Work Text:
After a few months of dating Adam, you started to get used to his job as a “freelance photographer,” with him coming home early in the day, or late into the night. But recently, you discovered the true nature of his job. Of course, this wasn’t something he was exactly keen to share and if it wasn’t for his own negligence, this fact would have remained buried for who knows how long, seeing as the both of you erupted into a fight once you had found this out.
Much to Adam’s ire, you’d discover this fact after uncovering stacks of photographs exposing important looking men, often caught with their shirts unbuttoned and a lipstick smear on their neck, sometimes huffing something they shouldn’t—placed in the corners of his dark-room. While most of them were hidden in the drawers, a few of them were conspicuously scattered across the room.
If only Adam had been more careful– or clean, for that matter. Since the only reason you visited his apartment was in hopes that you could turn shit into gold and clean up his flat a bit. Seriously, even your apartment looked like it was from a whole other realm and Christ, you lived right next to him. It was just the empath in you, you guess, as you waited until he kissed you bye for work to begin your gesture.
At first, you wondered if these photos evidently uncovered your boyfriend as a cheater. After all, who the hell keeps multitudes of photographed men hidden in drawers?
But, once you confronted Adam when he came home sometime in the afternoon, he had angrily confessed that he wasn’t a cheater, but a stalker. A stalker by necessity, he added, because this was all he could fucking do what with him never finishing college or having any drive to do anything more normal, because at the end of the day, this job gives him something to eat, and that’s all that mattered.
You knew in the way his voice wavered slightly, just for a moment, before he had stopped yelling at you. His eyes darted to yours, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe absence of judgement, before looking away. The way his fingers gripped the desk that held these photographs until his knuckles turned white, slightly shaking, whether in anger or anxiety, you didn’t know. Yet, you’ve been with Adam long enough to discern what he was doing. He was waiting for what you were going to say, bracing himself for your inevitable demand to break up, that this was too much to deal with, that he was too much to deal with.
Thankfully, you weren’t angry at him, perhaps because this dispelled any notions of him cheating on you. You had tried explaining this to him, adding that you wished that he had trusted you enough to tell you this earlier. You tried to be understanding, stressing that although you could come to terms with his rather unconventional job, his safety was always a factor of concern. The men in his pictures looked powerful, no doubt, so it made you worry what would happen if he somehow got caught.
He un-clenches his jaw, which although tiny and almost imperceptible, confirms in your mind what you had already suspected.
“I’ll be fine, babe, I promise,” he says, sucking in a breath. “Plus, these guys that I catch, they’re too wrapped in their own issues to notice some scumbag with his camera. How do you think I’ve been getting away with this for so long?”
A few hours later, after you had both simmered down, you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder. The small television displayed some movie rerun that the both of you found pleasure in making fun of—mostly Adam, though. It was easily predictable, blatantly unoriginal, but that just meant there was enough material for the both of you to hate-watch. Though, that didn’t mean it wasn’t entirely not scary.
“Come on, that zombie walks slower than my grandma!” he remarks.
He had been drawing circles into your hand with his thumb, which he had been doing sporadically ever since the start of your binge. Progressively, his hand started to get clammier and his grip, tighter—especially during jumpscares, which you found cute. And while the jumpscares may have been scary, you were truthfully more invested in your boyfriend’s reactions than on the movie itself.
As the movie protagonist fumbles in the darkness for a weapon, the camera slowly shifts to reveal the zombie she had been running away from. For the first time, the film zooms into the creature. Its skin hangs in sickly patches, oozing with decay. The chasm in its stomach spilled out bloody, realistic organs.
Although the movie was shitty, you couldn’t deny the fact that it was probably because they spent all their budget into special effects. Adam remarks something about how stupid the protagonist is for splitting up and going into that warehouse alone, but his grip tightens around your hand.
The zombie’s limbs move with a grotesque jerking motion, inching closer to the protagonist, before it stops. Staying still, it waits for her to turn around.
