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Adam is invited over for wine as a pretense, though it had been his idea in the first place. He shows up a little after seven, holding a bottle of red, something almost expensive. Declan lets him in, lets his hand brush over Adam’s side, briefly, barely a touch.
“How have you been?” Adam asks, taking off his coat. Declan hangs it up in the front closet for him.
“Good,” Declan says, not thinking. Adam’s shirt is fitted, probably new, navy stretching over the lines of his body, clean and neat.
Aubrey comes downstairs, adjusting her cardigan. She smiles at Adam, polite. “How are you?”
“I’m doing alright,” he says.
“Let me take that for you,” she says, and Adam hands her the bottle of red. She disappears down the hall into the kitchen, and Declan hears the clicking of wine glasses.
Adam follows Declan into the living room, sits in one of the chairs across from him.
Aubrey comes out with two glasses of wine, one for her, one for Adam. Declan doesn’t drink, because he never drinks before sex. Aubrey murmurs, “You want anything to drink?” and he shakes his head, running a hand over the small of her back as she sits.
She settles onto his chest, a little closer than she would usually be in front of a guest, head laid onto Declan’s chest. He wraps his arm around her waist; on first glance, he would look possessive of her, but if watched closely enough, it’s obvious that she’s the one in control here.
Adam sips his wine, slow, looking at Declan as he sets the glass back down on the side table. His knee is bouncing slightly, but except for that, he looks as calm as he can be. Declan thinks he might be sweating, probably looking like a prey animal being hunted.
The fact that Aubrey is so similar to Adam has never been lost to Declan. It’s the reason he was attracted to Aubrey in the first place, even if he’d never really admit it, even if he convinces himself it’s just because she was his type, with her sharp tongue and quiet smile. In the bedroom the similarity is even more obvious; they’re both demanding, a little cruel, the tiniest bit sadistic, the way Declan likes it.
Declan seems to have lost the ability to talk. Aubrey and Adam have struck up a conversation, chatting politely about a mutual acquaintance from school, a girl that happens to work with Aubrey now. They laugh, sip their drinks. Declan feels pent-up, guilty, sins building in his stomach. He can’t stop imagining them together, their blond heads tilted over each other, soft lips pressed against each other.
Fuck, he thinks. I need to get my shit together.
Adam uncrosses his legs, sets the empty glass down on the side table. The townhouse feels too cold, goosebumps along Declan’s arms, and too warm, his brow gathering nervous sweat. He thinks this is probably a terrible idea. Adam’s smiling, the alcohol working its way through his system slowly. He doesn’t usually drink—when he does he gets mean, usually, and Declan knows that he hates that about himself. But Declan likes it when he’s mean, needs the cruelty.
Aubrey stretches, toned arms above her head, a thin slice of stomach revealed beneath her cardigan shirt. It’s not that sexy, but Adam watches her moves like a man starved. Declan watches Adam watch his wife and feels his face grow hotter by the moment.
He kisses Aubrey in front of Adam, just to prove something to himself, tilting her face down towards hers. He keeps his eyes open, watching Adam. He meets Adam’s eyes, and the other man’s gaze is hard, sharp. Declan feels pinned, like he’s being viewed through a rifle sightline. Declan licks into Aubrey’s mouth and stays staring at Adam, the two of them not breaking away. Adam loses first, rips himself away, and Declan breaks the kiss.
Aubrey slips off the couch and pads over to the chair that Adam’s sitting in, straddles his lap and kisses him, too. Adam watches Declan the whole time, and Declan feels on display. He thinks he might be hard, but he doesn’t look down, doesn’t think he can even move right now.
It doesn’t take them long to get into the bedroom. Aubrey’s a lightweight, gets too happy, too handsy after she’s had a glass of wine, just the tiniest bit tipsy. Usually she would be better at controlling it, but she doesn’t need to right now. Her and Adam have let down their guard, slightly, but they’re still wary of each other. Declan isn’t surprised at all.
