A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 28

+++

Night fell on Cius. Not so quiet, as cicadas made their song known. Dinner had finished, and plates were gathered, the sound of running water ringing in my ears. My head rested on folded hands, my eyes set on my aunt quietly washing the dishes.

"You went in hard on her," I noted quietly. Sure, my aunt could be as testy as a porcupine. She was affectionate enough with me, but when it came to others, she was rather prickly.

Medea didn't look up. "She's lucky I didn't gut her on the floor."

"She surrendered," I pointed out.

"She took hostages."

"And then gave them up."

Medea turned then, slowly, her expression unreadable. Her eyes pierced me. "Are you really going to play her advocate, Adam?"

"I just want to understand," I said. "Why the fury? I've never seen you that fired up before."

She stared for a long moment. Then she sighed, the plates clinking together in the sink.

"Other than the pretty obvious reasons," she muttered, "she is a noble, Adam. You need to understand how bad things were before. How terrible life was if you were lower-class faunus."

"I know discrimination and oppression, Auntie," I said, gesturing to my face. "I am branded, you know."

She turned to face me, arms crossed beneath her chest. Her face looked conflicted, but then she sighed again, the tension leaving her shoulders.

"Fine," she clicked her tongue. "I will tell you."

Her eyes went soft and distant, her voice laced with pain. "Your grandparents were slaves, Adam. Actual, legitimate slaves."

My throat tightened.

"Your father and I—we grew up as slaves. I learned early that survival meant playing the part they wanted me to play. Smile when they sneered at you. Bow when they laughed."

She walked over and sat next to me, her hands spread on the table, her eyes staring ahead at nothing.

"The Great War... it messed things up. At first, when it was going well, people celebrated. Then it got worse."

"Worse?" I asked softly, my hand reaching out to her shoulder.

"Defeat after defeat came from the front. The Song were running out of soldiers. So they began conscription. Nobles were pressured to provide soldiers. So they gave slaves, promising freedom after the war."

She laughed bitterly. "That's how we got scattered, Adam. I ended up in Vale. Your father in Solitas."

"I thought Dad chose to stay in Solitas?" I asked.

"In a way, yes," she replied. "After the Great War, Atlas offered employment, and he'd just had you with your mother. He chose to stay there to support his family. But the fact is, he got scattered and bounced around like me."

Her words carried the weight of a promise forged in fire, her conviction unwavering. But I couldn't ignore the thought gnawing at me, the contradiction sitting silently between us.

"You've been through hell," I said gently. "I don't doubt that. And I can see why you hate them. But...Jason was a noble, wasn't he?"

Her head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing. She pulled back, visibly bristling. "Jason was different."

"Was he?" I asked carefully, my tone soft but firm. "He was born into the same system. Raised in the same world. Yet you married him."

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought she might lash out. But then she sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Jason... he wasn't like the others. He hated what they stood for as much as I did."

"But he was one of them," I pressed. "Despite everything you've said about nobles being monsters, you let one into your life. Into your heart."

She opened her mouth to respond, but I raised a hand to stop her. "And it's not just that. It's... ironic, isn't it? You talk so firmly against the old world and its evils, but you married one of its scions. And you enjoy the fruits of his family," I gestured around, my eyes sweeping the room.

Her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white against the dark wood of the table. "You think I don't know that?" she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. "You think I haven't wrestled with that every day of my life?"

I leaned back slightly, surprised at the burst of emotion. Medea's voice softened, but her eyes burned. "Jason gave up everything—his title, his wealth, his family—to stand with me. To fight for me. He didn't choose to be born into that world, Adam, but he chose to leave it. He chose me."

"And that's my point," I said softly. "You let him in, Auntie. Despite everything you'd been through, you gave him a chance. You let him prove he wasn't like the others. Doesn't that mean... maybe there are more like him? That not all nobles are monsters?"

Her gaze wavered for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. But then her expression hardened again, her voice turning cold and insistent. "Jason was rare. One in a million. The rest of them? They don't change, Adam. They don't give up their power, and they don't care about people like us."

"But isn't it worth trying?" I asked quietly. "If you're willing to fight for freedom, isn't it worth fighting for a world where people like Jason aren't the exception?"

