prompt: anything in the after the raven verse i BEG. (or anything rare pair to be honest.)
me: just write like five hundred words for #inspo me @ me: write jackholtz’ first kiss and make it Longme: ….nice nice nice ncie n i c e
anyway. here’s that. for @alphacrone, who deserves all the rarepairs.
Feb. 13th, 2015.
Adam trudges from the barn towards his house, eyes locked on the back door. It’s literally freezing; ice crunches and snaps beneath the heavy soles of his work boots. Adam loves his farm, loves living in Rhode Island, but seriously, fuck February. He knocks his boots against the door frame with a little more force than necessary to dislodge the dirt and ice that’s collected in the grooves of his boots. When he opens the door he’s flooded with heat and light and a delicious smell, something sweet and spicy that invites him in. He kicks off his boots and walks into the kitchen, one eyebrow raising when he sees who’s there.
“Jack?” He asks mildly, fingers busy unzipping his heavy coat. “What are you still doing here?” Jack just shrugs, looking completely at ease in Adam’s kitchen. Back in December he’d come by the farm once every couple weeks to check on his hives. By January he started coming every weekend. Now, he drops by twice a week, dutifully checking on the hives Adam assumed were hibernating. He’s even been stranded overnight when the roads are too slick or snowy to drive on; Adam’s offered him the other half of his huge mattress, too embarrassed of his terrible pull out couch to force Jack to sleep in the living room.
“Colony F is showing symptoms of Nosema disease. I’d just have to turn around and come back tomorrow morning to check on it so i was hoping…” Jack trails off, glancing over at the hallway that leads to Adam’s bedroom.
“Sure,” Adam says. He walks over to the stove, the old floorboards creaking beneath his feet. There’s a small pot on the range, steaming lightly. “What are you making?” He asks, coming to lean against the counter next to Jack.
As Jack stirs the liquid, cinnamon sticks, cloves, and star anise surface and sink back down into the bottom of the pot. “When you were in the barn Ollie came by with a new spiced cider. He and Wicky were hoping you’d try it and make a cheese to pair with it.” He nods over at the mason jar that’s sitting on the counter, the label for Fist Bump Orchard emblazoned on the side.
Adam hums, already reaching into a cabinet to procure two mugs. Jack ladles out some of the cider into each mug and turns off the stove before picking one up. “To Colony F,” Adam says and they clink the ceramic together gently. Adam takes the first sip and immediately reaches out, free hand settling on Jack’s arm. Jack looks over at him in concern, the steaming mug inches away from his face. “There’s spiced rum in here,” Adam warns. “A lot of it, which is pretty on brand for Ollie and Wicks, but, uh. Just thought I’d warn you. I know you don’t drink much.” He explains, carefully removing his hand.
Jack glances down at the liquid in his cup with a small smile on his lips. “Thanks for the warning.” He says quietly, gaze flickering up to meet Adam’s. He’s stunning like this, open and bright and Adam’s suddenly overwhelmed but he can’t look away.
“You’re welcome,” He says, trying to remember how to breathe. He used to be able to do it, it used to be so easy, but now, with Jack Zimmermann smiling up at him it’s just — it’s hard to focus on anything else. Jack looks away and air rushes into Adam’s lungs. He takes a long, fortifying sip of the hot cider to distract himself. It’s good, but not quite perfect. He closes his eyes and takes another sip, focusing on the interplay of the individual flavors. Yeah, he can definitely make something for this once they get the spiced rum under control.
They drink their ciders slowly, lingering in the kitchen until Adam’s finished his mug. Jack only drinks half of his but takes small sips as they clean up. Adam usually hates having people in his space, but at some point in the past few months Jack stopped being people. He’s something else entirely, some new category that Adam refuses to identify even as he climbs into bed, Jack already tucked in on the other side of the mattress. He doesn’t have to admit it to himself tonight, or ever, really.
“Night,” He says just before turning out the light.
“Night,” Jack echoes. Adam pulls the blankets up to his chest and settles on his side, eyes falling shut. It doesn’t take much effort to staunchly ignore every indicator or Jack’s presence: the sound of his even breathing, the heat radiating from his half of the bed, the slight depression in the mattress. Adam’s had more than enough practice so he wills himself to sleep, the day’s tension slowly seeping from his muscles with every breath.
