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They called it Harley's choice, which became the King's choice. In Japan it used to be Baba's choice, but now it's called something else, a term that he can't quite translate. It's archaic, perhaps even horrifying if one thinks of it for too long. The new world champion gets their pick: one night, one fellow roster member, no other conditions. What happens next is never spoken, only implied. If you win, the promise is, you get whatever the fuck you want.
The code keeps the silence. Nobody talks. Not to one another. Not to the press. Not the one's fans or lovers or partners.
But if wrestlers can gossip, you know they will take every chance. Word gets around. The rumors are always just that, rumors. Oh, champ picked so-and-so, but nobody knows for sure, and nobody admits to anything.
Gedo just tells him that night, pick someone. Michael doesn't work for this company, anyone from New Japan and ROH, who is on this tour, those are his options. So it won’t be a chill video game night.
He can't pick Kota. He just can't. The wounds can't be torn open. He's so exhausted by the thought it fucks with his equilibrium.
So he picks Adam.
It's so easy with Adam. Pretty to look at, fun to talk to, no baggage to speak of.
Adam, who sits there dumbfounded and Kenny just lies back against the hotel chair, tired as all hell. They don't have to fuck, they can pass out and just sleep in the same bed. So easy.
It's fine. They'll just talk. Adam is a fine talker, funny, smart. That accent, too.
So hot, blond curls and stubble, and the thought slides off his brain. Nope, too tired for that.
But when they sit on the bed, t-shirts and underwear only, ready for sleep, Adam slides closer, "How'd you wanna do this?", eyes so eager.
Kenny just blinks back at him. "You mean, logistically?"
"Yeah, I guess. First time after college," and there is laughter in Adam's voice, so light and careful at the same time.
Reverence for the king.
"Whatever you want, man," Kenny says and he isn't so sure they are talking about which side of the bed Adam wants to sleep on.
"I usually top," Adam says, overly polite and grinning, his head half turned away.
What the fuck, Kenny thinks but his dick is into it, too into it, ready for the action his body can't go through with. He just went through war. This tradition is so weird.
Kenny thinks, okay, maybe. Save a horse, ride a cowboy, isn't that what they say?
"Or just," and Kenny makes a gesture with his hand. "I'm wiped, I'm sorry."
And Adam only worked the opener, but he doesn't say that. Doesn't want to offend this stupid hot cowboy top. His dick is furiously hard now, and Adam moves to kiss him and jesusfuck. A big hand rubs against his cock and Adam indeed gets on top and shows Kenny's hand its rightful place and oh, oh, he gets the nickname now.
Adam kisses him like he means it, like it's not just obligatory and his cock pulses in Kenny's hand and Adam comes too fast, spent everywhere and Kenny wants more, tired to his bones but more, please, fuck.
He comes soon after, but into Adam's mouth (please he said, I'd love to) and the waves rock him to sleep and a hand plays at his hair, its frizz matted on one side. Settling there, so gentle. He could get used to this, but it's just one night and Adam's not gonna fuck him, he's college bi and Kenny's just the regular flavor.
Adam kisses him goodbye the next morning and that's that, but Kenny thinks of the encounter every time he hurts, or he gets lonely at night. Every time Adam laughs at his jokes, the memory curls inside him.
The king for a day, a jester for weeks.
–
Years go by and things mellow out into fine, maybe. Kenny is just a friend whose dick was in his mouth once and Kenny probably has more of those than Adam does, not that he's asked, not that he particularly wants to know.
But he is drunk now and they are on this stupid boat, he might as well. If Kenny is okay with it.
TK said when the company got started that there wouldnt be any of this stupid old school bullshit and Cody looked around the room like a warning, but the guys still said Jericho invited someone to his room anyway, that night that the first champion was crowned. The tradition doesn't hold for tag champions, that's not a thing, but Adam is just so horny - or sad, or whatever.
He doesn't like how Kenny looks at him with disdain when he drinks, like that's a slight against him and his fellow teetotal types. He thinks, fuck you and also fuck, I want you. When they kiss in that cabin, the feeling just multiplies, angry and turned on in equal measure.
Yet it's Kenny. He's always liked Kenny.
"You remember all those years back," Adam starts, pulls his own t-shirt off, hands find Kenny's chest, "in Japan, been thinking ever since I should have fucked you that night."
