[ The thing is that Eliot has been looking for Adrian. Hasn't been able to sleep right since that time in the motel all those months ago. There's a black hole where his memories should be, but that doesn't stop his mind from trying to fill in the gaps. Especially since though Eliot never went to college he can put the ache in his knuckles together with the bruises on Adrian's face and come out with a halfway decent answer.
(And sometimes, when he dreams he sees—)
So he's been looking for him. Just to see whether— Just to see. Maybe get some answers. Texting got him nowhere, just polite nothing answers, like Eliot wasn't even worth the time of day. Which means that it should be a good thing, finding him here, now. Looking at him and knowing that Eliot didn't— that he's fine. A good thing that this time Eliot's there to help him, and not— anything else.
But no. Eliot grunts as his back hits the wall, injuries flaring, grunts again as Adrian's magic seeps into him, fills him like an overbrimming cup, so sweet it his teeth ache with it. Adrian's here, but instead of answers he's got Adrian yelling in his face, and it's like his anger is the spark that kindles his own. ]
Me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Am I supposed to keep fucking walking? You were seconds away from being gutted.
[ His voice has been rising this entire time, anger at Adrian and at himself—inexplicably because he was helping, what the fuck else was he supposed to do?—churning inside him. And now Adrian is crying because of him and suddenly he can't stand Adrian's hand on him—
deep breaths. put your hand on mine.
—so he slaps it away. Can't stand his back up against the wall so he flips it, pushes Adrian into it instead, hand fisted in his top. ]
But let me guess, it's none of my business, right? Well maybe if everything wasn't a fucking secret with you I'd have known what I was walking into. You ever fucking think of that?
[ Adrian wants to argue that he had it under control, but the truth is that he really didn't. He could defend from a stab wound, but it would leave him vulnerable. He had no way to counter the hypnosis. Even Morgan wouldn't last long as a distraction. He's never been much for fighting, but he can see how it would have played out, and he has no counter for Eliot's point.
Fern would have been furious, and worse than that she would have been upset. Finding his body in an alley would have been one last disappointment.
Apparently, she isn't the only one.
He lets Eliot slap his hand away, his halo finally flickering out like a light as he burns through the last of his healing. He doesn't resist when he's pushed back against the brick wall again. Eliot seems to tower over him, but he's not afraid of Eliot's anger. It feels good, in a strange way, to have him say it out loud.
This is just the conclusion of the dance they've been doing since that night in the motel room. All of Adrian's non-answers and Eliot's careful prodding for answers that he already knows — it's led to this. It always leads to this. Inevitably, everyone is violently disappointed. Inevitably, it just ends.
He grabs the front of Eliot's shirt in turn, dragging him perilously close. Despite the tears streaking his face, his heart is hammering in his chest. ]
You want me to be honest? Fine. I don't want to be saved if it means putting your life at risk. There's no point in living i-if the people I care about die. I hate hurting people and I hate seeing them hurt. [ His grip tightens on Eliot's shirt. ] Even you, and your ridiculous kindness and your misplaced guilt over something that wasn't even your fault. So what if I lied about it? What does it matter? You were better off hating me. It was easier for both of us.
Adrian's words hang in the air between them, fill the space like something tangible, and just like that Eliot's anger dissipates as though it was never there to begin with. He feels like he's been ambushed, like he's been climbing the stairs only for a step to disappear out from under his foot.
If the people I care about—
Eliot sighs, and they're close enough for it to heat the air between them for a brief moment. When he speaks his voice is low, quiet. No reason to yell when they're practically forehead to forehead. ]
Don't go throwing your life away over me, Adrian.
[ His worst nightmare, someone thinking that he needs to be saved and putting their life on the line to do it. He's fought for people and he's fought beside them but he doesn't ever want to see someone stepping between him and whatever it is that's trying to kill him.
And there's no world, no universe, no turn of events that would make his life worth the loss of someone like Adrian. ]
And definitely don't go crying over me either. I ain't worth the tears.
[ Adrian was right about one thing though: it was easier when Adrian hated him. Especially since for Adrian it seems to be nothing more than a burden.
His hand is still twisted in the front of Adrian's top. For some reason he can't quite convince himself to let go. ]
[ He can almost feel it, the moment the anger tips into something more honest, and Adrian can't hold on to it despite how hard he tries. He feels gutted and exhausted, like the wall behind him and Eliot's hand in his shirt are the only things keeping him on his feet.
It's funny. He'd just demanded the same. ]
You don't get to decide that. [ He says, still holding Eliot's gaze. ] Awful, isn't it?
[ Because it's both of them, trapped by the same force. No matter how hard they try, they can't prevent the things they're most afraid of.
In my dreams, I kill you.
There's a brief catch in Adrian's breath. He remembers that night perfectly well. Eliot could have killed him or, at the very least, one of them would have died. He finds it hard to be afraid, though perhaps he ought to.
He releases Eliot's shirt, but his hand remains flat against his chest. He holds the other man's gaze as he tilts his head back, exposing a sliver of his throat not covered by the high collar of his shirt. ]
[ A black hole where his memory should be but in his dreams his mind paints a picture of the way he hurt Adrian. The soft, tender parts of him Eliot brutalised. How he'd begged, and how Eliot kept going until he could beg no more.
And Eliot had felt the weight of Adrian's power earlier, the gravity of it, the way light bent eagerly towards him, but he's nothing more than a man now, with all that entails. In the cold soberness of reality Eliot could do anything to him, and the thought resonates inside him, doubled as though it has its own echo.
And when you're awake? What do you do, then?
Eliot releases Adrian's shirt too. Lays his hand across Adrian's throat instead, just under the bare strip of skin exposed by the tilt of his head. He wonders if Adrian begs the same way. If he hurts the same way. ]
Does it matter? You wouldn't be able to stop me either way.
I... [ Adrian's shiver is full-body, so close to Eliot that he must feel it. The warmth of his hand on Adrian's throat is so good that it feels perverse.
This particular patch of Adrian's skin is always cold, even through the material of his shirt. Eliot doesn't know that he's laid his hand over Adrian's pact mark, over the place where he's been aching to be touched again for months and months... Desire hits him so hard it makes his head spin, and he bites his lip against a plea.
Somehow, his hand has wandered a bit lower, feeling the firm shape of Eliot's chest through his shirt. He has no idea what he's doing, and no idea what he wants to do, only the vague understanding that he's starved for whatever Eliot is giving to him.
