#Sol's easy; just peel off his belts

[solradguy]

I don't remember what I dreamed about the other day, but when I woke up this came to me like a prophetic vision

[darlinrogue]

It had been a long time since an argument had made him feel such a way: exhilarated even in his exhaustion, trembling with adrenaline even as his body ached. He and Adam had argued, and he and Adam had brawled, strikes to the jaw, fists and knees—Adam’s knuckles colliding with Kenny’s mouth, and Kenny simply smiling at him with bloodstained teeth. Pinned to the wall, Adam against him. Like electricity. Kenny kisses him hard, blood staining Adam’s lips. And for once, The Cleaner is ashamed.

Sol Finished Her Essay.txt >:3c

Adam and Kenny AKA Omegaman 

A swipe of his thumb and the twitter feed blurred. Post-after-post, oh, that kitten was cute, he did not care about this person’s problems, holy shit, Adam did not want to read about politics right now. Bright blue and white fluorescents burned his eyes, blurred his vision. Adam blinked and wiped his hand down his face. He dug his fingers into the bridge of his nose to alleviate the pressure of a building headache. An open beer, three sips deep, rested on the bar counter at his right elbow. Adam picked-up the bottle. He swirled the contents and watched the amber liquid and brown glass disperse the light. Molten, dark, and shifting, a tiny kaleidoscope in his hand that captured his brief fascination-- haha, dumb monkey brain like pretty colors. He brought the rim to his lips but didn’t tilt a swig back. His phone vibrated. The bottle returned to the counter and with a couple taps he opened the message app. Mom had sent him a question, will he be home this weekend? She’s making tex-mex for dinner Saturday.

With a little :-) emoji at the end. 

For a second, Adam stared at the little green bubble of white text. 

As a professional graphic designer, he always thought the Iphone text function was ugly as hell, plain and near unfunctional. The colors were plain and unappealing-- and there was no fucking search bar. That line of thinking didn’t help him answer the question. Adam pressed the power button and the screen blackened. He laid the phone face down on the bar counter. Adam leaned back and pressed his hand against his thigh. The stool creaked beneath his shifting weight. He threaded his fingers through his hair and swiped sweat dampened curls from the back of his neck. An ache worked into his muscles, a little bruised, a little sore, but not yet satisfied. Not yet— Both elbows now pressed on the counter, a sigh racked his shoulders.  

Tucked into a corner of the arena, this small bar probably served executives and cultured peoples during the day. People who wore like, a tie everyday, the poor miserable bastards. This late at night it was empty. Crystal glasses lined the back shelves and fractured the golden glow of the light bulbs. The black marble countertop reflected back Adam’s face and hands. The curve of his IPA. It was quiet and it was lonely, exactly how he liked it. The hour was ticking way past late, he had to get back to his hotel. Right here, on his own, though, post-match, he was content for the night. This was it, this is what he asked for. He took a swig of his poison, the grain had a good flavor, smooth but with a bite. The bottle returned to the counter, and with a nudge of his finger, Adam pushed it just out of reach. His stomach churned, heart constricted in his chest. His forehead fell into his hands and stayed there when the door pushed open. Footsteps shuffled across the carpet. The stool legs next to him screeched as it was dragged across the tile. The newcomer settled down.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” the coarse voice observed.

Adam leaned back, hand gripping the edge of the counter to balance himself as his gaze peeled to his left. His twisted heart found new contortions-- like dislocated shoulder, levels. Kenny sat next to him, within touching distance. A heavy, dark leather jacket draped over his broad shoulders. A thin sheen of sweat coated his bare chest. Adam’s gaze studied the seams of the coat, the lines of Kenny’s throat, and then the features of his face. The light had a way of softening his rounded features, the thin, pinkness of his lips, and the fullness of his cheeks. He wore dark, aviator sunglasses, obnoxious because they were in a well lit room, inside— at night. Adam turned back on his stool, facing parallel with Kenny. Looking at nothing in particular. His entire skin was on fire, cheeks warm, hands shaking. He tucked his fingers under his armpits.

