This isn't the first time he's walked in to a stranger at his table. He really should be more alarmed about it - and if he was younger, he would be. But for now, he just stares for a moment, then blinked, shrugged, and stepped past to the coffee machine. He recognizes that t-shirt well enough to guess the motive.
"You one of Jon's friends?"
(for Adam :) )
w/ @hauntogenic
Adam woke-up with Jon drooling a wet spot on his collarbone. Jon's long limbs wrapped around Adam like kudzu: one leg thrown over Adam's thighs, the other hooked around his calf, and his arms snaked about Adam's waist. Laid on top of Jon, across his shoulders with its paws tucked under it was a ginormous red cat. The cat regarded Adam with half-lidded yellow eyes and a low, rumbling purr. The morning air was dry warm, baked and hot like an oven. In the night they had escaped the heat by kicking off all the blankets. A lone, blue-gray sheet tangled with their waists and legs. A thin line of light escaped the curtains and cut across the wallpaper. In a daze, Adam watched the ceiling fan churn in lazy circles.
As the dredges of sleep ran off him, Adam remembered last night.
The match, the end of the show, and then Jon driving him deep into the ass crack of Texas with the promise of a better bed and breakfast than any city hotel. Adam watched as the lights of civilization faded in the rear window and stars splattered across the night sky like a smear of paint instead. Honestly, Adam expected Jon to pull over on the side of the road, bash his head in with a shovel, and leave his body in a shallow grave. And he would absolutely deserve it for being dumb enough to follow Jon Moxley into the middle of nowhere Texas.
Well, as it turned out, there was a town in the middle of nowhere Texas and a quaint house up on the hill of that town. They rolled up a long dirt road and parked in the driveway. Adam had leaned forward in his seat so he could peer through the windshield at the face of an old ranch. It had a professional, well-weathered charm: the shrubs outside were well tended and the shutters were clean. The windows were dark with blinds shuttered and the curtains pulled over, indicating its occupants were well asleep. Jon had already gotten out and was hauling their overnight bags out of the trunk. Adam joined him and together they tramped around the back of the house.
Jon used his phone’s light to navigate them up the steps of a porch and to a back door. The porch had an old bench swing and someone had left a local IPA beer can on the railing. Just dripping with that old, southern charm. At the base of the steps, Adam looked out across the dark landscape. The moon was a thin cat’s claw and the stars were plentiful, but light was thin. He could make out the shadowed silhouettes of distant mountains and hills, and the long, flat pastures of local farms. That was all this area was: farmland etched out in some of the most unforgiving land of America.
But behind the house, on the other side of a dip in the land where a creek might be based on the sound of frog croaks, was the distinct, black pattern of an iron wrought gate. A stone wall, just above waist high, encircled a large graveyard. A field of tombs and headstones, watched over by strangled dry trees, and an old chapel’s steeple. In the dark it looked like the set of a B-horror movie.
“Where the hell have you brought me?” Adam asked Jon as he climbed the stairs to join him on the porch.
Jon glanced over his shoulder with a pleased smirk that would make a cat jealous. “Why, Cowboy? You scared of a little adventure?”
“You and I have different ideas of 'adventure,'” Adam said.
“Have a little faith, won’t ya?” Jon asked. He leaned forward to peck Adam on the lips. “C’mon. Try to stay quite. We’ll never hear the end of it if we wake up my old man.”
The back door was unlocked and Jon held it open so Adam could go in first. Adam ducked under Jon’s arm and entered the house.
They stepped into a dark, spacious kitchen and encountered the sweet, cool kiss of an overtaxed air conditioner. The only light was the glare of the microwave and stove clocks. Jon waltzed in after Adam, closing the door as he went. Jon made a beeline for the fridge and fished out a bag of shredded cheddar cheese from the snack drawer. With an eager gusto, while smeared in the fluorescents of the fridge, Jon tipped his head back, and poured almost the whole bag down his open mouth. Adam found the sight both fascinating and bizarre.
