onepassingnight | under the boardwalk // people walking above || closed log;

Peter's hand almost startles him, his eyes flicking immediately to it. Here's where the fear comes in, wide eyes moving to Peter's face and quickly skittering back. He knows what it would be to bridge that last inch, to cover Peter's lips with his own and steal his breath. He knows how Peter's throat would feel under his fingertips, itching to deepen the kiss. He can even hear the sounds Peter would make, know how he would squirm beneath him. Closing his eyes, he's lost; he's back in their hotel room, Peter's breath washing against his cheek.

His eyes open, just in time to see the flush as it creeps over Peter's face. He bites into his own lip, hand shifting under Peter's. It would be so easy to jump back in, permission written in the other man's eyes, but he can't use Peter again, not when he's lost everything. He knows his own face must be reflecting some color by now, but he's frozen to the spot. "Peter.." But he cuts himself off. He's done with words and he can't trust his own.

Because of him. Peter would stay right here because of Adam; because he was here. For once, he's the one with his heart on his sleeve. Everything spills over his expression, every deception, every manipulation, every apology, every reason he loves the man before him; it all melds together and he can't hold the eye contact for long. He looks down at their hands, feeling a lump in his throat begin to rise. For the first time in four hundred years, he doesn't know what to do.

Peter hadn't truly meant to dredge up nearly every possible emotion in existence and splash them across Adam's features. But apparently that's what he'd done because Peter can't even begin to understand what's going through Adam's mind just by looking at him; there's too much there and it would take him far too long to capture it all. He's not even entirely sure what he's trying to do, if anything at all. Anything past keeping Adam here for a few moments longer, keeping him close, and trying to find any way he can to make things easier for the both of them.

Coming to Adam's rescue would be so much easier if he himself knew what to do. Move in, stay put, retreat; they're all solutions to the immediate question, but they all create their own library of problems, none of them any easier than the rest. And yet it's the first time that Peter's felt this close to Adam since he can't even remember when. He wants to revel in the moment, stew in it, do everything he possibly can to remember the way Adam looks before him. As if he's the one who needs to have all the answers, as if he's the one who Adam needs.

"Adam--" He gives the other man's hand a squeeze, and it's of apology and closeness and bears no expectations. The one thing he knows for sure is that he doesn't know anything, that there's no right answer, and that he doesn't exactly want to scare Adam off. Trying to come up with a smile, he's not sure if he merely ends up looking concerned, tipping his face to try to catch Adam's attention. "You don't have to do anything, okay?"

He's nodding before he processes the words, still dangerously close. This one moment is so pivotal, so important there has to be a right answer. Unless it doesn't exist yet, unless in this place out of time they're truly out of time. Adam takes Peter's palm in hand, bringing it up to his lips, a mimicry of the last time they shared this plane. His eyes zero in on Peter's again as he moves the other man's hand, over his chin and down his throat, letting it rest over his pacing heart. Without words he says, this is for you. I'm here because of you.

Peter doesn't have to worry about Adam staying here, even after he wakes up this dream will weigh on his mind until next he sleeps. And then he'll be right back here, seeking out the only person to ever really believe in him, waking or otherwise. He squeezes his hand over Peter's, the steady lubdub of his heart drowning out his own hearing. He feels close to tears again, face not a breath from Peter's own. Peter's wrong about one thing: he can't do nothing. He doesn't know how. That doesn't stop his pleading gaze, or his tightening fingers, or his exploding heart. But it can't spur him into action either, not without a little guidance.

"Can you feel it, Peter?" He's completely busted open, Peter's fingers just barely holding him all together. Peter's lack of expectations only give Adam all the more reason to expect. He wasn't sure before, but he knows now--he'd left the only other person on this planet who could dull the ache, who could make his ridiculously long life mean something. "You save me. Every moment we're together."