Somehow Declan is the first one undressed, stripped down to his boxers, Aubrey with a hand on the back of his neck, nails creeping towards his hair. Adam’s against the bedroom door, a careful eye on both of them, studying the dynamic. He’s a quick learner, just like Aubrey.
Adam asks, voice low, “You want to blow me?”
“I think he does,” Aubrey says, nails digging into the soft flesh at Declan’s nape, just the way he likes it. She likes to pull on his hair; he likes when she does. “Right, baby?”
Declan lets out a long sigh. He’s not chatty during sex, and they both know it, but sometimes she likes to draw it out of him, a little humiliation, embarrassment. Declan’s nothing if not Catholic; the guilt eats at him. Even here, now, with his wife and his—whatever Adam is—he can’t escape the feeling that he’s doing something wrong.
“Come on,” Adam says, unbuttoning his pants. Dark pants, almost slacks. Declan could laugh at Adam’s attempt to dress up for a threesome, if he wasn’t so turned on. He shuffles on his knees towards Adam, who’s smiling, almost patronizing, hand reaching out for Declan. Aubrey’s still behind him, leading him.
Adam’s hot on his tongue, not completely hard, but it doesn’t take long for him to fill up Declan’s mouth. Declan opens his eyes and looks up at him, eyes watering ever-so-slightly. Adam’s kissing over the crux between Aubrey’s neck and collarbone, the same place that Declan likes to kiss him. Declan hums around Adam.
Adam says, “Fuck, you’re good with your tongue,” and Aubrey says, “Isn’t he?”
“Learned it for me,” Adam says to her. “So good, Declan.”
It’s not true—Declan was sucking dick years before Adam, though it is true that Adam’s the only one he’s perfected it on. Declan wants to palm himself at the praise, but he’s good, he knows not to, not yet. Adam’s socked foot comes up to nudge at him instead, and Declan chokes, takes him just a little deeper. Aubrey’s running a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp.
“Come on, baby,” Aubrey murmurs against his ear, pushing his head deeper. Declan can’t deepthroat, has never been able to. He splutters over it, eyes really watering now as he looks up at Adam, whose head is tipped back against the door, column of his throat bright in the darkened room.
“Fuck,” Adam says, reaching for the back of Declan’s head at the same time Aubrey moves her hand, going to trace Declan’s cheek, the soft bulge of it, the spot where Adam’s cock slips in and out of Declan’s mouth, spit-slick.
Declan can tell when Adam’s about to come, thighs barely shaking. Declan’s ready for the bitter slide of come, so he’s surprised when Adam pulls out, begins taking his pants off, revealing tasteful navy boxers that get dropped to the floor with the slacks. Any other night Adam would fold his clothes and set them aside, which means that tonight must be special, because he starts over towards the bed, leaving them crumpled on the floor.
He kisses Aubrey, who is slowly undressing to reveal matching black lace, a little sexy, but Declan knows that it’s the kind of thing she wears regularly, which means it’s fairly practical. She sits on the bed, legs are hanging off, Adam’s fingers on her chin, pulling her into a kiss. Declan waits on his knees and watches, feeling desperate.
“Let me take that off you,” Adam says, ever the gentleman. Aubrey smiles, but it’s shy, reserved. She doesn’t argue when Adam undoes the clasp on the bra, though, or when he begins slipping her panties down her soft, shaved thighs.
Adam reaches down and drags his fingers through her wetness, and Declan watches, enraptured, jealous, feeling like a starving man. Adam sucks a bruise into Aubrey’s collarbone, and Declan wonders if Adam’s thinking about him, about the way Declan moans under Adam’s mouth when he hits that same spot.
He finds his voice, rasps, “Suck on her tits. She likes that.”