At this point, you’ve already burrowed yourself deeper into his shoulders to completely block out the imminent jumpscare about to ensue. Adam smells faintly like cigarettes but you don’t mind, because the scent of fresh pine overpowers it. You picture him incessantly spraying his cheap perfume all over his flannel, something he’s done habitually once you pointed out your dislike for the scent.
You’re drowning in his scent, eyes shut, until you realise that it had gone awfully quiet. Even Adam had shut up. You look up and see that he turned off the TV.
Guess this movie had been too scary for the both of you.
“Why’d you turn it off?” you ask, as if you hadn’t been covering your eyes this whole time.
“It was boring,” he replies. He is a terrible liar.
“Have you ever thought of getting into film?” You ask. It had already been a few hours since your discovery, but the prospect of him considering other ventures still weighed on your mind.
Adam shuffles a bit, straightening his posture. “I considered it, but it’s hard to get any opportunities when the only connection I’ve got is a Z-list rockstar.”
“Ugh, Scott Tibbs? He’s such an asshole.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“But what about being a fashion photographer, you know, like those people that shoot photos for Vogue and stuff?” You ask, sounding a bit more desperate than you’d like to admit. There had to be more in store for Adam.
“Yeah, I’m sure Vogue will see my photographs of politicians smoking bongs and see my potential.”
You tried holding back a chuckle, crossing your arms. “Your photos are actually pretty good. I mean, ignoring your blackmail material.” You lean back on the sofa. “Actually, even those aren’t horrible. They’re pretty clear.”
Adam laughs. His eyes land on his camera, sitting on the coffee table where he set it after coming home from work.
“Can I take your picture?”
You honestly didn’t know why he was asking. He took tons of pictures of you, many of them without your knowing.
“Sure, why?” you raised an eyebrow.
“‘Cause you’re beautiful, that’s why,”
“So cheesy,” you smile, but really you feel heat swarming your cheeks.
Standing up, he grabs his camera, adjusting the settings. The way he darted his eyes back and forth between you and the camera made you feel shy, although this was never really a problem for you before. This time, it seemed different, though.
“Can you take off the blanket for me?” he instructs. You tilt your head in confusion, but he defends himself. “Just ruins the composition.”
You do what he says and remove the blanket. Anyway, he’s the professional here. And although you would never say it out loud, whenever you saw Adam so diligently invested in his craft, it turned you on, even though you knew his insistence for “composition” was complete bullshit. He had just wanted to see your body, to capture it.
Suddenly, you were aware of the light chill in the living room. It was fall and the crisp air had flitted through the poorly insulated windows. You had changed into a thin night dress after you showered earlier, but the growing coldness of the night almost made you regret the decision.
But the way the sheer fabric draped loosely on the top of your thighs, swaying dangerously at every slight movement, made Adam’s gaze linger on you for a moment longer than usual, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. So maybe freezing isn’t so bad at all.
“Here we go,” standing over you, he raises the camera, his voice slightly higher than usual. “Just relax okay? You look perfect.”
“Okay,” you breathe out, adjusting yourself. At first you decide to keep it basic, as you’re still a little stiff. You simply lean on the sofa and smile for the camera, looking up at him.
“Stay just like that,” he mutters, taking a shot. He’s smiling back.
You try a new pose, this time you recline a bit further on the sofa, playing with your hair.
After a few shots, you feel yourself relaxing in front of the camera. Your nervousness begins to dissipate, giving way to a confidence that you’ve never quite reached before.
Sure, Adam has taken a bunch of photos of you before, but many of them were innocuous. He had always taken swift, candid photos of you, but never with this level of focus and intention. While those photos felt intimate, domestic, this felt intrusive, almost vouyeuristic.
You decide to throw your head over your shoulder, hoping the alluring vision you have in your mind translates into reality. Once you saw Adam swallow, you knew you were successful.
“Is this good?” you decide to push him further.
He clears his throat, lowering his camera to fully look at you. The intensity of his gaze makes your skin tingle. You hold his gaze, feeling the air around you grow heavier.
