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Stepford lingered by the entrance, looking at the note left behind in the sloppy writing he now recognised as Cam’s - complete with a few splodgy fingerprints across the rumpled paper.
‘be back - if it's you…
Tony - no, haven't seen it
Mateo - still haven't seen it
Beau - don't know what that fucking is
Stepford - wait if you want’
Stepford looked over the last line a few times, and reached out, placing his own fingertips across the black smudges Cam had left behind, and felt a little heat on his neck.
He hovered. Could he really go in, or maybe he should wait outside, here?
Stepford pulled up a bit of courage, and pushed his way through the loose plastic that made up the doorway, heading inside to Cam’s little den.
It was cosy, in its way, wasn't it? He’d made this place exactly as he wanted it, and it had so much stuff, it was a world apart from the cold shelf and sterile nothingness that Stepford supposed was his world.
Stepford wandered a little, tentative, wondering what to do with himself.
Cam had so many little collections - Stepford noticed, letting his eyes trail over his things, placed on shelves made of cardboard and paper.
A selection of lumps of old gum in interesting shapes, colourful sweets in various states of decay and … pennies.
The one he'd given him amongst them - the gift he’d presented to Cam a week after the night of the competition - when they’d first slept together.
The one that he’d found rotting on his little shelf, when he’d been thinking about Cam, working out how to talk to him again.
It was placed in a neat row now alongside about 5 or so more, organised by their different levels of oxidation, from shiny copper to deep turquoise.
Had Cam done that since the last time he'd been here? Started a new collection?
Stepford tried to admire them, looking across them and see what it was Cam saw - trying to understand them, focus on the vibrant colours - and not just think about himself, another bit of metal, rusting on a shelf and corroding and turning black.
Stepford sighed. He so wished he could see it, but looking at them for so long was only making his stomach lurch.
He headed back in the direction of Cam's chair - taking a seat beside on the floor - and fiddled with the ribbon around his neck, catching and uncomfortable on his skin, as he waited.
-
“I don't see why this needs 4 of us,” Cam said flatly, as he observed Hoove panting and wheezing a little - taking a breather before he got back to work cleaning the vents.
“You're here to take away whatever it is that's causing Hector such trouble,” Daisuke said, cool and collected.
“I know why I'm here,” Cam replied sharply, he wasn’t stupid, and gestured to Jean Loo instead who was watching the proceedings with an air of mild interest, “but I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”
“Ah’m supervising,” Jean Loo interjected, “also ah live ere.”
“Thought he was supervising,” Cam gestured now to Daisuke, “unless this situation really needed a fork or something.”
“You never know,” Hoove said, collecting himself, and then getting back to it - gesturing for Hector to withdraw his fingers a little bit whilst he got on with it.
Cam was going to ask why on earth Daisuke would be more useful than, say, Tony, a literal tool, but then he realised he deeply, deeply didn’t care.
So he leant back against the wall beside Jean Loo instead, and waited for this to be over.
Hopefully, at least, there might be something cool at the end of this for him.
Beside him, Jean shifted a little bit, and Cam got the sense he wanted to say something. Jean was not one to be quiet about anything, ever, so he looked at him sidelong, catching Jean’s little glance in his direction.
“Say it,” Cam said.
“I ‘eard you were getting cosy with ze trophée,” Jean said, “well, Johnny ‘eard, from Bathsheba, so I ‘eard.”
Cam rolled his eyes a little. Everyone in this whole house never shut the fuck up about eachother - did they? … and they thought the damn Candelabra was bad.
“What about it,” Cam replied, nonchalant.
Stepford hadn’t hidden it.
The image was still rattling in Cam’s head a little - Stepford, freshly ruined and covered in ink and grime and the marks of his hands across that glittering flesh - standing before Bathsheba, wearing and bearing him.
He let them see what I did to him. He fucking displayed it.
It was such a delicious thought, the kind that could feed his fantasies for a long time. He wished he could've seen it.
If Stepford wasn’t hiding him, like deep down in his gut Cam had expected him to, well, then … Cam wouldn’t hide him, either.
Jean pulled a face.
“It is just surprising,” he said, tilting his head side to side, “you do not have a … let us say, competitive spirit.”