Once Jon had thrown away the emptied cheese bag, they continued into the rest of the house. They passed through a parlor and turned the landing up an old flight of narrow stairs. Jon went first, slow and careful to avoid the creaking steps, with Adam following in his wake. All was well, and quiet, until halfway up. As Jon lifted his foot to mount the next stair his toe caught on the nosing. He tripped, face first, up the steps, and would have slid ass-backwards on his stomach back to the landing if Adam hadn’t been behind him. Adam caught Jon by the back of his jacket and halted his momentum.
“Fucking ‘damnit, shit!” Jon growled as Adam helped haul him to his feet. The boards of the stairs creaked and groaned under his shifting weight. Adam gritted his teeth, trying to swallow his laughter. His shoulders shook with the effort and he bent double. It felt like a hole just got punched in his ribs.
“You find that fucking funny Page?” Jon hissed.
“Shh,” Adam hushed him through suppressed giggles. “Quiet remember?”
“Fuck you,” Jon grunted.
Somehow, despite Jon’s best efforts, they made it to the top of the stairs. At the top they emerged into a dark hallway. There were three bedrooms and a bathroom, crammed together in a hall replete with family pictures on the walls. Through one of the door, he heard the steady, growling snore of what sounded like an older man asleep. Jon turned to Adam, once, his wide eyes a flash of white in the shadows, as a warning, and that was it.
Although, Adam guessed that if this guy could sleep through Jon’s incident on the stairs, he wasn’t going to be woken-up no matter what they did.
They snuck down the hall and made it into the small guest room at the end. By the light of their phones, timed to the cadence of the old man’s snores, they fished out tooth brushes, toothpaste, and sleep clothes. Adam followed Jon into the bathroom where they brushed their teeth elbow-to-elbow. On the way out, movement caught the corner of Adam’s eye.
It had been hard to see in the dark but the silhouette of a curved fluffy tail had been the give away. Followed by a long ‘mea’ and some greeting trills. Jon and Adam paused as the cat wandered up to them from down the hall. It was big enough that when it bucked onto its rear legs and braced its paws against Adam’s leg, it reached his hip. The cat meowed again and walked over to Jon, purring loud enough to put some car engines to shame. It tangled with his legs and then jumped. Using its claws and Jon’s sweatpants as a hold, it clambered up the length of his body until it could drape over his neck like a furry scarf.
“Who’s your friend there?” Adam snickered.
Jon offered him a gesture that would be considered rude in polite company.
Then, just as the cat got comfy, the only constant noise in the house since their arrival – the old man’s snoring – stopped. Jon froze, and Adam right behind him, froze too. An odd tension seemed to pause Jon as he had waited and listened. Adam lifted an eyebrow that Jon couldn’t see. Then, the snoring started-up again and Jon nodded, content that whoever that was, was still asleep.
All things considered, the guest room hadn’t been a bad gig. Quieter and darker than a hotel, that was for sure. Once they were dressed for sleep, Adam, Jon, and the giant cat, had laid down, gotten themselves situated, and all three were out like lights. But it was only when Adam woke-up the next morning did he realize the bed was just a size too small for two, six foot tall men (and a huge cat).
It didn't help that Jon had made a real effort during the night to shove Adam off the side. So, Adam had one leg dangling over the edge and half a shoulder ready to go. Jon had his nose tucked into Adam's collarbone and was entirely too warm for how clingy he was. Adam looked down at the other man, his face smoothed out and placid in sleep. When Jon was awake he was a live wire, all sharp edges, and barbs; but in sleep he was still, quiet, relaxed.
With all the care one would expect when creeping out from beneath the stranglehold of a sleeping bear, Adam ducked out of Jon's arms and slipped out of the bed. He only paused to give the cat a few scratches behind the ear. Adam grabbed a t-shirt off the floor and he pulled it on as he sought out the hallway bathroom to take care of the usual morning business. Only when washing his hands over the sink did he notice he grabbed Jon's shirt, the one of a giant angry skull. He didn't overthink it. Just toweled off his hands and kept going.