“You were good, you know.” Jack says suddenly, every syllable hushed and tenuous, like he’s hoping Adam’s asleep. Adam was so, so close to finally drifting off, but Jack’s whispered words pull him back into wakefulness. He faithfully ignores the thrill that goes through him, pushing down the warmth that always sparks when he’s praised.
Adam doesn’t roll over, but he does shift so his words aren’t muffled by his pillow. “Good at what?” He asks, voice far gruffer than he anticipated. He coughs to clear his throat, the sound almost distracting him from the soft rustling of the sheets next to him. Jack must be moving, but Adam stays still.
“At hockey,” Jack clarifies. He sounds a little surprised that Adam hadn’t immediately realized what he was talking about; Adam’s not sure how to tell him that most people don’t think about hockey on a minute by minute basis. “You were really good,” Jack continues. “You would have made it all the way.”
“Is that why you hated me?” Adam asks lightly, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.
“Yes,” Jack says, dead serious. The word settles between them, sinking into the fibers of the blankets they’re sharing.
Adam rolls over, mouth open as he tries to think of something, anything, to say to that, but when he turns Jack’s right there, close enough for Adam to make out his features without his glasses. Moonlight illuminates his face, casting a silver glow over his perfect cheekbones and droopy eyes. Jack closes his eyes, releasing his breath in a heavy sigh. He looks exhausted, brows drawn together and lips turned downwards, but he doesn’t turn away. Adam moves closer, shifting centimeter by centimeter until the back of his hand brushes against Jack’s fingers. Jack inhales softly, just a small gasp of air, and opens his eyes.
“I don’t hate you now.” He says, somehow serious and earnest at the same time, like he’s not sure if Adam will believe him. His brows draw further together when Adam laughs.
“Jack, we’re literally sharing a bed right now. I know you don’t hate me.” Adam says, broad smile still lingering. “And for the record, I don’t hate you, either. You’d be sleeping on my shitty, back-breaking couch if that were the case.” He rolls onto his back but quickly turns his gaze back to Jack. Adam doesn’t want to look away for too long, not when Jack has that little smile on his face, not when Jack presses his face into the pillow to muffle his soft laughter, not when Jack is right there, close enough to touch.
Adam swallows and forces himself to look back up at the ceiling. He takes the warmth that’s built up in his chest and molds it into a tiny ball. He shoves it deep down, locking it away in the corner of his mind he reserves for Emotions He Does Not Need Or Want. Out of sight, out of mind. Adam squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply. The winter night feels just a little bit colder but Adam makes himself focus on the chill. The warmth he feels for Jack is dangerous; he can’t trust anything but the cold that’s leeching onto his fingertips. Jack’s a furnace beside him but he rolls over, turning his back on every compromising thought and feeling. It’s safer this way. Jack’s breathing evens out behind him and Adam soon follows him into sleep, cold but safe.
Jack wakes up to an empty bed and an unpleasantly dry mouth. He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and looks over at the rumpled sheets beside him. He’s not sure why he spoke up last night, why it felt important to tell Adam those things in that moment. Jack doesn’t understand a lot of the things he’s been doing lately, from checking on his bees far more regularly than they need to making up excuses to avoid returning to his apartment. He used to love his little one bedroom, with its river views and shelf after shelf of books, but now whenever he returns from Adam’s farm it feels unpleasantly spacious, empty and vacant. For all his issues Jack’s never been agoraphobic but now, after being in that apartment, he thinks he understands the fear. He wasn’t even aware of how uncomfortable it was until he’d spent time in Adam’s cozy farmhouse which, ironically, has more square footage than his apartment. It just feels better, and Jack has no idea why. He dresses quickly, catching glimpses of Adam out the windows as he works. Adam always moves with purpose, striding quickly from the barn to the pasture, cheeks red from the cold. Jack hurries to check on his hives; the sooner he examines them the less he’ll worry.
Jack removes the top portion of the hive with little preamble. He works quickly, not wanting to expose the hive for too long. The queen’s not in any danger, he knows. Her colony swarms around her in the cold, vibrating their millions of wings to keep her warm. He works his way through each sheet, meticulous as ever despite the chill. As he nears the bottom he spots the largest cluster of bees, a football sized lump that he knows must be wrapped around the queen. Absently, he wonders if it feels claustrophobic for her, if she’s ever tempted to break free from the hive and make it on her own. He knows, though, that every single one of her instincts is telling her to stay exactly where she is. She’ll remain with the hive for the duration of her life, content to live in the small colony.