He struggles to find the thread of conversation. ]
You're bluffing. [ Adrian manages. He places a hand over Eliot's, as if silently pleading for him not to move it. ] I learned something that night, too. All I have to do... is ask you to help me. So please, help me.
[ Eliot feels him shiver. Feels that same shiver work its way through Eliot too. Feels it as his own breath shudders out of him and as his lungs shake on the inhale. There's a sudden wrench, right in the pit of his stomach. A flashfire of desire, frantic and needy, and it hits him all at once that that's not him feeling it.
It's easier to meet Adrian's gaze now. This, Eliot knows.
Eliot flexes the hand underneath Adrian's and then presses harder, fingers dimpling the material of Adrian's high collar.
(He was wrong. The begging is sweeter.) ]
Like this?
[ With his head tilted back like that, with his throat bared like that, it's basically an invitation. Eliot's head dips, ready to set his mouth to to it, his teeth, but then he shivers to a stop a hair's breadth away as reality reasserts itself. He can't, he remembers now. Can't touch him skin to skin.
Eliot breathes a frustrated noise and instead forces his thigh between Adrian's. ]
[ Yes, Adrian thinks, but a thread of uncertainty follows. Is this what he wants? Knowing just how much violence Eliot is capable of? These are the same hands that had nearly killed him. Yet, even knowing that, he likes Eliot's hands on him; so warm and certain, so in control. This time will be different. ]
Eliot. [ It's almost a whine. He feels feverish with need. It had been fine, all of that time, not knowing or caring what he might be "missing." Now that he has a taste of it, he knows that he's been starved.
He wants Eliot's mouth on him so badly that he makes a frustrated sound in tandem when Eliot stops himself. Eliot's thigh settles firmly between his legs soon after, and Adrian grinds against it with a different sort of groan. ] Gods... Thank you.
[ He grabs Eliot's hip with his free hand, dragging him as close as he can possibly be, just to feel the heat of his breath. Adrian is already hard. He could finish like this. This is absurd.
A thread of clarity cuts through hazy desire. It's not his clarity, but Adrian tries to grab the frayed edges of his self-control. He stops himself from grinding on Eliot's thigh, still panting. ]
I — we can't. I can't. Someone could see.
[ It's unlikely, but not impossible, especially with Adrian lit up like a shop window and struggling to stay quiet. The thought of being discovered doing something so inappropriate is almost enough to pull him back from the edge he had been so greedily working toward.
It's too good. It has to be wrong. It's definitely dangerous. He has to stop.
[ His voice is low, mouth right by Adrian's ear. He hasn't moved back despite that we can't and he's not really planning to. A token protest of he ever heard one, both cute and amusing in turns. Adrian spent so much time picking at him, goading him into putting his hands on him. He won't want all that hard work gone to waste.
(And he can feel something, deep down under the faint wisps of shame, that says it doesn't want to stop.)
So Eliot slips his free hand behind Adrian, places it low on his back as encouragement. Lifts his leg a little higher, presses against Adrian a little firmer. ]
They gonna see you offering yourself up? See you begging me?
[ This is a mistake. The heat of Eliot's breath and the rumble of his voice are enough to make his knees weak, but it's really the press of his body that puts everything over the edge. Even when he squeezes his eyes shut, Eliot may as well be the whole world.
Much as he would like to bury his face in shame, he can't move without the risk of touching Eliot's hand or his mouth. Adrian bites his lip, body already taught as a bowstring when Eliot's thigh presses more firmly against him, the hand at the small of his back making him feel utterly trapped. (Wanted.)
They gonna see you offering yourself up? See you begging me?
Of course Eliot would decide to further underscore his humiliation. ]
Yes. [ He practically hisses, though it's hard to say if he's incensed or asking for more. After all of these months, it's just too much all at once. The orgasm hits him entirely by surprise.
Adrian digs his fingers into Eliot's hip, hard enough to bruise, his other hand flying up to his mouth to stifle a truly awful moan. For one blissful moment, nothing else matters, though he finds himself far from fully satisfied.
As soon as he starts to come down, he truly wishes he could expire on the spot.
He shoots Eliot his most baleful look, daring him to be even more insufferable now. ]
[ His eyebrows wing upwards. Eliot's good—and that's fact, not hubris; he's had a lot of practice, after all—but he's not that good. Then again Adrian does seem kinda repressed. Maybe he's gone untouched all this time. Maybe this—Eliot's hand around his throat, their bodies lined up—is the closest he'll ever get to feeling someone else's hands on him. ]
Not even that's enough to sweeten you up, huh.
[ But... that wasn't what Adrian wanted, was it. Eliot flexes his hand where it's still wrapped around Adrian's throat, wonders if he'll come again if Eliot starts squeezing. If Eliot puts him over his knee and makes him beg. ]
Come on then. [ A smirk. ] We wouldn't want anyone to see you like this now, would we.
[ Adrian averts his gaze, still embarrassed, but for a different reason now. Eliot doesn't comment about his shortcomings, doesn't seem particularly disappointed, and that's... unexpected. It's impossible to misread the man even if he tries, because Adrian can somehow feel that he's still confidently unbothered. Still curious, if not interested.
It's all very novel. ]
...Sorry. I can pay for the motel. [ He murmurs, since he's the one who insisted. He'd also like to avoid having Fern come back to the van when he's in the middle of... Whatever this is. Wherever this is going. He understands the mechanics of sex well enough, it's just that it doesn't exactly match a dull textbook description.
He turns back to Eliot, whose hand is still resting so perfectly in line with his pact mark that Adrian almost wonders if he should dissuade him. Eliot smirks at him, infuriatingly charming, and he bites his lip.
For better or worse, he hasn't gotten anywhere by being coy. He wants to know what Eliot can do beyond his penchant for violence and... ] Eliot — I would like to... do something for you, in turn. If you are amenable... to that. But not here.
[ It's not nearly as smooth as anything that seems to come out of Eliot's mouth. He has no idea what he's doing, or if this is how things are supposed to go. He gives Eliot's chest a gentle push, more request than demand. ] I need to clean up.
[ It feels good to be touched but, at the same time, all of this contact all at once is edging him towards over-stimulation. ]
[ It's more curiosity than anything else—how exactly does he mean to 'clean up'—that has Eliot stepping back, and even then he goes with a great deal of reluctance. It's as though there's something inside him that resents the space between them and Eliot fights the urge to frown. There's an easy answer there after all, this strange thing that links them, that lets him know the things that Adrian keeps secret. But even though he doesn't like it, he can't deny how useful it is to have this kind of insight.