“Oh, and should I take orders from you?” Adam asks, half-teasing, but he leans down to swirl a clever tongue around a pink nipple, hardened from the bedroom air. Declan’s still kneeling on the carpet; he wants to move closer, see what Adam’s doing, but he doesn’t think he’s allowed.
Adam’s slipped a finger in, slow, gentle, and Declan thinks he might be curling it in, the way he does when he works Declan open. He’s more careful than he would be with Declan, mouth working the other breast now. Aubrey’s eyes are closed, her mouth soft and open, and Declan loves the sight of her during sex, the way her movements slowly become less reserved.
Adam lifts his head from her chest, says, “Come over here.”
Declan moves to stand. Adam tsks, adding another finger into Aubrey, and says, “Crawl.”
Declan crawls. He’s good. He does what he’s told. The carpet is rough against his palms and knees, and the dull sensation of pain is satisfying. The distance isn’t very long, but Declan can feel two sets of eyes watching every move, and it makes every second feel impossibly long.
“Good,” Aubrey says, from the bed, breathy. She’s propped herself up on her elbows to watch him, and reaches her fingers down to brush over his hair, but she misses, and brushes his eyelids instead. Declan shuts his eyes and revels in the touch. He wonders if Adam will ever touch him, beyond what they’ve already done.
Adam says, “Do you think you were good?”
Declan does not answer. He knows his own answer; he doesn’t know what Adam’s thinking.
“Here’s your rules,” Adam says. Declan watches him move, the angles of his body, from what feels like miles away. “Watch. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch your wife. Don’t touch yourself. Nod if you understand.”
Declan’s breath hitches at the word wife—he’d forgotten, for a half-second, that he was even married. He nods, quickly, bobbing his head so many times he thinks it might fall off his neck.
“Good.” Adam says, and nothing more. Declan wonders how he can be so
“Take this off,” Aubrey says, tugging at Adam’s shirt. He does, slowly taking it off, folding it, setting it on the little bench at the end of the bed. Declan watches the lines of his body, the light muscle building out his frame, the smattering of freckles, the mean, harsh little scars.
Adam climbs up onto the bed, maneuvering Aubrey so that she’s propped against the pillows. He leans down, kisses her sternum, across her thighs, and she laughs, lightly, at the sensations. Declan misses the feeling of her body beneath his; he misses the feeling of Adam’s body above his. All of a sudden, the rug he’s kneeling on is very cold and very lonely.
“Condom?” he asks, quietly. She shakes her head.
“I want you to come in me,” she says, looking over at Declan, who blinks, fists his hands into balls. He knows she wants him to be jealous, to see Adam marking her in a way Declan isn’t allowed to right now. From here, on the floor beside the bed, neither of them can see him. He thinks about rutting into his hands, touching himself. He doesn’t—he can be good. He knows he can.
Adam slides into Aubrey in one smooth motion, and she arches off the bed, not quite as much as a pornstar, but enough that Declan knows it’s a show. She’s not like this with him, usually—she prefers being on top of him. He wonders if she’ll end up riding Adam. He’d like seeing that, he thinks, though this view is just as satisfying.
He sets a slow pace at first, leaning down to kiss her, open-mouthed, dirty. Declan catches glimpses of their tongues, the soft pink tangled together. His mouth feels very, very dry; his boxers feel very, very tight.
The two of them on top of each other is almost uncanny, blond meeting blonde, Adam’s freckled skin a contrast to Aubrey’s milky white stomach. Their eyelashes are the same, long and straight, almost too-light to be noticeable, dusting over cheekbones. Twin models, in Declan’s marriage bed. He doesn’t know who to look at, who to focus his attention on—he’s so desperately turned on by both of their bodies.
“You feel good,” Adam says, barely even out of breath, picking up the speed. Declan’s impressed by his stamina. He wishes he was a little closer, that he could see Adam moving in and out of her, the place where their bodies meet.
“You look good,” she says, eyes shut, head tilted back. “Mm. You’re so hot, Adam.”
