Home Sweet Home (For Open and nota_fairytale 'verses where Adam's

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In the end, he decided against the brownstone and chose a flat in the East Village. It had always been somewhere he was more comfortable than the Upper East Side or any of the fancier neighborhoods. From the son of a whore in the slums of London, he'd risen to become a courtier at Versailles, then a gentleman of the South, easily mingling among the various strata of society, but the upper echelons always made him twitch with their hypocrisy. The aristocracy--even when born out of the American bourgeoisie--never changed.

The East Village had been gentrified during his imprisonment, until it was trendy and expensive, but it still kept more of a bohemian vibe, and part of him couldn't bear to actually move to Brooklyn.

The flat was in an old pre-war building on Avenue C. It had high ceilings, exposed brick, and hardwood floors throughout. The kitchen was small, but since he didn't cook much, it didn't much matter. A fireplace nestled in one wall in the living room, and the price came in solidly under one million dollars so he was pleased by that as well. He paid cash, took the keys, then set about having some of his things transferred from Montreal. The furnishings he picked out himself--reds and browns to compliment the tile and brick, a large sofa across from the fire, a comfortable chair by the window, a table and two chairs tucked in a nook. He turned one bedroom into a library, lining three walls with bookshelves that reached to the ceiling with a futon against the fourth wall for any guests. His bedroom he did in shades of blue and grey, with a feather bed and down comforters piled on top of a King size bed. He never wanted to sleep on a thin mattress on a cot again. If he didn't sleep much, it didn't matter. The bed would be comfortable, dammit.

When it was done, he was pleased, or as pleased he could be about being in the City. It wasn't a location Bob would think to look. They all knew about his money, they'd look somewhere more posh. But this, he decided, suited him just fine.

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Adam shivers a little, the renewed arousal gentle enough to be more a pleasant ache, the repletion of before still heavy in his limbs. Slowly he eased his arms down relishing the ache in his shoulders for a moment. He wrapped his arms back around Hiro, pulling him close to kiss him lightly.

"I love you, too," he murmured.

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Hiro gently brushes his thumb over Adam's lips. "Thank you. For trusting me."

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Adam presses a small kiss to his thumb, giving him a little nod that doesn't betray that he actually was nervous at the start.

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Hiro smiles happily. Trust is important, especially in light of what he did. He checks Adam's wrists again, to be certain they've healed. "It's still amazing to me."

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"What is?" Adam asks with a little tilt of his head, snuggling down into the covers, easing the ache in his shoulders.

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"The way you heal. Like it never happened. No scars. I have so many from kendo practice where I did something stupid or I didn't know what I was doing. Most of them are very small, though."

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Adam's smile was a touch rueful. "It's useful enough, obviously, but sometimes...I don't know. There are things I'm glad I've no scars from and others I wish I could carry a physical mark."

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"Would permanent magic marker work? It's not a wound or something you would heal from, so it might stay a little while."

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Adam laughed. "Probably? A tattoo won't--the skin pushes the ink right back out. But a marker on the surface that doesn't harm the cells would probably work."

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"Give me a second." Hiro vanishes, then returns in the exact position he left now with a permanent marker in hand.

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Adam's eyebrows go up, watching him. "Just what are you planing to write?"

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"That is up to you. It is, after all, your scar. Although if it's in English, you may have help me with the spelling."

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Adam gave him a bit of a wry smile. "Then make it my symbol. It seems fitting."

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"Where do you want it? Over your heart? Your arm?" He pulls off the cap and wrinkles his nose. "I keep forgetting how bad these things smell."

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Now smiling Adam shifted to roll over. "My shoulderblade."

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Hiro carefully draws the Kensei symbol on his shoulder, then vanishes again to return with a hand mirror. "How is this?" He hands Adam the mirror and tries to angle it so he can see it.

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Adam shifted to hold the mirror, looking at Hiro's handiwork. He smiled, flashing the grin Hiro's way. "It's perfect, carp."

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"Anything else?" Hiro waggles the marker.

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"I think one's enough. I never liked the gaudy, all covered look," he said with a grin.

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"I have seen some very lovely all body ones, but I don't think I could do any of them justice with a magic marker. Yakuza wear the full body ones." He puts the marker on the nightstand. "I knew a girl in college who had a very nice tribal one across her shoulders in college. She looked like she had wings."

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Adam nodded. "I've seen some that were well done, though usually more when it was an envisioned piece, not just piecemeal of different things. Still, it's not something I ever would have done even if I could."

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"There are a couple I would get, but I don't think I could do the all-over ones. I have seen some that are not one theme, but all kinds of different things. You can get lost in trying to figure out what all the things are."

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"Exactly. It should have meaning, symbolism, not just be a ... fad of some sort." He wished he could get one more than he'd admit really. The pain alone had to be exquisite.

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"Unfortunately, many people get them when they are drunk. Which is not a good reason to get one." Something in his voice says he knows something about this. He looks at the symbol. "I wonder how long this will last? I haven't marked myself up with a marker and let it stay on long. It usually takes much scrubbing."

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"Not a good reason at all, no..." He glances back at him, with a bit of a frown. "I have no idea how long...a week, maybe. Two."