“Yeah, you’re good.” he says softly, almost breathless. “Really good.”
You smile, pleased with yourself, and you decide to push him a little further. You slowly cross your legs, completely aware of the way the dress hikes up to reveal your panties. Thankfully, you decided to wear your lacy pair. Perfect.
Once your legs are fully crossed, you look up at him innocently. It took all you could not to react to the way his breath hitched, how you could see him attempt to discreetly adjust his jeans (unsuccessfully, of course).
What made it worse was the way he stood directly in front of you, so it was difficult not to notice his cock hardening through his pants.
You try not to notice it, begging your eyes to focus on the camera, and the camera only.
A few more shots go by, and frankly, you’re starting to feel a bit impatient. Every part of you starts to throb with need.
You look at his curved fingers deftly handling the camera, the veins in his hand subtly flexing at each press of a button. His hands were being so careful. You imagined those same fingers pumping inside of you until he was knuckle-deep, curling and pounding between your tight walls, stretching you out.
Your heart beats a little faster.
As you’re moving around, one of the straps of your dress falls, fully exposing your breast. Adam’s eyes immediately fall on your chest like a starving dog with a bone. The shutter of the camera stops clicking. He just stands there, keeping his camera still.
“Oops,” you say softly, keeping your eyes on the camera as you pull the strap up. Your nipples are achingly hard, and the sensation you get when the fabric bristles against it makes your body desperate for more contact.
“You’re good,” he tries to reassure, but the quiver in his voice begs to differ.
He swallows hard again, continues shooting photos, and you let yourself look down at his dick—nothing wrong with treating yourself, you reason. Your breath hitches once you see that his cock is completely hard, poking out so palpably that it honestly looks like it hurts.
Your pussy throbs. At this point, you’re so pathetically wet even though he hasn’t even so much as touched you yet.
“How—how is it?” You ask, your voice betraying you and making you sound so fucking needy.
“Yeah—they’re great, you’re—yeah.” He replies, and it makes you feel so much better that he sounds just as helpless as you.
Unfortunately for you though, you hold back a groan once he continues taking photos of you.
By now it’s certain that this whole innocent act you’ve been adopting just isn’t going to cut it. It’s obvious Adam just isn’t going to fuck you if you keep this up. You don’t know if he’s just playing along or genuinely too focused on taking photos of you to notice his erection that’s basically straining against his jeans.
You start to get a little irritated. Your want entirely consumes you, and you need to touch him. To feel him.
So, you carefully and slowly spread your legs a bit more, pulling your dress up and explicitly putting on display your panties and the visible wetness.
“Oh fuck,” he whispers, and you know that you’re finally getting some(where).
“How do I look?” You ask, moving your thumb underneath the waistband.
Adam’s voice catches in his throat, he swallows.
“Fucking hot.” He says under his breath. He takes a few more photos but progressively, the shutter clicks slower and slower until it stops entirely.
You hum contentedly. You knew his resolve was going to die down eventually.
“I’m starting to think we’ve shot enough photos for today,” he continues, and you swear it’s the greatest sentence you’ve ever heard in your entire life.
He places the camera delicately on the end table. You can’t even hide the fact that your eyes are peeled on his cock anymore. The way it juts from his jeans makes you lick your lips.
“Well,” you reply, voice slightly cracking. “What do you wanna do now?”
“I can help scratch your itch, if that’s what you want,”
He says casually, as if that didn’t just send waves of relief through your body. Yes yes yes, please.
“As if you weren’t the one with a hard-on this entire time.”
He smiles impishly and you suddenly understand why he’s been acting like that. So, he has been playing along this entire time. Bastard.
“Ugh, fuck you.” you bluster.
“Gladly.”
He sits on the couch and kisses you with such passion and fervency that you don’t care about the mess that spills from eachother. The strings of saliva from your mouths plaster onto your skin like raindrops.
You moan against his mouth when he nibbles the bottom of your lip, already plump and swollen. He tastes like cigarettes, which you usually hate, but you don’t even care anymore. The thought of fucking him completely clouded your mind at this point.