“I’m rarely told that in bed,” he says, a half-grin on his face. “That’s usually the foreplay.”
“We’ve passed that, haven’t we?” she replies. Her light laugh turns into a breathy moan when Adam reaches down to twist a pink nipple between his fingers, rolling it between index and thumb.
“Fuck,” she says, still grinning, almost laughing, but still breathy, almost moaning. “Ah, fuck, Adam.”
“Like that?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, yeah, like that.”
Adam’s other hand snakes down to her clit, and Declan can’t see the motions, but from Aubrey’s reaction it’s good. She arches her back more, still putting on a show, and looks over towards Declan. Their eyes meet, and Adam follows her gaze to see Declan, too.
“You’re behaving yourself, right?” Adam asks.
“Of course he is,” Aubrey says. “He’s a good boy.”
“Ha,” Adam replies. “For you, maybe.”
“For me, maybe,” she amends, reaching out a hand for Declan. It’s not close enough, and Declan mourns the touch, the warmth.
Adam gasps when Aubrey moves her hips, getting him deeper. Declan wishes he could feel it, loves how she feels on him, loves how Adam feels in him, wishes he wasn’t here, knelt down on the rug, waiting, wanting. She’s beautiful; he’s stunning, statues, gods. Declan watches, rapt.
“Can I—” Adam starts. His hips are stuttering, now, rhythm thrown off. Declan wonders if he’s thinking about fucking into Declan, the heat of their bodies enjoined, or if he’s too enraptured by Aubrey, by her blonde hair and pink lips and long lashes.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Harder, Adam. Fill me up. I want him to see your come in me.” It’s filthy, dirty, and Declan resists the urge to palm at himself through his boxers.
It doesn’t take Adam much longer to finish into her, his fingers rubbing fast over her clit, his mouth working her right breast. She finishes after him, moaning loud, and Declan wishes he could feel her twitching around him, wishes he could feel Adam spilling into him. The rug feels punishing beneath his legs. He basks in the feeling.
Adam doesn’t pull out right away, looks over at Declan. “Your mouth tired?”
Declan looks at him and thinks in another life, maybe if Adam was a woman, he could have loved him. Thinks that maybe Aubrey’s a close second. Adam raises an eyebrow, expectant. “No,” Declan says, managing to find his words.
“Clean her up,” Adam says, pulling out, collapsing on the side furthest from Declan.
Declan takes the order as well as he takes any other, which is to say, perfectly and beautifully. He climbs onto the bed, still on his knees, settles himself between her legs. She’s soaked, some of it making her thighs sticky, shiny. When he breathes out, she twitches slightly with overstimulation. Adam’s come is milky white, a slow spill out, and Declan feels an inferno inside him, a mixture of jealousy and arousal that he can’t separate out.
Declan sets in on his task, tongue careful between folds, sucking gently at her clit. He knows she doesn’t like too much, not right away. He dips into her core, the hot, wet center, and she moans above him, digs her nails into his head. He can taste Adam’s come in her, the two flavors mixing onto his tongue, bitterness, heat.
Her thighs tighten around his head. Declan looks up, nose filled with the scent of her, slightly sour, a little bitter. Her head is thrown back, elbows still dug into the bed, moaning softly from the overstimulation. Declan makes eye contact with Adam, direct, and Adam grins wickedly.
“Ah, fuck,” she says above them, and Adam’s hand weaves down to Declan’s neck, somehow, pressing his face into hers. “Ah, you’re so good, Declan.”
He lets the praise wash over him and tries to not let it turn him on so much. Sin of pride, or whatever. Ignoring the fact that he’s given into his sin of lust twenty times over, in just the past twenty minutes or so.
Declan’s good with his mouth, and he knows that. Aubrey’s thighs tighten around his head again, and she pushes him down onto her. Declan looks up to meet Adam’s eyes again, staring into the harsh blue of them, and Adam’s looking right back, like he can’t turn away.
