Plenitude, Part One: Trade

aka the scifi porn series, part one: snuggly sex drugs and slavery

~

Adam likes going undercover; everyone knows that. His crew calls it ‘playing dress-up’ behind his back, though they’d never dare say that to his face—except for Allison; that one has no filter and no fear when it comes to Adam. She’d managed to get herself hired as a chef, even though Adam knew for a fact that she couldn’t cook; she’s impossible to berate or say no to. She’s living proof that the cutest, not the fittest, survive in space.

Adam is both cute and fit, so he has no problems with that theory. Until dinnertime, that is. Dinner always makes him curse the day he met Allison and her cute little nose.

Going undercover as a nobleman from Planet Chutai is easy, mostly because there is no planet Chutai, as far as Adam knows. He once slept with a guy named Chutaki, but that probably doesn’t count. Since he’s making up the planet, he goes ahead and makes up the dress code as well; noblemen wear leather capes on Planet Chutai, because Adam has a leather cape that he’s been saving for a special occasion, and what better reason to bring it out than a rescue mission? It looks regal, too, and goes fabulously with his snakeskin boots.

“You’re seriously going out like that?” Allison asks, hands on her hips, incredulous.

Adam looks down at his clothes. Leather pants, leather cape, awesome fucking boots—“Yeah,” he says. Of course he’s going out like this.

“It’s your funeral, man,” Allison says, shaking her head.

Adam pouts. Why do they always have to ruin his fun? “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Where are you going to hide your gun?”

Adam’s hand goes to the small of his back, where his gun rests snug against his tunic.

“And to get to it, you’re going to have to fight with the cape first.”

Allison might have a point there. The cape is…voluminous.

“What do you suggest?”

“Lose the cape, wear a long coat.”

Adam considers this. He has just the right coat to go with this ensemble.

“And put on some of those ridiculous necklaces of yours,” Allison yells from behind him. “You’re supposed to look rich.”

~

Kris has been on board Adam’s ship for two months now, and the things Adam knows about the guy wouldn’t fill a coconut shell—not even one of those tiny coconuts from Vreetha 3.

Adam knows that: (a) Kris is a good guy, (b) he can cook better than Allison, (c) he is cute, and (d) he has a knack for finding trouble. Looking at the tiny little dude, you wouldn’t think he could be anything but oh-so-harmless and cute—like Adam had at first—but no. It’s all a disguise. Kris is actually a magnet for weird shit.

His first week on board, Kris had caught measles from God-knows-where and given it to half the crew. Third week, he’d gone out to buy some oil and come back with a stray kitten, who now keeps getting lost in the engine room. The fifth week, he’d almost blown up a space station with a teakettle and a hand grenade, and last week, he’d stumbled over nothing, hit his head, and bled all over Adam’s cashmere sweater. This week—well, this week he’s outdone himself and managed to get kidnapped and sold to slave-traders.

So now, Adam has to rescue his ass from a planet that seems to be in a constant state of winter, and he doesn’t even have his cashmere sweater to keep him warm.

When they get back to the ship, they are going to have a long talk about wandering off, and the merits of the buddy system for the mentally challenged among the crew. First, though, Adam has to go and buy himself a slave.

~

Adam finds the place easily enough. Brothels and slave markets are never hard to find on any planet; you can just follow your nose, and the smell of sex and filth will lead you there. He walks through the crowd of unwashed and smelly people (and things…with tentacles) until he comes across a man who looks eager and disgusting enough to get him what he’s looking for.

It’s easy to look imposing next to the short, frail—at least compared to Adam—people of this planet, but Adam still thinks the cape would have helped. The man, who introduces himself as Azif, shows him a couple of slaves, all human and all drugged to the gills by the looks of them, and tells him to help himself to whichever he likes. Adam turns his nose up at the display of flesh in front of him and gives the man a description of what he’s looking for—namely a tiny, cute little man, preferably Kris-shaped.

Azif’s eyes shine with pride. “I have just what you look for!”

The gleam in his eyes makes Adam sick, but he manages to smile through it, and follows Azif to what looks like a run down tavern. It’s dark inside, and there are slaves being groped left and right; they seem happy enough with the treatment, so Adam figures they must belong to this place—for rent, not for sale. Azif seats him at a table in a candle-lit nook—very romantic, Adam thinks wryly—and disappears into a backroom.