Kenny smiles into it. "You should have, then."
A challenge that burns hot in Adam's stomach and it's not alcohol, his cheeks are flushed. "You wanna?"
"Yeah," Kenny says, and they meld together like that, limbs tangled.
Adam remembers, but it isn't the perfect film. The drunk cuts a slice out of his memories, some of the sensation. He lasts so long he thinks he can fuck all night, and wants to, too, but then he comes and the moment is distilled, white-hot and potent. Kenny comes, too, in his mouth again, he practically begged for that, wanting it to last a tiny bit longer.
He falls asleep or passes out and Kenny gets up early, gym and breakfast with the Bucks, of course.
Why the fuck would he cuddle up, this ain't that kind of thing and will never be. Kenny has had his epic romance and it wasn't with a loser like him, so that's that.
Kenny doesn't get weird about it but he himself does, a want lodged inside, painful and not budging.
–
Adam makes it their own tradition. Tag team win, a fuck in the hotel room, each go around more elaborate and tender than the next. Kenny should just say no, but it's not that simple. Adam is a good lay and an increasingly hot mess, but they won't be winning forever, and so it goes on. It’s probably not fine, but Kenny is fine with it not being that fine.
Adam is so good to him, and in idle moments, post-climax clarity, he thinks, maybe this could work for real. Beautiful and lovely, fucks him all night and makes him smile all day. Chemistry like he hasn't felt since– well, best not think of that now.
And then he goes and fucks it up again.
"I'm not going to tell you to stop drinking," Kenny tells him, but it's the wrong night to say it or even think it.
Because between those words is the cold bite of truth: Hangman should stop drinking.
Adam huffs, pressing heels of his palms into tired eyes. They are waiting out whisky dick and the night could pass either way, in argument or in heat.
"Do you want me to go, then, is that what you want?" Adam asks, his voice starting to rise, frustration and accent blending.
"No, that's not.." Kenny trails off, suddenly angered by himself.
You stupid fuck, he thinks, but also, at Adam: fuck you, this is all your fault. Adam didn't have to start it, hot and wanton for him in Japan. Adam didn't have to continue, giving Kenny the best sex of his life, victory and climax creating the most dangerous cocktail, a high so worth chasing.
"I should go," Adam says, strained, like he might explode and is holding back on whatever venom might come out.
"Maybe you should," Kenny says and regrets it, because that won't fix anything. It’s just a pause button on further pain down the road.
They could talk about this. They don’t.
Adam will just drink more and pass out and run off the hangover in furious silence at the gym the next day. The rest of the locker room will know something happened. The Bucks will ask him again what the hell they should do about Hangman, and Kenny will give his usual answer, “I don't know.”
The next day, attempting to be the bigger man, he tells Adam he's sorry. The vowel is rounded, curved into its Canadian shape.
"Can we just–" he starts but the words sound so stupid in his head he halts them.
Be normal? Start over? Be as kind to one another as how you act right after you fuck my brains out? Do this but you stop drinking and doubting yourself and I stop being a fucking asshole when my ego gets the better of me?
"– be friends?" Kenny finishes and it sure as fuck feels like something else, a chasm split open within him. It's hard to breathe and then Hangman just looks at him, and it's a special kind of sorrow in his pale blue eyes.
"Sure man, that sounds smart. Logical." His hands move over his jaw, the blond cinnamon beard there, the same one that rubs red marks on Kenny's skin as it passes over. "We make a great team but not like this."
"Exactly," Kenny says and it's not heartache that ails him, it's just regret that they didn't do this sooner, when it might have hurt less. "Glad you see it, too."
He sees it, right? Just some great old fashioned tag team chemistry. Just two guys, who shouldn’t make this that complicated. Just friends that go way back.
They lose their titles a week later and that's for the better, Kenny thinks. It's so much easier to just be a dick all the time. So much easier to think about just himself.
So easy. And yet.
–
Callis just wants a chat, the carny, grin on his face and Adam knows it already, goes anyway. He gets ushered into the hotel room, a suite really, fit for a king.
Kenny picks him again. This fucking guy, Adam thinks, this stupid heat that has already started at the base of his neck, making Adam's cock twitch in his jeans. He could just turn back, close the door behind him, stiff the old man with a forearm on his way out.