Peter stops being able to consider anything at all when he finds Adam's warm lips pressed to his palm, his other hand tracking the beating of the Adams heart. Eyes glazing over, Peter's teeth sink harsly back into his lower lip, his one way left to try to keep any inch of himself contained. Adam's tearing apart his carefully pieced together wall and he can't find it in himself to put it back up, not when Adam's bearing everything and he has his foot already in the door.

Maybe if Peter could remember to breathe, he could speak. But Adam's racing heartbeat has become his own and he can't shake loose, can't free himself from something that's become such an integral part of him. He hears numerous hearts beating every day, so many that he thought he'd memorized the sound, could hear it without seeing the person outside. But this one belongs to him and it makes all the difference. Peter doesn't want to disconnect, he wants to own it, he wants be dragged closer so it's the only thing he has to hear. If he can save Adam, then he wants the other man to fix him, to find a way to help him absolve everyone who's ever done him wrong.

But he still can't find his words. He's run out, mind ground to a halt with Adam's honesty, and all that's left is for him to crumble completely, to let Adam sift through the dust to come up with his own. He doesn't know why now, of all times, he feels closest to crying. But maybe it's because he hasn't felt anyone in what's been far too long. Even this close he feels painfully far away, lost, and without knowing exactly what Adam's going to do, Peter doesn't know how to bear it. Broken apart, eyes wet he's wavering before he even realizes it, shaking from the effort it takes to keep himself from trying to get Adam to do something. "Adam... then don't make me do it alone."

He watches Peter bite his lip, hunger unmistakable in his eyes. If he knew how, he would fix Peter. He would slot all the missing pieces right back together, and even claim the credit. As it is he's not even sure where all his own puzzle pieces have gone off to. He slides his hand back down his side, dragging Peter's along with it until they both rest in the sand. How could he ever walk out on this man when going one minute without touching him felt like torture, and how even still could he sit here and say he wouldn't leave again the second it got too hard. Using Peter's hand as leverage, he's inching in, fully intending to distract Peter from the issue at hand. Or he was, until he stops just barely short, breath in overdrive. If he's supposed to be here, earning forgiveness, shouldn't he earn it?

Peter's always so eager, so open; it doesn't matter when he meets up with him again, it's always the same. He knows now that even without this kiss that hasn't happened, even if it never does--he knows he owns Peter, even after walking away. In his own dream, however, it's not exactly comforting. Adam is hardly a stranger to his own ego. Still, if he can unlock some strange new intel, he's not going to be able to with his tongue down Peter's throat. It didn't take the temptation away, far from. Adam's every fibre is thrumming to burst forward, and steal those crooked lips.

By a hair, he manages to reel himself back, still close enough for it to hurt. His eyes are dark and wanting, heart still threatening to shatter his ribcage, but he's not moving until he has all the answers. "Then tell me how." His forehead wrinkles, voice a weak stage whisper. "How do I go back?"

Fingers digging helplessly into the sand, Peter stays rigidly frozen as Adam moves in, every muscle tensing. Usually in a moment like this, he'd close his eyes and wait for the conclusion or he'd be the one moving in himself. But he can't, he refuses, he's too busy watching Adam move in close enough that he's going out of focus. Or maybe that's just his watery vision, glazed and unsettled from the collective effect of Adam. He's almost struck by the urge to move back just so he can have more time to absorb all the words written across Adam's face. Peter so rarely has the opportunity to see people being truly honest with him, he wants to take it and run with it, store it away for future reference to remember the time he really got to see someone's true colors.

But then it all comes to a sharp halt, his throat tightening, chest aching, everything already hurting so much he doesn't know how he's not falling apart in Adam's hands. He wants to span the distance all on his own, and yet he wants to know what else Adam has to say. This has to be finished before anything else can happen, and Adam can still steal his breath from this far away.