Cam glared a little harder as Jean waved his fingers vaguely in the air.
“It is your disaffected apathetic soap-less loozer vibe,” he said, “very Gen X, very ah ave a poster of Kurt Cobain and did you know ‘iz wife killed im, you know?”
Jean paused.
“Attends, waz that too uh, litigious? Let me rephrase.”
“Please don't,” Cam said.
From the other side of the room Hoove let out a whoop - target acquired - and waved over to the others to help him.
“We got it,” he said, “c’mon trash king, let’s see what we’ve found you.”
–
Stepford was lost in his thoughts, staring off into the distance, disappearing off into his head as he often did when heard the sound of rustling and movement from the entranceway and sat up - expectant.
Ah - voices - more than one, and Stepford held still, suddenly thinking perhaps he shouldn’t be here after all as several figures, not just Cam, pushed through the plastic - carrying something.
Hoove and Jean Loo - carrying a large metal cannister on their shoulders - as behind them Cam trailed, watching the canister and not them with apprehensive eyes - like he was making sure they were carrying it right.
“Yeah thanks for the help, Cam,” Hoove said sarcastically, looking back at him, “where do you want it?”
“There,” Cam replied flatly, pointing, “don’t just drop it, ok?”
“Oui your majest-eee,” Jean chirped as he and Hoove carefully lowered it down. Hoove stepped back, clapping his hands together, job done, and his eyes darted across the room - catching upon Stepford and widening with a little surprise.
“Stepford?” Hoove greeted, confused.
“Hoove,” Stepford replied, awkwardly pushing to his feet.
“What are you doing here?” Hoove asked, still confused, and looking to Cam now but Cam was intently focused on the canister, stepping around it with focused eyes, inspecting it carefully.
“This isn’t … exactly your scene,” Hoove added, brow raising.
“Oh, I’m -” Stepford started, unsure how to answer, but Jean Loo cut in, shooting Stepford a big grin, devious and knowing.
“Ah, it’s your little licheux de poubelle, Cam-eh-ron,” Jean said, “so it iz true then.”
Stepford looked at him, blinking.
“Licheux de what?” Hoove said, folding his arms.
“Iz little trash queen,” Jean replied, shrugging, “you ‘ave not ‘eard? ‘Oove you live under a rock.”
“In a cupboard,” Hoove corrected, then looked at Stepford, still confused, before looking at Cam, then back, and Stepford held his smile - letting it grow a little more polite and placid.
Cam finally seemed to acknowledge him, Stepford sensed him looking at him from the corner of his eye, but he kept his smile on Hoove.
“Oh,” Hoove’s eyes went very wide, “oh - but you’re - really?”
Stepford just kept smiling.
“It’s good to see you, Hoove,” he said simply.
Hoove shook his head.
“Right,” he replied, “I guess…”
He looked to Cam now, who had crossed his arms, impatient, waiting for them to be done with a cloudy scowl.
“Gonna … go…” Hoove said awkwardly, “have fun.”
Then he paused.
“I meant about the…” he gestured a moment at the can then winced, shaking his head, and just left, which made Jean laugh.
“Oui, ‘ave fun,” Jean said, following after him with a bounce in his step, spinning a little as he did and flashing his brows at them with a grin, “au revoire, licheux de poubelle!”
Stepford watched until he left, then shifted on the spot, looking at Cam, who was avoiding his gaze, focused on the canister again.
“Hi,” Stepford greeted, “you said I could wait so…”
Cam nodded his head to him.
“Hey,” he replied, “what was that about?”
Stepford blinked, confused.
“Uh… I didn’t understand him either,” he confessed, no idea what that bit of French was about.
“Nah, I meant,” Cam looked at him then, flashing him a big, empty looking smile that didn’t suit his face at all, “that.”
Stepford swallowed, feeling a little stone in his gut.
“Oh,” Stepford said, “it’s just … sometimes it’s easier to smile and step out when things are awkward, you know?”
Cam raised a brow.
“You … never do that?” Stepford asked.
Cam shook his head.
“Nah,” he said, adding a little curiously, “you … do that often?”
Stepford nodded.
“I guess,” he said.
Cameron considered it.
“With me?” He asked.
Stepford shook his head.
“No,” he replied, honestly.