“You like tasting me in your wife?” Adam asks.
Declan moans his assent; the vibrations make Aubrey jolt above him. Adam’s toying with her hair, rubbing at her scalp, soothing. Declan’s jealous of the attention, then hates himself for feeling it.
He ruts down into the bed, once, twice, the sensation perfect, addicting. He moans into Aubrey again, sucking Adam’s come out of her.
“Stop that,” Adam says, voice coming harsh over the quiet sounds of Aubrey. Declan stops. “Raise your hips. Don’t rut against the bed. You touch yourself when we tell you. You don’t come until we say. Nod if you agree.”
Declan nods, rapidly, lifting his hips, trying to ignore the burst of arousal that came through at Adam’s words. In the back of his mind, shame wreathes itself tight, coiled, ready to burst.
Adam says, “Good. Make your wife come.”
Declan gets back to work. Part of him thinks about the risk of pregnancy, about what it would be like to raise a child that isn’t even his. How strange it would be, to always have a reminder of Adam, to always be looking into his eyes. He looks up at Adam, who’s watching, eyes sharp even after orgasm, and he hopes Adam’s thinking about it, too.
His jaw hurts by the time Aubrey comes, a quiet orgasm, twitching around his tongue, thighs jerking. She sighs, long and loud, when Declan pulls away from her, opening and closing his mouth once, feeling his jaw pop, her slick making his face sticky.
The first thing he says is “Please, Adam, please.”
“I’m not the only person you have to ask,” Adam says, fingers massaging Aubrey’s temples. Declan wonders if he’s even attracted to her, if he likes her, or if this is some kind of cruel punishment for him.
Aubrey’s eyes are half-shut. She asks, “How bad do you want to come?”
“So much,” Declan says, feeling desperate. He’s kneeling on the end of the bed, Adam and Aubrey laid at the head, her bright blonde twined beneath his dirty-blond. He’s rubbing over her stomach, now, possessive, like a lover, like a husband. “Please, can I come? I need to.”
“Desperation gets you nowhere,” Adam says, indifferent.
“I—what do you want me to do? I’ll do it, I swear,” Declan says, feeling manic, feeling crazed. He’s so hard he thinks all the blood’s disappeared from the rest of his body just to wait in his dick.
Adam says, “Take your boxers off.”
Declan strips hastily, discarding the boxers off the side of the bed. He looks back up at Adam, expectant. Aubrey’s sighing slow as Adam’s hand tracing the pale curves of her body. The light of the street ripples over the two of them, makes Declan feel wrong, obscene, too far away from either of them to touch.
“Adam,” he says, desperation creeping in. His dick is hard, hot, every drop of blood in Declan’s body straining up, up. He clenches his fist, watches the lines of Aubrey’s body move as Adam’s hands play over her breasts.
Adam says, “Touch yourself. Slow.”
Aubrey opens her eyes, interested. Declan reaches into his boxers, moans out loud when he gets a hand around himself, his dick hard and hot beneath his palm. Part of him wishes it was Aubrey, but more of him wishes it was Adam.
He speeds up unconsciously, needing it, feeling like he might die without it. Adam says, sharp, “Slow down. You’re not allowed to come yet.”
The lack of control is heady. Declan feels desperation wash over him at the same time a slow peace, an acceptance of his fate, does. His hand feels disconnected from his body, not his, but Adam’s, Aubrey’s. She smiles softly at him from her spot on the bed.
“Adam, please,” he says. Not a whine, because he doesn’t believe in whining, but it’s close enough. “Can I?”
“Can you what?”
“Can I go faster, Adam, can I come—”
“Faster, yes. Don’t come.”
Declan swears under his breath. He’s going to need a lot of Confession after this, he thinks distantly. He speeds up, feeling orgasm crashing towards him, like two planets on a collision course.
“Don’t come,” Adam orders. Declan groans, stills his hand. “Did I say stop? Keep going.”