Jack understands the appeal. Last night his instincts had told him to stay in the warmth of Adam’s farmhouse, too, and suddenly, everything Jack’s been doing makes perfect sense. Jack almost drops his bees, shocked by the instantaneous, all encompassing clarity. Everything - the frequent visits, the excuses to stay, avoiding his apartment - falls into place and Jack can see precisely why he’s been so distracted. The fog lifts and for the first time in months Jack knows precisely what he needs to do, and he needs to do it immediately.
Jack reassembles the hive carefully but the moment it’s sealed he takes off for the barn at a full sprint. His hat flies off his head, the veil fluttering as it falls to the ground. He leaves it behind, unable to bear wasting a single second. The barn isn’t far from where he keeps his hives but it feels like the last mile of a marathon, each step seemingly taking far, far longer than he wants.
“Adam!” Jack calls out as he flings open the barn doors, only to have a few goats look up at him in surprise. He pauses for just a second before closing the doors, slamming them in his haste. He runs towards the pasture, slipping through the fence easily despite his bulky coat and boots. The cows look up as he runs past them, some of them trotting away in fear. He jumps over cow pies and frozen over mud holes, heading straight for the hill in the middle of the pasture. It’s the vantage point he needs in order to know if Adam’s close by or if he’s driven over to the limits of his acreage. Jack’s not sure what he’ll do if that’s the case. He’ll see how far he can run, at least. When he reaches the crest of the hill Jack scans the pasture, face falling when he doesn’t see anything other than distant cows and scattered trees.
“Jack?”
He turns, and there’s Adam, holding a goat in his arms. He’s frowning, brows drawn together in concern. The goat shifts in his arms but he holds it steady, approaching Jack slowly.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Adam asks, but before he can speak again Jack takes three steps to close the distance between them and cups Adam’s face in his palms, sealing their lips together in a firm kiss.
It’s — cold, mostly. Jack’s fingers are almost numb and he knows his lips are chapped and cold from running but then Adam opens up with a shaky gasp and it’s suddenly burning hot, warm and bright and brilliant. Adam’s in constant movement beneath his hands and lips, returning the kiss ardently. Something wiggles between them and then there’s a goat nose diving into the collar of his coat. Jack jerks back, trying avoid being nibbled, but Adam stands still, eyes closed and eyebrows raised in surprise. Jack steps into his space again and pushes the goat’s head away with one hand, cupping Adam’s flushed cheek with the other.
Adam’s eyes fly open, blue and clear as the winter sky, and Jack gets lost for just a second, just long enough for Adam to lean in and kiss him again. It’s soft, just a brush of lips before Adam’s smiling too much to continue, and Jack’s grin grows to match.
“I thought the house was burning down,” Adam murmurs, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Jack’s.
“I’m sorry I worried you, I just realized that I love you.” Jack says, seeing no reason to hold back the truth.
Adam blinks down at him, clearly caught off guard. “Oh that’s, uh. Wow, that’s, that’s, okay. Right out the gate.” He says, as close as Jack’s ever seen him to speechless. Jack brushes his thumbs over Adam’s pink cheeks.
“Too much?” He asks with a little wince. Ten seconds of retrospect now tell him that it’s maybe a little too early to start throwing those words around, even if he’d meant them. Adam immediately shakes his head.
“Just enough.” He says quickly, but it’s not enough to ease the anxiety that surges up in the back of Jack’s throat. He swallows it down, staring at the hollow of Adam’s throat as he puts together a sentence in his head before speaking.
“I don’t expect you to say it back - “ Jack begins, but Adam presses even further into his space and interrupts him before he finishes.
“Jack. I’ve been pining, like a fucking high schooler, since you barged into my house uninvited with a menorah in one hand and loaf of challah in the other because you were worried I’d be alone for all of Hanukkah.” Adam admits, and Jack can’t help but smile as he remembers it. It had happened almost exactly like Adam had described - in a moment of inspiration he’d postponed his flight to Montreal one day and driven up to the farm, intent on giving Adam at least one eighth of a proper Hanukkah. If he’d bothered to ask he would have learned that Adam’s sisters were due to arrive late that night, but he’d stayed long enough to light one of the candles with Adam before taking off.