You just focus on the way his tongue feels against yours, making you forget to breathe and instead, opting for quick, shallow breaths once you pull away, only to meet his lips again.
The sloppy kisses distract you from his hands travelling up the hem of your dress, fingering the waistband of your panties.
“Please, I need to taste you.” He whines, the desperation in his tone making you whimper.
Adam’s fingers gently stroke against your clothed pussy a few times, before clumsily rubbing your clit in circular motions, like he’s desperate to feel you. You cry out, and he sighs against your neck.
“You’re so fucking wet, please. Let me taste you, huh?”
“Yes—please Adam,” you whine, the cry of his name on your lips eliciting a moan from him. You reach out to pull your panties down but Adam beats you to it, aggressively ripping it off your legs like it’s committed some horrible offence against him.
He removes his flannel, tossing it onto the floor and plops down on his stomach, arms immediately gripping your thighs. You fling an arm and grasp at his head, tugging on his hair once his hot tongue reaches your dripping pussy.
“Oh–oh fuck,” you curse out. He licks and sucks you with the same intensity as a man dying of hunger, which makes sense, since you don’t think he ate dinner yet.
His tongue drew circles around your clit and brushed itself into your folds, making obscene noises as he slurped all the fluids around and inside. Your thighs strained from his tight grasp, which spread your thighs as far as possible. Catching sight of his arms under the sleeves of his T shirt, you clenched instinctively once you noticed his veins snaking along his arms, which swelled from the strength of his grip. Fuck.
Your hips grind desperately against his face, moaning loudly once your swollen clit brushes against the tip of his nose. You shudder against him, eyes closed tightly in ecstasy, barely able to think clearly.
Adam hummed in pleasure as you cried his name, coupled with incomprehensible words that you moaned into the sofa.
“You taste so good,” he mumbles, the vibration of his voice strengthening your grip on his head.
His tongue practically gilded against your wetness, and your moans only built up the need to feel you with his cock, his hips grinding into the sofa.
The knot in your stomach tightens and tightens. You continue to grind against his face until Adam’s voice pulls you out of your trance.
“Fuck–I need to be inside of you,” he strains out. He lifts himself up on the couch and once you peel your eyes open to look up at him, his lips are completely soaked with your juices. Something deep in your body aches at the sight.
You take a few shaky breaths, the ache in your core halfway through orgasm. Although you were unsatisfied with the state he left you in, you realize it would be better finishing with him inside you instead.
“Is there a video function on your camera?”
His brows furrow, the lack of cognizance in his head wondering why you would ask such an arbitrary question.
“Yeah, there is…why?”
The rusty gears in his head turn as you stand up and position the camera in front of the both of you, fiddling aimlessly with the buttons.
“It’s the circular button, you have to hold it for three seconds–yeah, like that,”
You grin excitedly once the red light on the camera starts flashing consistently, sitting back down on the sofa and pulling Adam closer to you, kissing him again. You taste yourself on his lips and he grunts desperately, eagerly meeting your tongue with his.
You feel him smirk against your mouth, “A sex tape?” he asks.
“Why not? Might as well try our hand at making our own movie,” you flinch a little, hoping you didn’t reopen a fresh wound. But he isn’t mad, doesn’t look the least bit offended. Instead, there’s this proud look on his face.
The heat nestled in your lower stomach grows stronger, aching for his touch. Thankfully, Adam comes to your rescue, pulling his zipper down and grabbing his cock out of his boxers.
You gasp once you finally see his cock. You knew he was hard, glanced at it through his jeans several times, but fuck, you never knew how bad it was.
His cock is swollen and looks like it desperately needs attention. It juts out proudly, the pink tip is slick with pre-cum, leaking down his length. That leads you to notice the thick streak of wetness gathered in his jeans. By now, the heat in your lower belly travels to your whole body, especially in your cheeks, which burn with excitement and passion.
“Holy shit,” you croak out. Unconsciously, you lick your lips.