I hesitated, then touched my shoulder, my fingers brushing the brand scarred into my skin. "Behind me is a brand that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Sometimes, it's so painful I can't sleep. Jacques Schnee's policies did this to me. I have every reason to hate him and the SDC. But Winter Schnee was nothing like her father. In another time, in another world, Nicolasburg would still stand because of her."

​I continued. "So just as much as you had a Jason, there also was Winter as well. Then there's General Ironwood and Councillor Geyer fighting the SDC, risking their lives and positions." 

I leaned forward, my voice steady but firm. "My point is, Auntie, not everyone born into privilege is our enemy. Some of them fight for the same things we do, even if it costs them everything. And if we write them off before they can prove otherwise, aren't we just as blind as the nobles who look down on us?"

Medea's silence was heavy, her eyes locked on the table. For a long moment, she didn't answer. Then, slowly, she stood, her chair scraping against the floor.

"Get some rest," she said quietly, her voice distant. "You've got work to do tomorrow."

I watched her leave, her figure swallowed by the shadows of the hallway.

+++

Sienna yawned.

She had been deep in reviewing the things Adam had her read. For one, Sienna was quite certain that there were things here that should not see the light of day. Some were admittedly intellectually stimulating, for her tastes anyway. Where the flying fuck did he get his ideas? These were so vast and incorporating, she could see dozens of movements sprawling up for each one of them. 

She reached for the one Adam had drawn with a simple Hammer and Sickle. This Communism was powerful and direct. Sienna was not going to lie that the words written here were attractive. But it also terrified her. The vision of society there was so different, so radical. She understood the appeal of overthrowing the very oppressive system that burned Adam in the first place. And if this would spread, every Faunus worker abused and used by their employers would fly this books banner. Shit, even human workers too. 

​This book should never see the light of day. Or perhaps she should burn it. 

She stood up. 

She had to talk to Adam about this. First, she retrieved her notebook with notes. Then she turned out of her room, only to bump into a retreating Medea. She lifted an eyebrow but the woman looked frustrated. 

"Did something happen?" Sienna asked.

"None of your business!" she snapped as she strode off. 

Sienna frowned. "The hell was her problem?" she muttered before she turned downstairs and found Adam rubbing his nose. She thought to ask him what they had been talking about before deciding it was none of her business. Still, she felt concern seeing him stressed.

"You okay?" she asked, one fist against her hip.

"Yes, just some family discussion," Adam admitted. He then turned towards her. "What is it?" 

Sienna's frown deepened as she held up the notebook, tapping its cover pointedly. "What is it? This is it. These books you gave me, Adam. Where the hell did you get your ideas from?"

Adam's brow furrowed, but his expression stayed calm—too calm, like he had been expecting this. "I told you, Sienna, don't worry about it. Just focus on what you've learned. That's what matters."

"Don't worry about it?" she snapped, stepping closer and dropping the notebook onto the table between them with a loud thump. "You're giving me the most dangerous ideas I've ever read, and you're telling me not to worry? For example...If your Communist Manifesto ever sees the light of day, you know what's going to happen. Every Faunus worker who's ever been whipped, underpaid, or spat on is going to rally behind it. Hell, even the humans might. And what happens afterwards?" 

From a base sort of view, that was exactly the sort of thing they were looking for. If she had this way back, she would have taken this in a heartbeat. But this damned bull kept on talking to her about restraint. 

"Change," he replied calmly. Before Sienna could retort, Adam continued. "The reason why I wrote those books down is for you to critique it. I told you this already." 

"I know I'm your editor, damn it," Sienna muttered. "I just...I just want to know how you came up with these. And...why the hell me? What makes my judgement so special?" 

Ever since he spoke to her, Sienna knew that he was different. For a supposed Mine worker, he was sharp, refined. Not what exactly she expected. And the more days went, the more damn curious she became. The ideas in those books weren't just dangerous; they were revolutionary, incendiary. They weren't the kind of ideas someone stumbled across by accident.

Her eyes flicked to the notebook lying on the table between them. The pages were filled with her notes—questions, critiques, arguments scrawled in her sharp, deliberate handwriting. She had been honest in her evaluations, pointing out the flaws in Adam's logic, the gaps in his understanding of their people's needs. But what she hadn't written down, what she hadn't dared to admit even to herself, was the growing unease she felt every time she opened one of his books. The ideas were too polished, too vast in scope. They didn't feel like Adam's ideas. They felt like they came from somewhere else—someone else.

