curls his fingers around it, and drags his thumb ever-so-lightly over the tip. Jamie gasps. They kiss, hot and open-mouthed.
"Adam, Adam, don't," Jamie says breathlessly, chest heaving. "Don't, I'll come right now if you keep going, I – I swear."
Adam rolls his hips against Jamie's, kissing along his jaw, hot and wet. "Jamie, baby, tell me what you want – what do you want me to do?"
Jamie's head rolls back against the wall. Adam bites down on the exposed ivory skin of his neck. "You want me to do suck you off? You could fuck my mouth, I'd even get on my knees for you." He feels Jamie's cock twitch beneath his fingers. He gives it a rough squeeze and Jamie whimpers. "Or I could push you to the ground and you could suck mine – I'd pull your hair and call you slut. Would you like that? Whore." He squeezes again. He looks up and Jamie's eyes are open – dark and unfathomable.
"But you don't want that, do you. You want someone nice. I know boys like you, I am a boy like you. People call you names all the time, I bet – so for tonight you want to be called baby and angel. Is that right? Jamie."
Jamie writhes against his hand and bites so hard into his lip Adam can see all the blood flood from his mouth, leaving it bleach-white.
"Jamie, you have to tell me what you want."
Jamie's eyes open wide and he looks like some fucked-up China doll with his pale eyes bleeding black at the corners where he squeezed them too tight. "Could – could you fuck me?" He breathes. "Please?"
Jamie smiles and Adam sees that Jamie's two front teeth bend slightly away from each other, creating the tiniest of gaps. It's a little bit endearing. Adam bends down to kiss him, still smiling.
"I haven't topped anyone in a while," Adam whispers, butterfly kissing along Jamie's ear. "But for you, doll – anything."
Jamie fights his wrists free to grab at the back of Adam's neck, pulling his entire body flush against Adam's, biting at his mouth, kissing him fierce and hard but not austere, just fevered and desperate. "I've never fucked a boy from the States before," he whispers into Adam's mouth. Adam sweeps his arms around Jamie's back, holding him close. His fingers dance down down down the boy's spine to his ass.
"I don't fuck boys like you," Adam keeps saying. "I don't fuck boys like you, I don't, you're too much like me, I don't fuck boys like you," and Jamie smiles in their kiss, because he's that exception, he breaks the rule.
Adam gently turns Jamie around, so his front faces the wall. They are both completely naked. Jamie shivers to the metal.
Adam kisses the back of his neck when Jamie whispers, "No, no, let's do it this way," and spins back so he's facing Adam.
"It's easier from behind—"
Jamie hushes him within another heavy kiss. "But it feels better like this. Just watch." He bends his back into the wall and guides Adam to hold him beneath his knee so his leg is lifted high into the air.
"Flexible," Adam grins and Jamie exhales his laugh into shallow dip of Adam's collarbone.
"Wait, hold on," Adam says, letting go of Jamie to dig in the pocket of his discarded pants to fetch a condom. He feels pressure on his hips and turns to find Jamie on his knees, holding him by the waist.
"Lube," he says simply, eyes quirked up in a smile, before his mouth descends hot and wet on Adam's cock. It's rushed and inexperienced, but Jamie makes up for it in enthusiasm and general hotness, and Adam thinks it's one of the better blowjobs he's had. He lifts Jamie back up to his feet, holding him by the arms and pressing him back into the wall.
Jamie takes two of his long, skinny fingers and sucks them into his mouth, almost knuckle-deep, eyes trained on Adam's, cheek-bones and eyes dark and hollowed by the dim, haunting bathroom lighting. Jamie's fingers slip out of his mouth and he wrestles his arm between their bodies to push the fingers inside himself for preparation. He scissors and curls up, whilst Adam whispers filthy phrases into his hair – 'You look so fucking hot like this, Jamie, the things I want to do to you right now, you won't be able to fucking walk when I'm done with your hot little body. I want to come on your face and make you dirty, I want you to lick your own come off my fingers, I want to make you ache and feel, I want to be the reason for those beautiful noises you're gonna make for me. I'm gonna give you the greatest fuck of your life.'
