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Gravel crushed underneath the wet tires of Lawrence's Cadillac as he pulled into the cemetery's barren parking lot. He looked through the crowd of headstones behind the crooked fence, scanning for Adam's grave. Lawrence opened the car door, opening his umbrella as he stepped out. The material of the umbrella bloomed to its full size, resembling a black rose. He veiled his head from the sprinkle of rain. The rain had subsided from earlier that day, its tears beginning to subside after pouring for so long.
The cemetery gates screeched like banshees when Lawrence pushed them open. Wind squeezed past Lawrence, creating a ghostly whistle in his ears. Fog wrapped the proximity, white mist filling the rows of tombstones like forgotten souls. Dead trees surrounded the plot of the dead, their spindly branches creating a contorted web in the gloomy sky. The world around him was in a monotone color as if he was in a silent film. The moist ground made it difficult for his cane to tread through, the gold nub at the end made slick friction with the wet gravel.
Lawrence scanned the melancholic yard, searching for Adam. He looked past the angels trapped forever in marble and brushed past the woeful mausoleums that packed dead people together like sardines. Adam was never rich enough to afford something fancy for his final resting place. His parents banished him from their family lot. Their only justification for this was because Adam never visited them since his high school graduation. They forced their only child to lay forever with strangers.
Lawrence envied the person next to Adam. It should've been him. Maybe one day he’ll be able to get Adam out of this dull graveyard. Lawrence imagined what the soil might feel like: warm and tight like an embrace. The thought of it brought a sort of comfort to Lawrence, it gave him hope that Adam felt safe in Death's arms.
He stood at a large pine tree when he reached the edge of the graveyard. The tree hovered over the plaque of Adam's grave, its dark shadow enveloping his marble tablet. A small cross stood crooked on top of his tombstone, one of its arms chipped and hanging on a thread.
Adam Faulkner-Stanheight
January 1977 - September 2001
Lawrence read the words carved on his headstone over and over, his mind still in denial that Adam is dead. But this is his portion of the burial ground. It's set in stone.
Adam's grave was bare except for the red carnations he placed weeks before. It's obvious nobody else had visited Adam since then. Only Lawrence. The dead flower had shriveled up and laid limp on the edge of the marble slab. He placed his unoccupied hand on the tombstone, closing his eyes and pretending the curve of the stone was Adam's shoulder.
Lawrence dove deep into the dark halls of his mind, searching for the remembrance of Adam's voice. He replayed his words over and over like a record, the player's needle wearing down the vinyl after extended use. Adam was fading. Memories grew hazy like photos losing their definition.
His cane thumped against the hollow soil, followed by his weak knees hitting the dirt. With a shaking hand he pulled out a white shirt, wrinkled after being shoved in his suit jacket haphazardly. It still smelled like Adam. Lawrence, driven mad from grief, managed to find where Adam lived and took several things undetected. It felt unreal walking through the halls of his decaying apartment. He ultimately regrets the intrusion, wishing that Adam—living and breathing—allowed Lawrence to roam his halls and give him a tour himself.
The face of Adam displayed itself on the back of Lawrence’s eyelids, making his insides twist in despair. It was him smiling at Lawrence, looking into his eyes. Lawrence wished that he could claw through the soil beneath him and dig out Adam, just to hold him one last time. His brows knitted together and tears began to build up behind the dams of his eyes. Lawrence longed to have a domestic life with Adam. He never yearned so much for someone he only knew for a day.
Lawrence tucked the umbrella between his arm and chest as he brought the shirt to his face, careful not to wash out the smell of Adam from the soft sprinkle of rain. An image of Adam in an intimate position flashed for a split second in his mind like lightning. His face twisted in pleasure and his body bare for Lawrence to see. No, not here. A shiver echoed waves in his bones. He really shouldn't. His free hand began to slide south, keeping his eyes fixed on Adam's engraved name on the stone slab in front of him.
He slowly unzipped his pants, taking his semi-hard dick in hand. Lawrence sucked in air through his teeth as the cold air hit his flushed skin. He began to stroke himself, using the tombstone as a projection screen to display one of his fantasies.
"So you said that you've been wanting to do this for a long time, is that right Doctor?" Adam giggled as he laid back against the duvet.