“I’ll come,” Declan says. “If I keep going, I’ll come.”
“Too bad. You can control yourself.”
Aubrey murmurs, “You’re doing so good, baby.”
Declan’s other hand tightens on his thigh, blunt nails digging into the skin. “Adam, Adam, I can’t.”
“You can,” Aubrey says, sitting up to climb over to Declan, kissing him softly on the temple, resting her forehead against him. Even with her this close to him, Declan’s looking at Adam, their eyes locked onto each other. Declan moans, loud, into the air between him and Aubrey. “Come on, baby, I know you can be good,” she coaxes.
Sweat is pooling on Declan’s back. He thinks he’s going to come, anyway, even if Adam doesn’t say he can. He thinks he’d probably enjoy the punishment that Adam gives him, anyway.
Adam, so casual, says, “Come.” His voice sounds a mile away. Declan meets his eyes, and can’t tell what’s happening in their depths.
Declan does, almost immediately after Adam says so. It rushes through him as he spills into his hand, gasping like he’s just resurfaced after a long dive. He can’t think of anything except Adam, except Aubrey, except the two of them intertwined without Declan. It’s one of the best orgasms he’s had in several years.
At some point Aubrey sits back onto Adam’s chest, and he wraps his arm around her waist. Declan feels dirty, like a pervert, his come splattered over his own chest, into his fist. It’s humiliating, sitting in front of them like this, like he’s on display.
“Clean yourself up,” Adam says.
Declan does, licking over his hand, smearing it over his palm with a sloppy tongue. He tries to get the bits on his stomach before they dry, licking that off his fingers, too. The humiliation of it is enough to make his dick twitch again, a valiant effort. He makes eye contact with Adam as he licks up the length of his index, and Adam’s jaw tightens.
“Good boy,” Aubrey says, softly. Declan wants to collapse onto their bodies but he stays kneeling at the end of the bed. He can be good. He can wait for orders.
Adam gets off the bed, heads into the bathroom, silent. Aubrey gestures for Declan to come lay with her, and he does, sated, heart starting to slow. She wraps her arms around him, a lover’s embrace, and Declan closes his eyes and feels himself drift.
The faucet shuts off, and footsteps reenter the room. Declan cracks open an eye to watch Adam lean down over the bed and kiss Aubrey, tenderly, close-lipped, chaste. Adam walks away, begins picking up the clothes.
“You don’t have to do that,” Aubrey murmurs, quietly. Declan feels the vibrations of her voice through her chest.
“I don’t mind,” Adam says, setting Declan’s clothes, folded neatly, on the edge of the bed. “It’s the least I can do.”
He leaves the room, suddenly, most of his clothes still left folded, which means he’s found one of Declan’s shirts. Declan shifts off Aubrey’s chest, gets off the bed. He finds his boxers, digs through his drawers for a loose shirt. He would be more tasteful about finding pajama pants if he hadn’t just had sex with both of them. Aubrey watches him carefully, eyes studying him, and Declan can’t read her any more than he can read Adam.
“You looked beautiful,” Declan says to her, coming over and kissing her on the top of her head.
“Thank you,” she replies, quiet. She gets out of bed, wraps herself around his body. Declan strains his ears for Adam, a door shutting, the rumble of a car, but he can’t hear anything. “Did you like it?”
Declan hums into her hair, feeling suddenly tender. He does love her, he thinks, as he holds her close to him. He does not think about how similar her face is to Adam’s, how similar their smiles are, and he certainly does not think about any of the things that he feels about Adam.
She breaks away first, goes rummaging through her side of the closet for a shirt. Declan goes downstairs, looking for Adam and his cigarettes, which are stashed in the back of the kitchen junk drawer.
Adam’s sipping a glass of water, sitting at the kitchen island, shadowed by the evening light. Declan turns on the kitchen light, heads over to the junk drawer, starts rummaging. The cigarettes aren’t there—he turns, looks over to Adam, silent.