And that scared her.

Because if Adam wasn't the source, then who was? And what did they want?

Sienna's jaw tightened as her thoughts spiralled. Why me? She wasn't the smartest Faunus in the White Fang. She wasn't the most experienced or the most loyal. Sure, she spoke her mind, and maybe that was part of it. Adam knew she wouldn't sugarcoat her feedback. But that couldn't be the whole reason. He could've gone to anyone else—Medea, for one. She was older, wiser, and less inclined to question him. So why had he chosen her?

Her mind churned with possibilities. Was it because he trusted her? Or because he thought he could manipulate her? The thought made her stomach twist. Adam was calculating, and he wasn't above using people to get what he wanted. She knew that. But even so, this felt different. There was something almost… vulnerable about the way he'd handed her those books, as if her opinion truly mattered to him. As if it could shape the future he was trying to build.

Her throat tightened, and she forced herself to look at Adam, who was watching her with that maddeningly calm expression. He didn't look like someone grappling with monumental questions. He looked like someone who had already made up his mind. 

Adam's gaze didn't waver. "I've already told you," he said, his voice steady. "You think. You see the bigger picture. You're not afraid to tell me when I'm wrong. That's exactly why I need you, Sienna."

She shook her head, frustrated. "No, Adam, that's not what I'm asking. I get why you want me to critique these ideas. But where did they come from? Did you write them all yourself? Or are you getting them from someone else?"

For the first time, Adam hesitated. It was subtle—a slight shift in his posture, a flicker of something in his eyes—but Sienna caught it. 

Sienna's frustration boiled over. "Look, if we're going to build a future on these ideas, I need to know they're solid. I need to know they're ours. Not some borrowed philosophy that doesn't even fit our people. Don't you see how dangerous this is, Adam? If we're not careful, we're going to end up tearing ourselves apart before we even get started."

Adam's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Sienna thought he might snap back at her. But instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't come up with all of it," he admitted reluctantly. "Some of it… I found. Old writings, forgotten philosophies. Things that spoke to me. Things that made sense."

Sienna stared at him, her chest tightening. "Found where?"

He was quiet.

She shook her head, anger and unease swirling in her chest. "You're asking me to help you build something on a foundation I don't even understand. How am I supposed to trust that? How am I supposed to trust you?"

Adam stared at her. Then he sighed.

"Come with me." 

And so he stood up. 

And she followed him to his bedroom

+++

Sienna's heart pounded as she followed Adam down the dimly lit hallway, his words replaying in her mind like a haunting echo. It wasn't just the cryptic nature of what he'd said—it was how he'd said it. The weight behind his voice. The calm certainty. There was more he wasn't telling her, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to hear it.

When they reached his room, he opened the door without hesitation, stepping inside as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Sienna stopped at the threshold, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The sight before her made her stomach knot even further.

Maps of Mistral and the surrounding regions were tacked to the walls, crisscrossed with red ink markings and hastily scribbled notes. A small desk in the corner was cluttered with papers, the surface barely visible beneath diagrams, sketches, and more scrawled handwriting. A precarious stack of books leaned against the edge of the desk, their titles obscured by the dim glow of a single desk lamp. On the bed, shoved unceremoniously into the far corner of the room, lay more papers and what looked like a worn, fraying journal.

She had seen this mess before—too many times to count—but tonight, with all the uncertainty swirling in her mind, it felt different. More ominous.

"Sit," Adam said, gesturing toward the lone chair beside the desk.

But she didn't move. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, her arms still crossed, her eyes fixed on him. Her voice was flat when she responded. "I'll stand."

Adam turned to face her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the silence between them was heavy, almost suffocating. Then he exhaled, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms.

"You saw the nightmare world?" he asked.

Her brow furrowed. "Yes. Some city," she muttered, almost as if saying it aloud made it feel less real.

"Good," Adam said with a curt nod. "Because that was where I was from."

Sienna blinked, her body going rigid. What?

Adam continued, his tone calm but deliberate. "You're aware of the nature of aura, right?"

"Of course," she replied, her voice cautious.

"Well," he said, gesturing vaguely, "somehow, somewhere, through some funky divine cosmic nonsense, my soul was ripped from my home and dropped into this world. Into this planet. Into the body you know as Adam."

