Journey
"Well, I lived."
Adam stared at Chris is quiet disbelief. He sounded so damned nonchalant that he wanted to strangle him. Would have done so, were he not entirely sure that it would snap his delicate neck and leave him limp like an unstrung puppet.
Instead he eyeballed the billion or so pamphlets that Dr. Youngblood had lying around the office. Absurdly, he picked up one about intrauterine surgery and began reading it. Four paragraphs into a section about fertility the realization that Dr. Youngblood wasn't an internist hit him.
"The scar isn't too noticeable. It fades, I mean, after a while. You just have to worry about your vocal chords. They dislocated Steven's."
His eyes traced what looked like a blow up of an anatomical drawing from Grays Anatomy. He studied the inner works of the human body; counted his ribs. The number of muscles in his throat. How many discs ran the length of his back. In simplicity, it was the center of life; the majority of men in the world had bodies like his; only less toned, more toned, a little shorter, a bit more fat.
All in all, every single one of them looked like a side of beef when they were split open.
"Sometimes, it gives the voice a great growl. Might be useful in promos; give it a little bit of extra power."
He knew that Chris was avoiding using the word Edge, which made him laugh out loud. The sound caused Chris to break off, and gave him time to finally turn his head and really study Chris.
See the sweat pouring off of him.
Brilliant clarity came to him with the realization that Chris' rambling speech had been constructed to hide his nerves. Adam's expression softened; even though his lover had made it through surgery quite similar to his own, it seemed quite different to witness a loved one suffering through such pain. So Adam stood, embracing his lover gently. The gentle, fine pressure of his lover's head against his shoulder spoke of more affection than he had ever experienced in life.
As he accepted it, the door opened, admitting Doctor Youngblood. The physician, to his credit, never blinked at the obvious love that Chris and Adam showed toward one another. Instead, he concentrated upon delivering a report regarding Adam's condition. Once again, the blond's mind was drawn back to his meat-related allegory.
Words flew by, each catching to his mind like wind-blown porcupine quills. Incision and suture and recovery time. When he surfaced from all of the jargon, he noticed that sweat had begun beading upon Chris' face. Sometime after an explicit retelling of just how Dr. Youngblood would pry Adam's hips apart, Chris' slippery left hand had entered into Adam's clenched fist.
Packets of information were passed out; he was to report to the hospital at such-and-such a time, and not eat from such a time until such a time. As they exited the doctor's office, Chris looked ready for a very large bottle of beer, but he didn't do more than smile wanly and squeeze Adam's hand.
So they had been placed on a road together; one that twisted along to the possibility of recovery. He smiled to himself, sure it would lead to victory, to a peaceful life together.
He only knew that Chris had not released him.