He prepares for fury, fire and instead gets Kenny, calm, fully dressed and fluffing up the pillows on the couch, a blanket folded on the table next to it.
"I'll sleep here, you take the bed," he tells Adam, somewhat upbeat. "Let’s be cool about this, alright. Just sleep, no funny business. We've done that enough in the past year."
"Fuck you," Adam replies, and the anger comes to him so naturally, but lacks energy.
"I just wanted to honor the tradition, right?" Kenny says with a shrug, casual. "I don’t want to fight, man, I just want to sleep."
"The bed is big enough for two." A beat, Adam takes a moment to build up a distaste for Kenny. "You asshole."
"Fine, it's your funeral," Kenny says lightly and puts the title belt on his opened suitcase. Away from jealous eyes, but Adam isn't, not about that, anyway.
They go to bed and the body remembers. Kenny's weight shifts in his sleep and Adam is anxious, too hot and painfully hard now. He can just touch himself , right? Didn't they use to do it, on the tour bus and nobody minded?
He doesn't get very far when Kenny reaches over.
"Can I?" The voice is near and low. Secret.
"Uh huh," he says through the fog of arousal. Bad idea, but it's his funeral.
The hand is on him and it's so good, a velvet smooth touch, and Adam thinks, oh fuck. He wants to, and would it really be so bad, his heart is already shattered, can it get any worse than this. Kenny pulls back the sheet and puts his mouth on him, a shaky exhale through the nose that tickles against Adam's navel, and Adam is gone.
"Been a while," Kenny laughs, question or statement, Adam doesn't really care.
"Kiss me," he says and Kenny does, and hands find what they are meant to, clothes come off, skin flushed.
It should be rough and angry and messy, but it's like they already have this covered. He is angry but it's a hollow feeling, an all-encompassing defeat. So he can just take this, get his own where he can.
Kenny opens between his fingers, like he used to, and moans into the touch. Adam really shouldn't be so gentle and considerate, playing and teasing, preparing with slickened fingers, like he used to, though the drink made him a little impatient. Not tonight, he didn't have time to knock back a single shot before he was brought here. Sober and clear headed, shouldn't he always have fucked Kenny like this? Would he have had balls to do it like this, caring and loving almost, grotesquely opposite to everything it should be?
You really are a bitch, you know that, he tells himself, but instead of shame he feels fucking elated. Kenny is hard for him and on the cusp already, writhing and begging, so pretty, and Adam is in control, and oh. He sinks into the champion and that's what this is, that rush of power and pleasure, okay, okay, thrusts and Kenny gasps, but Adam keeps the pace slower than he would like.
He takes it in, stupidly giddy, and tomorrow he will just be another loser and Kenny will be king shit of fuck mountain, and none of this will mean anything. But now? Now is everything.
"Who's got you," he asks Kenny, drunk on whatever the fuck this is, better than bourbon, better than he could have remembered.
"You," Kenny says, huffs against the pillow. "Please–"
"Say it," he demands, and he doesn't know where the words come from, maybe it is the part of his brain that only kicks in thirty minutes into a grueling match. The bare instinct that is usually submerged behind thousands of sediment layers of shame, doubt and anxiety.
"Please, let me– I need to– you own me," Kenny is coming undone so fast they may not have the time for this exchange, the role play, the game. It's a shame, too, because the words will echo in his brain forever, sweet and desperate.
"If I let you, what will you give me?" Adam asks anyway, stilling, hand hovering close to where Kenny's cock is, fingers brushing the head.
"Anything, I promise, for as long as you'd like," Kenny manages and it's a shock, an uneasy feeling in Adam's stomach and his heart and his everything.
Then he gets a grip, because it's just sex, it's just sex talk.
"Sure," and his hand hasn't forgotten what Kenny likes, "I might hold you to that," a kiss against Kenny's shoulder, "go on, fuck, you're so–"
Kenny comes with a cry, muffled by hotel cotton, and it twists something familiar in Adam, he wants to keep going but can't, and he folds over Kenny, holding, bucking, biting his own lip until it bleeds.
The bliss fades as Kenny kisses him in bed, whispering things that sound obscene considering the hate that split them apart just months ago.
"You're so fucking wonderful," he says, "you are something else, a wonder of the modern world, fuck almighty–"
"I should add that to my in-ring introduction, man," Adam comments, smiling now. It’s funny how much they can both fuck up, it's funny because it doesn't matter now, he's loose and sleep is just around the corner.