Cam made a little noise, a murmur of consideration, then held his hand hovering beside the surface of the canister a moment, deep in thought.
Stepford stepped in alongside him, interested. It was covered in rust, one side of it all but rotted out - the metal looked so fragile - and it had long obliterated half of the words on it - he could see ‘air’ somewhere there, and it had a long rusted nozzle attached to the top.
“Where’s this from?” He asked.
“Hector,” Cam replied, “hmmmm.”
He was thinking, admiring it.
“Can you do something with it?” Stepford asked, desperate to keep talking to him.
“Maybe,” he said, “it’s delicate. Needs some care but…”
His fingers grazed across it, catching over the rusted surface and dragging, gathering powdered rust on his fingertips - which made him smile - a little thrill in his eyes.
“Perfect.”
Perfect?
“Cam…” Stepford was speaking before he’d really thought through what he was saying, “I need your help.”
Cam frowned, looking over his shoulder at him a moment.
“Help with what?” He asked.
Stepford swallowed, a little warmth on his cheeks. He looked at the metal, the dark red powder that Cam was rubbing between his fingertips.
He looked to the corner, where the collection of pennies were.
“Will you help me understand?” he asked.
Cam’s eyes searched his, the darkening clouds around his eyes getting a little darker.
Stepford took a few steps back, and Cam followed him, curious, as he turned, looking over them again.
“Help me … see them like you do,” he said, looking up at Cam now, hopeful, “please.”
Cam was very still, and Stepford found himself needing to speak, to explain more.
He took in a breath, making himself look at them.
“I look at this and all I see is me,” he said, “dying metal … I …”
Cam stepped in alongside him, hand flying to Stepford’s wrist, circling around it firmly and guiding his hand to the surface of the pennies.
He pressed his hands down, so his fingers rubbed across into the tarnish.
“Does it feel dead, to you?” He said.
Stepford didn’t know.
He just felt strange - his body a little wired up - and he didn’t know why.
Cam lifted his hand, pulling Stepford’s fingers to his mouth - licking the tarnish off his fingertips, sucking them clean, leaving them wet as he let them drop.
Stepford’s chest was tight, clenched and tense - heart starting to drum a heady beat as he looked at Cam. He let his hand hover, reaching.
“Am I…” he swallowed, “do you see me like this, too?”
A moment passed between them, and then Cam’s expression turned, something sharp and cold in his eyes.
“That why you're here?” He asked, “feeling sorry for yourself, so you come here to get fucked by someone sorrier than you? Huh?”
Stepford flinched, struck like a punch in the gut - and pulled his hand back.
“That it?” Cam pushed.
Stepford’s heart was racing faster, starting to hurry with panic.
“I … I never said that,” Stepford protested, not understanding.
What had he said wrong?
“That's not why…”
Cam looked away
“I know what I am, Stepford, just cause you don’t know what you are doesn't mean you get to come here and make me feel worthless, ok?”
What?
“I don't think you're worthless. I don't …” Stepford said.
Why was he doing this?
Stepford closed his eyes, gripping his hands to his sides, and then moved - running before he got hurt.
–
He made it a few steps outside, clearing out into the air, mind whirling before he stopped, looking down at his wrists and seeing the circle of rust fingerprints around his wrist, left behind by Cam.
No.
No, no you don’t get to throw me away, too.
–
Cam held still, listening to Stepford’s retreating footsteps and looking at the pennies, the metallic taste still lingering in his mouth.
He felt the momentary swell of vindication - but the bitter victory sat poorly on his tongue.
Nothing sweet about it. Nothing good, to be proven right, like he always was.
The hollow feeling was already vanishing, replaced by a small, painful clench inside of him.
Was that worth it?
He heard more footsteps - clattering as fast across the ground towards him as they had retreated, and he turned, meeting a flustered looking Stepford - hands held in tight fists to his chest - staring him down.
He came back. Cam’s pulse started to hurry, nearly as fast as those footsteps, but he held still, refusing to show it - the feeling of relief, the flicker of delight to be proven wrong.
“I’m not leaving,” Stepford said, stubborn and determined, “I never said any of those things, and you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like they cared about who I am, and...”
“Don't hate me too,” he said.
Cam hesitated.