As Adam left the bathroom he registered signs of life downstairs: the clank and clang of pans in the kitchen, and the distinct smell of cooking bacon. Curious, and hungry, he crept down the stairs. In the light of day, the home took on new detail: the throw cushions on the living room couches and sofas, the books on the shelves, and the colors of the walls. Adam turned the landing, crossed through the parlor, and came to the doorway of the kitchen.
There was a single cook beating together a batter with a whisk in a metal bowl. Based on the plugged-in waffle iron at his side, he was making waffles. (Adam could put Sherlock Holmes to shame). What made Adam pause though was the sheer size of the man. He had to be seven feet tall and literally, actually, larger than the fridge. He was shirtless too and so Adam could register a broad, muscular blck, of a very well developed, well-trained frame. Thin, long faded scar tissue spread across his shoulders and throat, brushed over by long graying-red curled hair. His jaw was square and his features strong.
The man turned, hand stilling in his work with the whisk, and looked at Adam. His brow furrowed. For a long moment, they stared at each other. Adam opened his mouth to introduce himself but promptly forgot how to talk. Because as he looked at this man a vague sense of familiarity spilled over into recognition.
“That’s gotta be Kane!” The voice of J.R., ever timeless and classic, from all the years that Adam had watched wrestling as a kid. Monday Night Raw, the biggest human being imaginable for a ten year old setting the ring ropes on fire. A vague recollection that Jon had wrestled the Undertaker in WWE at one point, almost a decade ago. Adam waxed between, ‘it’s possible’ to ‘there’s no fucking way.’ No fucking way Kane was in this random Texan kitchen making waffles. This wasn’t happening.
“You’re one of Jon’s friends,” Probably Kane said to break the stare-down. “From A.E.W..”
“Adam,” Adam said, shocked that his mouth still worked. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m Adam, I came in with Mox last night.”
“I know that.” Probably Kane stared at Adam, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him. Adam considered retreating back up the stairs.
“Can I lend you a hand?" Adam asked.
Regardless of what Probably Kane thought of Adam or his relationship to Jon, he apparently appreciated help. So, Adam was put to work making scrambled eggs. He was given two cartons of eggs, a pan big enough for them all, and left to his task. The eggs lacked brand markings and still had specks of dust, or dirt on their multi-color shells. Adam cracked one into a bowl and noticed its beautiful, orange yolk – these were fresh eggs. Kane didn’t just make waffles: he made waffles with fresh eggs.
Adam used a fork to beat the eggs with salt, pepper, and a spot of milk.
“Are you Kane?” He asked midst his work.
"Yep." Kane said.
"Cool." Adam replied.
Adam poured his egg mixture into the hot pan and stirred them to a fluffy scramble.
Jon had to be pulling his leg here. Sure, it was surprising to learn he was on good enough terms with Kane, of Monday Night Raw, to crash in his guestroom and enjoy a continental breakfast in the morning. (Or that Kane cooked continental breakfasts). But there was no way that Jon brought Adam here just to sleep and eat. Jon’s mind games could have mind games sometimes and Adam was convinced there was a hand at play here.
No idea what, though.
Well, Kane, of Monday Night Raw, wanted to know what Adam liked in his waffles. Adam asked for chocolate chip in one batch and blueberry in the next. A few minutes later he was served a plate of warm, fluffy waffles, eggs, bacon, fresh cut fruit, and a glass of orange juice. Dutifully, Adam sat down at the kitchen table, doused the whole thing in maple syrup, and started to eat. Jon was right about one thing. The food here was better than a hotel breakfast. About that, Adam couldn’t complain or argue.
As Adam ate, there was footsteps on the stairs. He glanced-up from his phone and to see another, very large man, turn the corner into the kitchen. He had black hair, a rugged face, and dressed in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. His eyes were a light green and carried a weight to them, sloped, and familiar. Naturally, since Kane was making waffles, this guy was the Undertaker.