“Yeah,” Adam said, he rolled his palm over his forehead. “At least I’m consistent.”

“How long are you going to do this, man?” Kenny demanded, his leg propped against the stool spindle. “Wasting time, getting drunk— you know how many calories are in that?”  Kenny did not look impressed when Adam twisted the bottle to check the label. “You think what you’re looking for is at the bottom of that bottle? Think again, man, think again. All you’re doing is drowning your braincells, you know you need those, right?”

“Yeah, and how do you know what I’m looking for?” Adam grunted, his eyebrows lifted, glancing at Kenny. 

Kenny was all grins because Adam took the bait-- hook, line, and sinker. From his side, Kenny lifted the belt and laid it on the counter to his left. Kenny smirked, with smarmy, stupid, self-confidence. Adam hated that his arrogance was hot as hell. His eyes darted from Kenny to the AEW World Championship Belt. That big strap of black leather, gold, and silver, glittering like the Stairway to Heaven. A muscle tightened in Adam’s jaw and his hand fisted. Adam scoffed and he sought solace in his drink, swallowing, relishing the burn of alcohol down his throat. A year or more, with all sorts of detours, divergences, side-paths, distractions, an entire run as one-half of the tag-team champions, and he was still chasing that damn belt. Adam had everything, it was supposed to be his for the taking. Yet, twice now, it’d slipped his grip. It was an illusion, like a pond screwing with his depth perception. It was always a little deeper than he thought. Much like someone else at this counter. 

Kenny’s head laid on his chest. A mop of curled, unruly blonde hair, that tickled Adam’s lips and chin. He buried his face against the top of Kenny’s head and smelled the plain soap, the cheap shampoo he used, floral, rosemary, something aromatic. Kenny breathed slow and even, and Adam could feel each inhale and exhale through the connection of his hand against Kenny’s back. Proof that was he real and present. He was warm, contrasted to the cooled hotel room. Adam tucked Kenny against himself, drew him closer, terrified to let go-- knowing he’d escape in a heartbeat. That moment was as fleeting as the kiss laid on Adam’s forehead like a reverential gift. Adam awoke in the morning, alone and cold. He grasped at the still warm mattress and felt Kenny fall through. 

“You’re too easy,” Kenny chuckled, he tapped his forehead with his finger. Like he was some kinda conniving mastermind. Dude, watched way too much Anime. Adam only barely remembered Kenny being this annoying in Japan. He’s seen the videos of Kenny singing his own damn theme song during his entrances. “You let people in your head, they get to you— it’s an excuse, Page. You’re just too pussy to do anything, that’s why you sit there and get fucking wasted, ‘cause that’s all you can do.”

The beer bottle shattered. Slammed against the counter on the perfect sweet spot, crushed in Adam’s hand. The glass fractured into dust and piercing shards that buried in his palm. Beer spilled onto the counter and dribbled onto his jeans. Blood, red and crimson, mingled with the stinging alcohol, and seeped between the lines of his callouses. Adam snatched Kenny’s lapel. Hand fisted, Adam dragged him in, the tendons and muscles of his bicep tight. Kenny was all teeth, eyes obscured. Once again, Adam had taken the bait. Kenny was in his head and he lived there rent free. Adam wasn’t sure if he could evict him. 

“You mad bro?” Kenny queried. “Because I’m right? You couldn’t beat Chris; You couldn’t beat Maxwell; and you couldn’t beat me. You got it, you got everything you need, but you keep wasting it. You lose, and what do you do? What you’ve always done. Take a beer from some stranger that has God knows what disease and mope. You think I was fucking cool with it? Dealing with your drunk ass all the time?”

“You’ve been a real dick since you won that belt,” Adam growled. He laughed to himself, chin ducking to his chest. His attention focused on Kenny, “You know I’m going to take it from you.”

“No, you won’t,” Kenny snapped, a little irritation biting in his tone. “We both know you won’t do shit.” His tone took on a whiny, mocking lilt. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll try harder next time. Sorry, doesn’t cut it Pizz. What are you going to do, stretch my coat? You’re a coward, you won’t do shit.”