The room they were in was the complete opposite of the graveyard, it felt warm and full of color. Lawrence liked to think that his chest bloomed a pretty shade of pink, matching the tender flesh of the twin scars on his ribs. When Adam lifted his shirt in the bathroom he immediately knew they were from a mastectomy.
"That's right." Lawrence crawled on top of Adam, relishing in the way his pretty lips parted when he touched the most sensitive part of his body.
"Please, Larry..." Adam looked up at Lawrence with round doe eyes. "Want... want you..."
The storm had picked up outside of Lawrence's bubble, the pour of rain added weight to the bloomed hood of his umbrella and droplets of water dripped from the metal ribs.
"Fuck, Larry!" Adam arched his back as Lawrence entered him. "Right there!"
Lawrence took advantage of his open neck, sucking harsh bruises and bite marks at the sweet skin there. His hands clutched the meat of Adam's thighs as he thrusted in and out of his tight cunt.
"Adam," Lawrence pushed air out of his lungs, "Oh God, Adam."
"Yeah, yeah-" Adam hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him in a passionate kiss.
Lawrence fell forward into the dirt, pushing his legs behind him and supported himself on his arms. His face buried deep in the shirt, taking in the faint smell of Adam. He stopped flicking his wrist and instead kept his hand still, using his hips to fuck into his fist. He began to slip in the mud, writhing and panting desperately.
"Fuck me, fuck me, please-" Adam's legs hooked behind Lawrence's hips and pulled him closer.
Lawrence watched as his dick disappeared into the warm cave of Adam's slick cunt. His eyes trailed slightly upwards, towards the coarse brown hair from his navel down to his crotch. Adam’s clit was swollen from arousal, poking from the tough skin of his foreskin. He slipped a hand down to touch it. Adam’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and the pressure around Lawrence’s cock started to tighten.
He looked back up into Adam's eyes, now fully widened and filled with tears. He looked beautiful. Lawrence couldn't help but press more kisses to those beautiful lips. Adam clawed at his broad back, moaning into the kiss.
As they pressed their heads together, the image of them covered in blood flashed in Lawrence's mind. He snapped out of the fantasy, the memories of being in that bathroom bombarded his mind. Lawrence recalled the moment they held each other right next to Zep's freshly dead body, the distinct smell of copper, and the slick wetness of Adam’s blood and tears. He froze for a moment, recollecting the final moment he had with him.
"Don't leave me! No! Lawrence!"
A wave of arousal engulfed him, causing him to scramble towards the headstone like a madman. He wrapped his arm around it and thrusted his hand against his dick. He imagined the hard cold stone was Adam's torso. Thick chunks of blonde hair clung to his wet cheeks. His dry suit began to drown in the downpour. The loose arm of the cross on Adam’s headstone fell off and splashed into the dense puddle of mud.
"Mmmph, fuck! I love you, Larry. Love you so much-" Adam moaned delightfully in his ear.
"I love you too, Adam. God, I love you." Lawrence croaked underneath the loud crash of thunder, his arm slipping off the wet slab stone.
Over time it was getting difficult to focus on the fantasy, the warm lights flickered like a dying lightbulb. Lawrence began to sob, tears mixing with the rain.
"Come in me, Lawrence, please, I need it!"
Lawrence let out a moan, come spurting down onto the dead red carnations before being quickly washed away from the rain. The blissfulness of his climax had twisted into guilt and sorrow. His cheek rested against the curve of the tombstone. He wished the slab was Adam’s shoulder. Lawrence sat there for a few minutes, drowning himself in the heavy shower of rain. The forgotten shirt was submerged in mud, the scent of Adam now gone forever.
The thud of a car door startled Lawrence out of his absent state, he scrambled to tuck himself back in his pants. Lawrence crawled over to his cane and slipped several times trying to get himself up. He must've looked insane with his hair flat against his head and covered head to toe in mud. Lawrence tried his best to decrease his disheveled suit.
His umbrella trembled as he hauled himself through the jagged earth, his breath trying to catch up with him. Lawrence tried to give the passersby a respectable smile and nod, but they simply ignored him. He limped through the gravel path towards the arched gates, his body convulsing for an ounce of warmth.
Lawrence collapsed into his car like a bloated water balloon, dropping his head to the steering wheel. He pulled his wet sleeve to check his watch, droplets of rain clung to the glass. It'd been an hour and a half, how was he going to explain this to Diana?