let's get lost, you can take me home...

[rockinhamburger]

Title: Dark and Empty Skies
Author: rockinhamburger
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Adam/Brad
Word Count: 3,800
Summary: Brad wants his parents to meet Adam. The evening doesn't go so well.
Notes: This was written as a response to the prompt left at the aianonlovefest here. There's major angst in this, but there's also some comfort to make it all better. The title for this was taken from the song 'The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face', which has been recorded by several artists including George Michael and Roberta Flack.



Brad's hands keep clenching on the steering wheel and the gearshift. About ten minutes into the drive, Adam leans over and kisses Brad lightly just behind Brad's ear. It relaxes Brad ever so slightly.

"Talk to me, baby," Adam says quietly, and Brad can see Adam looking at him earnestly in his peripheral vision.

Brad sighs softly and rolls his shoulders back. "I don't know, I just. I really want everything to go smoothly." Adam nods. He doesn't say anything, which is one of Brad's favourite things about Adam. He knows when to talk and when not to; when to just listen. "They've just never really given this part of my life much attention," Brad continues, "but you're important to me. And I want them to meet you and like you as much as I do."

They fall into a comfortable silence as Brad drives, punctuated once in a while by Adam singing a bar or two of some song, usually words that are meant to soothe Brad. Brad appreciates the gesture, even if it doesn't entirely work.

When they're about ten minutes away from the house he grew up in; the house in which Brad spent most of his childhood and adolescence feeling uncomfortable in his own skin; the house he could never fully call home, Brad starts to panic. He doesn't think Adam's noticed until Adam says, "Pull over."

Brad, trying to prevent himself from hyperventilating, pulls over with shaky, heavy limbs. Adam immediately unbuckles his own seat belt, and Brad's, and leans across the divide between them to pull Brad into his big, strong arms. Adam's arms never fail to make Brad feel safe and warm and a little scared and maybe a bit too in love.

Brad shudders and presses his face into Adam's collar, presses a kiss there after a breath. "I love you," he mumbles.

Adam's breath gusts out against Brad's ear. "I love you, B. So much."

-

Brad pulls into the driveway, puts the car in park, and shuts off the ignition. It's dusk, the last vestiges of daylight hanging stubbournly on as the darkness grows around them, a silence in the car with them so heavy it feels like a physical entity. It makes Brad's stomach clench with fear and anxiety.

Adam gets out of the car, walks around the front to Brad's side and opens the door wordlessly. He reaches in and unbuckles Brad's seatbelt, pulls Brad out of the seat, straightens him up and pulls him in for a reassuring kiss. "You ready?" he whispers against Brad's mouth.

Brad is unable to speak. He merely grabs Adam's hand in his own and lets Adam lead the way up the side path to the front steps, up, up, up, and right to the front door. Adam rings the doorbell, and then he fixes Brad with his warmest, brightest smile, the one he reserves only for Brad.

Brad feels a jolt of courage. He can do this. He can totally, absolutely do this.

The door opens after a short wait, and it's his mother standing there in the doorway, dressed in a plain black skirt and a beige blouse. Her eyes land on Brad first, and despite the many fights they've had, despite their many differences, Brad can see her love for him in that moment, and he thinks maybe this will be okay.

And then her eyes land on Adam. That's when the frown sets in.

Adam pays the frown no attention. He steps forward with a charming smile on his face and says, enthusiastically and graciously, "It's so nice to meet you, Mrs Bell. I'm Adam. Thank you for having me over."

When they'd talked on the phone last week, Brad had told -- more like warned his mother that he was bringing Adam over, but clearly the warning and the embodiment of that warning are separate experiences. She takes a moment to frown some more at the hand Adam's proffered with his greeting before taking it hesitantly and shaking it once, short and choppy.

"Nice to meet you too, Adam," she says with a politeness that's just a little too formal, and then she steps out on to her front porch to pull Brad into a short, equally formal hug. "Nice to see you too, dear."

