The Invasion of Adam (Tork and Adam Book 2) (5 page)

So he’d followed him, a couple of times, just to make sure Tork wasn’t seeing anyone else. Well, probably more than a couple. Not that it was likely, given Tork’s down-and-out status, but Adam couldn’t stop himself.

He wanted to see inside Tork, to know him. He wanted, needed, to be vital to him. Even as he’d watched that raw emotion earlier on, he was both fearful and hungry. He hated that he wanted it so much, but that didn’t stop the craving.

Adam had been here before, but last time he only watched from a distance, as Tork walked into the garages and then left an hour later.

He crept, treading warily through rubbish. The silence began tapping away, telling him to go home and give up. Give up on the search, walk away from Tork altogether, maybe even the shelter, too. Life was so much easier being a boring fucking bastard than a handsome saviour traipsing through the ghetto.

A green flicker caught his eye as he inched through the alleyways, causing him to step a few paces backwards and look to the left. It was an old doorway, full of bricks and rubbish, but a sliver of light led straight through into a garage.

Tork was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. His green hair stood up in spiky tufts, soft but deadly. Once Adam saw it, nothing on Earth could make him look away.

He stood there, poised. If he went back now, no one would know. He could vanish back to his life and be free of this, whatever it was.

But then he was moving forwards, squeezing through the doorway. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded, more harshly than he really meant to, but he was angry at Tork for making him choose.

Tork almost leapt off the floor in shock. He stared at Adam, his white face like a wax model. He looked like he used to, back before he came to life.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. But we were worried. Next time, leave your phone on?” Adam felt himself melting, right down there on the filthy floor.

“I—I didn’t think. No one ever worried about me before.”

Adam awkwardly put his arms around Tork, trying to squeeze away the thoughts he’d had of rushing off. Now he saw that it was far too late to go back.

“You don’t wanna come back here,” he whispered into the green head. “Let’s go home. You don’t have to talk, we can have a takeaway. Any takeaway you like! Pizza—I’ll buy us the best pizza in town! Any toppings, however big. You choose. My treat.”

Adam rubbed his forehead against Tork’s hair, wishing to God he knew what to say. Throwing money at Tork never had worked, but it was worth a try.

What the fuck had Tork’s dad done to him anyway? He felt strong arms sliding around his waist.

“You don’t have to buy me, Adam. I’m free,” Tork whispered, squeezing him back.

“
Free?
You are not bloody free! Cost me a tram ticket to come to this…corner of heaven.” Adam snorted, as warm lips met his.

All Adam’s previous hookups and boyfriends were so pliant they made him sick—all waiting for him to position them as he liked, hanging on his every word— but Tork’s hand gripped his hair almost painfully, yanking his head so he could not move.

Adam might as well admit it; he was lost in the bewildering whirlpool of green hair, strong hands and a voice that was wound around his heart.

He held Tork’s hand on the way back to the tram and told him about the art class, college, his new jeans, anything except what was in the air around them. He even mentioned the Summer Ball dance at the end of the summer term, thinking of Tork in a tuxedo. But—but—

Tork’s dad.

How bad could it be? He thought of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, and somehow it all got mixed up in there, with pizza and the image of Tork sitting on the floor of that foul garage.

How had life gone so wrong for someone like Tork?

His words seemed to get faster and faster, as if he knew where they were inevitably leading, until they finally got to the tram stop, and he blurted it out.

“Your dad. Was it sexual abuse?”

Tork stared at him, his mouth a perfect O of shock.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I said that! I am so, so, sorry,” Adam wailed. “I’m sure it’s the tram electricity lines affecting my brain, ’cause usually I’m Mister Sensitive.”

Tork sniggered. “You certainly are Mister Sensitive,” he said drily, but he was smiling.

“And charming.”

“Like a prince among men,” Tork agreed, laughing. “No, no sexual abuse, nothing like that. He was—very kind to me, actually. You could say he was the perfect father.”

“But?”

“It’s nothing important. I’ll tell you later, another time. Let’s get that pizza. OK? Here is our tram carriage, Prince Charming.”

* * *

He stared at the bed. Wrapped in cellophane it looked like a giant caterpillar, waiting to become a beautiful butterfly. Everything else was now opened, but for some reason, this was the last and most difficult parcel to accept.