Adam’s bottom lip trembled, his throat dry and eyes locked with tinted glass. “Take off the fucking sunglasses,” Adam demanded, voice cracking. He dragged Kenny a little closer. “Say that to my face.”

Kenny pursed his lips, he pouted. 

“Take off the glasses, Kenny,” Adam repeated. “Look me in the eye, you son of a bitch— and say what you just said, again. Show me you actually mean that shit.”

Kenny sneered and Adam read the disgust, discomfort, mockery. And, something else he’d been missing. It was right there, right in front of him. Kenny leaned in the last couple inches, his nose brushing against Adam’s. He whispered: “Make me.”

“HIt me, punch me,” Kenny insisted, sing-songing. “C’mon, do it, prove it— that you can do something. Literally, anything, Hangman.”

Adam’s grip slacked. He released his cinch on Kenny’s jacket. Kenny eased back onto his stool and muttered, “I knew it, I knew you wouldn’t, you’re--”

Kenny didn’t complete the sentence before Adam decked him. A hard and clean right hook across the jaw, that knocked Kenny clean off the bar stool. Kenny stumbled, his hand swiping and reaching for the counter to steady himself. He rubbed his fingers over the site of impact. The skin of his left check now red and swollen, imprinted with Adam’s bloody knuckles. Kenny smiled and giggled, nodding his head with approval. Adam pressed to his feet, jaw stiff. Small sparks of pain coursed-up his arm, like he just stuck his finger in an outlet. Kenny straightened, cocked his hip, and returned the favor. The left smashed across Adam’s cheek and sent him reeling back. A pump of adrenaline rushed his head, throbbed his heart, and burned in his skull. Like a bell ringing clear in the night, unsure of for whom it toiled. 

Adam hoped it chorused for him. So, that he might hang for his crimes and his corpse could feed some daisies. Finally, after twenty-nine years he could do something good for this miserable planet. Let the worms make sweet worm love in his brain and maybe then, by the nutrients of his bones, he’d be useful. And despite the grim thought, the certainty of his resurrection filled him. Burry him, return in three days, and he’d be back-- call him Lazarus. He resented the executioner, hated his accusers. Adam was a piece of shit, son-of-a-bitch, with poison for blood and a rock for a heart. He was too pissed, anger filled, frustrated and unsatisfied to stay dead in a shallow grave. 

And Kenny’s left hook hurt like hell.

Damn, that felt good, he needed that.

Like he needed oxygen, like he needed water, like he needed Kenny.

Like he needed that belt. 

Adam surged and swung with a wide punch. Kenny caught it at the elbow and twisted Adam’s arm. Adam stumbled forward, bending into the momentum. Kenny drove his knee into Adam’s gut. The air rushed out of Adam. His already sore ribs seized like a vice around his internal organs. 

Oh, shit, he had not thought this through. Adam had already gotten the crap beaten out of him tonight in a match. Like, put through a table but still won-- crap beaten out of him. This was not good. Adam couldn’t beat Kenny on a good night. What the hell was he doing picking a fight on a bad night? Well, Adam was way past dumb decisions at this point.

Adam drove the heel of his hand into Kenny’s lower stomach, a cheap shot to make Kenny drop his hands. Adam popped a quick jab into Kenny’s face. Nothing but a distraction, to make his eyes water, and stun him. Adam seized Kenny’s jacket by the lapels and drove him him back into the wall. A solid ‘oof’ escaped Kenny as they collided with the solid surface. Kenny wheezed, because he had had a match too. Neither of them had any business picking a fight. 

“Damnit! Kenny!” Adam shouted. “Get your head out of your ass!”