"You're so," Kenny says, sounding more serious now, but the rest of the sentence doesn't come to him, and he silently pets Adam's hair. "Sleep tight, Hanger."
The next morning, Kenny is quiet and hurried, and the screw honeymoon is over, so Adam acts like an asshole, too. The feeling is bitter, something spoiled between them overnight. Maybe last night was the lie, the hormone driven fantasy where they could just be happy again.
"What's up, champ," Adam asks tightly and Kenny rolls his eyes.
"Get your boots off the bed," he snaps.
"Can I shower here?" Adam replies, knowing the answer the answer is no, he already has his boots on. Just to be annoying, just to get under Kenny's skin once more. Remind him, he can forget but Adam still hates him.
Adam still hates the power he has over him and hates that he doesn't have that power, too. At least not when Kenny isn't three seconds away from climax.
There is the mental image, best tuck it away. Adam doesn't want it, it's of no use to him.
"I have to return the key," Kenny says, sounding impatient and almost offended.
"So I should just get the fuck outta here, huh," Adam says, not really a question but Kenny raises his eyebrows, gesturing to his gear and clothes and miscellaneous all over the hotel room.
"Yeah, pretty much," he says, condescending now. "See you around, bud."
Adam sucks air between his teeth, keeps a lid on the things he could say. It doesn't matter now. It never fucking did, did it.
–
Kenny doesn't dwell on it, but he guesses Hangman will invite John. John's a funny guy. Or Alex, more somber but still hilarious, Matt told him once. For the physical joys, he might invite Ten or whoever else, there's a ton of options for that kind of thing. Easy, sexy, forgettable fun. Kenny would prefer not to dwell on that, too long.
He just knows he is not invited, he made sure of that himself.
And yet.
He gets to the hotel and his room is not the number it was when he left it this morning. Okay. That's not typical.
He has been picked.
"This your idea of a joke?" he asks on entering the room. It's huge, luxurious. Guess they're big time now, the company finally spending money on an old carny tradition.
Hangman just laughs, easy, jovial, like they're lovers and best of friends –they were, once, kind of– and he didn't just put Kenny through torturous hell inside that ring. He looks hot, confident, and relaxed. A glass of beer sits on the table next to him, the belt still around his waist and he's shirtless and Kenny sinks into the chair opposite him. The TV plays a golf game from the other side of the world.
"Did you get cleared by the doctors, man?" Adam asks, one eyebrow low, one raised. "You okay, I mean?"
"I got cleared to not go to the hospital, didn't ask about getting my ass pounded, if that's what you are after," Kenny says sarcastically.
Adam laughs, raises the glass of beer to his lips. "We are not doing that, don't worry."
"The tradition, huh," Kenny says, exhaling loudly. "I guess I should blame myself. I started it."
"I just thought of what I wanted more than anything in the fucking world right now," Adam starts, and gestures toward Kenny with the beer glass, eyes sparkling. "And after I got a beer in me, I realized that was for you to shave off that stupid facial hair."
Kenny smiles, surprised, beaten up, tired. "You're weird, champ."
"Call me king," Adam says, tone lower, and a tingle starts at Kenny's skull. Okay, so it's like that, is it.
A game. Just a game. Nothing more. He was going to shave it all off when he got home anyway.
"Okay, king, show me to the bathroom."
He studies his own face in the mirror while buzzing away the tendrils of hair. Hangman doesn't seem that drunk and Kenny knows that drunk when he sees it. He just seems loose-boned, soft around the edges, stupid sexy, and Kenny's dick makes its own conclusions. He finishes shaving, trims around his temples, mutton chops gone, too.
When he emerges from the bathroom, Adam gazes at him from the chair, one leg raised over the other, a figure four.
"Good," Hangman says and the hair on Kenny's arms bristled, heat gathering at his neck, cheeks flushed.
Shit, he is not going to survive this, whatever this is.
"Should we sleep, then?" Adam asks, breezily and points at the bed. "It's a nice bed. We'll sleep soundly."
"Sure, man, whatever the king wants," Kenny replies and he doesn't have to. He doesn't have to do anything. He can walk out the door any moment and it’s fine.