“Here,” Adam says, shoving the carton and a lighter over to Declan. It slides smoothly over the marble counter, and Declan catches it.
“What, did you have one?”
“No. But I figured you might want one.”
Declan sighs and takes a cigarette from the carton. Adam’s wearing one of Declan’s shirts, an old college shirt, stretched and thin. Declan thinks about touching him, feeling his skin below the shirt, but at the last second, hand raised, he doesn’t.
It’s cold outside, but Declan sits on the back steps of the house, lights the cigarette, shielding the flame with his hand. He shivers, slightly, under the cold, the concrete steps freezing under his boxers. The back door opens and Adam comes out, sits beside him.
“Jesus, it’s cold out here,” Adam says. “Why the hell don’t you just sit inside?”
“Don’t want it to smell.”
Adam sighs, his breath coming in puffs against the cooling air. “Where’s your wife?”
“Showering, probably.”
Adam moves, briefly, as if to tilt his head against Declan’s shoulder, but rethinks it at the last minute. Declan wants to touch him, but it’s hard, even now, to just casually reach out like nothing at all. The cigarette is making him feel sick. He thinks he probably needs to go inside and get some antacids, after this.
Adam reaches out for the cigarette, and Declan lets him have it.
“You won’t like it,” he says.
“Whatever,” Adam says, taking a drag. He blows the smoke out, and it disappears into the night air. In one of the houses over, a dog has started barking. “I should get going.”
Declan wants him to stay, but he knows he can’t. “I’ll get your coat.”
“I have to change anyway,” Adam says, gesturing at the sweats and loose shirt, an old 5k shirt that Declan got a few years ago.
“Keep it,” Declan says. If nothing else at least Adam can have that, he thinks. If they can’t have each other.
“I’ll give it back eventually,” Adam offers, which they both know is a lie. Adam’s kept everything Declan’s ever given him, no matter how reluctantly. “Give your wife my regards.”
“She’ll be out of the shower soon.”
“I’ll be gone,” Adam says. “But seriously. Tell her she was beautiful.”
Declan sighs, stubs out the cigarette, half-finished. “I’ll let her know.”
“One time thing?” Adam asks, voice low, as if worried someone will hear.
“Only if you want. I wouldn’t tell you no.” It’s a reminder of something they said a long time ago; Declan barely remembers the promise now—the promise that he wouldn’t stop Adam. And he hasn’t. He really hasn’t.
They step back into the kitchen, and Declan tosses the cigarette. Waste of his money. Maybe he’ll let himself have another for this month. A treat, for when he gets flashbacks of this night, Adam and his wife. A little something for when the shame and guilt swallow him whole.
He rummages through a cabinet for antacids, and takes one. Adam watches him, keen-eyed, owlish, from the other side of the room. For a moment Declan could convince himself that this is his life, that Adam Parrish is something more than the boy—man, now—he sees every few months, if that. It’s an impossibility. He reminds himself that he would never want that, and buries the part of himself that calls it a lie.
“I’ll see you, Lynch,” Adam says. “Call me.”
“I’ll call,” Declan replies, following Adam to the front hall, where he grabs his coat. Declan goes upstairs, brings Adam’s clothes back down for him, and Adam takes them without a word.
It happens in an instant, like the night back in March, so long ago—Adam, grabbing the collar of Declan’s shirt, Declan, letting himself be pulled. The kiss is quick, dirty, hot air, teeth clacking once. When it’s over Declan’s stunned, because they don’t do this anymore, as if this is the singular line they can’t cross.
“Have a nice night, Lynch. Give your wife my best wishes,” Adam says, and then he’s out the door, and Declan knows he won’t forget this, not for as long as he lives. Upstairs the shower turns off; a car rumbles to life outside. Declan watches Adam go, because he’s always watching him go, always letting him leave, always losing him, again and again.