“Oh.” Jack murmurs, shocked that Adam’s somehow managed to wait two months before saying it.
“Oh.” Adam mimics, softening the sound around the edges. “I - “ Adam’s interrupted by the goat’s impatient bleating. She jerks in his arms, trying to escape, and Jack steps back to avoid kicking legs while Adam calms her with soothing whispers. He readjusts his grip and the goat settles, resting her head on Adam’s shoulder.
“Why are you carrying a goat, anyway?” Jack asks, finally able to focus on something besides AdamAdamAdam.
Adam jerks his head back towards the barn and they set off together. “This little asshole chewed through the barn wall and decided to go on an adventure all night even though it was freezing. I’m taking her back to make sure she doesn’t have frostbite.” He explains. Not for the first time, Jack’s relieved the bees don’t need that much supervision. They walk silently through the pasture, elbows bumping as they avoid mud and shit, and every few moment Adam glances over at him, like he’s checking to make sure Jack’s still there.
The goat begins to fuss again when they walk past the cows. For all of Adam’s sharp edges he smiles down at the goat, and makes little bleating noises to mimic a conversation with her. He’s so involved in replying to her that he doesn’t notice when Jack falls behind. Jack digs out his phone and takes a moment to set up the shot before calling Adam’s name. Adam turns, and Jack takes a rapid fire series of shots, capturing his natural expression, his surprise, the fond smile that follows, and the final ridiculous pose where he holds the goat aloft, reenacting a scene from The Lion King.
“Is this what I’m signing up for?” Adam asks and Jack jogs the few steps to catch up with him. They’re out of the pasture now, and Jack holds the final gate open for Adam to walk through. “Submitting to random photo shoots?”
Adam’s smiling, clearly trying to make a joke, but Jack just follows him into the barn and replies honestly. “You haven’t signed up yet.” He says, letting the door close behind him. Adam freezes for a moment, caught off guard, and then he’s turning around in a flurry of movement. He sets the goat down carefully and strides towards Jack as he strips off his gloves and heavy jacket with quick, decisive movements, letting them drop behind him as he walks. He’s already reaching out when Jack surges towards him and Adam’s big, warm hands frame his jaw and cheeks. Jack wraps his arms around Adam’s waist but before he can pull him close Adam pauses, studying Jack’s face carefully.
“Jack,” He says, voice soft and open. Adam hesitates, like he has something to say, then ducks his head to press their lips together in a deep kiss. When they break apart Adam doesn’t move away. He keeps close, eyes shut, as he breathes. Jack waits, gazing up at him patiently. He’ll wait all day for this man, all week and all month and all year. Luckily, he only has to wait a few more seconds until Adam’s eyes drift open and he’s looking back into that clear winter sky, a rare warmth beneath the pale blue. “You are the most beautiful, hard working, intelligent, best, weirdest man I have ever met. Of course I want to be with you.” He says, and Jack can’t hold back a second longer before kissing him again. He kisses Adam until the taller man trembles beneath his hands, then kisses him some more. He only pulls back when Adam’s trembling becomes full-blown shivering.
“Let’s get you back in that coat, eh?” Jack suggests, rubbing his hands up and down Adam’s biceps briskly to try and warm him. Smiling sheepishly, Adam picks up his coat and dusts off the straw and dirt before putting it back on.
“I didn’t want to kiss you with goat detritus all over my front and hands,” Adam explains, cold fingers fumbling with the zipper. Jack steps back in his space and pulls down his hat, making sure it covers his ears.
“I wanted to kiss you despite it.” Jack admits, hands settling on Adam’s chest after he zips ip his coat. “Now come on, there’s a goat-shaped hole in your barn we should fix.” He rocks up to press a kiss to Adam’s cheek, because he can, because he wants to, because it makes Adam’s already red cheeks turn a shade darker.
That night, long after the barn is repaired and the animals are milked and fed, Adam’s breathing evens out as he falls asleep. Jack can feel his rib cage expand with each breath and when he concentrates, he swears he can feel Adam’s heart thump-thumping against his back. He pulls Adam’s arm more securely around his waist, closes his eyes, and dreams of winter skies and millions of fluttering wings.
big ol’ thank you to @chocolatechipcookiesplease for listening while i hashed out this verse and for the cutest suggestion in the world.