“I don't,” he said.
“Well, I don't hate you either,” Stepford countered, “I like you. I really like you. You're the person I like most.”
Cam shifted. His heart pounding a little harder, this new feeling difficult to withstand, whatever it was, he couldn’t handle it. He reached for it again; that same weapon he always did, when things felt like they were overwhelming him.
“That's sad, Stepford,” he said, bitter, “you hate yourself so much that I'm the best you've got?”
Stepford’s eyes searched his.
Then something changed. He stepped closer.
He was a step away now, his voice turning, changing.
“What, you don't think I'm a contender, too?” he said.
Stepford's eyes were fixed on him now, that heat behind them making them sharp - hungry - and Cam met his gaze.
He knew when he was being challenged.
“You claimed me,” Stepford said, planting a hand upon his chest and pressing him backwards with surprising strength, “I'm yours. You think you can get me without being worth me?”
Fucking Trophy, Cam thought, full of suprises.
Cam broke into a grin, thrilled as Stepford's fingers clasped around his top - a satisfying crunch of plastic as his grip curled around it and he fixed him under the heat of his gaze once more - then ripped it back.
Shhhhhkkkk-
The plastic tore apart, and Stepford moved into him, ripping it easily and stripping him down to his waist in seconds.
There he is, Cam thought, feeling his body lighting up as Stepford's mouth was on his neck, taking in a breath of him like was taking a hit, a murmur of appreciation and relief, before he dragged his tongue across his throat, hands all over him, eager and slippery.
My prize, Cam raked his fingers through his hair, wanting to undo the coiffed curls and tilt his head back a moment, to meet his ferocity with some of his own. Show me, then.
He kissed him, tangling his tongue with Stepford's messily, he tastes like sweetness and pennies, like licking across the edge of a battery - a tiny bit of sourness and electricity to his mouth.
Stepford's hands were busy whilst his mouth was occupied, tearing away at Cam's clothes until he was naked, then grabbing him by the waist and dragging him to the ground, all but throwing him down with a thud and kneeling over him.
“I'm not here to punish myself,” Stepford said firmly, “I'm here to honour you - victor.”
He kissed down Cam's chest - sucking kisses that drew his skin a little into Stepford's soft lips, pressed like gifts over his ribs.
He paused a moment, eyes lingering on the little cigarette burns that dotted Cam’s ribcage - then he kissed those, too - his fingers holding Cam in place firmly.
Cam's heart was pounding hard as Stepford's kisses worked across his stomach, his hands sliding down to his thighs.
He looked up at him, his gaze as soft as it was ferocious, as he dragged his tongue across his cock.
Cam bit down on his lip, letting the drag of heat down his length burn through him a little. Stepford was teasing him, lapping his tongue over his shaft slowly, steadily, building a pace.
He gripped his base, holding him in place as he dragged a few more kisses down his length.
The pleasure was mounting steadily - Cam bit down a groan - and Stepford’s eyes were focused on him as he took him into his mouth.
What a sight - so beautiful and golden and taking so much of me into his throat - those flecks of glitter - freckles - across his cheeks catching light as he moved across him - focused so intently on bringing his pleasure.
“Perfect,” Cam said, “you’re…”
Stepford withdrew his lips, saliva wet across Cam’s cock as he pulled back, shifting now - pressing him down. He stripped himself quickly with one hand, the other still gripping Cam’s base, keeping the pleasure tight.
He crawled forward, straddling Cam and pressing himself against him, hard and wanting, inviting Cam to watch his every movement with that fierce gaze of his.
Cam grinned, feeling breathless and wound and tortured in the best sort of way as he looked up at his trophy. Cam grabbed his thighs now to hold tightly - feel the muscles working powerfully through them as Stepford teased them both.
Disciplined, careful thrusts against him as he gripped them both in his fingers now, stroking across their lengths agonisingly slowly, a steady rhythm to match those thrusts.
He was letting out moans too - pretty sounds - his aching cries and gentle grunts as he worked them together - he’s torturing us both - making me wait - I need him -
“I want you - I want to ruin you,” Cam said, “not your hands, not your mouth - I want…”
Stepford grinned, breathless atop him.