The fucked up thing is, he wants to. Fuck how badly he wants. Nothing can hurt more than his body does already, so what will follow can't be anything but comfort.
As much as he might wish it, Hangman isn't a bastard, not that much of a dickhead. They can blame his little game and sleep off the nightmare of the past year. The title is on the right guy and Kenny has to go lick his wounds in rehab for at least six months.
Kenny climbs on the bed and Adam's words stop him.
"It might get too hot if you sleep like that."
Kenny takes off his slacks, his socks. Pulls off the t-shirt.
"Happy?"
Adam swallows, nods.
"How much do you plan on drinking?" Kenny asks him, adjusts himself underneath the blanket.
"It's non-alcoholic, you asshole," Adam replies, and leaves the beer there. "I want to enjoy this."
Enjoy what? Kenny shifts, knees raised to hide his situation.
"I thought we were gonna sleep," he says, and there is no trepidation because of what Adam might do, he won't cross a boundary, he's not that kind of guy.
The only thing that makes him hesitate is his own interest in more, spreading through his body slowly, a heat building.
"We are going to sleep," Adam says sweetly, with a smile, a brow quirked. "You'll just tell me a bedtime story first."
"Alright. Well, once upon a time there were three little bears who lived in the forest–"
"A different kind of bedtime story," Adam cuts him off, sitting on the bed now, leaning back on his hands. "You always said, you should have asked me to fuck you that first night in Japan. So I want you to tell me what else you would have had me do to you."
"That's, uh," Kenny falters, feeling unsteady, pushing through. "Fine, I'll tell that story."
"And get out of the covers, man, I want to see you," Adam spoke, tugging on the duvet and Kenny lets him pull it away, gaze falling where he knows it would, his dick pulsing with a beat that leaves him lightheaded.
This is stupid. This is definitely the hottest thing he’s done in ages.
"Well," Kenny began, arranging his thoughts quickly, "I thought when you kissed me we should never stop, I didn't want to stop kissing and things happened too quick because of that."
"You like kissing?" Adam asked, stepping off the bed and unbuckling his belt.
"I liked kissing you," Kenny continues. "Always thought you looked hot, didn't know you were into that kind of thing and, well. It was good. You said you topped and my brain just went, fuck."
"Go on," Adam said, out of his jeans now, hard in his underwear, so fucking– but Kenny needs to focus.
"I wanted you on top of me, spreading me open like a fucking book, coaxing," and he drew a breath, feeling shaky, high out of his mind and Adam palms his own cock, staring, "teasing, maybe, I didn't know if you were into that."
"You know I'm into it," and Adam is now on the bed as well, diagonally on the other end as he is, and this is truly torture.
"Making me beg for you to get in there and fuck me, fuck my lights out," Kenny said and he could feel something wet in his own underwear, instinctively reaching to touch.
"Don't," Adam said. "I own you, remember."
Kenny's hand stayed there, on his own knee, prim.
"I– uhh– would beg and you would enter, you'd be too big at first but I'd get used to it, and you would go slow like I know you like to, and then–"
"Then what?"
"You would," a sharp inhale, not enough air in this room, "you'd fuck me like I knew you could and I would pass out from coming so hard I couldn't see or hear anything but you, you inside me, you fucking me."
"And after?" Adam asked, not letting either of them off this ride but touching himself now, releasing his cock into his own hand, pumping slowly.
The tip is wet and pink and beautiful and Kenny is so turned on he feels delirious. It’s just fantasy and he lets himself share, share so much he feels like he has been split open.
"After you kiss me again, and I tell you how incredible you truly are, and you don't buy it because you never do, don't know how many times I would have to tell you," Kenny says and he really is being stupid now, "you can be an asshole but so can I, and at your core you aren't like that, you're such a fucking good person."
"Debatable but keep going," Adam says and his voice is breathy, so hot and Kenny does keep going.
He tells himself he isn't being vulnerable, this is just a role, cast as the man who wished so much they could stop hurting each other and just be something else for once. Even if that's this, the king and his loyal servant.
He doesn't know what else to do, can't think of anything better than this.
"And then we just lie there, spent and happy, and when we wake up, I don't let you go just yet, I want to taste you and hear the sounds you make one more time."
"Would that be our last time?" Adam asks, tone gruff but heavy with meaning, and Kenny wants to get himself into trouble, it's just pillow talk, it's just roleplay, it's just whatever the king wants, he gets.