Adam's thigh flexes around Jamie's, muscles rippling beneath the flawless, golden skin, and Jamie shudders, insides clenching around his own fingers, and he knows he's ready. Jamie pulls his fingers out and twines his arms around Adam's neck, propping himself up again so Adam's cock is placed right at his entrance.
Adam rolls the condom on with ease and presses his face into Jamie's neck as he slowly slides in, deeper and deeper. He grunts from the exertion, grunting into Jamie's skin that he's fucking tight and god and fuck, you feel so fucking good. One hand is bracing Jamie against the wall so he doesn't fall, and the other cups his face gently, pressing soft kisses to hush all Jamie's heavy pants and a whimper when Adam is fully inside. Adam exhales hard into Jamie's throat, breath hitching when Jamie's tight heat clenches around him.
"So fucking tight," Adam grunts, and Jamie's head rolls back into the wall. Something about it reminds Adam of a kitten – the feathery soft hair, the catlike shape of his eyes, how responsive he is to all of Adam's touches. He pulls his cock out gently and then repeats, sliding in slowly, etching the feel of it in his bones.
"Harder," Jamie moans roughly, fingers twisting in Adam's hair. Their eyes meet.
"What?"
"Bloody hell, I'm not so fragile that I'm going to break, just fuck me," Jamie pants, cheeks bloodless and his eyes dark with lust, lips bitten red. His pretty hands fist into Adam's black hair, pulling hard when Adam thrusts again. He takes his other leg and curls it around Adam's waist. Adam pushes him further into the wall, biceps straining to hold the boy in the air. Jamie rocks back with the force of it, low voice murmuring pleas and expletives into Adam's shoulder.
Adam pulls out and slams back inside, hips thrusting in one hard gust and Jamie cries out, head thrown back against the wall, nails digging crescent moons into the back of Adam's neck.
Adam grabs his face again and kisses him hard, mouths sliding against each other messily, tongues tangling something fierce. There is bedlam and anarchy in the kiss, maybe some blood, but nothing that makes sense. Adam's thrusts build a harsh, bruising pattern, and Jamie whimpers into his neck, kissing occasionally, but mostly biting.
Now Jamie wraps both of his legs around Adam's hips, and Adam grabs on to his ass to hold him up, fucking him into the wall. Jamie is delicate-looking but clearly stronger than he appears because his thighs are like vices on Adam's muscle-solid waist as he writhes between Adam and the wall. Adam looks into his face and sees angel and so bloody gorgeous it's a bit unreal and he knows Jamie is one of those boys who will never think he's beautiful enough and it's a damn shame because he deserves so much more. He wants to pull his hair and cup the pretty face and kiss him like he deserves, but his hands are full keeping Jamie up in the air, so he settles with the most passionate tangle of tongues he knows. He licks his mouth open, drags a hot tongue along the roof of Jamie's mouth, elicits a breathless, beautiful moan from the boy, and buries to the hilt inside.
Adam can feel the orgasm swelling, heart pounding, and Jamie's is pounding too, he feels it chest-to-chest. Jamie nearly sobs into his neck when Adam finally grips his cock, squeezing and pumping and then he drags his thumb along the tip and that's it, Jamie is gone, releasing into his fist and Adam's abdomen and speckling the wall, dripping down the faded green in white streaks. Adam follows, whispering brokenly "fuck, fuck, I'm so close, god," when Jamie's insides clench around him suddenly. Jamie is whispering into his ear, "Was that good for you, Adam? Was I good enough? Was it okay?" and Adam is whispering, "You're beautiful, you're beautiful, oh my fucking god it was good, the best I've had, you're beautiful."
Jamie unlocks his legs so Adam can slip his cock out after his release, a few streaks of it landing on Jamie's thighs. They are still panting and Adam is sweating, eyes swimming with passion, nerves racing, blood pounding in his ears and Jamie just looks lovely in the after-glow, even with his hair messier than before and his skin flushed like a sour cherry.
