Work Text:
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.