Brad kisses her on the cheek. "Missed you, Mom..." he says, and she smiles briefly in response. Then she turns around and walks back inside her house, leaving Brad and Adam to let themselves in.

Brad's wearing a plain white t-shirt with a black zip-up sweater over it and his nicest pair of jeans. Adam's actually dressed out-of-character for the occasion, with a pair of his own nice jeans, but matched with a button-up shirt and a fitted blazer, the combination making him look nothing like the Adam that Brad's come to know and love so deeply in the last year.

They remove their shoes and head further into the house. Brad leads the way into the den where his dad is seated in the armchair in the corner with the day's newspaper in hand. He looks up from it, crumples it slightly in his lap and surveys Brad over his glasses. "Good to see you, son," he says, cold and tight.

Brad's heart sinks. He enters the room, pulling Adam along with him. "Hi Dad. This is Adam; Adam, my dad."

Adam walks up cautiously, hand outstretched. "Good evening, Mr Bell. Nice to meet you."

Brad's father does not deign to greet Adam in any way whatsoever. He appraises Adam with a very ugly expression on his face. He does not stand up or reach out to shake Adam's hand. He does not even speak.

Adam's whole body tenses. Brad can see the movement from where he's standing just inside the entrance to the den. He wants to go and comfort his wonderful, supportive boyfriend, but he has a feeling that will only make things worse.

"Adam? Come on, we can go see if my mom needs help with anything."

Adam hesitates for a moment, and then he nods vaguely and turns around to take the few steps back to where Brad's standing. As they exit the room together, Adam says over his shoulder, "Thank you for having me in your home."

Brad stops Adam just outside the kitchen. He reaches up and embraces Adam, staring up into Adam's gorgeous, sympathetic eyes. "I'm sorry," Brad whispers.

Adam shakes his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he whispers back. "I'm sorry, B."

They share a kiss that is equal parts comfort and desperation. Brad pulls back with a sound almost like a sob, and then he pulls away completely, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater and clearing his throat. He pushes the door to the kitchen open and walks inside.

"Need any help with dinner, Mom?" he asks tentatively. She's bent over the stove, peering into the oven. She starts and turns sharply to stare at Brad and Adam, and eventually shakes her head.

"No, we're just about ready. You can set the table."

Brad nods and walks over to the drawer where they keep the cutlery, taking four forks and knives and spoons, and then over to the cupboard where they keep their dishes. "Which dishes do you want to use, Mom?"

"The black ones, Bradley," she sighs heavily.

Brad freezes in his stretch to grab the plates from the second shelf. The black plates are his mom's least favourite, the ones she uses for unimportant guests, generally.

Brad's not sure why this particular gesture wounds him so deeply, but it hits him like a freight train. He wants to run right out of the house, back into the car, and escape with Adam and never return again. He takes several calming, deep breaths and retrieves the plates from the shelf, taking them into the dining room. He sets four places at the table, keenly aware of Adam's concerned eyes on him the entire time. He can't really see what he's doing with his eyes blurred by welled-up tears, but he's set the table so many times in his life, in various states of mind, that he could do it blindfolded.

He and Adam go to wash their hands in the downstairs bathroom sink, and when they return Brad's father has seated himself at the head of the table. Brad sits down on his left and Adam takes the seat across from Brad. His mother enters after a tense minute of silence with a casserole of some kind in a large serving dish. She doles out medium-sized portions on to each of their plates, and then her own, before placing the serving spoon on a napkin next to the casserole dish.

"Would you like to thank the Lord, Bradley?" his mom asks after an awkward pause.

Brad directs his most challenging expression at his mother, who has a look of cool almost-detachment on her face. Brad can recall hundreds of uncomfortable silences and directs glares over dinner, replays them in his mind's eye and smiles his best bullshit smile .