“Come on, then. You take one end, and I’ll take the other. No more sleeping on the floor for you. I have no idea how you sleep on a wooden floor!” Adam began to unpeel the cellophane.

Tork shrugged. “It’s easy. I just didn’t want to get too soft, in case I had to go back on the streets.”

Adam stopped peeling cellophane and glared. “You’re never going back out there, OK? Never. You have friends now, and a life. You’re not as…you know…” Adam tapped his head and went cross-eyed. “And this? This is just a start. No way you’re gonna be in this place for long. Soon as you start college, you can get a room on campus and start living.” Adam smiled earnestly. Maybe a bit desperately.

“For now, let’s unpack the bed. Then I will wait to see if I have a place at college.” Tork took the other side of the cellophane roll and began peeling. His neck tingled, and a warm band of niceness spread around his chest at Adam’s words. At first they scared him, but now each day, he felt one more brick of his fortress walls crumbling away. Some days he even picked at the bricks himself, willing them to collapse more quickly.

It felt good.

“Great! Now we put on sheets and pillow cases,” Adam declared, bouncing on the bed. “I’ll show you how to make a bed up, though to be honest, I only started doing it myself when I went to college.”

“Of course I have no idea how to put on a sheet,” Tork said, watching Adam going red from bouncing. He wanted to push him down. Kiss, and kiss. Undress him and do all the things he dreamed about every night.

And that was the real reason it had taken him so long to unpack the bed. Making out on the sofa was one thing, but sex was another. When he was around Adam, he yearned for that connection so much it burnt. But after Adam left, Tork thought about the intimacy—looking into a man’s eyes—the giving up and the receiving—the sharing—and his nails would begin curling towards his soft palms. It did not seem possible Adam was still around, six months after their first kiss and still no sex.

But watching Adam panting now, Tork did not think it would be much longer. For the first time, he had been glad to leave the garages. Really glad Adam was there to find him. Now he wanted to find Adam.

“It’s a good mattress?” he asked, sitting next to Adam. Blonde hair was falling all over his face despite the vast amounts of styling product Adam piled on throughout the day.

“Yup. Good enough for a no hoper like you,” Adam sang.

As Tork reached for him, he knew they were both ready. The pressure in his chest that had begun the instant he’d seen Adam climbing through the doorway in the garage seemed to melt away. His whole body was tingling like the warm air before summer rain.

This man came for him, every time.

He gulped away all his awkwardness and fears, knowing he would have to be the one to make the first move.

They kissed until he could no longer prevent his hands from sliding under Adam’s t-shirt, stroking his stomach and chest.

“Shit,” Adam breathed, as Tork gently lifted off his top and kissed under his neck, along his collarbone. Adam gasped quietly as Tork pushed him flat on the bed.

“You OK?” he asked, stopping to stroke back Adam’s hair and to look. Adam was still flushed, his mouth slightly open.

“Hmm?” Adam peered up at him, shy, uncertain.

Tork leaned over him, thinking how long it was that he’d wanted this.

“Yeah, I’m OK. I just—you know.”

“We’ll go slowly, I promise.”

For once, Adam offered no clever words. With every caress, all of Tork’s yearning poured out, running across Adam’s strong body, making them both urgent, desperate.

And then the tension broke, or perhaps it was another brick of his fortress, rolling away down the hill with the sounds of Adam’s loud moans.

* * *

Waking up at midnight with Adam in his arms, Tork could smell shampoo and sweat, and it was so much more real than the dark thoughts that still crept in several times every day. Colleges and bright futures were not enough to keep them at bay, but Adam was.

They were so close that Tork could only hear one synchronised heartbeat.

“I can hear Dickens purring. He’s kind of cute, even if he did watch us. Perv cat. So. Your dad?” the haystack in his arms said sleepily, but Tork was not fooled.

“I knew you wouldn’t forget to nag me.”

Adam breathed a laugh and shifted up on one elbow. “We’ve fucked now, you can tell me.”

