“I’m too drunk for Smarty Pants Cassius,” he bemoans.
I turn off the water and grab the back of his head, wishing his hair were long enough for me to yank. “Do not fucking do that again.”
“Or what?” he asks, testing the very bounds of my patience.
“Or I will make you eat your own vomit off the driveway like a fucking dog. Got it?”
He smiles, too damn gorgeous for his own good. “Yeshh, shhir.”
I then set to drying him off, accidentally rubbing against his dick, and he says, “Are we fucking tonight?”
“Definitely not.” Icannotwith him right now.
“But I’m horny,” he whines, stroking himself to full arousal. I slap his dick, and I’m tempted to slap his face too, but his jaw is already swollen and bruised. “Ow,” he says with a pitiful expression while his dick jumps higher. “Do that again, but nicer.”
“I’m not rewarding your bad behavior. Now brush your teeth, then get your ass into bed while I get some aspirin and a bowl. If you puke on my sheets, so help me God, Adam, I will chop off your dick and put it in a jar.”
“I love you, Mr. Peacock,” he trills on his way to the bedroom, shaking his ass to tempt me. As I’m setting him up for the night he rolls onto his side and says, “Can you make me a peebeeandjay?”
“A what?”
“A Pee, Bee, and Jay. I like it when you make the peanut butter and jelly go all the way to the edges.”
“You’re hungry now?”
“I’m starving.” He sucks in his stomach and points to its concavity. “See?”
“You’re going to get crumbs everywhere and jelly on the sheets.”
“I won’t, I promise.” He crosses himself, or attempts to, and I groan aloud. “Please, Cassius?”
“Fine,” I snap. I go out to the kitchen and prepare his sandwich, cutting off the crusts too because he’s a fucking child about food. When I come back to the bedroom, he’s already passed the fuck out. “Jesus Christ,” I grumble and eat the damn thing myself.
Is it possible that I am in over my head?
* * *
The next morningwhile we’re lying in bed, still recovering from the night before, and after Adam apologizes to me with a hearty blowjob, he tells me the entire story, sober this time. It sounds to me like Maddox Kepler is trying to sabotage him.
“What do you want me to do about it?” I ask because I want to hear him say it.
“I want you to take care of it. Like you always do.” He stares at me with quiet contemplation.
“You want me to ruin him?”
Adam looks askance, as if there might be someone in the room to overhear our conversation. “I mean, I don’t want you to, like, beat him up or anything.”
What about have him run off the road,I think absently.
“You want me to ruin him professionally then?” I ask, wishing to know the exact parameters of his request. How far is Adam willing to go to get what he wants?
“Is that wrong?”
That he would ask me is somewhat laughable, but I try to indulge him in all things.
“Is it wrong to have ambition? Is it wrong to want a bully to suffer the consequences of his actions? What exactly do you want out of this, Adam?”
“I want to stay on the show,” he says with a stubborn pout. “I don’t want to be killed off by Maddox Dicksucker Kepler. But still…” He bites his lip and casts his eyes downward like he’s ashamed. What must it feel like? My understanding of right and wrong is more like cause and effect. What are the consequences of my behavior? What will the outcome be? Will I get caught? If the results are mostly favorable to me, then it’s a go. If I may lose something in the process, then it requires more consideration.