"You're beautiful, Jamie," Adam repeats. Jamie gives him a pensive look, and then his face crumples and there is salt in his eyes and mouth when he presses his lips desperately against Adam's, cheek slippery, and then he buries his face into Adam's shoulder and sobs.
Adam is frozen with Jamie crying pitifully into his shoulder. He tentatively twists his fingers into Jamie's too-soft hair, stroking gently, and he kisses the top of his head, whispers into his ear, 'what is it, babe, you can tell me, I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere,' the sweet nothings that everybody knows.
"Fuck," Adam says when Jamie begins shaking like a leaf, grabbing on to him with elbows and knuckles against his scalp.
"What is it, Jamie, I'm not leaving, I swear," Adam says, because that seems to be Jamie's biggest fear, that Adam will just get up and leave.
Jamie murmurs something into his shoulder, but it's broken by tears and wet little gasps. Adam takes Jamie by the chin and kisses the tears off his cheeks, licks the salt from his lips, and Jamie is chanting softly, "my boyfriend, my boyfriend, no—"
"You have a boyfriend?" Boys like Jamie usually do, and they're usually big, and sure, Adam isn't tiny, in fact his muscles and body are pretty damn impressive, but he's not a fighter, not even close.
Jamie just cries harder into shoulder, voice muffled now by skin on top of tears.
"What? Hon, I can hear you like that."
"I said, 'I-I just broke up with my boyfriend.'"
"Oh, no," Adam says sympathetically, tucking Jamie's face into his neck and pressing kisses into his hair. "I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry."
Jamie's breath hitches and he looks up at Adam with those large, unyielding pale green eyes, now bloodshot. His make-up is ruined and eyeliner runs down his cheeks in ragged black rivers but Adam thinks it's pretty in a thoroughly abused kind of way. He kisses Jamie's forehead.
"He was too controlling."
"What?"
"My boyfriend. He was too controlling." Jamie's voice fades to a whisper. His brow furrows, almost angry, and he scratches his arm and tucks his head back into Adam's shoulder. "He got jealous a lot. Called me stuff like 'whore' and I'd hit him all the time and then he'd make me feel guilty for it. It was always my fault," Jamie says bitterly, voice soft. "So yesterday I chucked a full beer can at him and he kicked me out. I had to live in his flat 'cause I don't have any money. Now I'm staying with my friend Helena but—damn, you probably don't want to hear any of this do you?"
"No, I don't mind, keep talking. Your accent, it's lovely, you know," Adam says, stroking back a piece of hair from Jamie's eyes.
Jamie's lip twitches like he wants to smile, but doesn't.
"So what was this then, really bloody fantastic rebound sex?" Adam asks, and this time he succeeds in pulling a sad smile from Jamie's lips.
But then Jamie turns around to begin picking up his clothes. He puts his shirt on the toilet paper dispenser and shimmies into his pants, shrugging on his black button-down and vest when he's done, and then tugging on the finger-less gloves. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bunch of bold, fancy rings and slides them onto his fingers. He wipes his face with a sleeve and leaves the stall to check his face in the cracked, dusty mirror.
"Wow, thanks for tell me how disgusting I look."
Adam doesn't even respond, pulling on his pants. He doesn't bother with the shirt. He watches his reflection in the mirror, and frowns. His hair is disheveled in a bad way – he likes the clean, made-up look for himself. His jaw looks too wide, and his make-up is streaked.
"Well, thank you, then, I guess," Jamie says quietly, tugging on his shirt one last time and walking to the door.
"For what?" Adam frowns.
Jamie just gives him one last wistful, appraising look, maybe a little bit heartbroken, and pulls open the door.
"Wow, you're welcome, come back for more anytime!" Adam shouts, sardonic and stinging, and the door clangs shut.
Adam kicks at the wall, and slides to the ground, fisting angrily at his hair, pulling it into harsh, irascible spikes. When he finally leaves and crawls into bed, sour and beaten, he lies awake with a film reel of fluorescent light shows and angry names carved in sick bathroom walls and ruined makeup and angels – playing on repeat behind his eyelids. Sleep never comes.