You can’t keep your eyes off his cock as he climbs on top of you, holding his dick with one hand and shuffling on the couch with the other.
He lifts up the hem of your dress and drapes it on top of your stomach. For a second, he just admires how pretty you look, how wet you are for him. There’s a look in his eyes that shows how completely gone he is. The blacks of his pupils enlarged and engulfing the blue tint of his eyes.
Once he’s comfortably on top, he pushes himself into you without any warning.
You cling to him while he slowly stretches out your cunt. You’re practically dripping, the slickness of your pussy helping you adjust to his length.
“Oh fuck,” he chokes out, finally bottoming out. The familiar coil in your stomach reappears, though faint.
You wrap your arms around his neck to kiss him, soft and slow, and you feel his cock twitch inside you. Instinctively, you clench around him, making him suck in a deep breath.
He starts rolling his hips steadily, pulling most of himself out, then working his way back to you, over and over.
Grinding hungrily against him soon couldn’t quench that insatiable desire that was beginning to pool in your lower stomach, growing stronger with each thrust but barely looming over the plateau. Desperately, you reached out and rubbed your clit, mewls leaving you from the new sensation.
The jumble of incoherent curses from Adam start to get louder, quicker, matching his thrusts. You feel his sweat against your body when his head travels down your body, pulling down your dress with his hands and trailing kisses along your breasts.
He swirls his tongue around your nipple, then travels up your lips to kiss you again, this time roughly cupping your breast with his hand.
The sensations completely overtook you, feeling overwhelmed with pleasure. You toss your head back, missing his kisses already, but it’s all you could do not to fucking implode right there and then.
“Adam, please–” you beg, not even aware of what you’re begging for. Your mind is completely clouded and making you see white, most of your awareness diminishing at the way his cock stroked up and down your cunt. The only thing you’re able to do is lie there and just feel.
You’re crying, screaming out in pleasure as he keeps thrusting inside of you. He’s moaning against your skin, telling you how good you feel and how close he is. He's panting, tired and desperate and needing you just as much as you need him. The room is filled with obscene and downright sinful noises. The pants, the moans, the slap of skin is enough for you to cum.
And then, the coil in your stomach is stronger, much more powerful than it had been when he was eating you out. It's consuming your body, ready to burst at any moment once you decided to give in. You knew better to deny your release, not when you were so sure that this time Adam wouldn’t stop. Your hands scramble, pulling and scratching at anything. You find his back, and even though the both of you are practically fully clothed, scratch incessantly at it.
It came to you in a wave. Your back arched and your body shaking as he rammed into you. You kept spitting out strings of moans and cries and curses, completely unaware of the shouts your orgasm had elicited in Adam. The walls of your pussy clenching around him giving way to his orgasm as well.
“Oh fuck—fuck—I’m gonna cum,” his voice cracks, hoarse from use. He frantically grabs at your ass, searching for something, anything, to anchor him before the knot in his stomach finally lets loose. He lets out a few shaky breaths, his body so weak that he can’t even produce a sound.
“Fuck, baby—” he whimpers. His voice wavers, teetering between a whisper and a cry. He grits his teeth while his hips dig into yours one last time, burying himself to the hilt, before he cums inside of you. He shudders as he keeps cumming, shooting his hot load deep into your cunt, sluggishly thrusting himself into you.
He slows to a stop and pulls himself out of you. The both of you left a mess, gathering yourselves after what had happened. You feel a little dizzy from your high, opting to let Adam stay collapsed on top of you for a while. By the looks of the slow, languid blinks, he’s getting sleepy.
You swallow, wondering if you have enough in you to speak. Your throat feels dry but you attempt to break the comfortable silence.
“I think we should cut the video now,”
“Y-yeah,” he clears his throat. “I’ll do that. And get you a towel, too.”
Before he gets up from the sofa, he pecks you on your forehead and puts his pants back on. He reaches over to the camera, presses a button that stops the red light from flickering, and sets it back on the table to grab a washcloth from his bedroom.