Time seemed to stop for a moment. Sienna stared at him, her mind racing to comprehend his words. It was the most insane thing she'd ever heard. Her eyes searched his face, furiously scanning for any sign of deceit, any hint that he was joking or losing his mind. To her shock—and horror—there was none.

Her brows furrowed deeper, her arms tightening across her chest. "You're telling me you're not... you?"

Adam—or whatever he was—shrugged, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "Not entirely, no. The body? That's Adam. But his soul and mine—they merged. Back at Nicolasburg, we became one. So, as far as I'm concerned, we are the same thing. Two parts of a whole."

Sienna's mouth opened, then closed, her thoughts too tangled to form words. She finally managed, "You're saying... you're not just Adam, but you're not not Adam either?"

"I am not well-versed in all this soul stuff to figure it out. But I am what I am. The Adam before me, he was... how do I put this?"

"If he had his way, he would go and establish an ethno-nationalist state for the faunus, and damn all humans."

Sienna blinked.

"The anger I feel, the inconsistency of the things I do sometimes—it's when I struggle to balance his soul with mine. I'm keeping a firm hold on things, at least."

Sienna's breath caught, trembling in her chest, shallow and uneven. She shifted against the doorframe, one hand dropping from her crossed arms to brush her thigh, grounding herself in the moment. Her eyes locked on him, and suddenly she wasn't sure who—or what—she was looking at. Adam? The ghost riding in his body? A fusion of both? Some stranger wearing the face she'd once trusted?

Her lips parted, but no words came. Her tongue felt dry and heavy, weighed down by the impossible truth he'd just laid bare.

His expression didn't change—calm, resolute, unshaken.

It chilled her.

Her knees threatened to give way as the room seemed to shrink around her. The air thickened, suffocating, pressing down on her chest. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to draw a sharp breath through her nose, like it could somehow slice through the fog building behind her eyes.

And then she stepped forward.

Not far. Just enough to cross the invisible line between standing on the edge of the truth and stepping into it. Just enough to make it real.

"You're not joking," she said, her voice flat. "This isn't some elaborate metaphor."

Adam—or whatever he was—tilted his head slightly, a hint of dry humor creeping into his tone. "Would I really make a metaphor out of being two souls crushed into one?"

Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, but something bitter threatening to surface. "No," she muttered. "No, you wouldn't. That'd require subtlety."

She moved again, this time toward the desk. Not to sit. Not to rest. Just to pace. Her fingers grazed one of the maps pinned to the wall, the paper crinkling faintly under her touch. Her eyes swept over the room—at the papers on the bed, the stack of books, the single flickering lamp, everything that screamed of obsession and desperation.

"I trusted you," she said, her voice quieter now. Not angry. Not accusing. Just shaken. "All this time, I thought I knew who you were."

Adam's gaze didn't waver. "I never lied to you."

"No," she said sharply, her hand falling from the map. She turned back to him, her eyes narrowing. "You just never told me."

He said nothing.

Sienna looked down, her fingers brushing the edge of the desk. She felt small. Unsteady. Like someone had yanked the floor out from under her and let her fall just slow enough to feel the weight of every inch of descent.

And yet, beneath the unease, there was something else. Something faint but undeniable. It wasn't fury—not yet. It wasn't even betrayal. It was something deeper. Something that simmered in her chest, refusing to be ignored. Curiosity.

Because whatever this was—whatever he was—it was bigger than her. Bigger than him. Bigger than all the things she thought she'd understood about the world. And if he was telling the truth... a whole new world?

"I don't know," Sienna muttered, her voice quieter now, almost lost in the space between them. Her fingers brushed along the edge of the desk again, as if the physical contact could anchor her to something real, something solid. "I just... felt like I knew you. Like I could trust you. And now… now I don't even know what to call you."

Adam—or whoever he was—watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. He didn't rush to fill the silence, didn't move to close the space between them. He simply waited, his presence heavy but steady.

"Would it have changed anything if I'd told you earlier?" Adam asked, his voice calm but with a subtle edge to it. "Would you have believed me, Sienna? If I'd told you I wasn't just Adam, but something more?"

She stopped pacing, her back to him. Her shoulders tensed, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "I don't know," she admitted after a long pause. "Maybe. Maybe not. But at least I wouldn't feel like this now."