Adam had been in wrestling for a long time. And the thing about wrestling was that it was an impossibly small community. Hang-out backstage at even a small indie show and some impressive names would inevitably show-up. At the start of his career Adam worked at a show run by Matt and Jeff Hardy, two men he deeply admired on television. Just in A.E.W., Adam had met Sting, Taz, Tully Blanchard, Ric Flair, Jake the Snake, William Regal, and plenty of other people who were the best fighters of his childhood. Most of them were assholes, ‘never meet your heroes’ types but some were decent people. Hell, Adam had even beaten some of them in the ring.
He was way past the point of being star struck.
“Are you one of Jon’s friends?” The Undertaker asked.
“Yes, sir,” Adam said. “I’m Adam.”
“I know that,” The Undertaker said. Adam watched as he set a pot of coffee to brew. “I’m the Undertaker. You want coffee, boy?”
“Sure,” Adam said as he started to stand.
“Don’t get up.” And Adam sat back down.
Adam skewered and spun a slice of strawberry on his fork. “So, uh you guys know Mox?” Adam asked.
A moment later, The Undertaker walked over with two mugs of steaming, hot coffee. He placed one in front of Adam and sat down across the table with his own. The Undertaker sipped on his coffee and set the mug down on the table. He eyed Adam and only broke his stare off when Kane sat down with his own plate of food. “You’re not going to bring me anything?” He asked.
Kane flipped him the middle finger, which The Undertaker reciprocated.
The conversation remained paused as the Undertaker got up to make his own plate of food before sitting back down. He took a bite of egg and bacon, and said, “it’s good, Kane.” Then, he leaned back in his chair, and Adam felt like he had been deliberately left in suspense. Adam tried his coffee, it was warm, earthy, a good roast. “Yeah, we know Mox.”
“We found him digging around in a dumpster, covered in garbage,” Kane said. He hunched over his plate but spoke with a broad grin. “Butt-naked–”
“Kane,” The Undertaker growled.
“See, I would have believed that if you didn’t say anything,” Adam pointed-out. “But no, you met him in W.W.E., right?”
“That’s right,” The Undertaker said. “Back when he was first getting started and didn’t know better than to not run his mouth. I think it's interesting that you're here, actually. Besides you, I'm the only other person who has made Mox tap.”
Adam’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He blinked, and managed to close his ajar mouth. “So, you saw that match?”
The Undertaker nodded at Adam. “I’ve seen more than a few your matches.”
“It wasn’t anything personal,” Adam said, finally eating his food. His eyes averted to the kitchen window as he chewed.
“We know,” Kane said. He jerked his thumb over to the Undertaker. “I buried him alive and he still likes me.”
“I won more matches than you,” The Undertaker said.
Kane flipped him off over his orange juice, and again the Undertaker reciprocated.
“Mox is a good kid,” The Undertaker said to Adam, “and he likes you.”
“I’m not sure he’d use all those words,” Adam grunted.
“Well, you’re the first person he’s brought here,” The Undertaker replied.
The conversation tapered off as they continued to eat. It was good food but Adam’s thoughts were elsewhere. On Jon wrapped around him in the bed that morning. On the long drive in a quiet car. On the curtain suddenly peeled back on this corner of Jon’s life. Interpreting Jon and his behavior sometimes made Adam feel like he was interpreting morse code, or a whole other language. So, Adam couldn’t prescribe a deep meaning to this gesture of bringing Adam to this place from Jon. If it meant something, Jon knew, but Adam wasn’t privy.
Just as Adam thought of more questions to fill the silence at the table, there were more footsteps on the staircase.
He looked over just as Shawn Michael, the Heartbreak Kid himself, and Steve Austin, Stone Cold, arrived on the landing. In sleep shorts and sweatpants, at that, still yawning from sleep. They crossed the parlor and entered the kitchen. Shawn Michaels kissed The Undertaker on the temple and Steve Austin went to get a stack of waffles. Adam massaged the bridge of his nose and when he looked-up, Shawn Michael and Steve Austin were still in the kitchen. Alongside The Undertaker and Kane. And they were all eating breakfast together.