Adam growled, a low rumble reverberating through his chest and his eyes darkened. Chest-to-chest with Kenny, he leaned-in, to push and pin him against the wall. He breathed hot and fast, his heart shuttering, beating against his chest. Their pulses mingled so that Adam couldn’t separate the chaotic rhythms. Kenny’s glasses were ajar, hanging crooked off his nose. Adam knocked them off Kenny’s face. They clattered to the floor. Kenny blinked, eyes adjusting to the new light. Tension drained from Adam’s shoulders and he sighed, soft breath over his chapped lips. Blue eyes, like the sky over his childhood home, baby blue, aquamarine, the Gulf when his family took a trip to the beach. Pupils blown-out and black. Breathless, Kenny left Adam breathless. The rage dissipated, draining from him like water. Kenny grinned, blood on his teeth, white and red, their noses an inch apart. It would be so simple to--

Kenny’s lips tasted of iron and him. Everything Adam dreamed of but better. The kiss was all teeth, blood, and spit, ugly and gross. Worthy of something from Adam’s fumbling teenage years. Adam groaned into Kenny’s mouth, lungs shuttering and eyes fluttering closed. He braced his hand against the wall and pushed back, tilting his head for a better angle. Adam kissed Kenny with his blood roaring in his ears and demanding more of whatever the hell this is. He slowed, lingering, in a passionate and deep kiss, relishing the taste of what he had been starving for. Then, Adam slid his hands through Kenny’s hair, cradled either side of Kenny’s stupid, soft and stubbly, chipmunk cheeks. He laid small, quick, fluttering kisses to Kenny’s lips, the corner of his mouth, and Kenny whimpered, wanting more than teasing. Adam smirked and he tangled his fingers into those ashen curls to tilt Kenny’s head back to give more. Darted his tongue past Kenny’s lips to find more. Kenny clutched at Adam and dug his nails into Adam’s shirt.

Then Adam parted, gasping for air. He rested his forehead against Kenny’s and whispered something like ‘holy shit.’ He threaded his fingers in Kenny’s hair to pet and soothe him. Kenny surged forward, looking for that second kiss, but Adam laid his hand across Kenny’s chest and pushed him down. Kenny slumped against the wall, settling on his heels. He looked wounded, like a kicked puppy. It was enough to tug on Adam’s heart strings. 

“Adam,” Kenny whined, drawing out the last syllable. 

“Kenny,” Adam said, voice firm. “Stop, that’s enough.”

Kiss him again, his inner voice insisted. While Kenny stood there, all pretty and cute, gaping with his brow furrowed. His cheeks flushed and lips almost scarlet. Take a second taste, a third, let the whole night unfold like origami. Except no, this wasn’t what Adam wanted. Whatever the hell this was, it ain’t it, chief. Adam knew what he wanted. He knew what he needed. He knew, he knew, he knew, it was so obvious that this dumbass, pinned beneath his hand, could see it. So obvious, that even Adam was starting to see it. Adam stepped away from Kenny even though it felt like ripping off his own arm. Pure chemistry, the pure need and want of a man dehydrated in the desert. Adam didn’t want to go back to his hotel room alone. He didn’t want to spend another night in a cold bed. He didn’t want to keep playing this game of cat-and-mouse, always guessing, always confused, and lost. He didn’t want to keep his thoughts to himself anymore-- but there was something else he needed more than he wanted.

Something, he’d needed since he was a child, since his birth. Adam was convinced it was inscribed in his DNA. And until he had it, he would never be satisfied. Maybe he was a masochist, always stepping-up to the chopping block like this. Knowing, believing he knew, what came next when the axe fell. Yet, Adam Page didn’t have an ounce of quit in him. He was far too stupid to stop.

Adam eyed Kenny and then reached behind him to find his phone on the counter. Kenny stayed pinned to the wall like a taxidermy bug. Then, Adam turned to leave. He paused at where the belt rested on the countertop. He lifted his hand. Adam curled three fingers to his palm and pointed his index to the sky.  Then he took aim at the belt. With a dramatic flourish, Adam took the shot. He left the bar, leaving the door ajar. While the Uber drove him back to the hotel, Adam typed-out his reply on the ugly message app. 

I’ll be home this Saturday. Looking forward to tacos I’ll bring tequila. See you soon. Love ya, a lot.