"Like what?"

She turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. "Like I don't know if I can trust you anymore."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. "I understand," he said finally. "But I haven't lied to you, Sienna. Not once. I meant all the things I said. I have the scars to prove it."

True enough.

A liar wouldn't have done all the shit at Nicolasburg.

She could leave. She could walk out that door, put all of this behind her, and pretend she never heard any of it. But would she? Did she even want to leave?

She looked into herself.

And she found that—even despite his origins, the ideals he sprouted, the blood he gave, the sweat he poured—he was still Adam. The Adam she knew, at least. Sure, he might have some funky soul stuff going on, but he was still the very same Adam that got her attention. 

Nicolasburg, the Fort. The beach. The campfire. The dance. 

"I don't know what you are," she said. "But I know who you are."

She stepped forward—one stride, deliberate, grounded.

"You're the man who bled with me. The man who thinks too much. The man who thinks this world can be better, even when it tears him apart to say so. That's the man I followed into fire."

Her gaze didn't waver.

"I'm not walking out that door, Adam. Or whatever your name is. I don't care what worlds you came from. I care what you're building here."

She crossed her arms, looking away. "I know at least that you are sincere. You have done far too much. You...do not exactly have to prove your sincerity again to me. You have me hooked into your vision, you fucking asshole. You..."

Her voice caught—not from weakness, but from the sheer weight of the truth she was admitting. She shook her head, jaw clenching like it might stop the words from spilling out too fast, too raw. Why was she not out of this door even despite the insanity here?

And the more she thought about it, the more it became apparent. 

"You made me believe in something again."

It wasn't tender. It wasn't soft. It was angry, almost. Like belief itself was a betrayal she hadn't agreed to, and now she had to live with it. Her arms stayed crossed, fists buried in the crooks of her elbows, knuckles white. Her gaze dropped to the floor between them.

"The discussions, the talks, I had something after I lost everything. You...gave me that, at least." 

Adam didn't move. His eyes didn't leave her, but there was a quiet stillness in him now. Not defensive. Not smug. Just listening.

"So are you still in?" he asked, voice looking for clarification. 

Her shoulders fell then, just slightly. A breath escaped her like pressure easing out of a cracked valve.

"Yes," Sienna muttered. "I'm still in."

"But I kept this information away from you."

"For admittedly reasonable reasons."

"Still crazy."

"Remnant is a crazy world."

"No other reason?" he pressed. "We're being honest now, so we might as well get things out of the way."

Sienna stared.

Her heart thumped.

She made a decision.

Her arms uncrossed slowly, like it hurt to do it. She stepped away from the desk, away from the clutter of maps and books and everything else she'd used as a shield. The chair creaked as she pushed it back with her leg.

"No other reason?" she echoed. "You really want to open that door?"

Adam nodded once, silent.

Sienna's gaze didn't leave his. Not now.

"Fine," she said. "You want truth? Here it is."

She took one more step forward, standing directly in front of him now. Her voice dropped, rougher at the edges, quieter but with far more weight.

"I didn't just believe in the vision. I believed in you. More than I wanted to. More than I should've. And if you had told me this months ago, I don't know what I would've done—not because I'd have run, but because I would've followed you anyway."

Her fingers curled at her sides.

"And that scares the hell out of me."

Adam didn't move. Not an inch. But something in his expression shifted—just barely. The mask, cracked.

Sienna kept going.

"Do you know what it's like, Adam? To be good at not caring? To be proud of how little you need people? And then suddenly there's you, dragging me into arguments, forcing me to read until my head aches, bleeding for strangers, spitting out dreams that I can't stop thinking about. And I tried. I really tried."

She shook her head.

"But you got in anyway."

Her voice softened then, almost hoarse.

"And if you'd told me everything back then—about the soul, the merging, the anger buried in your skin—I wouldn't have cared. Because it wouldn't have changed what was already happening."

Silence wrapped around them.

Adam stood still. His eyes held hers. Not distant. Not analytical. Just there. Real. Grounded.

Then he asked, quietly, "And now?"

"Since we're being honest," she murmured, voice low, steady.

She then dragged him up by the collar.

She kissed him.

She didn't break it until air forced her to.

Her voice came quiet. Hoarse, but sure.