Releasing a quaking exhale, he has no idea what advice he's supposed to be offering, not when it comes to himself. But he's willing to try, to keep giving this his all even when all of him has already been used up. "Give it time, Adam." He'd rub his eyes if he could, but that's just one more way to pull back emotionally and Peter's doing everything he can not to, no matter how tempting. He feels soggy even though he hasn't yet begun to cry, feeling like he's drowning under both his and Adam's emotions. Peter doesn't need an empathetic ability to be able to feel what everyone else is, and there's only so much he can take. Still shaking, he has to struggle to find every word. "It's not going to fix itself just because you want it to, you already know that. But if you... If you just wait it out for a little while. You can still go back."

"Wait it out," he repeats, trying not to sound disappointed. Adam feels like he spends his whole life waiting. When does something get to really happen, instead of racking up failures. On the right side at least, he had a lot of practice waiting, and he had dream Peter to bide his time with. He offers the man not quite a smile, brushing the thumb of his free hand across his cheek. They were already both miserable, they both didn't need to cry too. "I think I can manage that."

It suddenly seemed so silly, how upset he'd been. Or perhaps silly wasn't the word. In any case, he felt like he'd completely overreacted in spectacular fashion, especially with Peter so close now. When he woke, he knows it'll be a different story altogether. "Especially when I know it's worth waiting for."

Also suddenly, it strikes him that this dialogue is a little too Disney for his taste, though it's a little too late to start over. This dream has surely carried him nearly to morning by now. There's nothing left to do but embrace its romance novel qualities, hand inclining Peter's chin as his gaze draws back to his mouth, giving him one last chance to push Adam away. Waiting was his specialty, right?

Eyes nearly falling closed as Adam's thumb moves across his cheek, Peter tries to make a solid attempt to lace himself up. Not closed off, but at least kept together. But once his eyes are wide open again, he quirks an eyebrow, knowing he doesn't need to point out that Adam has more than enough time to spare. Nor should he really be disappointed by the idea of waiting when he was the one who left, but he's going to leave that comment waiting in the aisles, since he's sure Adam's aware of that one too. "I didn't say you were going to have to wait for years. Just... a little while."

When Adam lifts his face, Peter suddenly finds it astonishingly difficult to breath, throat practically swelling shut in the span of a second. He can follow the line of Adam's gaze and his heart's racing fast enough he almost thinks that it's stopped entirely. Peter doesn't want to admit how easy it is for Adam to make him melt in his hands, but the look on his face should make that more than obvious. If the waiting doesn't make him explode, then the conclusion of this surely will.

But he can manage one last sentence, a few more words of hope to offer Adam. He knows that wasn't exactly the answer Adam wanted to hear, but there is no perfect solution, not when it comes to his own jagged emotions. He's already bared himself more completely than he has in months, so why not simply tear the rest of himself open. "Whether or not you believe it, just because you try to leave doesn't make me stop needing you." Voice barely above a whisper, that should be more than enough proof that he has no intention of pushing the other man away.

It makes him want to curse, or at the very least, wrap Peter up in details of just how much those words affect him. But this is the moment beyond words, the moment of truth. He can show Peter his need just as surely as he can profess it, probably to more success. He's only tormenting them both in drawing this out, but it comes with delicacy and planning he wouldn't want to rush. He keeps forgetting to breathe, and it catches it his throat, face clouded with enough need to fill a room. Running over what Peter's just said, it's hard not to take comfort in the words, highlighting that try and replaying it again. He could try to leave, but Peter would always be waiting. He would always be waiting for Peter.

That last leap forward feels like a marathon, an endless road to one ropeless finish. He can only keep driving forward, angling Peter's face to receive his lips. He closes his eyes before he can talk himself out of it, or come up with any more words for Peter to analyze. Rounding the last lap, his mouth covers Peter's, all of himself behind the push.

It almost feels as if he's waiting an eternity, every second that ticks by making his blood boil ever hotter. It's going to be the anticipation that kills him, he thinks, the wait as painful as anything yet. For a brief moment, he wonders if Adam's going to go through with it at all, not for any reason other than Peter's own uncertainty. But it draws him in, his own fears making his mouth go unnecessarily dry while he waits for Adam to make his decision.