Like the fact that Adrian's embarrassment feels particularly good. ]
'If I am amenable'.
[ Amazing how someone who—
—head tilted back, throat bared
—And when you're awake? What do you do, then?
—So please, help me.
—can manage to sound so stiff and formal now. If he is amenable, as though Eliot isn't already planning how best to fuck him, to take him apart. He feels... ravenous almost, the way he wants to ruin him. Mess him up. Guess he shouldn't really be allowed to have something so pure in his hands.
[ Adrian does frown briefly as Eliot steps away. It's paradoxical. He'd been the one to ask for space, yet the sudden loss of contact only makes him want to drag Eliot right back to his previous position immediately.
He's just come. If nothing else, it ought to take the edge off, but instead he feels dizzy with desire that isn't entirely his own. His understanding of what he's supposed to do, what he's even offering, is somewhat... academic, to say the least. Eliot's plans are vivid flashes, fully realized, rough and messy. Adrian's hand goes to his own throat, where Eliot's had been. He's grateful for the wall behind him.
He knows these aren't his thoughts, because he's never really entertained the idea of being bent over someone's lap, spanked and fingered open. Choked. Made to come with tears in his eyes. Eliot wants to treat him like an object to be played with until it's broken, and Adrian... finds both the danger and the desire intoxicating. Eliot is not the first to want to ruin him, but he is the first to ask.
Adrian flexes his fingers, as he often does before a spell. It takes him a minute to focus on the actual spell and not what Eliot is thinking about, to move his fingers in the specific sequence required. ]
I pray for your cleansing grace.
[ The nature of his magic — a request to his patron, rather than something inherent to him — makes this feel somehow even more scandalously filthy. It's one thing to clean up a blood stain, or the dirt and sweat of a day's work, and another to make this particular stain on the front of his trousers vanish, knowing its origin.
Realistically, he knows that Raphael doesn't care to monitor every spell he casts, even when their connection is more clear... and yet, that doesn't change the fact that it's humiliating to ask such a thing.
He smooths out the front of his shirt, entirely unnecessarily, to have an excuse not to look at Eliot. ]
I can... tell. [ He can think about why he can tell a bit later. Adrian clears his throat. ] Lead the way.
[ Eliot grins, unrepentant, but very kindly doesn't comment on that, or the sudden awkwardness, or the hand Adrian briefly presses to his own throat as though he's unable to bear it being left uncovered even for a second, or the way Eliot can feel Adrian's want like the heat from a furnace. It keeps igniting his own, like they're caught in a feedback loop, self-reinforcing, and if Eliot doesn't make the move out of the alleyway now they're gonna end up starting all over again.
He takes a step back, and then another, feels as though cold air has rushed to fill the space between them. ]
Come on. If you're not dead set on getting a room we can go back to mine. My car ain't too far from here anyway.
[ He leads them out of the alley at any rate and down the road in the direction of his car. He figures that regardless of if they do just get a room somewhere or not, Eliot's not gonna be leaving his car here unguarded for so long. ]
[ It's all sort of a blur after that. Eliot leads, and Adrian follows. A new image comes to mind every now and again, like a plate being laid on the banquet table, but it is at least easy to tell which ones come from Eliot and which ones come from his own racing thoughts.
Not that it does him much good to know the full breadth of Eliot's creativity.
Adrian all too easily gets tangled in the logistics of all of the things he really can't (shouldn't) do, not without potentially hurting Eliot all over again. That doesn't mean the offer isn't tempting; an apple so red and perfectly sweet that breaking the skin with his teeth feels inevitable.
Mercifully, driving takes some concentration from Eliot. Adrian, in the passenger seat, has the wherewithal to send a text message to Fern, lest she worry and come looking. He's with a friend, he tells her. Morgan will come and get her if anything goes awry but he — might not be back until morning. (Surely, being kept until morning is a fantasy like the rest of Eliot's ideas.)
Otherwise, he keeps his hands very primly in his lap and gazes through the window, eyes unfocused. If he watches Eliot's hand fondle the stick shift, he might very well go insane.
Of course, the relative peace between them doesn't last. Adrian watches Eliot get into a minor tiff with another driver, cut them off, and even though he doesn't say anything, Eliot picks up on his disapproval. They start arguing.
They keep arguing in the parking lot of Eliot's motel, then all the way to his room. Adrian tells him he could have been the bigger person, and Eliot tells him to get over himself. As soon as the door closes behind them, they're in each other's faces again.
Would you shut up about it already? Eliot growls. Adrian grabs him by the shirt again, drags him close to where he stands at the edge of the bed. ]
I thought you were going to make me. What happened to your lofty ambitions, Mr. Spencer?
[ Usually Eliot's anger burns hot and hotter inside him. A lot more explosive when it's frustration or irritation, a crucible for when he approaches true anger, cooking right up until the moment he gets to act.
This time the feeling calcifies inside him, hardens and then sharpens, focuses on the irritating man in front of him goading him because he doesn't seem to understand cause and effect. Eliot doesn't bother to respond, just steps back, knocks away the weak hold Adrian has on him and then kicks out his knee, a hand on his shoulder to force him down. On the ground, on his knees, looking up at Eliot. If he tries to get up Eliot will force him down again. Hopefully it doesn't take long for him to get the message to stay put. ]
Yeah, I said a lot of things, didn't I?
[ The question is rhetorical. Eliot moves away as he speaks, but only as far as his bedside table so he can grab a string of condoms before returning. ]
But you said some things too. About doing something for me in return. Isn't that right?
[ Rhetorical again. Already his hands are at his waistband, belt chiming as he undoes it and then his jeans. His actions are unhurried: fishing his cock half-hard out of his boxers, tearing open a condom, and then rolling it on. He taps the tip of it to Adrian's bottom lip and a quiet thrill goes through him like lightning going to ground. ]
[ There ought to be some sharp reply at the tip of his tongue, some further enticement, but Eliot actually kicking him shuts him up fast. The brief flare of pain as his knees hit the ground too quickly is barely remarkable -- no, it's the hand on his shoulder, forcing him to remain, to look up (as blow after blow comes raining down). Adrian drops his gaze. His lungs seems to burn until he remembers how to breathe again.