"Of course, Mom," he says with false cheeriness. He doesn't dare glance at Adam as he puts on a show of clasping his hands together just under his chin and clearing his throat. "Dearest Heavenly Father, thank you so much for the food we're about to eat, and please be with us during what is sure to be enlightened, compassionate conversation. Thank you for Mom and Dad, and for their unconditional love and embracing acceptance of others. Thank you for Adam. And finally, thank you Jesus for being so awesome. You were the One who said, 'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone'; please help us to be examples of that wonderful lesson from Scripture. A-MEN."

He turns to grin at his mother, who mutters a quiet, "Amen," and fixes Brad with a disapproving frown. Brad looks next at Adam, who is gazing down at his plate and biting his bottom lip to hide his amused smile, and finally at his dad, who is eating and paying no attention to anyone in the room.

Brad picks up his fork. "So, how are things in the Deep Heart?" Brad asks brightly. Brad's parents say nothing in response, which actually takes him aback. He was expecting standoffish behaviour from his parents, but this cold silence is unbelievably rude. Brad decides to try again. "So, Adam's a wonderful singer. He's been singing since he was, what, 8? 9?" he asks, tilting his head at Adam in inquiry.

Adam says, "10. It's a real passion of mine." Adam smiles at Brad, who returns it immediately with vigor.

Suddenly, Brad's father clears his throat. "And what do you do?" he asks Adam, not looking at Adam but at the wall behind him.

Adam looks bewildered for a moment, and then he tries for a pleasant smile. "I - well, I perform. I sing regularly at the Kodak theater in Los Angeles."

Brad's father finally settles his gaze on Adam properly. "What the hell kind of career is that?"

A heavy, painful silence fills the room, and Brad cannot stop himself from exclaiming, "DAD!"

"I suppose," he says, turning to glare at Brad instead of Adam, "you think that's a wonderful career."

Blood is pumping in Brad's ears, making him feel light-headed. "Yeah, Dad, I do! Adam's incredibly talented, and he's really going to make something of himself."

"Oh, like you're making something of yourself?" he snaps back, expression severe.

Brad's mouth falls open. He decides abruptly that they should really start fighting about what they're actually fighting about. "Oh wow. You know, this is real nice. You invite me and my boyfriend over, and then you insult us both and treat us like dirt. Thanks ever so much!"

"No, you invited him!"

Brad scrambles to his feet. "How dare you talk about Adam like he's not sitting right here at the table with you? For God's sake, learn some fucking manners -"

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" Brad's father shouts right back. "I am your father!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Brad scoffs, "I didn't realize it was fatherly to invite your son over for supper and barely greet him when he arrives. I had no idea it was fatherly to make no effort to greet your son's boyfriend and then say unbelievably rude things to both of them. Good to know; I'll log that away in case I ever decide to become a father. And you know what? I'll talk to you however I damn well please if you're going to treat someone I love with such blatant disrespect!"

"Get out!" Brad's father roars. "Get the hell outta my house! Take him with you and don't come back until you've learned some respect!"

Brad's pretty sure his jaw's actually touching the floor. He can only gape at his father, his heart in tiny little pieces on the carpet beneath him. He staggers back and hits his chair, which topples to the floor with a clatter.

Brad heaves a sob and drags in a ragged breath, turning wildly around, ready to sprint from the room. And then Adam's right there with a comforting, supportive arm around Brad's shoulders. "Come on, B."

As he escorts Brad from the dining room table, Brad wishes he could find words that would equally wound his father. But something Adam said to Brad the night they met, about how you may regret being unkind to someone but you'll never regret being nice to them, makes him stop and turn back.

"Thank you for supper, Mom," he says quietly, his voice shaking slightly. "I -" he hesitates and realizes he can't lie to them, even now. "I love you both."

Then he leads the way out of the house, Adam's warm, helping hand on the small of Brad's back the only thing keeping him together.