“I know what you want,” he said, and he flicked his hair back, damp with sweat, looking down at him as that grin got wider and more confident, goading almost.
“You can have it,” he said, “but you’ll have to finish me first.”
Fucking trophy, Cam grinned, who knew.
“Then come here,” Cam said, circling around his thighs now and grabbing him, pulling him forward as he sat up.
Stepford did as demanded, on his knees before Cam now, letting Cam’s hands claw up his thighs, groping across his ass as he tugged him forward, wrapping his lips around his cock hungrily.
Cam was far less disciplined; working his tongue over his length messily and ravenously, clutching Stepford’s hips and guiding him to buck into his lips - to thrust into him as he took him with his mouth.
Stepford was crying now, hands in Cam’s hair, steadying himself as he thrust, digging into his shoulder, whimpering and desperate.
“C-Cam,” he murmured.
Cam gripped his hip tightly, stroking his thumb across the flesh in deep circles, leading Stepford’s rhythm; a few more hard thrusts and he would snap.
Cam pulled back as he felt him jolt and jerk, releasing in a hot spill across his tongue, his lips, his chin, his chest.
Electric, metallic, delicious - Cam swallowed, catching the drip down his chin with his fingers and looking at it - delighted.
Glimmering and gold, of course - and leaving a shimmering smear across his skin.
Trash painted gold, he thought, something of a joke there he enjoyed.
Stepford was panting, a face washed red with blood, freshly obliterated and gorgeous - breathing through his pleasure.
Cam grinned up at him, inspecting his work, and then looked down at where his hand gripped Stepford’s hip so tightly - seeing dark marks left behind there from his fingers.
He wanted to leave more marks, so he leant forward, biting at the tender flesh of Stepford’s inner thigh, muscles twitching as the feelings washed through him still, and Cam drew the skin into his mouth and sucked it hard.
Stepford let out a soft little whine above him, and Cam pulled back - seeing the sharp red pucker mark he’d left behind - his love bite already bruising the skin.
I want to mark him all over, Cam thought hungrily, but first -
He couldn’t wait any more. Cam grabbed him, dragging him into his lap. Stepford was shaking a little, thighs quaking as he moved with Cam, positioning himself so Cam could get what he so desperately wanted.
Still shivering, hot and fluttering as Cam guided himself into him, tugging Stepford onto his length. Stepford exhaled - a hot, wet sort of breath across Cam’s cheek as Cam pressed into him until he was hilted in deep.
God but he felt good - every time they did this it got better - the feeling of Stepford’s body, now a familiar, craved sensation.
Stepford was all bliss - pliant and limbless, putty in Cam’s hands as he thrust into him - wrapping about him and meeting his bucking with hazy, willing circles of his own.
Cam kissed him, parting his lips with his tongue hungrily, knowing the taste of Stepford was still in his mouth, but Stepford didn’t seem to care, returning his kisses, breathless.
He’d worked him up so much, pulled him so close to the edge that Cam knew he wouldn’t last long, his head already thudding and body full of bubbling acid, but, with Stepford in his arms, cradled almost as he worked into him - fingers digging into his back and brow pressed against his slick with sweat - he could feel…
The sensations shifted; not just hungry pleasure and desperation, but sensations unfamiliar to him - a feeling like the glow of victory, like warmth, like … home.
His mind was too spooling and loose to make sense of it - only that he knew it was part of those big, overwhelming feelings that kept pressing at the cage of his chest, painful and impossible.
He kissed him again, catching, biting kisses to the edge of Stepford’s lips, his cheek, his jaw and neck as he thrust - fuck I’m losing it - I’m -
“I’m - I’m gonna-” he whispered in Stepford’s ear, and Stepford nodded, clinging tighter as Cam hurried his thrusts to a rush, harder and deeper, desperately piling more pleasure into the hungry aching void within until it spilled.
He might have called his name as he came; crashing through and flooding and so strong that for a moment he couldn’t hear or see - all white and empty - only the whining distant noise of his blood pounding through him in his ears.
As it ebbed back he found himself with Stepford in his arms. Stepford was pressing gentle kisses into his hair, fingers trailing over his back, running across each notch of his spine, appreciative, and Cam realised just how intimate their tangle was.