Adam might be a morning person - he’s a farmer, it comes with the territory - but his partner is not. Jack, inexplicably, is neither a morning person nor a night owl. Instead of thriving at a certain period of time, he just requires at least seven, preferably seven and a half, hours of sleep. His body usually doesn’t allow him to get more than that and if he gets less he’s impossible to wake without becoming irritable and grouchy.
The second Adam opens his eyes, he knows what kind of a day it’s going to be. He’s laying on his side, Jack’s arm draped over his waist. Jack’s pressed close, tucked up against Adam’s back, and when Adam shifts to turn off his alarm Jack doesn’t move at all. His breathing is even against the back of Adam’s neck, and there’s no harm in giving him another few minutes before they have to get up.
Adam reaches for his phone, content to scroll through trade speculations (there are rumors that Chris Chow might end up with the Falconers) or stream an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine before waking the beast, but after he unlocks it with sleep-stupid fingers and adjusts the brightness, the page refuses to load. Adam stares at the blank, still-too-bright screen for a long moment, then drops the phone with a groan. There’s no service and the wifi’s out, leaving them technologically stranded in the wilderness. Sure, there’s the landline Jack insists on keeping, but Adam can’t watch 30 Rock through a Stone Age artifact, can he? They have to upgrade to a better plan. Adam can’t live like this - he won’t live like this.
Annoyed, Adam picks up Jack’s arm by the wrist and tosses it behind him, letting it flop onto the mattress. He’s already sitting up by the time Jack reacts, burrowing into the pillows and wrapping his arm around Adam’s waist as he sits on the edge of the bed.
“Nope,” Adam says, voice deeper than usual from a night of disuse. He removes Jack’s arm again, this time gently setting it on the bed. “I’m mad at you.” How did he manage to fall for someone who thinks the Internet is an optional amenity? Blasphemer.
“Oh, okay.” Jack mumbles, accepting the news easily. He rolls over, taking the blankets with him. Double blasphemer. Adam stares at the back of his head until his breathing evens out again, smiling softly despite his annoyance. Ugh, love. He pulls the blankets up over Jack’s shoulder and stands, stretching before beginning the day.
When Adam steps back in the house after feeding and milking the animals Jack is standing by the stove, stirring a pot of oatmeal. The sun is just beginning to rise, weak rays streaming through the blinds, but Adam only has eyes for the mug of tea waiting for him and the unfairly attractive man holding it. He tears off his boots and slides across the hardwood floors, coming to a stop just before he crashes into Jack. Just when he reaches for the mug, though, Jack pulls it back deftly. He moves the mug around, deftly keeping the hot liquid from sloshing over the sides, playing a quick game of keep-away until Adam pouts.
“Jack,” He whines, leaning to the side dramatically. “Why? Why are you like this?” Jack just grins and turns off the stove, still holding Adam’s beverage hostage.
“Why are you mad at me?” Jack asks calmly.
Adam rolls his eyes, leaning against the counter for support when the full-body motion disrupts his balance. “Jack Zimmermann, I cannot believe you’re willing to deprive me of sustenance in your sick manipulative mind-games.” Adam says, swiping at the mug in a lame attempt to take it back. Jack just raises an eyebrow and moves it further away.
“Tea doesn’t contain any proteins, carbohydrates, or calories.” Jack reminds him, the anchors of his lips curling up in his smug chirping smile.
“Emotional sustenance, then.” Adam amends, drawing himself up to his full height. He pulls two bowls down from the cabinet, setting them beside the stove for whenever Jack deigns to serve them. His partner waits patiently, leaning against the counter with that same smug expression. Adam sighs and opens a drawer, digging around for two spoons. “The wifi’s out again.” He says, letting the metal utensils clatter against the clay bowls. Jack hums and hands him the mug and turns back to the stove to begin portioning out the oatmeal.
“You’ve only been awake for an hour, Holtzy. When did you have time to use the internet?” Jack hands him a full bowl, their fingers brushing during the hand-off.
Adam immediately dumps cinnamon and honey into the oatmeal, mixing it in with more force than necessary. “When I woke up, obviously, and if we had service I could check traffic, e-mails, the weather, figure out where Chris Chow signed, if the world ended during the night or something. Important stuff!” He tosses in a handful of the blueberries Jack had set out, doing the same to Jack’s oatmeal as he speaks.