Adam felt like was witnessing something intensely private or intimate. Something he was not supposed to see or know. Adam tracked each of Michael's and Austin through the kitchen individually, mind still scrambling to accept that this was real. Best theory: he had suffered a life altering concussion last night and was currently in a coma. This was all a fever dream based upon his ten year old delusions.
“Son, you know how to chop wood?” Austin asked as he came to sit down at the table. He took the chair to Adam’s right and Adam smoothed his hand over his face. Okay, this was happening.
“Why, you got wood for me to chop?” Adam asked.
“Boy, I will kick your ass if you get smart with me,” Steve warned.
“You can try,” Adam shot back. “But you should eat your waffles first. They’re gonna get cold if you keep talking shit.”
Austin nodded, first at Adam, and then to the Undertaker, “I like him.” Austin offered his hand over the table. “Adam Page, right? Cowboy Shit? Steve Austin.”
“I knew that,” Adam said as he took Austin’s hand and shook it. He had a firm, strong grip, but not crushing. “And I’ll help with chores, if you need the hand… sir. Hey, are there anymore famous wrestlers upstairs I should know about?”
“Just Jon,” Kane said just as there was a quick cadence of footsteps on the stairs. “Speaking of. Hey, asshole, you ate all the fucking cheese last night!”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Jon said as he came down on the landing. He lifted his hands in defense. He was wearing Adam’s Show Pony shirt and was closely followed by the cat. “That’s some hostile energy for first thing in the morning. Let me at least get my coffee first before you start cussing me out. Besides, you know me, you gotta keep extra cheddar in stock, just in case.”
“Or, I can just kick your teeth in,” Kane retorted.
“Kane,” The Undertaker growled.
Adam scraped his last bite of food off his plate and into his mouth, and got up to put his plate in the sink. He met Jon at the counter who gravitated away from the bacon and towards Adam but not before snagging a piece to cram in his mouth. Jon’s hand came to rest on the small of Adam’s back as Adam ran water over the face of his plate. Hands soaking wet, Adam turned just enough to glance at the kitchen table out of the corner of his eye.
Jon smirked, his voice low and conspiratorial, “What you worried about them for? They’re all married and fucking, ‘cept Kane obviously. But Cody ain’t here.”
“You’re fuckin’ with me,” Adam whispered shaking his head.
“Cowboy, you know I’m not smart enough for that,” Jon retorted. Adam pumped soap from the dispenser onto his plate, scrubbed off the sticky bits of maple syrup and the smear of leftover food. “What’s the deal though? We heading out early or are we staying for dinner?”
Adam put the cleaned on the dish rack. “I think I have to help ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin chop wood.” Jon lifted his chin in interest. Reading between the lines, Adam said, “I can get my dog sitter to come in another night.”
“I’ll let ‘Taker and Kane know,” Jon said. “Don’t let Austin work you to death.”
Adam changed into jeans and Austin let him borrow a spare set of work boots. After breakfast the two of them went out to a stack of wood around the back of a workshop. Most of the wood was still in sections of the tree trunk and branches, and needed to be split. Once Austin had ascertained that Adam could use an ax without endangering himself or others, he let Adam get to it. They spent about an hour splitting and chopping wood, working into a cadence. Conversation was minimal but Austin asked Adam a few questions about his upbringing: basic stuff, where did he grow-up; what were his parents like; what did they raise on the farm. Somewhere around the thirty minute mark, Adam accepted that he was having a conversation with 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin.
“It’s hot as hell here,” Adam said as they neared the end. He stacked a log onto his cutting block and wiped at his forehead, which was slick with sweat. “What do ya’ll need this wood for?”
“’Taker’s got a forge,” Austin said. He rested his ax head on the ground, “and in the Winter it can get colder than a witch’s tit out here. Sometimes, if it’s real bad we can give the extra wood to the families that need it. We got Kane, so it ain’t too bad for us.”
“Is he…” Adam asked.
“Actually a fire demon from hell?” Austin asked.
“Yeah,” Adam said.