And then, as Adam's lips press into his, Peter's eyes finally drift shut and he simply sinks into it. Without having to wonder anymore, the heat finally rushes to his face, practically making the rest of him go numb. Peter was fairly sure that he'd already given all of himself over, but he was wrong otherwise how would he put as much behind the kiss as he suddenly finds himself doing. One of his palms finds Adam's cheek, the other still grounding him in the sand; or at least it's trying to considering attempting to keep himself from falling apart is a wasted effort at this point. All of his focus is dragged into Adam's warm mouth against his and nothing could drag him away. Adam's overtaken him, stolen every single one of his senses -- he can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but find himself wholly captivated by the man against him.

He doesn't stop, pressing forward further, thumb slipping over Peter's pulse the way he'd imagined. Peter tastes the way he knew he would, their heartbeats intertwining and fading away, becoming the baseline to this moment. Peter's hair smells the way he knew it would smell, though it's tinged with salt and sand. He wants to wear Peter's skin, he wants to feel him in every way there is to feel, and those crooked lips fitted against his feel perfect. They're everything Adam needs and he's steadily losing himself in them, his hand jumping down to snag Peter's waist, keeping them both upright. All his defenses past, this person he's spent centuries building up just crumbles at Peter's lightest touch, an oak tree blown over by a light breeze.

Pulling back just enough to speak, he says the words he's been so petrified of, lips brushing over Peter's as he does. He can remember each person, each moment he's used the phrase, because he can count it on two hands exactly. On one that he meant them, even remotely. Just when he thought he was out, tears sting in his eyes, tracking down his cheeks unnoticed while he leans back in. "I love you."

Peter had almost thought, with some semblance of conviction, that the crying was done with. God knows he'd been trying to hold himself together nearly this entire time, and Adam made it no easy feat. But when he feels something wet slip down across his palm, he opens his eyes half-lidded onto Adam and any part of him that wasn't already demolished simply crumbles.

While Peter had cared about a great many people in his lifetime, those still weren't words he threw around easily. Peter might love a little more freely than some, but that didn't diminish the extent of his emotions, or the meaning. And even then, it wasn't something he confessed to often. Especially as of late, the word had nearly disappeared from his vocabulary.

But when he can feel Adam's words against his skin as much as he can hear them, it very nearly pulls Peter inside out. Suddenly squeezing his eyes shut to keep his own welling tears from falling, he needs a moment to find his way through Adam's words still echoing in his mind. Breath coming in shaky bursts against Adam's mouth, Peter pushes in for his own firm but quick kiss so he can find himself once more, so he can find the breath he needs to speak again somewhere in the depths of Adam's lungs. Pulling back again not a second later, with lips still ghosting against Adam's, Peter finally finds his words. "I love you too, Adam."

For a long pause Adam simply is. He doesn't breath or speak or blink or move. Every moment of the virus was still on the forefront of his mind, though it felt as fake as it was now, china memories to be stored away and never used. Hearing those words bolt him back there and he's suddenly constricting his arm around Peter, pulling him tight against his chest, instantly exiling any thought of those few days. If he can do nothing else, he can at least hold Peter until the morning light. Methodically, he replaces every moment of the virus from one of this dream, erasing each touch and rewriting each breath; reetching each word into his mind. Maybe someday soon he'll be able to make new memories, but for now there was this and this was enough.

Peter knows that he still doesn't understand all of this, and it's likely that he never will. But he doesn't need to, it's not necessarily important to know exact details when he has emotions to sift through, and those are more than enough to inflict on the both of them. Tucking his nose in against Adam's neck and blinking back tears he doesn't want to fall, all Peter can do is stay silent and hope to offer whatever comfort he still can for as long as he's allowed. This right here is more than he could have ever asked for, and eventually his breathing slows to a quiet pace against Adam's skin, the ebb and flow of his emotions relaxing to something a little more manageable. But even then, he's still wound tight, clinging to one of the few things he has left, desperate to believe it won't disappear for just another few moments, needing whatever he can get to make it through.