A Frantian woman with translucent blue skin serves him a glass of wine—compliments of the house—and winks flirtatiously, before walking away with more swing to her hips than a human could ever manage. Adam sips his wine and scopes the place out, noting the exits, doors, windows. He doesn’t see any bodyguards, but that only means that everyone in here is probably armed to the teeth. The servers, at least, don’t seem to have enough clothing on to hide a gun, which is something.

When Azif returns, he has three of the largest men Adam has ever seen in his life trailing him. Adam gulps the last bit of his wine and sits up straighter. There’s no way he can take them, even if they aren’t armed. He’ll need to handle this peacefully, or there’s a very good chance that neither he nor Kris will be returning home—not with all their limbs intact, anyhow.

“Take your pick, my friend,” Azif says, standing next to him and patting him on the shoulder. Adam has to bite his lip not to flinch. The man is filthy, inside and out, and he stinks like the back end of a Brohon—which Adam would know, since he had the pleasure of transporting a whole herd of them a couple years back. It took months to get the smell off his ship.

The three gorillas are each holding a slave. One of them is completely out of it and is being carried by Gorilla #3; the other two are propped up against their respective gorillas with their heads lolling back and forth. All three of them match Adam’s description, except that Azif doesn’t seem to be able to tell a human male from a female, and two of them are the wrong gender. The third is a boy around Kris’ age, but he is ginger with freckles, and, most importantly, not Kris.

“Yes?” Azif prompts hopefully.

Adam shakes his head.

Azif yells towards the back room, shooing the gorillas away, and the curtain parts for two new selections to approach. Adam recognizes Kris in a moment.

He tries not to show interest, but it’s hard to contain his excitement. Kris looks okay. He looks healthy and clean—though very naked—and he’s almost walking. Almost.

“How much for that one?” Adam asks Azif, pointing to Kris, who still hasn’t opened his eyes more than a sliver. Adam hopes the drug doesn’t have any lasting effects. Kris is trouble enough without having to worry about him walking around high all the time.

“Ah. Good choice. That one’s fresh. It’s 3,000 credits. It be a good investment!”

Adam chokes. “3,000? Have you lost your mind?”

Azif clucks his tongue and motions for Kris’ gorilla to bring him over. The man prods Kris along and pours him into Adam’s lap.

“Oh!” Adam tries to hold onto Kris, but he’s slippery—literally. They must have oiled him with… jasmine oil, if Adam’s nose is to be believed.

“You should try it!” Azif says joyfully. “Worth every credit!”

Adam feels sick. It’s been two days; how many test drives does that make?

Adam feels responsible for all his crew, but for Kris and Allison most of all. They’re just so tiny and defenseless. With Allison, at least, Adam knows she’ll yell and scream and kick—but Kris is always so quiet, lost in his own world; Adam can’t handle the thought of people forcing themselves on him. Adam should have taught him how to fight, but dammit, the guy is a mechanic; hand-to-hand combat skills are not supposed to be necessary for that position.

Adam’s fingers itch to reach behind him and pull out his gun, but that would be stupid. They’d never make it out alive. He’d better just give the man his money and leave with Kris. Kris can pay him back—in about ten years.

Just as he opens his mouth to say that they have a deal, though, Kris opens his eyes, blinks at Adam sleepily, and smiles. “Adam.”

Adam’s heart starts beating triple time. He whips his head around and glares at Azif. “Who the hell is Adam?”

Azif wrings his hands. “It probably dreams, sir.”

“If I buy him and this Adam person comes after me—”

“No, no, no,” Azif shakes his head. “It has no one. It’s all alone.”

Seeing Kris’ lips opening again, Adam pushes two of his fingers inside his mouth and pretends to check his teeth. “Not bad,” he tells Azif. Azif preens with pride.

“What did you give him? When will the drug wear off?”

“Just a little something to relax it, no worries. It’ll keep calm for a couple more hours.”

Wonderful. That’s just what Adam needs. “Don’t you have something to wake him up? How am I supposed to carry him to my ship like this?”

Adam tries to look regal and haughty, but it’s hard to do when Kris keeps wriggling in his lap and sucking on his fingers. Adam would pull them out, but God knows what Kris will say if he does. Better awkward than dead, Adam figures.

