Page 12 of No Rhyme or Riesling

John cursed, taking in Adam's disheveled hair and dark eyes, the blue-grey color almost completely obliterated by his pupils. Adam sucked him deep and moaned, looking for all the world as though he could come just from that.Christ. John had enjoyed a lot of one-night stands in his life, but none of them came close to the pure bliss of this boy. How he'd ever managed to resist the temptation of Adam—that one night, nine years ago, when Adam had snuck into his bed—was completely beyond him. And to think, because of that, he'd been missing out on this in all the years since.

Adam slipped a hand between John's legs and fondled his balls.

“Fuck!” John shouted. His balls drew up tight, and his cock pulsed hard. John heard a moan and forced his eyes open to watch as Adam tightened those full lips around the head of his cock, using a hand to milk every last drop that shot into that exquisite mouth.

Adam swallowed and moaned again before he kissed and licked all over the head of John's cock, stopping before it got too sensitive. He let out a contented sigh and cradled the softening length in his hand. “Did you like that?”

John gave him a lazy grin as he caught his breath, reaching down to run his fingers through Adam's hair. “Yeah. That was amazing.” He stretched out his other hand, trying to reach Adam's groin. “Come here,” he murmured, but Adam shook his head. “You don't want me to make you come?”

Adam laughed. “I already did.” He shifted up, rubbing his cheek on John's chest. “I was having a sex dream. Woke up with my hand between my legs, and for a second, right before I came, I thought it was your hand.” He grinned. “So I figured I'd wake you up with an orgasm, too.”

John chuckled. “What was in the dream?”

Adam's smile faded, and he tugged on his shirt before wrapping an arm tightly across his chest. “I was naked. Post-op. And you were straddling me, rubbing your cock all over my flat chest.”

“Christ,” John muttered, feeling his cock twitch at the thought. He put one arm around Adam's waist, and used the other hand to toy with Adam's hair. “If you want help finding a good surgeon–”

“Nope,” Adam exclaimed, sitting up and pulling free of John's reach.

“Adam–”

“I need to go to the bathroom, and then I'll make you some breakfast,” Adam announced, effectively ending the conversation as he left the bedroom.

John watched him go and let out a sigh. Why did Adam keep avoiding the subject? The only thing he could think of was that, since Adam's dad had died in a routine surgery, Adam was afraid the same would happen to him.

Except John also knew how badly Adam wanted top surgery. It was there in his eyes every time they had to shower separately so that John wouldn't be able to see him completely naked.

Maybe that would be the one good thing about the damned party that day. He could get some advice from some of the other daddies who would be there, especially considering almost all of their boys were trans like Adam. They would understand the unique struggles. Of course, those weren't the only issues.

Until he and Adam had gotten together over Christmas, John had never had any real relationships to speak of, so he had no idea how to navigate things like this. He'd never dated anyone long enough for normal life shit to get in the way.

And that didn't even touch on the added tension of Frank Barnes's death, still hanging over their heads.

John got up, pulled on a pair of lounge pants, and padded out to the kitchen. He poured coffee for both of them, then got out of the way as Adam breezed about the space, making bacon and scrambled eggs. John started to head for the couch when he realized Adam was humming. He watched as Adam flitted from the refrigerator to the stove and back, making soft sounds and occasionally letting a few words slip out instead. John had no idea what song was going through the boy's head, but he needed more.

He set down his coffee and went to the far corner of the living room, where his guitar rested in its case, leaning up against the wall. John pulled out the guitar, then had to catch a notebookthat tumbled out from behind it. He carefully lay the guitar on the couch, needing both hands to tuck the notebook into the pocket where it belonged.

But not before pausing there to flip it open to the first page. John ran his fingers down the blank lines, frowning and shaking his head. At the top of the page, he'd writtenAdam's Song, but that was it. Nine years or more, he'd been trying to write the perfect lyrics, but nothing ever worked. Nothing was ever good enough. Even now that he and Adam were together, his muse still forsook him. The lines he tried to write either didn't capture the depths of his feelings or didn't rhyme well enough to satisfy him.

John snapped the notebook shut, tucked it out of sight, and picked up his guitar. He quickly checked its tune, then padded back to the kitchen and settled himself, leaning back against the wall, before picking a song at random and starting to play.

Adam's humming faded. He tilted his head, listening while he flipped the bacon over in the pan. A smile slowly spread across his face, and he sang.

The gentle sounds of “Teach Your Children” by Crosby, Stills & Nash filled the small house. John lost himself in Adam's voice, his fingers strumming on autopilot as he soaked up every exquisite sound the boy made. Maybe he was biased, but there wasn't a singer in the world who could make John feel the way Adam did. There was simply no comparison. Adam's voice was angelic. The most beautiful and stirring one he'd ever heard, hands down.

Even back when Adam had still been Evelyn, that voice had lived on a pedestal that no other singer could ever hope to match. At least, not in John's eyes. But now, with Adam finally getting to be Adam, and with the way testosterone had affected his vocal range?Christ. There was simply no competition.Adam's voice was the beginning and end of all music as far as John was concerned.

How could he ever hope to do that voice justice with his own words? Nothing he ever wrote would be good enough.

In the brief pause between verses, Adam blurted out, “Sing with me.”

John emphatically shook his head. A frown flashed across Adam's face, but the boy didn't miss a beat as he picked up the next verse and kept right on singing. John caught Adam sneaking glances his way as the song progressed, but try as he might, John couldn't join in. He knew his voice was passable, but it was nothing compared to Adam's. Besides, he could barely play his guitar in front of people, and he was a good musician. Singing in front of anyone—even Adam—would have made him feel too embarrassed. He didn't have Adam's carefree presence. The boy would sing for anyone, anytime, anywhere.

But John definitely preferred the quiet solitude of songwriting. Performing for even the smallest audience was the very last thing he ever wanted to do.

He put the guitar away when Adam started filling two plates for them. The eggs were perfectly fluffy and buttery, and the bacon was cooked just the way John liked it. They sat on the couch and ate in companionable silence. As they were finishing, John glanced at the clock and said, “I want to get a few chores done before we go, if that's okay.”

“Yeah! Of course,” Adam agreed. “That's fine.”

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