Eliot isn't going to hurt him, not in any way that he can't abide... But there is some part of him that does want to be hurt, for once, on terms he's already chosen. He's seen the worst that Eliot can do to him. Fear is not what he feels. ]
Whatever you want. [ He says, as if it needs to be clarified. As if he doesn't want to swallow his tongue for how eagerly the quiet admission comes.
He settles more comfortably on his knees, anticipation tying his stomach into knots. He understands the mechanics. It's just -- application.
He watches everything Eliot does, bottom lip caught between his teeth, hands folded over each other in his lap. Despite all his goading, he wants to be good. Useful. Or used, at least.
(What would his family think of all of this? Does it matter, after everything else? He's already disappointed them. He's already too far from home to ever find it again.)
He opens his mouth slowly, breathing through his nose as he leans forward to take the head of Eliot's cock. It feels larger than he expected it to. All he can taste is latex and a hint of salt, but the nearly naked heat of another body this intimately close is intoxicating. He can smell Eliot's arousal, bitter and musky, and a part of him wonders what it tastes like.
His cheeks hollow out as he sucks, taking another inch before pulling back to lick at the tip, just under the glans. He looks up at Eliot when he does, expression singularly focused, like he's hoping to figure out what Eliot enjoys by analyzing his reaction.
He has no idea how he's supposed to take the rest of it into his mouth without choking but -- he'll surely find a way. ]
[ Eliot makes a noise deep in his throat as his cock pushes past Adrian's lips into the heat of his mouth. Relief, maybe, except it's not nearly as neutral as that. Far too much entitlement in there. Like it's the natural order of things, Adrian on his knees, mouth open for whatever Eliot will give him. Whatever you want he'd said. Who knew Adrian could get so sweet?
The feeling echoes inside him, as though it's coming through from both ends and a smile flickers across his lips, there and gone again. He curls his other hand around the back of Adrian's head, and on the next push in he tilts it for a better angle, offering another hum as he slips in deeper. The condom dulls a lot of the feeling, but every flick of Adrian's tongue still feels revelatory, gets him fully hard in no time at all.
He wonders if it makes him a bad person to like the way it stretches out Adrian's mouth. The little noises he makes as he chokes.
Whatever you want.
Eliot tightens his grip on the back of Adrian's head and snaps his hips forward. ]
[ The echo of feeling is... strange. A shadow of warm heat envelops him, but that noise that Eliot makes is what teases him back to full arousal, warm as honey. He wants more of that. He wants to be good.
He tenses when Eliot's hand curls into his hair, fleetingly concerned that he's being too incautious, but then Eliot forces him to tilt his head up and pulls him so far forward that his dick bumps against the back of Adrian's throat. He struggles to relax against the intrusion. If his mouth wasn't full, he might start coughing, but Eliot doesn't give him long enough to do that.
He gets a breath in between every movement, and then Eliot is forcing Adrian's head forward until he's right up against the back of his throat again, Adrian swallowing around him instinctively even as his eyes water enough to blur his vision. He's barely managing to keep up with Eliot dragging him by the hair, but it's not until he feels Eliot push further into his mouth that he starts to panic, pulling away from the hand gripping his hair, pushing at Eliot's hips.
Eliot is so much stronger than he is, can hold him in place so easily regardless of how he fights— Adrian looks up at him, pleading. It's too much. It's too fast. He can't do it. ]
[ It's strange. Everything is fine, is right, up until it's not. Panic blooms like the sudden force of a bomb and Eliot lets go of Adrian as though he's on fire, pulls away and then crouches to check on him as he chokes and fights to breathe.
(Should have known better, Spencer.)
This is probably the part where he leaves Adrian alone. It certainly ain't the part where he touches him again. His hands hover over him, useless, and then with a sharp exhale through his nose he sets a hand on his shoulder, the second on his chest. ]
Breathe. That's it. All you gotta do is breathe. Slowly. [ added as Adrian wheezes ] Feel where my hand is. Push it out with your chest.
[ The words are largely rote, like Adrian's just some faceless victim right now. Compartmentalisation. He got real good at that being a soldier. Helps him not to feel the things he doesn't want to. ]
As soon as he's free, Adrian is on his hands and knees coughing into the motel carpet. Thankfully, he doesn't vomit, but there's a faint taste of bile at the back of his throat. Some detached part of him notes; dizzy, rapid heartbeat. He should have slowed down sooner. He should have gotten some rest before he tried to do any of this.
He doesn't expect Eliot's hands on him again. Adrian tenses, instinctive, but he grabs for the hand on his chest to hold it there. He takes slowly deepening breaths, chest rising to meet Eliot's touch, just as instructed.
There is something horribly reassuring about Eliot's reaction, despite everything. Despite knowing that, for a few moments, Eliot had enjoyed hurting him. Adrian has put his faith in the wrong people before, and has most certainly been hurt by that faith, but the immediate concern makes it clear that he had been correct in his assumptions. Eliot will do nothing to him that he doesn't invite.
...Which makes it even more obvious who ought to shoulder the full blame for this situation. ]
Sorry. [ Adrian manages finally, voice hoarse. He manages to sit up on his knees again and wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He doesn't manage to meet Eliot's gaze, though frustration and disappointment and guilt are already beginning to bleed back into him as the panic recedes. ] I'm sorry, I thought I could do it. [ He makes a sound too brief and bitter to be a laugh. It's always like this, getting in over his head and coming up short. ]
I'm fine. I'm fine. [ His grip on Eliot's hand hasn't eased. ] Please don't leave. We can try again.
[ Anything inside him that might have wanted, any speck of desire, has gone sour now. To think that someone like him could want to— could think about playing pretend in hurting someone and not have it turn into something real. There's a tangle of emotion sitting thick and sticky at the back of his throat like bile, and it doesn't taste like his. And it was him who did that.
And yet, for some reason Adrian still holds his hand to his chest like the past ten minutes never happened. Eliot can feel the way Adrian's heart races under his palm but for some reason he still wants to be here. Wants Eliot here.
Does Adrian have anyone else? Someone like that is bound to be tripping over friends but if he doesn't then maybe Eliot's all he's got right now. Fuck. The hand on Adrian's shoulder smooths down his spine in something approaching comfort and Eliot softens his voice even further. ]
Come on. Let's get you some water and then... [ He stalls out here. It's far too late to be sending Adrian out alone, especially when he's pretty sure his magic all got used up earlier. And if he doesn't have anyone to pick him up then... ] You can take the bed. I'll stay over there— [ he jerks his head over towards the door ] —and drive you home in the morning.