He grapples for a hold in Peter's shirt, hand jumping out of the sand. Don't cry, he wills the body against him, a few tears of his own already falling in the man's hair. His own breathing isn't as calm, growing frenetic as he tries to stop the floodgates from opening all over again. If they were to, he won't be able to stop them, his self-control long since shot. It's hard to care with Peter this close; hard to feel anything but his fingers at his back, the man's breath making his skin tingle, shivers pulling over his skin. Adam presses his lips to Peter's forehead, his bangs tickling him with each forced breath. This can't end, not just yet, and he holds Peter all the tighter as if he can keep the day at bay.

Peter's already sure that he's outlasted the time he usually gets to spend asleep and now he's biding his time, waiting for the inevitable moment where he'll be pulled back towards wakefulness. But until then, he's clinging with all he has, burying himself against Adam as if there's no other way to keep living. Maybe if he holds on all the tighter he won't be the one left alone in the sand, and he'd beg for it if he could. He'd ground out the words if they had any affect at all, but instead, he's dripping tears against Adam's neck, holding his own breath. Lifting his face to but his nose against Adam's ear, thinking he can come up with necessary words, Peter knows they'll only sour the moment, so he stays silent, dripping desperation.

When Peter's breath trickles into his ear, he shudders, wishing he could pull the words out of the other man. His words might be the only thing Adam gets to keep when all is said and done, light ebbing in through his window. Leaning back just enough, he's kissing away Peter's tears, despite the steady stream of his own. Shaking hands grip Peter's face, needing more than anything to take his fear; take his pain, and make it his own. "I'll come back, Peter," it's hushed and fractured, but the truth of it carries. His mouth collides with Peter's again, his last chance to plead his case. If they're operating on borrowed time, he can't waste a red second. "I promise."

If he had the words to give, he'd hand them all over without a second thought, but he's run out and trying to stumble through all the assorted things he wants to say just seems completely pointless. And even if he could piece something together, Adam's kiss would've stolen it away before it passed his lips. His face caught in Adam's hands, there's nowhere else he can look and it breaks him apart as much as it puts him back together, trying to use Adam's face to focus in on all that he is. With forced, harried breaths, Peter offers a twitch of a nod, his fingers curling in the hem of the other man's shirt. It takes far too long for him to dredge up the ability to speak, he knows it does, but he's distracted, clinging as much to Adam's promise as he is to his presence. "Okay."

What comes over him isn't exactly a smile, but there's some mirth behind it. This is one promise he can keep; one way he can make things right. He pushes his face in against Peter's, tears spilling over the man's cheek before he can stop them. It's either let go now or be torn away, his last comfort pulled from his arms by the coming day. Adam buries his face in Peter's hair, holding fast and clutching so tightly his arms shake. If the dawn wanted Peter, it would have to take him by force.

Peter would beg Adam to stay if he knew it would have any affect at all and if it didn't make him feel horrendously guilty for even thinking it. This isn't even his Adam to keep, and Peter keeps telling himself a few more seconds mean the world. Nose grazing Adam's wet cheek, Peter's doing everything he can to keep himself completely here; even with alarm clocks and places he needs to be and things he thought he wanted to be doing, maybe if he lets himself disappear into Adam, it'll all go away too. "I don't want to wake up." Peter's mumbling his words, fairly sure he can already feel himself getting pulled away despite all efforts to the contrary and any chance at keeping from crying himself awake is lost, as he's left clinging to things that aren't even there.

"But you have to," Adam brushes away Peter's bangs one last time, feeling himself getting yanked back into the waking world. It wasn't fair; it wasn't as if he had anywhere to be. And in a single instant, it's all over, the world they'd built gone in the single blink of an eye. Until the next time.

under the boardwalk // people walking above || closed log;

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