“No,” Jack steps into his space, reaching around him easily to pick up the jar of honey. “You wanted to watch the Forty Rocks and - ”
“Don’t you dare.” Adam says, interrupting Jack decisively. “Not under my roof.” He punctuates the words with a firm poke to Jack’s chest with the end of the spoon.
“Our roof,” Jack corrects, bumping against Adam easily on his way to the table. Adam groans and follows him, dropping into the chair across from him. “And you know we don’t need wifi. The money has to go towards things that keep the farm running, like new fences.” They’ve been over this too many times to count, but Adam rolls out his old argument anyway.
“Fences are dumb.” He says, brows knitting together in annoyance when Jack chimes in with him.
Jack continues, stirring his oatmeal in a perfect inward-outward spiral. “They’re your cows, Adam, and I know you don’t want them roaming away.”
Adam’s just taken a huge bite of oatmeal but he speaks through the inconvenience. “They would never.” He protests, the words only slightly muffled by the food in his mouth. He swallows quickly, hoping to continue before Jack chimes in again, but he’s too late.
“They would, actually.” Jack says. “The pasture fences are on their last legs and if we save the money we were using on premium wifi we can repair them this fall.” He’s had to make the same argument again and again but he just continues to eat his breakfast. “But what do I know? Bees don’t need fences.”
“Bees don’t need fences.” Adam mimics, flicking a blueberry at him. It goes wide, sailing over Jack’s shoulder before it lands on the hardwoods. Jack, the bastard, just laughs, stupidly handsome in the morning light. “Why do I even bother?” Adam asks, but doesn’t move away when Jack presses their knees together under the table. Jack shrugs and takes a bite of oatmeal, and Adam finally takes a sip of the tea he fought so hard for. It’s perfect, because Jack always makes it exactly how Adam likes it. It’s endearing and annoying all at once.
Adam plays the FRIENDS theme song in the truck on their way to the market in retaliation, because sometimes that’s all you can do when your boyfriend is thoughtful and doles out crucial financial advice to keep your dairy cows from wandering away.
It’s a busy day at the Providence Green Market. Jack’s stock is wiped out - he always underestimates how much he’ll sell - but luckily the crowd thins out an hour or so before closing. Adam’s just selling the last of his “Ewe Calf to be Kidding Me” blue cheese when Jack appears behind him, hand settling low on Adam’s back. He can feel the warmth of his partner’s palm through his shirt, and he can’t help leaning back to press against the contact.
“I have to run an errand but I’ll be back before the market closes.” Jack says, and he’s already on the other side of the table by the time Adam processes the news.
“You can’t just leave me here!” He calls out, but Jack just keeps walking, raising his hand in a wave goodbye. Adam rolls his eyes and turns back to his customer, a short blonde guy who’s looking up at him with big, brown eyes. “You see what I have to put up with?”
The customer laughs, adjusting the tote bag full of produce on his shoulder so he can cross his arms. “I know exactly how you feel. My boyfriend ditches me whenever I come over here.”
“Why’s that?” Adam asks, carefully transferring the cheese from the wire to the paper he’s placed on the cutting board.
“Oh, he’s weird about talking to people he admires. Apparently y'all are both hockey,” The man waves his hand in a vague gesture as he searches for the right word. “People?”
Adam huffs out a little laugh, looking down the cheese he’s wrapping. Jack’s past is more well known than his stint in Juniors, but every now and again some hardcore hockey fan realizes who they both were. “We used to be. Now we’re cheese people. Well, Jack’s a bee person. I’d sell you some of his honey but we’re all out.” He nods at the other half of the booth, where Jack’s neat display was laid out earlier in the day.
“I’ll have to come back next week, then. I’ve got a couple recipes I’ve been meaning to workshop that all need honey but I’m not sure which kind is best yet.” The man says as Adam tapes up the corners of the paper neatly. He handles it gently when Adam passes it to him, tucking it carefully on top of the other products in his bags.
Adam’s fingers fly over the calculator as he adds up the customer’s order. “I’ll make sure we set a couple jars aside for you, and you should bring your boyfriend. Jack will walk you through the best honey for different recipes and I always want to talk about hockey.” He explains, turning the calculator to show the man his total.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He reaches into the pockets of his - okay, those are really short - shorts and digs out a neatly folded bill. “I’m Bitty, by the way,” he says as Adam counts out his change. “College nickname, but it stuck.”