Adam wordlessly takes the driver's seat, and once they're on the road, once they're driving along the freeway in search of a cheap motel, Brad begins to shake, fat, hot tears pouring down his face and great sobs wracking his whole body. Adam keeps one of Brad's hands clasped tightly in his own as they drive, and he sings softly and I knew our joy would fill the earth and last til the end of time, my love, and Brad cries a little harder, grips Adam's hand a little tighter.

-

Adam wrestles open the door of the motel room and hits the light switch, casting a swathe of almost-orange light all along the tiny room. There's one queen-sized bed in the centre of it, a desk in the corner with a telephone and coffee machine on it, and a television against the wall. There's also a small side-table drawer with a funky-coloured lamp on it and what looks like a photocopied picture of a sunset framed on the wall opposite the window.

Brad spends several minutes taking in every detail of the motel room. His tears have abated for the moment, and it's as if the more time he spends examining the ugly beige carpeting that doesn't remotely match the green and blue patterned comforter stretched across the bed, the easier it is to put off the moment when he'll have to address what's happened tonight. Adam always manages to bring out the more emotional side of Brad, and that's saying something since Brad emotes plenty on his own.

Finally, when he can no longer keep up the pretense of finding the view of the dull parking lot outside utterly fascinating, he turns to Adam with a sigh.

"I'm really, really sorry about that," he says quietly, perching on the end of the bed.

Adam shakes his head and moves to stand between Brad's legs. He's already really tall, but now he's gigantic. Without speaking, Adam unzips and removes Brad's sweater and t-shirt. Then he takes off his own blazer, slinging it over the back of the chair in front of the desk before unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall carelessly to the floor. He reaches down to place a kiss on Brad's forehead. "Come on. Take off your pants and lie down on the bed."

Brad scrunches his nose in distaste. "There are at least ten jizz stains on this comforter," he whines.

Adam chuckles, pushing Brad gently onto his back and unhooking and pulling Brad's jeans down and off in one gentle movement. Adam wraps his hands around Brad's ankles and pushes him up toward the headboard until Brad co-operates by shimmying up the bed to lie with his head on one of the pillows. Adam shucks off his jeans and joins him a few moments later, curling up alongside Brad and pressing a kiss on the bridge of Brad's nose.

"I love you, Brad. You know that, right?"

The knot of emotion in Brad's chest throbs unhelpfully at these words. He nods his head, barely moving at all, and whispers, "Yeah. I love you too."

Adam frowns sadly. "I'm so sorry things didn't go the way you wanted them to."

"No!" Brad gasps, voice cracking as he succumbs to a fresh wave of tears, "You're not allowed to apologize, Adam! You're the one who had to sit there and listen to his bullshit, and all you ever did was try to be supportive. There is no - no fucking way --" But he stops, can't continue because, really, there are simply no words left in Brad's vocabulary to describe to Adam how utterly heartbroken he is right now.

Adam seems to understand, though; of course he does. He just tugs Brad's face toward his and seals his mouth over Brad's.

Oh yeah. This is what Brad needs right now, a distraction.

He kisses back immediately, hungrily, tugging on Adam's bottom lip with his teeth and groaning into Adam's mouth. Adam sucks gently on Brad's tongue and explores Brad's mouth slowly, with a tenderness that Brad cannot handle right now.

"Come on," he urges against Adam's lips, and then he moves to suck one of Adam's earlobes into his mouth, which usually drives Adam wild but only manages to make Adam twitch against him.

"B..." he mumbles, trailing one large hand down Brad's back, along the dip of his spine, to settle on Brad's thigh.

"Come on, Adam. Fuck me," Brad orders, sinking his teeth into the pulse point on Adam's throat and tracing it with his tongue when Adam inhales sharply.

"I - I don't think -"

"I don't want you to think," Brad snaps. "I want you to make me stop thinking. I want you to fuck me so hard I'll see fucking stars."