Austin scratched at his nose, eyes skating off toward the horizon. “Son, there’s some weird shit here and I’ve seen things I don’t even want to describe. Weirdest of all is ‘Taker and Kane, and Mox ain’t far behind ‘em. Word of advice? Just roll with it. Most shit’ll fuck off if you tell it to ‘git. Oh, and don’t go into the graveyard during the night.”
“I’m not sure I want to go into that graveyard during the day,” Adam said. “But it’s true, then? Like, the Undertaker summoning lightning and shit?”
“Yeah, son, that’s true,” Austin said.
Adam was going to rub that so deep into his dad’s face when he saw him next. As an eight year old Adam, knew, knew, the lightning wasn’t a special effect no matter how carefully his dad explained it to him. It was real and he was right. Coming to this place was worth it just for that feeling of vindication.
Austin got Adam to help him do the lawn’s edging, taking a weed wacker to the grown over bits of grass that infringed on the driveway and flower beds. Then, Adam helped weed a vegetable garden. Then, since he was here, there was a repair that Austin wanted to do on the back porch steps but hadn’t had an extra hand for. So, after lunch, they did.
It was scalding hot all day and by the time Austin released him from work in the late afternoon, Adam was drenched in sweat. It was a good sweat, from good work, but he was eager to wear something dry and clean. Adam got an extra shirt, one of his black button downs and some jeans, out of the back of the car then went to get a shower. After the shower, which he ran as cold as he could stand, he changed. Adam combed out his hair and tied the strands back at the nape of his neck. He took about an hour to lay down on the guest room bed and scroll through his phone.
Apparently, Mox and ‘Taker had gone off somewhere during the day. They came back around five, just as Kane started to work on dinnerin the kitchen. Adam went downstairs to find that ‘Taker, Mox, Steve, and Shawn, were sitting in the parlor, shooting the shit. Adam slipped past them and when Kane absolutely refused help cooking, ("You get in my way and I'll snap your spine like a glow stick." "Got it.") poured himself a glass of water at the sink. Mox got up just as Adam turned off the faucet and he caught Adam’s eyes as he walked through the kitchen, then out the back door. Adam followed him.
Mox sat on the porch swing. He waited until Adam had set his water onto the railing and sat down next to him, before kicking off the railing with his leg. The sun was setting towards the Western horizon, settling low in the crux of the mountains. As the day grew long, the air cooled into a tolerable warmth cut by a hint of a breeze.
“What did you do all day?” Adam asked.
“’Taker and I just dicked around the city, hit the gym, went supplies shopping, got lunch,” Mox said. “You?”
“I think Austin has finally accepted that I’m a real farm boy,” Adam said.
“I told you not to let him work you too hard,” Mox scoffed. “You’re such a push over, Page. You’ll do anything so long as they tell you ‘good boy,’ at the end.”
“It’s just how I was raised, Jon,” Adam said. “Better to work than think about shit.”
Mox glanced at Adam out of the corner of his eye, “Yeah? What have you been thinking about?”
Adam contemplated his answer, chewing it over. For a moment he listened to the sounds of cooking in the kitchen, the smell of food, and the voices of the men talking in the parlor. “I’ve been wondering why you brought me here.”
“No reason, felt like it,” Mox shrugged, he sucked on his teeth and took a particular interest in the horizon. The bottom edge of the sun’s disk scraped the summit of the mountain, sending a shimmer along the line of the sky. “Does there have to be a reason?”
“With you? Kinda,” Adam said. He turned on the bench, hiking his leg up so he could face Jon. Adam reached over and tucked the tag of Jon's shirt into his collar. “C’mon, Jon, I’ve never asked you to be anything but straightforward with me. I’ve been thinking about this all day. We’ve been doing this,” he pointed between them, “for months, but you’ve never told me what you wanted out of it. That’s fine, I guess, and if you can’t tell me that yet, whatever, but least you can do is let me know why you brought me here.”
“You and your touchy feely crap,” Jon grumbled. “Is this what the Elite does all day? Talk about their feelings?” “Man, I wish we did,” Adam said. He hooked his arm along the back of the bench. “If we talked about our feelings all day we’d fix our problems and no one else would ever be champion in A.E.W., ever. Nah, it’s the Dark Order who talk about their feelings all the time.”