[ He can feel that Eliot's already too far out of it, and frankly... exhaustion is starting to catch up with him. He doesn't know that he can do it right now, at least not the specific way that Eliot had wanted. He'd expected to see Eliot's disappointment, if not his anger, but all of that is instead directed... inward. He doesn't seem to care at all that Adrian couldn't do what he wanted, only that he himself had pushed too far. He doesn't like that he's crossed some line that neither of them had been aware of until it happened.
Eliot's hand on his back feels good, warm and real, but he never speaks to Adrian this softly, like he's coaxing a frightened animal. Adrian wants to enjoy it, but all he can hear is the guilt layered into it. He can get some water and then... Adrian follows Eliot's gaze, and the slow burn of exhaustion and unhappiness suddenly crystalizes. It's as if the world falls back into sharp relief, the burning in his chest old and familiar. ]
In the hallway? [ He finally lifts his hand away from his chest to grab Eliot's jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He meets Eliot's gaze, their faces barely an inch from each other. The damage to his throat lends a slight roughness to his voice when he speaks. ] Enough. I panicked. I'm sorry that I made a mess of things... but you didn't do anything that I didn't invite you to do.
If you are under the impression that you've caused some grievous wound, or that I am afraid of you now — you will reconsider that impression. Are we clear?
[ His grip eases just slightly. ] I understand if you do not wish to continue... but I will not understand the rest.
[ Eliot jerks his head back before his reflexes realise that it's not an attack.
(And even if it was, could he begrudge Adrian a hit or two after what just happened?)
Instead he gets the complete opposite. Instead he gets an Adrian who decides to comfort him. An Adrian who wants him to know, in no uncertain terms, that he didn't do anything wrong. An Adrian who seems to think that... he's the one at fault? ]
Stop.
[ His voice comes out rough too, but that's mostly because he's happy he didn't somehow manage to traumatise the kid. His hand lifts to flick Adrian on his stupid forehead before— fuck, he remembers the curse. He tugs on his hair instead. ]
If I ain't at fault then that goes double for you. Don't ever apologise to me for that ever again.
[ His gaze slides away for a second, and then he forces it back. As much as he'd rather chew glass than have this conversation, Adrian clearly wants to keep doing this, so... ]
Alright. What are you inviting me to do to you then?
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(And sometimes, when he dreams he sees—)
So he's been looking for him. Just to see whether— Just to see. Maybe get some answers. Texting got him nowhere, just polite nothing answers, like Eliot wasn't even worth the time of day. Which means that it should be a good thing, finding him here, now. Looking at him and knowing that Eliot didn't— that he's fine. A good thing that this time Eliot's there to help him, and not— anything else.
But no. Eliot grunts as his back hits the wall, injuries flaring, grunts again as Adrian's magic seeps into him, fills him like an overbrimming cup, so sweet it his teeth ache with it. Adrian's here, but instead of answers he's got Adrian yelling in his face, and it's like his anger is the spark that kindles his own. ]
Me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Am I supposed to keep fucking walking? You were seconds away from being gutted.
[ His voice has been rising this entire time, anger at Adrian and at himself—inexplicably because he was helping, what the fuck else was he supposed to do?—churning inside him. And now Adrian is crying because of him and suddenly he can't stand Adrian's hand on him—
deep breaths. put your hand on mine.
—so he slaps it away. Can't stand his back up against the wall so he flips it, pushes Adrian into it instead, hand fisted in his top. ]
But let me guess, it's none of my business, right? Well maybe if everything wasn't a fucking secret with you I'd have known what I was walking into. You ever fucking think of that?
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Fern would have been furious, and worse than that she would have been upset. Finding his body in an alley would have been one last disappointment.
Apparently, she isn't the only one.
He lets Eliot slap his hand away, his halo finally flickering out like a light as he burns through the last of his healing. He doesn't resist when he's pushed back against the brick wall again. Eliot seems to tower over him, but he's not afraid of Eliot's anger. It feels good, in a strange way, to have him say it out loud.
This is just the conclusion of the dance they've been doing since that night in the motel room. All of Adrian's non-answers and Eliot's careful prodding for answers that he already knows — it's led to this. It always leads to this. Inevitably, everyone is violently disappointed. Inevitably, it just ends.
He grabs the front of Eliot's shirt in turn, dragging him perilously close. Despite the tears streaking his face, his heart is hammering in his chest. ]
You want me to be honest? Fine. I don't want to be saved if it means putting your life at risk. There's no point in living i-if the people I care about die. I hate hurting people and I hate seeing them hurt. [ His grip tightens on Eliot's shirt. ] Even you, and your ridiculous kindness and your misplaced guilt over something that wasn't even your fault. So what if I lied about it? What does it matter? You were better off hating me. It was easier for both of us.
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Adrian's words hang in the air between them, fill the space like something tangible, and just like that Eliot's anger dissipates as though it was never there to begin with. He feels like he's been ambushed, like he's been climbing the stairs only for a step to disappear out from under his foot.
If the people I care about—
Eliot sighs, and they're close enough for it to heat the air between them for a brief moment. When he speaks his voice is low, quiet. No reason to yell when they're practically forehead to forehead. ]
Don't go throwing your life away over me, Adrian.
[ His worst nightmare, someone thinking that he needs to be saved and putting their life on the line to do it. He's fought for people and he's fought beside them but he doesn't ever want to see someone stepping between him and whatever it is that's trying to kill him.
And there's no world, no universe, no turn of events that would make his life worth the loss of someone like Adrian. ]
And definitely don't go crying over me either. I ain't worth the tears.
[ Adrian was right about one thing though: it was easier when Adrian hated him. Especially since for Adrian it seems to be nothing more than a burden.
His hand is still twisted in the front of Adrian's top. For some reason he can't quite convince himself to let go. ]
You know, in my dreams I kill you.
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It's funny. He'd just demanded the same. ]
You don't get to decide that. [ He says, still holding Eliot's gaze. ] Awful, isn't it?
[ Because it's both of them, trapped by the same force. No matter how hard they try, they can't prevent the things they're most afraid of.
In my dreams, I kill you.
There's a brief catch in Adrian's breath. He remembers that night perfectly well. Eliot could have killed him or, at the very least, one of them would have died. He finds it hard to be afraid, though perhaps he ought to.