“I shall get you a room!” Azif announces and starts shouting orders at people before Adam can say no. Someone pulls Kris out of his lap, making him moan in protest, and Adam almost reaches for his gun again. “They’ll get it to your room for you,” Azif says, holding Adam’s arm to lead him in the opposite direction. “Now we talk payment, no?”

~

It takes forever for the credits to clear, and by the time they get someone to lead him to the room, Adam is ready to say fuck it and start shooting. They take him to a building that’s even more run down than the tavern, with paint peeling off the walls, the corridors stinking of mold and semen—up two flights of stairs, right turn, and past doors that appear to have no soundproofing at all. They stop in front of a red door, number 37, and the woman who led him there hands him a key. She waits for him to open the door and then turns around and heads back the way they came without a word.

There’s a bed inside, and that’s about it. Adam panics for a second, because even though the covers look messy—maybe they always are?—Kris is nowhere to be seen. But then he takes two more steps into the room and spots the curled-up figure in the corner. Kris is still naked, and he’s lying asleep on the concrete floor.

Adam doesn’t bother trying to wake him; he just scoops him up in his arms and carries him to the bed. He figures this should probably be their preferred method of transport for Kris from now on. It’s either that or handcuffs. Safer all around.

Kris is sweaty, and his skin is burning up, even where he’d been touching the cold floor. It must be the drug leaving his system, Adam thinks, and tells himself to calm the fuck down. They wouldn’t give him something that would kill him. No one would buy a dead slave.

“The things you get yourself into,” he mutters, sitting on the edge of the mattress and combing Kris’ sweaty hair back from his forehead.

“Mmm.”

Kris pushes up into his touch like a cat, and Adam yanks his hand back as if burned. Kris’ eyes blink open.

“Hey,” Adam says tentatively. He feels like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar—which is ridiculous. He’s just doing his captainly duties here. No funny business.

“Adam,” Kris says with a loopy grin, and stretches; his hands grab the headboard, chest arching up.

Adam looks away.

What happens afterwards, Adam can’t quite make sense of. It’s probably because he’s not used to Kris moving fast. Kris is a laid-back guy, always so languid and relaxed; Adam would expect to be attacked by Allison out of the blue, but never by Kris. He’d never think to keep his guard up for something like that, and that’s why Adam doesn’t catch on to what’s happening until Kris is straddling his waist, has his hands under Adam’s tunic, and is rubbing his face against Adam’s neck.

It takes Adam a minute to convince his hands to settle on Kris’ shoulders, and when Adam finally pushes him away, Kris protests and holds on tighter.

“I feel hot,” Kris slurs. “You’re so cool.”

That must be the work of the oil. Or the drug. Or both. Adam braces his hands on the bed, and—reluctantly—lets Kris press their skins together. He tells his dick to behave itself; this is not what it feels like at all.

“Off,” Kris says, no less impatient upon getting his way. He pushes Adam’s coat back and his tunic up insistently, in a hurry to get to Adam’s skin.

“Okay, okay.” Adam stills Kris’ hands, shrugging the coat off himself. He takes off his tunic next and tucks his gun back into the waistband of his pants.

Kris doesn’t lose a second before plastering himself all over Adam. He buries his face in Adam’s neck and splays his fingers on his back, touching as much skin as he can. Adam sits there awkwardly, not sure what to do, until he hears a wet sob tear out of Kris’ lips and feels Kris’ chest rise and fall against his with a hiccup. That makes Adam reach over and hug Kris back instinctively, rocking him in time with his rapid breathing. The rhythm feels calming for some reason.

Adam can’t help that he’s a giant softie when it comes to his people. Even though Kris is new and they don’t know each other all that well yet, he’s still a part of Adam’s crew, and Adam doesn’t have to know his life story to know that Kris is a good man. “Shhh,” Adam says, running his hands up and down Kris’ back. He’s so small, feels so fragile in Adam’s arms; when Kris pushes him back, Adam lies down on the bed willingly. He’s going to make this as easy for Kris as he can.

Adam comforts himself with the thought that this will all be over in a couple of hours, and they’ll be back home, no worse for the wear. Kris will be embarrassed for sure, but he’ll be alive, and that’s what matters. Adam hopes Kris will at least be spared the memory of Adam’s hard-on—he can’t help it, it’s a biological reaction—and works on getting rid of it before Kris sobers up. Think snow. Aunt Meryl. Azif’s rotting teeth.

