Pragmatism it is, then.
"Well? Aren't you going to get your kit off?"
I toss the lube bottle onto the bed and take a few slow steps closer, walking round him. "You were never this practical and logical about it before."
"Oh, we fucked in a hurry."
"Many a time," I mutter. Using Vaseline as lube, or just tossing each other off, naked grinding, anything to feel skin on skin. Quickly, so we wouldn't be caught. I don't think there were any nights we spent more than a couple of hours together. And even then, we were lucky to get even that much time together. If we were caught together, it would have meant much more than temporary embarrassment. In fact, I'm amazed we didn't get caught out. "That was lust talking back then. Not a case of oh, let's just get this out of the way."
"You think I want to get this out of the way?"
Adam turns on the spot, hands on hips. Displaying himself, I shouldn't wonder. "What are you doing?"
"Looking at you."
"Hmm. Well." He turns around again so I can see his back. "Don't let me stop you from admiring my half-naked form."
"Not naked enough," I blurt out, and his shoulders flinch. It's easier to admit what we're about to do when his back's turned.
And I get a flash in the back of my mind, an image of the first time I was inside him, my eyes watering with the sheer wonder of it. At that moment, the rightness, the knowing, overrode any guilt or shame or fear I might have felt. Even if there was no afterglow, even if it never happened again, I was sure I'd never feel that good with a woman. I was grateful then that Adam couldn't see me, fucking him and crying like an idiot.
"If you insist."
His hands go for his belt, and I stop him with a simple, "No."
His back's perfect; well, of course it would be. Any injuries heal within hours. Bullet holes knit back together; burns blister, pucker then iron out. Cuts join up again like a zip made of flesh.
Marks on the outside remain; the inside sorts itself out, then hours or sometimes days later, the outer shell catches up. So whatever Adam's been through in recent times, I wouldn't know. There'd be no sign of it.
I place a hand on his bare back and nearly whimper with the thought of that phrase lingering in my mind. Bareback. We always did that. Never once did we use condoms. Adam joked back then, "It's not like you're going to get me pregnant, is it?" And rubbers back in those days truly did make it feel like you were going swimming with your wellies on. Now I fully appreciate what he was getting at but not saying outright: as a vampire, disease couldn't live in his body. He could neither catch it nor pass it on. Microbes and infections don't stay alive in his body long enough to multiply or find another host.
All of which meant I felt that much closer to him.
Sometimes, we'd fucked half-dressed. A few times, despite the knowledge we might need to dress quickly, appear respectable, and get to the nearest bomb shelter, I'd insisted on complete nakedness.
"You never, ever sweat," I'd whisper in wonder. "No matter what I do to you, you don't perspire."
"We don't," he'd say with laughter. "I've told you before."
"Yes, but..."
Yes, but it was always different to experience things for myself. Adam could tell me what it was going to feel like, and his words never even came close to the way it was in reality.
I trail a finger down the ridges of Adam's spine, waiting for the familiar wriggle when I reach the dip in the small of his back. I asked him once if it was ticklish; he said yes, no, kind of.
"Pleasure so intense, it feels tickly," was how he'd put it. "It almost hurts."
"Get on the bed." The words don't sound like they're coming from my mouth, but Adam undoes his belt in readiness. My cock's so hard, I could explode; he doesn't expect foreplay or preliminary waffle, so he won't get any.
"On my knees?"
"What else?" I'm almost scared to touch myself; I've never undone my belt or fly so carefully. If I come too soon, this night would be even more of a disaster than it is already.
Adam gives a quiet huff of laughter as he climbs onto the bed and I haul his trousers and shorts down, taking over while he settles his weight on his forearms. "Bloody hell; you're keen."
"Shut up." I'm glad he can't see the look on my face; he'd have something to say about the discomfort that no doubt shows there. I'm not normally this rude with my lovers, even the ones I don't actually like that much. "Just shut up." And I climb onto the bed behind him. I've never lubed myself so carefully before; a couple of strokes, and that's enough. I'm less gentle with Adam, though. I don't feel too bad; that's how he wants it.
"God, that's cold." But he pushes back when I work a lubed fingertip inside him. "More."
I could slap him with my free hand, the one that's just resting on his hip, but he'd enjoy it too much. Pulling away from him, I reach for the lube bottle again, give my hand a good soaking.
"Fuck---" Pain or arousal, possibly both, choke any more words in his throat when I force a couple of fingers inside him, just brushing against that spot that makes him cry if I do it right. He whimpers and pushes back.
"Am I hurting you?"
"No. Yes."
"Which is it?"
"Both. Don't stop."
"You don't want my cock inside you, then?"
"Yes. Please."
God, I love it when he begs. It was never like this before, so abandoned, when