He releases Eliot's shirt, but his hand remains flat against his chest. He holds the other man's gaze as he tilts his head back, exposing a sliver of his throat not covered by the high collar of his shirt. ]
And when you're awake? What do you do, then?
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[ A black hole where his memory should be but in his dreams his mind paints a picture of the way he hurt Adrian. The soft, tender parts of him Eliot brutalised. How he'd begged, and how Eliot kept going until he could beg no more.
And Eliot had felt the weight of Adrian's power earlier, the gravity of it, the way light bent eagerly towards him, but he's nothing more than a man now, with all that entails. In the cold soberness of reality Eliot could do anything to him, and the thought resonates inside him, doubled as though it has its own echo.
And when you're awake? What do you do, then?
Eliot releases Adrian's shirt too. Lays his hand across Adrian's throat instead, just under the bare strip of skin exposed by the tilt of his head. He wonders if Adrian begs the same way. If he hurts the same way. ]
Does it matter? You wouldn't be able to stop me either way.
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This particular patch of Adrian's skin is always cold, even through the material of his shirt. Eliot doesn't know that he's laid his hand over Adrian's pact mark, over the place where he's been aching to be touched again for months and months... Desire hits him so hard it makes his head spin, and he bites his lip against a plea.
Somehow, his hand has wandered a bit lower, feeling the firm shape of Eliot's chest through his shirt. He has no idea what he's doing, and no idea what he wants to do, only the vague understanding that he's starved for whatever Eliot is giving to him.
He struggles to find the thread of conversation. ]
You're bluffing. [ Adrian manages. He places a hand over Eliot's, as if silently pleading for him not to move it. ] I learned something that night, too. All I have to do... is ask you to help me. So please, help me.
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It's easier to meet Adrian's gaze now. This, Eliot knows.
Eliot flexes the hand underneath Adrian's and then presses harder, fingers dimpling the material of Adrian's high collar.
(He was wrong. The begging is sweeter.) ]
Like this?
[ With his head tilted back like that, with his throat bared like that, it's basically an invitation. Eliot's head dips, ready to set his mouth to to it, his teeth, but then he shivers to a stop a hair's breadth away as reality reasserts itself. He can't, he remembers now. Can't touch him skin to skin.
Eliot breathes a frustrated noise and instead forces his thigh between Adrian's. ]
This what you need?
i guess this is the most appropriate icon i have
Eliot. [ It's almost a whine. He feels feverish with need. It had been fine, all of that time, not knowing or caring what he might be "missing." Now that he has a taste of it, he knows that he's been starved.
He wants Eliot's mouth on him so badly that he makes a frustrated sound in tandem when Eliot stops himself. Eliot's thigh settles firmly between his legs soon after, and Adrian grinds against it with a different sort of groan. ] Gods... Thank you.
[ He grabs Eliot's hip with his free hand, dragging him as close as he can possibly be, just to feel the heat of his breath. Adrian is already hard. He could finish like this. This is absurd.
A thread of clarity cuts through hazy desire. It's not his clarity, but Adrian tries to grab the frayed edges of his self-control. He stops himself from grinding on Eliot's thigh, still panting. ]
I — we can't. I can't. Someone could see.
[ It's unlikely, but not impossible, especially with Adrian lit up like a shop window and struggling to stay quiet. The thought of being discovered doing something so inappropriate is almost enough to pull him back from the edge he had been so greedily working toward.
It's too good. It has to be wrong. It's definitely dangerous. He has to stop.
And yet, he's made no move to let go of Eliot. ]
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[ His voice is low, mouth right by Adrian's ear. He hasn't moved back despite that we can't and he's not really planning to. A token protest of he ever heard one, both cute and amusing in turns. Adrian spent so much time picking at him, goading him into putting his hands on him. He won't want all that hard work gone to waste.
(And he can feel something, deep down under the faint wisps of shame, that says it doesn't want to stop.)
So Eliot slips his free hand behind Adrian, places it low on his back as encouragement. Lifts his leg a little higher, presses against Adrian a little firmer. ]
They gonna see you offering yourself up? See you begging me?
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Much as he would like to bury his face in shame, he can't move without the risk of touching Eliot's hand or his mouth. Adrian bites his lip, body already taught as a bowstring when Eliot's thigh presses more firmly against him, the hand at the small of his back making him feel utterly trapped. (Wanted.)
They gonna see you offering yourself up? See you begging me?
Of course Eliot would decide to further underscore his humiliation. ]
Yes. [ He practically hisses, though it's hard to say if he's incensed or asking for more. After all of these months, it's just too much all at once. The orgasm hits him entirely by surprise.
Adrian digs his fingers into Eliot's hip, hard enough to bruise, his other hand flying up to his mouth to stifle a truly awful moan. For one blissful moment, nothing else matters, though he finds himself far from fully satisfied.
As soon as he starts to come down, he truly wishes he could expire on the spot.
He shoots Eliot his most baleful look, daring him to be even more insufferable now. ]
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Not even that's enough to sweeten you up, huh.
[ But... that wasn't what Adrian wanted, was it. Eliot flexes his hand where it's still wrapped around Adrian's throat, wonders if he'll come again if Eliot starts squeezing. If Eliot puts him over his knee and makes him beg. ]
Come on then. [ A smirk. ] We wouldn't want anyone to see you like this now, would we.
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It's all very novel. ]
...Sorry. I can pay for the motel. [ He murmurs, since he's the one who insisted. He'd also like to avoid having Fern come back to the van when he's in the middle of... Whatever this is. Wherever this is going. He understands the mechanics of sex well enough, it's just that it doesn't exactly match a dull textbook description.
He turns back to Eliot, whose hand is still resting so perfectly in line with his pact mark that Adrian almost wonders if he should dissuade him. Eliot smirks at him, infuriatingly charming, and he bites his lip.
For better or worse, he hasn't gotten anywhere by being coy. He wants to know what Eliot can do beyond his penchant for violence and... ] Eliot — I would like to... do something for you, in turn. If you are amenable... to that. But not here.
[ It's not nearly as smooth as anything that seems to come out of Eliot's mouth. He has no idea what he's doing, or if this is how things are supposed to go. He gives Eliot's chest a gentle push, more request than demand. ] I need to clean up.
[ It feels good to be touched but, at the same time, all of this contact all at once is edging him towards over-stimulation. ]
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Like the fact that Adrian's embarrassment feels particularly good. ]
'If I am amenable'.