It’s a strangely hypnotic litany, trying to keep inside his own head with Kris rocking against him, and Adam doesn’t realize that he’s slipped out of consciousness until he slips back in. When he next opens his eyes, Kris’ hands are cupping the sides of his face, and Kris is looking down at him, his eyes huge and scared. “Oh, wow,” Kris says, and it takes Adam a second to realize that Kris’ lips haven’t moved.

Adam is pretty sure he’s not asleep, but there’s a dreamlike quality to the moment. He feels… stuffed, if that makes sense; it’s as if his head is filled with cotton balls, soft but smothering, and as if the air in the room has been replaced with honey, making it so much harder to breathe or move. He’s overwhelmed and immobile, caught in something thick and sticky and sickly sweet.

‘I don’t feel right,’ Kris says, and this time, Adam realizes immediately that the sound is in his head. What’s Kris doing in his head?

Kris is a light green. Adam has no other way to describe the presence in his mind—a light green fog that travels through him, touching bits and pieces curiously, rubbing against parts of Adam’s being that are delicate—like the fresh pink skin under a scab. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable exactly, just slightly tingly; it makes Adam feel like he’s being tickled from the inside.

Adam didn’t know that he had room in his mind to fit in another person, but it turns out that he does. His mind isn’t in any rush to expel the foreign presence, and Kris doesn’t seem to be in control of himself enough to do it on his own. Adam opens his eyes and tries to focus on the room—the real world. He has to blink a couple of times to clear his vision, and when he’s back to seeing only one of everything, when he can focus enough to ignore the sense of Kris inside him, he nudges the slumped figure on his chest.

“Kris. Wake up.”

“Nnnrrrgh.”

“Kris.”

Adam rolls them over, trying to move away, to put some physical distance between them, at least, but Kris’ legs, locked tight around his waist, don’t let him. He pushes himself up on his elbows and puts a hand on Kris’ cheek to try and wake him up.

“Come on, Kris. Rise and shine.”

Then, suddenly, Kris’ eyes are wide open and their gazes are locked as if magnetized, and the next thing he knows, Adam is hurtling through space—stars, galaxies, nebulae—fast and dizzying. And then it stops, as abruptly as it started, and Adam drops back into the room, looking through Kris’ eyes into his own and through his own into Kris’ in an endless loop. He wants to shut his eyes, he wants to scream, but he is frozen in his spot and can’t move a muscle—until Kris reaches up, pulls him down, and seals their lips together.

The kiss feels like what Adam thinks getting air-locked would feel like. The scream of air, unimaginable panic, and then—nothing. Nothing but your own heartbeat for company. It’s peaceful in a way, like he’s floating in space, but it doesn’t last. A fire starts in his veins and spreads through his whole body, making him crave something he can’t even name.

Adam knows lust. He has been called a horny bastard many times in his life, and he knows he has a healthy appetite when it comes to sex, but he has never, in all his years of being sexually active—over-active, as Neil would say—felt a need this urgent. Every cell in his body, every pore, every atom wants it. He needs it. He needs…

“Kris.”

His voice is breathy, his heart racing in his chest, and he feels almost afraid—the tiny sliver of fear at what the hell is happening swallowed up by the possibility that nothing will happen, that Kris won’t touch him. Right. Now.

But Kris does. He rolls them over and moves against Adam like he has no bones. He’s like clay, filling every nook, changing shape to fit into Adam, and he either has more limbs than Adam realized, or Adam is really, really high on something, because it feels to him like they’re touching everywhere all at once.

The next… however long it is, passes by in a blur. Adam catches sight of Kris’ lips, his eyelashes, his pinky and other random parts of his body from time to time, which only works to make him want more, but more is probably not humanly possible, and for all that Adam doesn’t know about Kris, he does know that he’s only human.

Adam comes twice before he even gets his pants off. The second time, he’s pretty sure Kris makes him come just by licking his bicep, and it’s very possibly the hottest thing he’s ever felt in his life. Kris doesn’t seem to mind the pants, so Adam decides that it’s time he took things—including his dick—into his own hands, and crawls out from under Kris, loses the pants, and throws himself back on the bed as quickly as possible, pulling Kris into his lap, and pressing their cocks together. It makes Kris scream—literally scream—and Adam whimper at the friction. He would probably have come again if he could, but all he can manage is to choke on his next breath and hold Kris’ hips in a bruising grip.