“And they lose all the time, gotta be some kinda connection,” Jon mused, scratching at his jaw. Adam waited him out instead of taking the bait of the joke. Jon sighed and leaned his head back into the crook of Adam’s arm. “I guess I brought you here because I wanted you to see this place. Like, since we started our thing, I’ve come here a few times and I get this stupid thought like, “shit, what if Adam were here?” And I’d feel bad because you’re not. That make sense?”
“So,” Adam started, drawing out the syllable. “You missed me?”
“Don’t go thinking that,” Jon warned. He scowled in the face of Adam’s broadening grin. “And don’t look at me like that. It’s weird.”
“Well,” Adam asked. “Is having me here all it’s cracked up to be?”
Adam had learned since he started to get to know Mox that he needed time to think in moments like this. The gears were turning, the cogs were spinning, and he thought through his words. In fact, anytime Mox was thinking, he was quiet. And he was quiet a lot. Which led Adam to believe that Mox did a lot of thinking. Something they shared in common.
“It’s alright,” Mox shrugged. Adam rolled his eyes and reached out to grasp Jon’s jaw. He dragged his face over so Adam could kiss him on the cheek. Mox turned his face and repeated the gesture against Adam’s mouth. It was saccharine for them both and they withdrew, but Adam’s arm remained across the back of the bench.
They watched the sun set together dipping into twilight, where the hues of the land softened into pinks and purples. Adam turned to Mox then and asked, “so, is the Undertaker, like, your dad?”
Mox barked a laugh. “How the fuck did you figure that out?”
“Context clues, mostly,” Adam said with shrug. “Am I right?”
“Yeah,” Mox said, crossing his arms. “He’s my old man. We didn’t know for the longest time. Like, when we met in WWE, we had no idea. Neither of us did. It’s a bit complicated how it all worked out but my mom thought he was dead and – know what? I’ll tell you the whole story on the drive back. We’re not exactly father and son, “lets go play catch,” like you are with your old man… but we get along, and it’s nice to come here to unwind.”
“Is that why you’ve been weird?” Adam asked. “You took me to meet your parents and didn’t want to admit it?”
“Now you’re just being stupid,” Jon said.
“So, what, do you want to meet my parents?” Adam asked. “Make it even?”
“No, I don’t want to meet your dumb, normal parents,” Jon groaned.
“They’re nice people,” Adam grinned. “They’d probably like you. I mean, they’re not as cool as The Undertaker....”
“This was a mistake,” Jon said, scrubbing his hands down his face.
“What I can’t figure out,” Adam continued, “Is why you’re so short. If your dad’s like, what six-ten, six-nine? Where'd all the height go?”
“That’s it, we’re done,” Jon said standing up. “Moments over. I’m going back inside.”
Adam caught Jon by the wrist, stopping him from escaping . He stood at the same time he pulled Jon to him, dragging him around and into the kiss. Their hips pressed against the railing as Jon tilted his head to find a better angle and pull Adam in by the small of his back. Jon kissed like he was starving, hungry for Adam, like he could never get enough. It was intoxicating, addicting even, to be wanted, even needed that way. To have Jon’s hands in his hair, and scratching down his back, then grasping at his jaw. Until they parted, both a little out of breath.
Jon knocked his forehead against Adam’s and chuckled, “You know what would be really fun? I should give you a hickie before we go in. Really get the old men talking...”
“Nope, no we’re not doing that.” Adam had to catch Jon by the jaw to stop him from biting his neck. Instead, he ducked down, got his hips under him and pushed Jon all the way back to the door. They were still jostling and wrestling as they spilled into the kitchen. Kane promptly kicked them out into the parlor for being rowdy.
It wasn’t much. Adam wouldn’t call the day revolutionary for the course of their relationship. It was just one more moment in a string of moments, most of which they’d forget by the end of the month. But it felt different, a noticeable different, when while eating dinner with Jon’s family, Jon tapped his knee against Adam’s.