"That's what."

Sienna didn’t move for a moment after pulling back—her lips still tingling, her breath shallow and fast. She stared at him, daring him to flinch, to falter, to speak first and break whatever this was becoming. But Adam just stood there, jaw tight, eyes unreadable, as if everything in him had gone still except the storm barely visible behind his stare.

Then he moved.

His hand came up fast, not harsh but full of purpose, threading through the back of her hair and pulling her in again like something primal had snapped. Their mouths met not gently this time, not like before—this was deeper, harder, hungrier. His other hand found her waist and gripped, pulling her flush against him as their bodies collided with the same urgency as their thoughts always had. Sparks with edges. Teeth and tongues and heat coiling tight under skin.

Sienna gasped against him, then growled low in her throat when he deepened the kiss. Her arms shot up around his neck, dragging him down further, kissing him like she was angry he hadn't done it first. She bit his lower lip—not enough to draw blood, but enough to warn, and when he didn't back down, she pushed him until his back hit the desk.

Papers scattered to the floor.

Books tumbled.

He lifted her up without asking, hands tight on her hips, and she wrapped her legs around him without a word. The desk creaked beneath them as she shoved a pile of half-sketched maps aside, mouth still pressed to his, drinking him in like it was the first breath after drowning.

Her fingers found the clasp of his coat, yanked it open, hands moving underneath, palms dragging across the thin shirt beneath. He hissed through his teeth when her nails scraped his ribs.

They pulled back, for a brief moment, to breathe. Then their mouths found each other again, greedy and unforgiving. Each kiss bruised. Each movement a challenge. She kissed like she fought—headlong, reckless, no room for hesitation. And he matched her—no hesitation, no restraint.

The desk rocked with the force of it.

She moaned low in her throat when his hand slid beneath her shirt, fingers splayed hot against the curve of her back. Her own fingers fumbled at his collar, dragging it down, nails catching his skin, pulling him closer, closer, until there was nothing but heat and pressure and the dangerous knowledge that this wasn’t a mistake—it was inevitable.

The desk wasn’t enough however.

Sienna didn’t say it—she just pushed him off her with a growl, dropped to the floor on unsteady legs, and shoved him backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed. She was on him before he could recover, straddling his lap, her hands already at his belt like she’d been waiting years for this.

She kissed him hard—tongue, teeth, hunger, nothing restrained—and yanked the buckle free with a practiced jerk. He groaned into her mouth, fingers digging into her hips through her clothes like he didn’t know whether to stop her or beg her to move faster. She gave him no choice.

He didn’t argue.

Shirts were dragged up and off. Hers first. His next. Skin against skin now, hot and slick and scarred. Her bra came off like it was nothing, tossed to the side. His hands cupped her breasts without hesitation, thumbs circling, squeezing—harder than he probably meant to. She gasped, bit his shoulder, ground down against him through his pants.

He was already hard. He had been since the kiss. She felt it. Smirked. Ground again, slower this time.

He bucked up, teeth clenched.

She chuckled darkly as she slid off his lap, yanked his pants and underwear down in one rough motion, eyes locked on him the whole time. He was thick, flushed, pulsing. She didn’t bother teasing—she was too far gone. She straddled him again, grabbed his cock, and lined herself up, soaking wet and more than ready.

Then she sank down.

The moan she let out was low, guttural, full-throated. His head snapped back, eyes shut tight as she took him in inch by inch, burying him inside her with no pause, no hesitation, no mercy. Her hands braced against his chest. His gripped her thighs so hard she knew she’d bruise.

She rode him like she had something to prove.

Every thrust was a challenge. Every grind, a demand. Her nails raked his chest. Her hips snapped forward and back with purpose, pace brutal, relentless. Sweat rolled down her neck, her spine, her breasts. His hands moved from her thighs to her ass, guiding her, squeezing, groaning with each slap of skin.

Their rhythm was chaotic, ragged, desperate.

The room stank of sex and heat and adrenaline. The bed creaked. The walls echoed with breathless gasps and low curses.

“I’m not gonna last,” Adam choked

“Do it,” she growled, riding harder, faster, her own climax rushing up. “Do it outside.”

He shoved his hand between them, fingers finding her clit. She cried out, rocked into his touch, and then—together—they fell apart.