Jasmine oil mixed with semen and sweat is an intoxicating scent—not that they need any more intoxication at this point—and the slickness of it between their skins is making it impossible to slow down. Adam is hot—burning—but he doesn’t want to cool down. He wants to be inside Kris. He wants them to burn together, until they’re nothing but a pile of ashes on the bed. His tongue fucks Kris’ mouth roughly, which Kris doesn’t seem to mind, and his hands grab Kris’ ass, likely leaving fingerprint bruises on his flesh. Adam has no patience for teasing, so he doesn’t spend any time fooling around; he presses two fingers inside Kris and moans along with him when they slide right in. So hot. So slick. Ready for him—

Adam’s eyes snap open, realizing what that means. Kris is oiled everywhere.

He pulls his fingers out, ignoring Kris’ moan of protest, and lays Kris down on the bed, grabbing his face to meet his eyes. “Did—Kris, did they—they touched you.” It’s so hard to concentrate on words when Kris is squirming under him and staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Mmm,” Kris says, then giggles. “Tentacles tickle.”

Adam sees red and wants to bite someone, because shooting them just doesn’t seem like it would be satisfying enough. His dick, though, has a different and rather distracting set of priorities, and demands that he get on with the fucking now and bite people once they’re done. Kris seems to agree.

“Adam. Please.”

Kris wraps his legs around Adam and pushes his hips up; and the light green pulses through him again in a sharp, needy burst that washes out anything resembling rational thought. Lifting Kris’ legs higher, he drives into him in one smooth move, then falls forward, his legs and arms too shaky to hold him upright. The extra weight doesn’t seem to bother Kris; he’s feisty in bed, not quiet like he normally is, and definitely not shy. His hips keep nudging Adam, a plain demand that Adam start fucking him already, and his fingers graze Adam’s scalp, gripping his hair and pulling until it hurts.

Hurt is good. It’s much better than the itch that won’t go away. Make it hurt, Adam thinks, and starts thrusting into Kris with determination, pushing him up the bed every time until Kris’ head meets the headboard and Kris grabs it with both hands in an effort to keep still. “Yes,” Kris keeps saying, over and over, “Yes. Please. Yes.” But underneath the simple words, Adam can hear what he means, what he feels; it’s all inside his head, like he’s catching a radio signal with his mind.

Adam has stamina, all his lovers can attest to that, but his lungs also have an upper limit on their capacity, and it feels like they’re going to burst if he doesn’t slow down soon. Slowing down, on the other hand, makes Kris whine and Adam can’t stand it; wants, at the sound, to fuck him until they both break. It’s a vicious cycle that Kris fuels with—well, basically by being himself and breathing.

“Adam,” Kris grabs his hair and pulls him down to kiss the side of his mouth, his chin, his cheek. “Please. Please. God.” Adam’s next thrust stutters and he drives in with more force than he should, making Kris arch up and groan and kiss him on the mouth, wet and deep.

When Kris’ orgasm hits, Adam feels it like a wave, swallowing them both. There’s no way to separate their feelings by that point, so before Adam realizes it’s happening, he’s coming, too, and feeling it for both of them; watching Kris watch his own come trailing down Adam’s stomach, he empties all he has inside Kris, over and over again, until he has nothing left in him—nothing but the green fog.

Adam closes his eyes and passes out.

~

The first thing Adam sees when he wakes up is Kris’ face, lips parted in sleep, hair in disarray. He smiles, confused, and stretches, feeling quite refreshed by his sleep until the memory of what happened and the smell of the room hit him like a ton of bricks.

He scrambles off the bed and throws up on the concrete floor.

~

“What the fuck happened?” Allison greets him when he walks in with Kris thrown over his shoulder, covered by his leather coat. “Where the fuck have you been? I thought you were just going to buy him!”

Adam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even slow down. If he stops, he’s going to smell that scent again, and then he’s going to throw up again, and he really doesn’t have anything left in his stomach for that. He needs to get to Anoop, dump Kris with him, and then go straight to his quarters to shower. He’s going to scrub his skin off if that’s what it takes; he needs to expunge that smell from his nostrils.