"No," he says and it's earnest but he is dying, his brain losing function and his cock leaking, and his heart is full, "it would the first of many and every tour I would ask you to come to my room and give me whatever it was that you wanted to get that night, no matter how small or big an ask."
"We'd be friends," Adam says, sounding on the edge and haunted at the same time. They were friends, weren't they? At one point.
"Or more," Kenny says, means it, actually fucking means it, imagines that history easily, loving and simple, his boyfriend Adam, they started this wrestling company with some friends and it's been going well, and lazy afternoons and late night gym and kisses pressed into smiles.
Hangman swears under his breath, fury and want melting together, his hand increases pace and he comes all over himself, his mouth opened slightly, head back and eyes closed, and the sight is so hot Kenny is almost there as well, not even allowed a touch, a brush, he's a spring that's pulled, awaiting release.
Adam sighs, wipes his hand on the sheets.
"Holy cow, you're good," he says, crawling to Kenny on the bed. His smile is tired, still devastatingly sexy. "And I kept my promise, didn't think I could. I didn't touch you. We can just sleep now, man."
Adam looks at him, eyes pleading. "Unless you're not tired?"
"Please," Kenny says and it's an invitation he didn't think he needed to give, and Adam takes it.
The kiss is as incredible as those previous, and Hangman touches him now, hand pressing against cock and then slipping Kenny out of his boxer briefs. Kenny gasps, too sensitive and so— too close.
Adam tugs his dick, once, twice, and the kiss deepens, the hand slows and Kenny awaits for a fevered second or two, and yet it's still enough to get him there, sounds muffled by Adam's mouth. Kenny shakes, and then collapses, worn out like a tire, almost passed out in the afterglow.
"That was fun," Adam says, pulling him close, big spoon to his little. "We play well together. Despite--everything," his tone darkened by memory, the reality of it all.
They are still them. The fantasy is just that, a bedtime story that sets Kenny's heart ablaze. There is no such thing as them, beyond the dirty talk, deceptive and ill-advised.
Kenny breathes slowly as Adam falls asleep against his body.
In the morning, Hangman is gone, the breakfast tray half eaten at the foot of the bed. Kenny hurts all over and calls for a ride to the airport.
The faster he forgets, the better. But he knows he won't. The body will try and the mind will follow suit.
And yet.
–
If it was comedy last time, this time it feels like tragedy. Kenny sits there, in the room already when he gets there, even though he's the one who has won, defeating Moxley after two years of not getting to touch gold.
"Hey man," Kenny says easily.
It's mostly fine now, they're not friends but they are also not anything else deeper, more hateful or intense. They say hi to each other in the hallways, in the gorilla position or catering. Kenny's body can't take a regular schedule so he's pared down, and become more involved behind the scenes. He takes meetings now. It's fucking weird.
"What's up," Adam says just as easily. "Did I even pick you yet?"
He bites down on his lip. He was going to, wasn't he, of course. It's tradition. It's a good, bad, messy, stupid tradition.
"I just wanted to talk, that's all," Kenny says, going for casual but his face betrays more meaning. "I got offered a job. At the other place."
Adam doesn't move, hand on the belt, all his weight on one leg. "What the fuck you mean, a job? Not a deal, as talent?"
"No, just agent and trainer stuff," Kenny said, opening his hands while explaining, "and the money is really good. I figured, I'm not doing much here so–"
"You can't be fucking serious," Adam says, shocked to the core.
Kenny can't. Kenny can't leave. That's not. That was never discussed.
They didn't build this thing for 6 years to leave to the other place. Cody can do his thing, that's fine, but they were different. They'd be together.
"You're fucking Kenny Omega," he says, and it sounds stupid because it is stupid but he can't say the other things he is thinking.
Kenny can't leave because Adam doesn't want him to.
"I used to be," Kenny says with a shrug. "Now I'm a 40-something part timer wrestler with a wrecked body. I wouldn't be worth the money on a talent contract. The offer is very generous."
"They'll fuck you over in a heartbeat," Adam says dumbly and he takes the belt off, sits down, splays it on his lap. "Fuck, man. You can't. I dont– I don't think it's a good idea."
"A lot of shit has happened in the past year, I don't know if this feels home." Kenny went quiet.