He pulled out just in time, groaning loud and broken as he came, thick white ropes painting her stomach, her thighs. His chest heaved. His hands trembled. Her own orgasm hit seconds later, hips twitching, breath lost, head thrown back in wordless pleasure.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then she collapsed against him, chest to chest, heartbeat wild.

His breath hadn't even steadied before he grabbed her by the waist and twisted her beneath him. The bed creaked under the force, scattered maps crumpling beneath her back, her hair splayed out wild over spilled ink and revolution. Sienna gasped, eyes flashing—but she didn’t resist. Didn’t even blink.

Adam was no longer calm. No longer measured. His pupils were blown wide, chest rising and falling like a caged animal finally let loose. The thinker was gone. What hovered over her now was raw hunger—undiluted, instinctive, furious. There was nothing left of speeches or ideals in his gaze. Only need.

Her legs parted without hesitation.

He lined up again with one rough fist around the base of his cock, guiding himself to her dripping core, still slick and ready. She was open, hot, aching. Her thighs locked around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him forward.

Then he thrust.

Hard. Deep.

Sienna gasped loud, head snapping back as he filled her in a single brutal push. No gentleness. No warning. She clenched around him, back arching, mouth open in a soundless moan.

Adam grunted, one hand bracing the mattress beside her head, the other gripping her thigh, forcing it higher.

He moved.

Fast. Heavy. Repeating. Over and over. The bed slammed the wall in rhythm with his thrusts, each one harder than the last, every inch of him driven with the relentless pace of a man no longer restrained by thought. Just heat. Just instinct. Just the need to claim and take and breed.

Sienna clung to him, nails digging into his back, her voice ragged in his ear.

He fucked her like he was meant to be inside her. Like her body was designed for him, every thrust hitting deep, fast, his hips snapping against hers with violent, desperate rhythm. Her breasts bounced with every impact. Her voice broke into cries.

Her body responded without thought. Every nerve alight. Her orgasm slammed into her like a wave, and she screamed, full and high and sharp.

Adam didn't slow.

Didn’t falter.

He snarled into her neck, breath hot, teeth scraping.

She was so wet he could hear it with every thrust, every slap of skin against skin.

Her thighs trembled, clamped tighter.

"Inside—" she gasped, not thinking. "Do it. Do it inside."

But he didn’t give in.

With a guttural growl, Adam pulled out at the last second—slick and throbbing, his cock twitching in the open air. He fisted himself once, twice, and then he came with a choked cry, thick ropes spilling hot across her stomach, her breasts, the crease of her hips. It painted her like a claim, primal and unfiltered, a physical mark of everything they’d just burned through.

Sienna gasped, blinking up at him, flushed and panting. Her skin gleamed with sweat and seed, her hair fanned wild across crumpled maps and revolutionary dreams. Her thighs still twitched, wide open, her body trembling in the aftershocks of everything he’d given her.

Adam hovered over her, chest heaving, a string of come still hanging from the tip of his cock.

She glanced down at the mess he’d made on her and laughed once—short, breathless.

“You pulled out?” she said, lips curling, voice rough from screaming. “Really?”

His eyes were still glazed, his body still humming with the need that hadn’t fully burned out.

“Barely,” he rasped.

She reached down, smeared two fingers through the cum streaking her stomach, and dragged them up across her chest without breaking eye contact.

“Waste.”

He stared—silent, jaw flexing, chest still rising fast.

Then Sienna turned on her back, eyes narrowed.

"Again."

+++

A/N: Nice. 

Anyway, notes. 

Medea is jagged from her experiences in the past. So she's grown a chip on her shoulder to compensate. It's not exactly unreasonable for her to do that. But Adam wants his movement to be drawn in fairness and justice, not hatred. 

Well, maybe a little hatred. But not total and all consuming it will override basic sense. 

While Adam is willing to do whatever it takes, he knows that as things will grow, they will have to compromise on certain things. Politics is all about push and pull after all. 

Next, Sienna is absolutely right in questioning where the hell Adam gets his ideas. There is only so much "It came to me in a dream" can explain. And so, here we are. 

At least now, they are being honest with themselves. And with that honesty, Adam and Sienna can go march out of Cius properly and not get bogged down. 

The next chapters will be the Northern Expedition now. Hold on your belts, ladies and gents, because it's Adaming time.