The sick bay is empty when Adam makes it there. He puts Kris down—gently, as if that’s going to make a difference now—on the single cot in the small room, and covers him up with the coat once again. When he turns around, Allison is staring at him, her eyes open ridiculously wide.

“What happened to him?” she whispers.

I happened, Adam thinks, but he can’t even imagine telling her. She’s just a little girl—maybe not quite as innocent as Adam likes to think, but still—and Adam is her hero. He can’t do that to her. Though he probably should. Adam Lambert is not hero material; it’d be better if she knew that before it got her hurt—like it did Kris.

“Can you get Anoop?” Allison just keeps staring. “Allison. Please?”

“Sure, I…” She nods anxiously, like she’s trying to convince herself to do it. “I’ll go get him right now.”

She leaves in a hurry, toward the kitchen area. Adam stands still, looking anywhere but at Kris, but after another moment, he leaves, too.

~

It takes Adam three hours to clean up, and two more for his hands to stop shaking. When he finally leaves his quarters, he has taken two sleeping pills and is no longer in any pain. Which also means he’s about to pass out any second now, so he has to make this quick.

“Well, hello,” Anoop says, putting down his data pad and giving Adam a nonplussed look. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”

Adam doesn’t reply; for one thing, he doesn’t like lying to his crew unless he absolutely has to, and for another, he needs to use his words wisely right now, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to manage a lot of them before falling asleep on his feet.

“Is he okay?”

Kris is lying on the cot, in his own pajamas from what Adam can see, and he looks peacefully asleep. He looks okay, but emotional trauma probably doesn’t show that easily. And neither do internal injuries.

Anoop raises an eyebrow that delivers a whole tirade to Adam. Anoop’s eyebrows do that sometimes. They’re surprisingly eloquent.

“Did I hurt him?” Adam says, biting out the words, which earns him a second raised eyebrow, but Anoop’s stance softens—less pissed off, more understanding, as if Adam is there looking for sympathy. Adam doesn’t deserve sympathy.

“You didn’t,” Anoop says, putting Adam out of his misery, and Adam sighs in relief. That’s good. That’s… something.

“The drugs?”

“Out of his system.”

Adam feels woozy and has to hold onto the wall to stay on his feet. “Did you know that he’s a telepath?”

“He always wears gloves.”

“What’s that got—”

“He always wears gloves and long-sleeves. He doesn’t touch people if he can help it. And he’s always magically there when Allison is upset.” Anoop nods. “I knew he had to have some kind of empathic ability, at the very least. I didn’t confront him, because there was no reason, and I didn’t tell you, because he’s obviously not a threat.”

Adam nods. Anoop knows his shit. That’s why he’s the doctor-and-whatever-else-they-need-him-to-be on board Adam’s ship.

“You should talk to him.”

Adam should beg forgiveness. And he should ask if Kris would like to leave. Aside from that, he doesn’t know what else he can possibly have to say.

“Whoaaa,” Anoop says, grabbing him under the arms and pulling him up. “Fuck, you’re heavy.”

“I’m not fat,” Adam mumbles, trying to make his feet move. It doesn’t really work; his legs are just limp, all of a sudden. Anoop ends up dragging him to the couch.

“What the fuck did you take, you fucking idiot?”

“Sleepy pills.”

“Wonderful,” Anoop mutters, shining a light into Adam’s eyes one at a time. He sighs, finally, and clicks off his tiny light…thingy. “Just sleep it off, man. We’ll talk when you wake up.”

Anoop moves to stand, but Adam holds onto his arm, noting with satisfaction that his hands still seem to work. “Tell Matt to get us out of this place.” Because even if Kris demands to leave the ship immediately, there’s no way Adam is letting him walk away in this hellhole of a planet. They’ll find him somewhere safe, preferably with soft, padded ground, so he won’t crack his head open tripping over his own feet.

Anoop nods, patting his hand. “Understood, Captain.”

“Mmhmm,” Adam agrees, snuggling into the frayed fabric of the couch. He catches sight of Kris’ face, brown eyes peeking through long lashes, and wants to say something, anything—hey, how are you, I didn’t mean to have sex with you while you were drugged—but darkness claims him before he can.

And if the darkness has a green tinge to it, Adam doesn’t notice.

The End

February 11th, 2010