“That is how it works?” Tork smiled, lazily pushing the covers away, wanting to look again. He ran both hands up and down the contours of Adam’s muscular body, encircling, massaging, enclosing. He did not think he had ever felt so in control. Adam squirmed and wriggled like a fish on a beach, making Tork groan. Joy bubbled up in him that they had this.

“Now you’re just trying to…distract me,” Adam gasped hoarsely.

“Am I succeeding?”

There was a pause.

“Yes. God, yes.”

Adam stroked Dickens miserably, watching as the cat lapped up his cup of tea.

His studies had suffered. He already knew this. He couldn’t completely blame it on all the hours he put in at the shelter or Tork, but for ages now, his mind had been elsewhere. These days, his work at the shelter just seemed so much more interesting than lectures.

Yeah, it probably did have quite a lot to do with the partying early on in the academic year, and possibly the non-attendance. This last term, he’d tried hard to make up for lost time, but clearly it hadn’t been enough. So it was not a total shock, but still the letter with his exam results made him cringe.

He’d failed the year. Not by much, but enough for him to have to resit all the exams, be the laughing stock, and worse still, explain to his parents just what he’d spent their money on when he should have been studying.

He wondered if he could get away with not telling anyone, pretending he passed. He couldn’t admit he’d failed. He just couldn’t.

Cold shards of dread hammered through his veins right to his heart as he thought about explaining to them—his dad’s cold face, starting off white as stone but then getting redder with every disappointed shout.

“Adam?” Tork’s voice cut across his misery.

“Sorry, what?”

Tork stared at him, frowning. “What’s wrong? You look so worried.”

Without a word, Adam handed over the letter with his grades. For some reason, telling Tork was easy, and such a relief. Tork read it quickly.

“What does it mean? You can’t take the exams again?”

“Yeah, I could resit in August. But…”

Tork took his hand and squeezed. “Then that’s OK. I can help you revise.”

“But that’s the thing. I don’t have anything to revise from, because I didn’t go to any of the lectures. I literally didn’t go, Tork. I have no fucking idea what’s on the syllabus. There is no way I can be ready by August. I hate this course.”

“That’s almost two months away. First, we get a copy of your syllabus, then we go to work. If you pass, you can swap courses and study a course you actually like. No boyfriend of mine is going to be a dropout.”

Adam smiled at that, remembering all the times he’d said those exact words to Tork. Of course Tork knew that.

“I’m not as clever as you. I might not be able to learn all that,” he said wryly.

“You are plenty clever enough, mister, just lazy. What did you do instead of study?”

Adam thought. “God, I dunno. I went out a lot at first, watched films. Wanked.” He shrugged. “How am I going to tell my parents? My dad already thinks I’m useless.”

Adam brought his knees up, wanting to cry. But it was true. He’d never felt good enough for Dad. Didn’t get the grades to get to the top universities, didn’t make the best sports teams. Even as a little kid, he’d wanted to follow in Dad’s footsteps—going to sporting clubs he hated, studying subjects he had no interest in—because he thought Dad would like it.

And now here he was, wanting to pack his course in and do social work.

Tork stroked his hair. “Who could hate you? You are sensitive and well mannered.” He hugged Adam tight. Adam laughed a bit, but then tears started falling, and he couldn’t stop them.

“Sorry,” he sniffed into Tork’s hair. “ Jeez! It’s the—hay fever. Who wants a snivelling boyfriend? It’s meant to be you with the problems.”

“We could talk to your parents together. Just explain that you found it all too much, but it’s not too late to turn it around.”

“Talk to them? You must be joking.” Adam shook his head vehemently, trying to imagine telling Dad about his failures. Adam had hidden all the failed tests at school, claimed injury when his sports teams did not win.

He felt himself blush, knowing Tork was watching him carefully.

“OK, but if you resit and pass, they don’t have to know you failed. Then you can switch course, maybe to social work. I’m sure they’d be pleased you’ve found a career to be passionate about.”

“I have to send him a copy of the results, so there’s no way they’re not gonna find out. I’m not sure what he’d think of social work. It’s very different to law, isn’t it? And we…we don’t actually talk that much.”

Tork shrugged. “I guessed. A few times I’ve asked you about them, but you always get this look and tense up. I knew something was not right there. Life is not always rainbows, even for princes like you.”