Page 9 of No Rhyme or Riesling

“Yeah. Of course. Sorry. Um. Food's in the oven, staying warm. I'll just go put my stuff away and–”

“Adam?” John interrupted him. He reached out and cupped Adam's chin, tilting his head up so their gazes met. “You can tell me,” John said, nodding at the wine bottles. “You can tell me anything.”

Adam grimaced and let out a little whimper. He still hadn't told John about his former drinking problem. He'd been avoiding the conversation for all five months they'd been together and he still didn't want to get into it. “Not tonight. Please?” It would mean talking more about his dad, and he'd had enough of that for one day.

John studied his eyes for another moment, then finally released him. “Okay. But if you need me to do anything? Put the bottles out of sight, or–”

“No!” Adam gasped. His heart began to race, his skin tingled uncomfortably, and he broke out in a sweat all over. Adam shook his head frantically and practically threw himself at John. “No. Don't. It's your house. I'd never ask–”

“But if you need it–”

“I'm fine. I swear. Don't ever change for me,” Adam blurted out, feeling an old, guilt-laden panic crawling under his skin. “Please,” he begged.

John looked at him with concern. “Adam–”

“I should go shower,” Adam announced, interrupting him. “I forgot to after work.” He turned away and headed for the bathroom, heaving a sigh of relief when John neither protested nor followed him.

Adam shut the door and dropped his bag. He closed his eyes, giving himself a moment to let his heartbeat come back down, then straightened up and set his jaw. Adam opened his bag and dug out clean underwear and pajamas, but he couldn't find his toothbrush anywhere.Damn it. He must have forgotten to pack one.Surprise, surprise.

He opened the medicine cabinet above the sink and chuckled at how sparse it was. There was John's toothbrush, plus a spare he'd bought for Adam, knowing how often Adam forgot to bring his own. Beside those was a tube of toothpaste, and on the shelf above it was John's deodorant. The only other items in there were a vial of testosterone and a sealed syringe. John had suggested those, just in case Adam came to spend the night when he had a shot due and forgot to bring his supplies with him.

Shit!Adam's eyes went wide. Was he due for a shot? He couldn't remember. His roommate, Haven, usually reminded him. And Adam had been so bad about keeping to his schedule that he'd wound up syncing his shots to Haven's so they could do them together. But Adam suddenly had no idea when his last shot was.

He yanked open the door and called out, “John?”

“Yeah, baby?” John called back. He hurried over, eyeing Adam with concern. “You okay?”

“I can't remember when I'm due for a shot.”

“Next week,” John murmured without hesitation. Because of course John would know. “You're good. You're okay.”

Adam heaved a sigh of relief. “Okay. Thanks. Sorry. I'll just…I'll be quick,” he finished, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Adam?” John said before Adam could shut the door. He reached out and grabbed Adam by the chin, then bent down to give him a kiss. “I love you.”

Adam melted. “I love you, too,” he whispered back.

John gave him a soft smile, then slowly released him and stepped back so Adam could shut the door.

Adam smiled to himself as he reached for the button on his jeans. He kept smiling as he stripped out of his underwear, then felt all the tension come crawling right back into his bones as he pulled off his shirt. Adam purposely turned away from the mirror and reached into the shower to start the water heating, then he whipped off the sports bra that he used as a chest binder before diving into the shower and yanking the curtain shut.

He kept his gaze up the whole time he washed, not wanting to catch even the barest glimpse of his chest.Hell. He couldn't even run a washcloth over that part of himself. Adam reached across his body to wash his side, trying to keep his arm lifted away from his torso. But when the inside of his wrist brushed across one nipple, Adam felt his stomach lurch with the sudden urge to vomit.

Adam dropped the washcloth and braced both hands against the shower wall. He hung his head and closed his eyes, waiting for the nausea to pass.

A knock sounded on the door. “Adam?” John called. “You okay in there?”

“Fine!” Adam gasped. He snatched up the washcloth, wondering how long he'd been standing there, and started wringing it out. “Almost done!”

“Okay.”

Adam raced through rinsing himself off, then shut off the water and jumped out, grabbing a towel. He dried his body as fast as he could, trying not to look down, then grabbed his underwear with shaky hands and yanked them on. Pajama pantswent on next, but when Adam tried to pull a t-shirt over his head, the brush of fabric across his naked chest made him feel sick again.

He dove for his bag and pulled out a clean chest binder. Adam knew he'd have to take it back off before bed, of course, but he also knew he wouldn't survive the rest of the evening without it on. He struggled into the tight garment, grunting and cursing as he tugged it into place, then pulled his t-shirt on over it.

Adam risked a glance at the mirror and heaved a sigh of relief. His chest was small to begin with, so the sports bra did its job of flattening the offending growths even more. With a t-shirt on top, he could almost believe that what he saw was the swell of pectoral muscles instead of what was really there.

He turned away from the mirror and tidied up the mess he'd made, feeling the nausea settle even more as he put things where they belonged. Adam grabbed his bag and took it to the bedroom, then paused when he heard John moving about in the kitchen.

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