[ Amazing how someone who—
—head tilted back, throat bared
—And when you're awake? What do you do, then?
—So please, help me.
—can manage to sound so stiff and formal now. If he is amenable, as though Eliot isn't already planning how best to fuck him, to take him apart. He feels... ravenous almost, the way he wants to ruin him. Mess him up. Guess he shouldn't really be allowed to have something so pure in his hands.
Of course, all he says is: ]
Sure. I'd be amenable.
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He's just come. If nothing else, it ought to take the edge off, but instead he feels dizzy with desire that isn't entirely his own. His understanding of what he's supposed to do, what he's even offering, is somewhat... academic, to say the least. Eliot's plans are vivid flashes, fully realized, rough and messy. Adrian's hand goes to his own throat, where Eliot's had been. He's grateful for the wall behind him.
He knows these aren't his thoughts, because he's never really entertained the idea of being bent over someone's lap, spanked and fingered open. Choked. Made to come with tears in his eyes. Eliot wants to treat him like an object to be played with until it's broken, and Adrian... finds both the danger and the desire intoxicating. Eliot is not the first to want to ruin him, but he is the first to ask.
Adrian flexes his fingers, as he often does before a spell. It takes him a minute to focus on the actual spell and not what Eliot is thinking about, to move his fingers in the specific sequence required. ]
I pray for your cleansing grace.
[ The nature of his magic — a request to his patron, rather than something inherent to him — makes this feel somehow even more scandalously filthy. It's one thing to clean up a blood stain, or the dirt and sweat of a day's work, and another to make this particular stain on the front of his trousers vanish, knowing its origin.
Realistically, he knows that Raphael doesn't care to monitor every spell he casts, even when their connection is more clear... and yet, that doesn't change the fact that it's humiliating to ask such a thing.
He smooths out the front of his shirt, entirely unnecessarily, to have an excuse not to look at Eliot. ]
I can... tell. [ He can think about why he can tell a bit later. Adrian clears his throat. ] Lead the way.
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He takes a step back, and then another, feels as though cold air has rushed to fill the space between them. ]
Come on. If you're not dead set on getting a room we can go back to mine. My car ain't too far from here anyway.
[ He leads them out of the alley at any rate and down the road in the direction of his car. He figures that regardless of if they do just get a room somewhere or not, Eliot's not gonna be leaving his car here unguarded for so long. ]
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Not that it does him much good to know the full breadth of Eliot's creativity.
Adrian all too easily gets tangled in the logistics of all of the things he really can't (shouldn't) do, not without potentially hurting Eliot all over again. That doesn't mean the offer isn't tempting; an apple so red and perfectly sweet that breaking the skin with his teeth feels inevitable.
Mercifully, driving takes some concentration from Eliot. Adrian, in the passenger seat, has the wherewithal to send a text message to Fern, lest she worry and come looking. He's with a friend, he tells her. Morgan will come and get her if anything goes awry but he — might not be back until morning. (Surely, being kept until morning is a fantasy like the rest of Eliot's ideas.)
Otherwise, he keeps his hands very primly in his lap and gazes through the window, eyes unfocused. If he watches Eliot's hand fondle the stick shift, he might very well go insane.
Of course, the relative peace between them doesn't last. Adrian watches Eliot get into a minor tiff with another driver, cut them off, and even though he doesn't say anything, Eliot picks up on his disapproval. They start arguing.
They keep arguing in the parking lot of Eliot's motel, then all the way to his room. Adrian tells him he could have been the bigger person, and Eliot tells him to get over himself. As soon as the door closes behind them, they're in each other's faces again.
Would you shut up about it already? Eliot growls. Adrian grabs him by the shirt again, drags him close to where he stands at the edge of the bed. ]
I thought you were going to make me. What happened to your lofty ambitions, Mr. Spencer?
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This time the feeling calcifies inside him, hardens and then sharpens, focuses on the irritating man in front of him goading him because he doesn't seem to understand cause and effect. Eliot doesn't bother to respond, just steps back, knocks away the weak hold Adrian has on him and then kicks out his knee, a hand on his shoulder to force him down. On the ground, on his knees, looking up at Eliot. If he tries to get up Eliot will force him down again. Hopefully it doesn't take long for him to get the message to stay put. ]
Yeah, I said a lot of things, didn't I?
[ The question is rhetorical. Eliot moves away as he speaks, but only as far as his bedside table so he can grab a string of condoms before returning. ]
But you said some things too. About doing something for me in return. Isn't that right?
[ Rhetorical again. Already his hands are at his waistband, belt chiming as he undoes it and then his jeans. His actions are unhurried: fishing his cock half-hard out of his boxers, tearing open a condom, and then rolling it on. He taps the tip of it to Adrian's bottom lip and a quiet thrill goes through him like lightning going to ground. ]
Open up.
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Eliot isn't going to hurt him, not in any way that he can't abide... But there is some part of him that does want to be hurt, for once, on terms he's already chosen. He's seen the worst that Eliot can do to him. Fear is not what he feels. ]
Whatever you want. [ He says, as if it needs to be clarified. As if he doesn't want to swallow his tongue for how eagerly the quiet admission comes.
He settles more comfortably on his knees, anticipation tying his stomach into knots. He understands the mechanics. It's just -- application.
He watches everything Eliot does, bottom lip caught between his teeth, hands folded over each other in his lap. Despite all his goading, he wants to be good. Useful. Or used, at least.
(What would his family think of all of this? Does it matter, after everything else? He's already disappointed them. He's already too far from home to ever find it again.)
He opens his mouth slowly, breathing through his nose as he leans forward to take the head of Eliot's cock. It feels larger than he expected it to. All he can taste is latex and a hint of salt, but the nearly naked heat of another body this intimately close is intoxicating. He can smell Eliot's arousal, bitter and musky, and a part of him wonders what it tastes like.
His cheeks hollow out as he sucks, taking another inch before pulling back to lick at the tip, just under the glans. He looks up at Eliot when he does, expression singularly focused, like he's hoping to figure out what Eliot enjoys by analyzing his reaction.
He has no idea how he's supposed to take the rest of it into his mouth without choking but -- he'll surely find a way. ]
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The feeling echoes inside him, as though it's coming through from both ends and a smile flickers across his lips, there and gone again. He curls his other hand around the back of Adrian's head, and on the next push in he tilts it for a better angle, offering another hum as he slips in deeper. The condom dulls a lot of the feeling, but every flick of Adrian's tongue still feels revelatory, gets him fully hard in no time at all.