As he emerges from the bedroom and collapses on the seat beside you, you spot one of his cigarettes and a lighter balled up in his fist. He offers you the washcloth and you clean yourself up, wiping away both of your juices.
You scrunch your nose in displeasure when the smoke from his lit cigarette trails in your direction. He always smoked after sex, but you never got used to the smell. You could’ve moved away from it, but you felt a need to stay close to him. So, dealing with it, you wave the smoke away from your face.
“Sorry,” he turns in the opposite direction as you, making sure the cigarette fog was as far away from your face, otherwise you would’ve been assailed by the harsh nicotine scent.
After a few puffs, he places the cigarette stump in the ashtray next to the camera.
You look at him expectantly, and when his eyes meet yours, he smiles.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He pulls out the small tube of cologne from his pocket and sprays it all over himself. “You don’t need to tell me.”
“Love you,” you kiss him on the cheek, smelling the clean scent of pine that you had loved so much.
“Love you too,” he says, softly, like those words scare him. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
You blink a few times, your mind still a little foggy that it takes you a moment to discern what had happened “earlier.” And once you recall the fight you had, you smile as if that was something trivial, something not worth fussing over.
“It’s okay,” you say, and when you look up Adam’s face is etched in misplaced anger and worry as it had been a few hours ago. His expression stirs a sadness within you and you try to comfort him further, “I’m not mad, I never was. I was just scared.”
“I’ll be fine, okay? Don’t worry about me.” He says, though his voice catches briefly. He hesitates, then admits, "I was scared too. Scared that I was gonna lose you."
You feel a knot in your throat as his words sink in. "You won't," you assure him, reaching out to hold his hand. "You're not gonna lose me."
Adam squeezes your hand, his grasp firm yet gentle. He meets your eyes, smiles lightly, and looks back down again.
“Let’s go to bed? I’m sleepy," you say.
“Yeah, me too.” He sighs, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “I can show you everything we took on camera tomorrow?”
You nod, the both of you heading into his bedroom. You slept in his apartment often, enough that you've left a few of your clothes and products in his home. Even though your apartment door is just a few steps away, you never passed down an opportunity to sleep beside Adam.
Once you step into the bedroom, Adam is already slipping off his clothes, leaving them in a small heap at the foot of the bed. He ditches his usual flannel and shirt for a worn-out T shirt of a band you don't recognise. He removes his pants and changes into a new pair of boxers, discarding his old clothes into the pile. You take your time rummaging through his closet, ignoring the small section of your clothes bordering his. Finally, you choose one of his larger T-shirts and a pair of boxers to sleep in. His clothes feel much more comfortable, anyway.
You playfully mimic his earlier actions, tossing your clothes into the same pile with a grin. "You know, we're gonna have to clean that up tomorrow," you tease, but there's no real annoyance in your voice.
"That's a problem for another day, then."
In the bathroom, you stand side by side in the sink, brushing your teeth in silence. His sleepy eyes glance at you through the mirror, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches you. He reaches over and flicks the faucet on for both of you, his elbows colliding with yours in that small, cramped bathroom.
After you finish, you both shuffle back into the bedroom, where he pulls the covers for you. The sheets are cool and inviting as you slip under them. He follows closely behind, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.
He curls up behind you, inhaling the lingering sweetness of your shampoo, his breath warm against your neck. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer until there's nothing separating you but your clothes.
Before he shuts his eyes, he places a lazy kiss on to your shoulder.
"Goodnight," he murmurs, his voice already heavy with sleep.
You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, his heartbeat slowing as he begins to drift off. He fell asleep just as quickly as he plopped onto the bed, evident from the soft snores already filling the dark room.
"Goodnight," You reach down to gently squeeze his hand, which is still resting on your waist, and he instinctively squeezes back, even in his sleep.
Outside the window, the crisp fall stirs the leaves, sending them rustling through the air. The gentle whirl of the wind and Adam's faint snores lull you into a peaceful sleep as you close your eyes.
You always wanted to be near his side, and so did he.