Adam shudders and moans, bringing the hand not occupied with Brad's ass up to cup the nape of Brad's neck. "Baby, I don't know if -"

"Stop. Talking. And. Fuck. Me," Brad demands, punctuating each word with a firm squeeze of Adam's dick through Adam's boxers. Adam groans and thrusts automatically into Brad's hand. "Just fucking do it, come on!" he cries out when Adam hesitates again, and with a strength he doesn't use very often, he forces Adam to roll on top of him and wraps his legs around Adam's waist.

Adam sighs and leans down to kiss him softly, but Brad's having none of that. He surges up against Adam, making the kiss hot and dirty, and grinds his erection against Adam's. It's not enough; Brad yanks Adam's underwear off with his toes and flicks them away on to the floor beside the bed, and then he lifts his hips and helps Adam take his own off. The friction as their naked cocks rub together, this time, is perfect, and they both hiss and moan together. Brad rocks into it, gasping, "I want you inside me. Now."

"I should - you haven't -" Adam stutters, and he stares down at Brad with half-lidded eyes. Brad groans at the sight of Adam's mouth, swollen from their bruising kisses.

"I don't fucking care!" Brad gasps, gyrating his hips. "Please, just do it, I don't."

"Brad," Adam says again, still looking uncertain. The uncertainty is what really undoes Brad. Even when Brad's fucking begging for it, Adam's still worried about hurting him.

"You know -" Brad pants, pleasure coursing through him when Adam wraps their dicks in his huge hand, stroking them together. "You know the - the safe word. If I - fuck, if I say it, you'll stop, right?"

Adam still looks uncertain, but he nods fervently. Then, apparently making up his mind, he folds Brad practically in half, lifts Brad's legs up to perch expertly on his shoulders, and presses a finger against and eventually inside Brad.

"Yeah, yeah, Adam, come on, do it to me," Brad begs.

"Ohfuck, Brad, you're - you're so gorgeous, you're so fucking gorgeous," Adam babbles, hot-as-fuck, pressing a second, then a third finger inside Brad and twisting just right.

"Oh! Yes!" Brad cries. "Fucking do it!"

Adam bends down awkwardly to kiss Brad again, and then he lines his dick up against Brad before pressing inside and pushing in on one long stroke. "Mmm, fuck, you feel so good," Adam says breathlessly, grasping Brad's hips in his hands.

"Move, Adam."

Adam hastens to obey him, moaning against Brad's jaw. His hips snap forward, again and again, and Brad whimpers, back arching, thighs clenching. Adam lets out a guttural moan that shoots straight to Brad's dick and makes him gasp out a near-silent, "Adam!"

Adam's thrusts become more erratic, short and jagged, hitting Brad's prostate once every few thrusts, a deliciously hot friction that has Brad moaning long and loud and uninhibited. Adam takes Brad's cock in his hand and times his thrusts with his pulls, and Brad goes wild. "AdamadamADAM! Oh yeah, like that, uh, uh, fuck, so good!"

With a harsh cry, Brad comes hard and long, biting down on his own lip and blanking out for several long blissful moments. Adam's hips stutter, and he comes mere seconds after Brad with a shout of, "Fuck, Brad!" Adam collapses on to Brad, breathing harshly. He's sweaty and hot and perfect, and Brad reaches up to kiss him softly.

Adam pulls out of Brad with a shudder that Brad catches right at the end, and then he moves to yank a few tissues out of the box on the bedside drawer, wiping Brad down and massaging Brad's belly at the same time.

Eventually, he drags Brad into his big, strong arms and kisses Brad just behind his ear, murmuring, "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me," and Brad feels like his heart's going to burst with love. He's speechless with it. He pulls Adam's arms tight around himself and snuggles closer, breathing Adam in.

Brad's just starting to feel like a normal human being when Adam begins to sing softly into Brad's ear, like a lullaby, if I could melt your heart, we'd never be apart; give yourself to me, give up the key, and that's the moment Brad knows he's going to be all right.






---

Thanks for reading! Leave a comment on your way out?

-The first song excerpt is from 'The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face', and the second is from Madonna's 'Frozen'.

♥