A/N: Just an odd ship I think would be interesting. My first "Secret Circle" fic. Read and review? Enjoy! Hopefully...
Disclaimer: I do not own The Secret Circle or any of the characters.
Leather & Lust
That leather jacket, the motorcycle boots, those stupid worn in jeans, his hideously taut-fitting t-shirt… Why must they haunt him? For years he watched the boy with the icy expressions grow up, and for years he both loved and loathed him.
When they were still in diapers and went to the playground with the elders of Crowhaven Road, Adam would spend his time in the sandbox with Diana and Melanie building sandcastles. Provoked by a very young Faye, he would throw sand in his face, or try to stick worms down his pants, making him cry.
In grade school, he would start to drift off on his own, with only Deborah for company. They would sit on top of the monkey bars, gluing their icy expressions on the well-dressed, socially accepted kids who refused to share their crayons and juice boxes. Not once would those two come and join their friends on the swing set or slide.
In junior high, art class was his element. Sitting at the back of the class, he would brood behind the confines of his easel, making marvelous pictures of cars and fantasy creatures, using on the color black. Charcoal, mostly. To make the fact even more annoying, Adam would sit at the front of the room, and as meticulously as he tried, couldn't manage to make even one decent sketch. The teacher even had the audacity to ask him once if his painting of a tree was an "abstract" work.
Now in high school, with the clear separation of the cliques within The Club, Adam and Nick were more at odds than ever. Diana's people separated from Faye's by an imaginary wall. The patron saints against fallen angels of reckless abandon. For that reason, as well as many others, the façade was thrown up, a boy scout determination to see Nick as nothing more than an insignificant member of the coven.
Yeah, because that was working so well.
He watched silently as Deborah and the Henderson brothers skulked towards the front entrance, whispering between themselves. Nick, however, stayed where he was; leaning casually against the side of the building, one arm folded across his chest, the other tapping the end of a newly lit cigarette. His dark eyes were coldly inviting, beckoning Adam closer. Subconsciously, he quickly closed the space between them, paying no heed to the sound of the five minute warning bell chiming out from the tower.
Nick's expression didn't as much as twitch as he moved the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled.
"Conant." The name was exhaled with a puff of smoke. Although his voice was barely a whisper in the distance between them, Adam could tell that his voice was steely; the lusciously pink blade of a sharpened sword glided against his teeth, ready to fence at a moment's notice.
"Armstrong." Adam replied, attempting to keep his voice nonchalant, to whip on the mask he always bore around the man in front of him.
"Still haven't quit I see."
"They calm my nerves."
"Like you have anything to be on edge about."
A hollow chuckle. So cold, and remorse. "Worry about your own problems, Conant. Leave mine out of this."
Throwing a glance at the ground, Adam brought his gaze slowly upward, meeting the icy stare for the first time since wandering across the grounds. The pale blue irises seemed to go on forever, drowning the pupil in an ocean of turmoil. Full, ebony lashes outlined the lids, leading into a palette of pale skin that stretched across well defined cheek bones and a hawkish nose. A smooth jaw line and strong chin rounded off his face. Topped with a mess of dark curls, he was nearly perfect. The only disturbed feature on the surface was a pair of pale pink, severely chapped lips. Despite the rough cracks, Adam couldn't help wondering what they would taste like. Salty, from all of his time spent down by the shore? Bitter, from the nicotine on his breath and the constant air of motor oil that surrounded him?
Without warning, those lips were suddenly tracing the shell of his ears, their disturbed texture comforting against his skin.
"I know what you want, Conant," The words were nothing more than a whisper floating across his skin, moving painstakingly slow across his temple, back to his jaw. "I don't know why you try to deny it. This… pull. A chemistry so neurotic it makes your skin crawl with revulsion; tet at the same time makes you curious. Is it possible? Fleeting? Organic or orgasmic? Saccharinely sweet or beastly bitter?"
The words were going straight through him, settling into his very soul. The voice, so deep and smooth. Like velvet.
"You decide, Adam."
Adam. The first time in years that he hasn't called him by his surname.
Not knowing whether or not he imagined it, there was a slight pressure against his lips, his eyes having fluttered shut many moments prior, having fallen into a trance watching the rogue mouth release temptations. It was there and gone in an instant, that rough, devastatingly luscious sensation. Poisonous and pleasant all at once.
Opening his eyes, Adam found himself weak with desire, gazing at Nick's lips as they clamed down on the end of his nearly burned down cigarette. With a puff of smoke, Nick seemed to smirk. Or maybe Adam imagined that as well. His mind was just so clouded.
"Run along, Conant. You wouldn't want to be late for class." Nick's eyes sparkled as he dropped his cigarette to the ground, stomping a well scuffed boot down on the dying embers before reaching into his back pocket for another. Whipping out his lighter, he lit up once more, easily folding back into his closed off self.
As Adam headed towards the front doors of the school, he could've sworn he heard the words "you know where to find me" drift by on the breeze.
Perhaps a trip to Number Two Crowhaven Road later tonight was in order.