"Do the people feel like home?" Adam asks, and for fuck’s sake.
He is not equipped for this conversation and yet if Kenny is sitting here, that means he has already talked to Matt and Nick and those fuckers are actually fine with him going. Michael knows, too, probably. He's the last one Kenny will go to before deciding to go. Last chance to convince him it's a mistake.
"Of course," Kenny says, exhaling. "You don't know– I'm not making this lightly."
"Then get a fucking counter offer," Adam says. "You don't think we got extra now that the new TV deal came through? You saw what was reported on Max's deal, that asshole is now shoot fucking rich."
"I know, it's just–"
"How much more fucking money do you need? I'll text Tony right now with the number and he'll match it."
"Stop. It's not the money," Kenny says, pointed, short. "It's the fringes of it. I need change."
Adam says nothing, hiding hurt and pain and holy fuck, he should be celebrating. He's touching gold, he's king Midas, yet he is also pathetically miserable and wants to drink and cry into his pillow.
"I'm gonna go, just wanted to let you know–" Kenny starts, and anger runs through Adam.
"You're not going anywhere, I pick you for the night," he says darkly.
"You're not serious, again?" Kenny says, laughing but with no mirth to it.
"Tradition," Adam says, sulky, so pathetic.
What else can he say? Beg, apologize, take away all that happened, ease the pain, make them both forget the bad and remember the flecks of joy amidst the history. Multiply by a measure of thousand.
Don't you dare go is what he can’t say.
"Adam," Kenny says and it goes straight to his veins because he is never Adam these days, Cole is the primary Adam, always has been. He's Hangman, he's Hanger.
"Let's play a game, then," Adam says, placing the belt on the table, off his lap. "Carnival day. The servant becomes the king, and you choose whatever you want with me."
"Stop, I don't–"
"Only rule is you don't get to leave so long as I do what you want." He breathes in. "What you need."
Kenny raises an eyebrow. "Leave this room or this company?"
"You don't have to play, man," Adam says simply.
Kenny sighs and God he is gorgeous, sculpted body just slightly giving way to catering in the past twelve months, and he looks better for it, hair still curling around his ears, eyes that crinkle beautifully when he smiles. Adam feels a tug at his heart amidst all the misery, the world collapses around them, and all he can say, all he can think to say–
"Kiss me," Kenny gets there before him, and their mouths come together, bodies held close by desperate hands.
It's like– it's not like the first kiss or their last one but it's good enough to rival both, it's deep and Kenny groans into it. Adam starts unbuttoning his shirt, wondering why the fuck today of all days he didn't wear a simple t-shirt, and Kenny's hands work at his best buckle, opening, not reaching in but pulling off. Same hands on his ass, grabbing, and okay, that jiggles an old memory.
"Where do you want me?" Adam asks and Kenny looks dazed, turned on, and that's a good memory, too, and he flushes at the thought.
"Like you should have, that first night in Japan," Kenny breathes, shaky and hesitant and it sounds like the most romantic thing Adam has ever heard.
"I should have–" he starts and stops, show not tell this time around and his hands help strip Kenny. "Bed, now. Don't stop— kissing, please, fuck."
The body remembers, he is hard already and Kenny touches his cock through fabric. They don't stop kissing, and it's infuriating and intoxicating and stupid, like two teenagers who don't yet know the mechanics of sex.
"Can I," Kenny breaks them apart, just a brief moment, "in my mouth?"
"You can, but I don't want to– not yet, so careful," Adam says, strangled, because holy fuck it hasn't been like this in forever. Not since, and he'd rather not admit it, the last time he was with Kenny.
Kenny makes a sound and lets him lie down on his back, mouth on him and holy, okay, it wasn't this good back then, was it? And his dumb ass messed it up and for what, some drink and self-doubt? Because they had to see who was better of the two?
He might not be smarter but he is a tiny bit older and he knows some things now. He's not letting this man go. Not now, perhaps not ever.
"Okay, you have to– I might–" and Kenny stops, lips pinkened and wet and oh good, and they can't stop kissing.
"Can you do it like this," Kenny asks beneath him, his hand gripping them both.
"Yeah, I think so. Would be different, though," Adam says, and his knees nudge Kenny's legs open, fingers brushing somewhere further down, finding. "Slower, maybe, not as intense."