His prize there, panting, delicate as fragile, rust riddled metal, looking at him with such haze in his amber eyes as Cam met his gaze.
He felt his chest straining, painful, heart full of aching.
Stepford swallowed, as if he sensed it too, and they kissed again - tentative now - hesitant - acknowledging without words what had changed.
We made love, Cam thought, as frightened as he was sure, we’re not just fucking anymore - we’re -
Cam sagged against him, exhausted and needing just to anchor himself a moment against his form.
It was too much to think about when he could barely think. Stepford only held him tighter, saying nothing, heart pounding against Cam's chest.
–
Lying there together amongst Cam’s nest, Cam’s fingers drew idly across the marks on Stepford’s hip. The skin was delicate, a tender spot - but Stepford felt raw all over - well spent and exerted and limbs humming like a wire.
Where Cam’s fingers had been, it was as if the polish of his skin had marred. Corroded - a bit of his gold rubbed away.
Stepford swallowed, reconciling that feeling - the little lurching fear in his chest with the pleasant warmth in his body. The lovebite would fade, but … that mark…
Something in his gut told him that mark would not; that perhaps Cam had touched him enough to leave something a little more permanent in his wake.
“I’m….” Stepford took in a shaky breath, “it’s happening to me - Cam…”
Cam looked at him, expression neutral but eyes unsure, questioning and perhaps as afraid as Stepford felt.
“You know it’s me, right?” he said, “I’m doing this to you.”
Maybe; or maybe it was just time - maybe it was just letting himself stop clinging so tightly to the need to be perfect, that he’d neglected something too long. He’d let a part of himself start to turn - because for the first time in his life he felt like there was something inside the shell of his body - not just hollow metal.
Cam's lips were pursed, a jutting, pre-emptive scowl, expecting… rejection?
He wanted to say more, but Stepford could feel him biting his tongue, his hand withdrawing and forming a fist, tight, as he fought whatever it was he wanted to say.
He's fighting himself, Stepford thought, starting to recognise this now, not me anymore.
Stepford swallowed, then reached for Cam’s hand, pulling it to his chest to hold it tightly to his heart, so Cam could feel it.
“I think…” he started, tentative; what would admitting this mean?
“Maybe I like it,” he said quietly, “I like … changing.”
Cam’s face was hard to read, his expression inscrutable. His hand unclasped, fingers spreading across Stepford's chest. A flint of something in his eyes as he held a moment, feeling the drumming.
Then he shuffled forward, leaning in and bringing his lips to Stepford's with a kiss that was hungry and appreciative, parting and deep.
He pulled back.
“I corrode you,” he said quietly, “and you turn me to gold.”
Stepford felt it like a strike in his chest; snatching out the air, stilling his heart for a long beat.
Cam settled back in next to him, close, like he didn’t want to break their touch - and Stepford stroked his fingers across the bones of Cam's hand, across his knuckles, which seemed to satisfy Cam.
“We gotta stop doing this,” Cam said bluntly after a moment.
Stepford smiled nervously.
“You want to stop sleeping together?” He asked, hoping desperately that the answer was no.
“Nope,” Cam replied, sighing, “I’d do it again now if I could move, that’s the fucking problem. I’m gonna turn you to rust in weeks if I get what I want.”
Stepford laughed, full of relief.
“We … we could do other things too. Go somewhere… sometime,” Stepford said.
Cam looked at him, skeptical.
“There's a talent show tomorrow,” Stepford said.
There was a long pause before Cam spoke again.
“...you asking me on a date, Stepford?”
Stepford smiled.
“A bit? I … we could…”
He laced his fingers with Cam's, hoping he knew what he was saying because he was really bad at it, and he'd mess it up if he tried.
Cam's eyes narrowed, suspicious.
“... I don't have to compete right? You're not the prize or something?”
Stepford shook his head.
“No, I'm not,” he said, adding tentatively, “I think I'm done with being anyone else's prize.”
Cam's cheeks turned a little red, and he bit his lip, pulling a little considering face that was far sweeter than it had a right to be - nothing like his usual scowls and smirks.
“Sure,” Cam said with a shrug, shuffling a bit so his head was resting against Stepford's shoulder, “whatever.”
My victor, Stepford thought, nervous and happy and excited all at once, my winner. My prize.