“Hey, I was Holtzy for a few years so I know how you feel. You can call me that or Adam. The asshole who ditched me is Jack.” Adam explains with a smile. Bitty matches his expression as he collects his change and tucks it back into his pocket.
“That’s Justin, back there.” Bitty thumbs over his shoulder, gesturing towards a tall man who’s examining the books at Connor Whisk’s antiques stall. He’s got cheekbones that rival Jack’s and his full lips are turned up in a small smile as he carefully thumbs through the yellowed pages of an old book. “I’ll see you next week!” Bitty says, disrupting Adam’s staring with a cheerful wave. Adam blinks and somehow manages to wave back, watching as Bitty meanders through the thin crowd to end up at Justin’s side. Bitty goes onto his toes to whisper into to Justin’s ear, and as Adam watches his cheeks darken as he drops the book. Justin look back at Adam in shock, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, before he hurries away. Bitty laughs and chases after him. They look good together, in their bright clothing and easy smiles.
Yeah, Jack definitely has to meet them.
The final hour drags by as a few more people stop for samples. He doesn’t sell out of anything else, unfortunately, which means Jack’s going to gloat all night because they have to channel their competitive natures into something besides sports and board games.
When Jack returns he doesn’t offer an explanation but he does press a kiss to Adam’s cheek before he begins loading the coolers into the truck, and really, that’s all Adam needs. He wrestles Jack’s arm across the console during the drive home, lacing their fingers together while he sings along to the radio. When they reach the farm the move seamlessly into their routine: Jack unloads the truck while Adam heads to the barn, where a handful of needy goats and cows are waiting for him. By the time he’s finished there are muddy goat-prints covering his jeans, an ache in his lower back over and a scratch from the grouchy barn cat he always tries to pet on the back of his hand, but at least there’s food in the oven when he trudges back inside. Jack’s not in the kitchen or bedroom when Adam walks through to change, but when he comes back after a shower there’s plastic bag on the kitchen table.
It’s stuffed full, the white plastic stretched around the ninety degree corners that stick out in all directions. Adam ambles over, his long day and various aches and pains forgotten as he reaches inside. His calloused fingers close around smooth plastic and when he pulls the object out Rachel Green is staring out at him, her friends asleep around her. He reaches back in and pulls out another DVD case, then another, and another, until scattered seasons of his favorite shows are spread out on the kitchen table. Community, FRIENDS, 30 Rock, The Office, Arrested Development, Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Parks and Recreation are all there, as is one season of The Real Housewives of Atlanta.
“Oh, no.” Jack’s disappointed voice cuts through the silent kitchen. When Adam turns he’s leaning against the door frame, toeing off his shoes. “I didn’t think you’d be done yet.” He’s frowning as he walks across the room, blue eyes narrowing. “You weren’t supposed to see until I had all the seasons.” Jack glares down at the DVD cases like they’ve betrayed him, and Adam reaches out to pull him in by the collar of his flannel.
“You remembered all my shows,” He says softly, the words murmured into the short distance between them. Jack just nods, and looks at Adam like he’s just said something stupid.
“You talk about them all the time.” Jack explains, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “Even in your sleep.” And, okay, that’s new information, but Adam doesn’t have time to process it. Jack remembered his shows. It shouldn’t be surprising, not really, because Jack’s absolutely right. He’ll ramble on about plot twists from seasons past or describe scenes in detail but as much and as loudly as he touts his opinion, he doesn’t ever assume someone’s actually listening to him.
He shakes his head and opens his mouth to try to explain, shakes his head, and then tilts his head forward to kiss Jack instead. Jack wraps a strong arm around his waist and holds him tight, only pulling back when the oven timer sounds. The shrill beeping continues even as Adam places another short kiss on Jack’s lips, then another on his cheek, an another on his forehead. Jack just squeezes his hip and hurries to the oven.
After dinner, a second shower, and a quick sheet change, Adam’s queued up the first episode of Parks and Recreation. “Now, bear with me through the first couple episodes, but I think you’ll like it after that.” He explains as Jack crawls into bed. “You’re like, an amalgamation of a bunch of these characters.” Adam lifts an arm so Jack can rest against his shoulder.
“I bear with you twenty four hours a day. I think I can handle thirty minutes.” Jack shoots back, and presses play before Adam can retaliate.
“Hello. Hi. My name is Leslie Knope and I work for the Parks and Recreation department. Can I ask you a few questions?”