"That's fine, I want it like that." Kenny glanced up, looking hot with need, and was this still a game, surely not, please. "I want you like that."
"Jesus," Adam breathes. "Okay, okay, fuck, okay."
He should linger there, allow his fingers to brush by and tease mercilessly and make Kenny whimper and nearly come undone with the simple touch. But patience is not his strongest virtue in this moment, and it's been so long and he hasn't had Kenny like this, pliable under his touch, and he has half forgotten what the sensations drive him to the edge. He plays at the tease but he wants, wants so much, especially if he can't fuck sense into this man and this is the last time.
"Ohmy," Kenny swallows the rest of it, crymoanexhale and Kenny's hips lift to meet the pressure, filling him and it's not, it wasn't this good before, was it, this intensity and heat between them?
"Is it good," Adam asks, and Kenny gasps affirmatively, "for you?"
"It's always good," Kenny lets out, desperate, "now it's better."
What makes it better, Adam wonders and then his eyes meet Kenny's, admiring, darkened and hot, and he thrusts, slow, another, and okay, yeah, this is better. Like getting fucked in the heart, no, that's not a great metaphor and Kenny is begging now, but he can't go faster, harder, he wants the feeling to last forever and they can edge until the dawn and then Kenny can't go, can he.
"Always wanted this, wanted you like this," he starts saying, on the precipice, hovering, right there, "wanted you so much, why did we just –"
"I know," Kenny confirms, "I know, please."
"Want to make it last," Adam said, but Kenny feels so good around him and his eyes are burning and heat unspools within and–
Kenny says, "It will last. Please–"
And Adam comes, no time to pull out, bending over Kenny's body like a piece of hay to wind, screams muffled against the curve of Kenny's shoulder and he's alive and he's dying and he's in Kenny's arms and he loves Kenny, fucking adores him.
He comes to and pulls out, still catching breath and his hand comes to touch Kenny's cock, and he decides, more, more, make it last.
His mouth takes in Kenny even as sleepiness wants to inhale him, and Kenny's cry is electric, loud, uncontrolled. He drinks it, melancholy settling in the back of his mind, if this is the last time, can't be, won't allow that.
The truth: it's not up to him. He isn't really a king and this isn't his court.
He is just some guy who hits people in a way that looks good on TV.
"Fuck," Kenny says, as if in summation. "That was really."
"Always is," Adam says and it sounds like bragging but he's not but maybe a little. He can't help the sheer bliss washing over him.
"I'm not, I wasn't set on leaving," Kenny says. "I just wanted to know what you thought."
"You know what I think?" Adam says, falling back on the bed. "I want another round in the morning. And the day after that, and after that. And after that."
"I meant it," Kenny said, rolling towards him. "I do want you," kissing Adam, "not just for this," pulling away, eyes meeting, a look too intense. "For whatever else."
"I'll take it," Adam confesses, and he's just dreaming, this is just the game. "What you got."
"Me, stupid," Kenny says, voice lowered, almost a whisper. "No king shit. Just–
"--us," Adam finishes for him. "Yeah, let's, let's try that. I'd like to. No dumb shit."
"I'm all out of dumb shit," Kenny says, smiling. "Spent it all on you."
"That's good, I was wondering where all that went."
Kenny laughs and it's like that sound cuts the tension, one final cut to unravel this mess.
Adam quieted. Fuck the guy silly, get the guy, it was this easy all along? They really were a pair of idiots.
"Are you serious? This isn't the game, this isn't pillow talk," Adam asks.
"I'm dead fucking serious." Kenny reaches to touch him, hand cupping his face and yeah, it's real now.
His heart can't settle down, his mouth wants to confess more, but his body is absolutely done.
"You wanna sleep now?" Adam asks, not able to stifle a yawn.
"I haven't stroked your ego enough yet," Kenny jokes, "told you how brilliant and wonderful you are. Very handsome, too. Decent little wrestler, to boot."
"I'll hear it in the morning," Adam says, smiling, and kisses Kenny one more time. "Tell me a bedtime story. The one about the three little bears."
Kenny laughs and also starts, the bears live in a little wooden house in the forest and have some appetite for oatmeal and Adam drifts off, doesn't remember more of the story the next morning.
Kenny stays with him, and it will last, and so he sleeps on, in his own little kingdom.