He wonders if it makes him a bad person to like the way it stretches out Adrian's mouth. The little noises he makes as he chokes.
Whatever you want.
Eliot tightens his grip on the back of Adrian's head and snaps his hips forward. ]
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He tenses when Eliot's hand curls into his hair, fleetingly concerned that he's being too incautious, but then Eliot forces him to tilt his head up and pulls him so far forward that his dick bumps against the back of Adrian's throat. He struggles to relax against the intrusion. If his mouth wasn't full, he might start coughing, but Eliot doesn't give him long enough to do that.
He gets a breath in between every movement, and then Eliot is forcing Adrian's head forward until he's right up against the back of his throat again, Adrian swallowing around him instinctively even as his eyes water enough to blur his vision. He's barely managing to keep up with Eliot dragging him by the hair, but it's not until he feels Eliot push further into his mouth that he starts to panic, pulling away from the hand gripping his hair, pushing at Eliot's hips.
Eliot is so much stronger than he is, can hold him in place so easily regardless of how he fights— Adrian looks up at him, pleading. It's too much. It's too fast. He can't do it. ]
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(Should have known better, Spencer.)
This is probably the part where he leaves Adrian alone. It certainly ain't the part where he touches him again. His hands hover over him, useless, and then with a sharp exhale through his nose he sets a hand on his shoulder, the second on his chest. ]
Breathe. That's it. All you gotta do is breathe. Slowly. [ added as Adrian wheezes ] Feel where my hand is. Push it out with your chest.
[ The words are largely rote, like Adrian's just some faceless victim right now. Compartmentalisation. He got real good at that being a soldier. Helps him not to feel the things he doesn't want to. ]
How are you feeling?
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As soon as he's free, Adrian is on his hands and knees coughing into the motel carpet. Thankfully, he doesn't vomit, but there's a faint taste of bile at the back of his throat. Some detached part of him notes; dizzy, rapid heartbeat. He should have slowed down sooner. He should have gotten some rest before he tried to do any of this.
He doesn't expect Eliot's hands on him again. Adrian tenses, instinctive, but he grabs for the hand on his chest to hold it there. He takes slowly deepening breaths, chest rising to meet Eliot's touch, just as instructed.
There is something horribly reassuring about Eliot's reaction, despite everything. Despite knowing that, for a few moments, Eliot had enjoyed hurting him. Adrian has put his faith in the wrong people before, and has most certainly been hurt by that faith, but the immediate concern makes it clear that he had been correct in his assumptions. Eliot will do nothing to him that he doesn't invite.
...Which makes it even more obvious who ought to shoulder the full blame for this situation. ]
Sorry. [ Adrian manages finally, voice hoarse. He manages to sit up on his knees again and wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He doesn't manage to meet Eliot's gaze, though frustration and disappointment and guilt are already beginning to bleed back into him as the panic recedes. ] I'm sorry, I thought I could do it. [ He makes a sound too brief and bitter to be a laugh. It's always like this, getting in over his head and coming up short. ]
I'm fine. I'm fine. [ His grip on Eliot's hand hasn't eased. ] Please don't leave. We can try again.
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[ Anything inside him that might have wanted, any speck of desire, has gone sour now. To think that someone like him could want to— could think about playing pretend in hurting someone and not have it turn into something real. There's a tangle of emotion sitting thick and sticky at the back of his throat like bile, and it doesn't taste like his. And it was him who did that.
And yet, for some reason Adrian still holds his hand to his chest like the past ten minutes never happened. Eliot can feel the way Adrian's heart races under his palm but for some reason he still wants to be here. Wants Eliot here.
Does Adrian have anyone else? Someone like that is bound to be tripping over friends but if he doesn't then maybe Eliot's all he's got right now. Fuck. The hand on Adrian's shoulder smooths down his spine in something approaching comfort and Eliot softens his voice even further. ]
Come on. Let's get you some water and then... [ He stalls out here. It's far too late to be sending Adrian out alone, especially when he's pretty sure his magic all got used up earlier. And if he doesn't have anyone to pick him up then... ] You can take the bed. I'll stay over there— [ he jerks his head over towards the door ] —and drive you home in the morning.
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[ He can feel that Eliot's already too far out of it, and frankly... exhaustion is starting to catch up with him. He doesn't know that he can do it right now, at least not the specific way that Eliot had wanted. He'd expected to see Eliot's disappointment, if not his anger, but all of that is instead directed... inward. He doesn't seem to care at all that Adrian couldn't do what he wanted, only that he himself had pushed too far. He doesn't like that he's crossed some line that neither of them had been aware of until it happened.
Eliot's hand on his back feels good, warm and real, but he never speaks to Adrian this softly, like he's coaxing a frightened animal. Adrian wants to enjoy it, but all he can hear is the guilt layered into it. He can get some water and then... Adrian follows Eliot's gaze, and the slow burn of exhaustion and unhappiness suddenly crystalizes. It's as if the world falls back into sharp relief, the burning in his chest old and familiar. ]
In the hallway? [ He finally lifts his hand away from his chest to grab Eliot's jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He meets Eliot's gaze, their faces barely an inch from each other. The damage to his throat lends a slight roughness to his voice when he speaks. ] Enough. I panicked. I'm sorry that I made a mess of things... but you didn't do anything that I didn't invite you to do.
If you are under the impression that you've caused some grievous wound, or that I am afraid of you now — you will reconsider that impression. Are we clear?
[ His grip eases just slightly. ] I understand if you do not wish to continue... but I will not understand the rest.
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(And even if it was, could he begrudge Adrian a hit or two after what just happened?)
Instead he gets the complete opposite. Instead he gets an Adrian who decides to comfort him. An Adrian who wants him to know, in no uncertain terms, that he didn't do anything wrong. An Adrian who seems to think that... he's the one at fault? ]
Stop.
[ His voice comes out rough too, but that's mostly because he's happy he didn't somehow manage to traumatise the kid. His hand lifts to flick Adrian on his stupid forehead before— fuck, he remembers the curse. He tugs on his hair instead. ]
If I ain't at fault then that goes double for you. Don't ever apologise to me for that ever again.
[ His gaze slides away for a second, and then he forces it back. As much as he'd rather chew glass than have this conversation, Adrian clearly wants to keep doing this, so... ]
Alright. What are you inviting me to do to you then?
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