while with his gun the pagan angel rose to say

Fic: Man with the hex - Adam/Neil/Tommy

Fic: Man with the hex - Adam/Neil/Tommy

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An anonymous gift for @RagMan_RIP. I'm honestly not sure who should've stayed out of this scenario, Neil or Tommy, but oh well.

Part One: I know there's better brothers but you're the only one that's mine
Part Two: It's a phase that I'm in

Man with the hex
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Neil Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. R. ~4400 words. Suggestion of sibling incest. Public spanking in the name of birthdays.
But the drawback of being Adam Lambert's brother, is being Adam Lambert's brother.


*

Man with the hex


Somebody missed the memo about this being Neil's birthday. Not that Neil isn't happy to have a celebration involving alcohol and strippers, which theoretically, this one does. And the benefit of being Adam Lambert's brother means the joint is all theirs past the ridiculously early doors-close at one in the morning, and a handful of girls were game to stay late once the cash came out.

But the drawback of being Adam Lambert's brother, is being Adam Lambert's brother. The cash went to the strippers, and they didn't have to shake a single cheek to get it. Tommy, the one guy Neil thought for sure would be with him all the way on this, is right up against the edge of the stage alongside Roxy, hooting her head off, and Mike, who looks vaguely bemused by the whole thing, stuffing bills down Adam's fucking pants.

Morosely, Neil downs the dregs of his beer. At least the rest of the crew is smart enough to stay over here with him where it's safe. He waves a hand at the waitress that stayed behind, hoping she can tear her eyes off Adam's ass long enough to get him a refill. Five minutes later, once she gets over Adam flinging his shirt into Tommy's face, she wobbles over.

"He's good," she says, almost missing the tray when she goes to put Neil's empty on it. Neil grunts, and drinks, and she toddles off again, smiling like it's the best thank-you she got all night.

"Beer!" Adam shouts over the music, backing away from the stripper pole like he's holding his own ass hostage. "I want a beer!"

"More skin!" Roxy shouts back.

Adam looks up, pleading gaze landing on Neil's beer. Neil resolutely ignores it in favour of enjoying the fuck out of his frosty alcoholic beverage.

"Bitch!" Adam calls, and whines, "Tommy," like he's actually seven years old and Neil's refused to share his toys.

Leaning on the stage, Tommy grins up at him. "You gonna take your pants off?"

"Maybe," Adam hedges, thumbing at his fly. "You gonna get me a beer?"

Tommy shoots bolt upright. Neil squints at his beer, wondering if it's maybe spiked with something slightly stronger. That wasn't exactly the reaction he'd been expecting from the little straight guy with the tit fetish. The makeup and that kiss on stage aside--and the random cuddle piles, and that time he found Tommy in bed with Adam the morning after a hardcore drunkfest, and the two or three occasions Neil's caught them holding hands when they think nobody's looking--Tommy is the straightest straight guy ever. He's got a gutter mouth, some fairly antiquated ideas about women, and seems to enjoy it quite a lot when they take their clothes off. He is, all in all, very admirably straight.

Which doesn't do much to explain why he's bearing down on Neil, and Neil's poor, helpless beer, like he intends to fight to the death.

Tommy points at the bottle. "I need that."

"He can get his own damn beer!" Neil protests. "There's an entire cooler over there."

Undeterred, Tommy says, "He wants this one."

"He's not going to take his clothes off just because you stole my beer for him," Neil grumbles. "Fuck off."

Neil realises his mistake the second he shuts his mouth, but he doesn't fully understand the depth and breadth of it until Tommy is in his fucking lap fused to his mouth. All things considered, it's not a very good kiss. There's a lot of tongue; Tommy's obviously been taking too many pointers from Adam. Neil flails stupidly, almost dropping his beer, and breathes an audible sigh of relief as Tommy rescues it. Right now, he needs that beer more than he needs oxygen. Possibly more than he'll ever need oxygen again.

"Got it!" Tommy crows, clambering off with the bottle hefted triumphantly above his head. He skitters up to the stage and gives it an inviting waggle. "Come and get it, babyboy. Tastes bitchy."

Laughing delightedly, Adam swoops down. But instead of going for the beer, he goes straight for Tommy's mouth, hand twisted in Tommy's hair to pull his head back. In a horrified daze, lip stinging from where Tommy's teeth caught it, Neil notes that there is again far more tongue involved than strictly necessary. Not that Adam kissing Tommy outside of a performance--or even inside one--is ever strictly necessary. But for a straight guy, even a straight guy watching another guy strip, that is a fucking excessive amount of tongue.

But then, Tommy's definition of straight has always struck Neil as a little off.

Impossibly, the wet smack as they break away needles directly into Neil's brain. Tommy grins up at Adam as he hands over the bottle, mouth red and eyes glazed and a tent the size of Canada pitched in his pants. Neil squeezes his eyes shut and slowly counts to ten. When he opens them again, Tommy is slumped against the stage, watching with something like jealously as Adam humps thin air so hard Neil would not be one bit surprised if it started screaming for mercy.

This time, Neil gets up to get his own damn drink. It takes snapping his fingers in front of the girl's face to get her attention, and he'd feel like a jackass about that, really he would, except the moment he turns around wondering what the fuck she's staring at, he honestly wishes he hadn't. Adam's pants aren't off but they're open, framing the thick push of his cock as he palms it through his briefs. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad if he weren't doing it right in front of Tommy's face. And it definitely wouldn't be so bad if Tommy wasn't talking. Teeth clenched, Neil decides he's not listening. He's not.

"Fuck, yeah," Tommy moans--moans--over the music, hanging off Roxy like she's the only thing keeping him on his feet, "come on, baby, work it, let me see that big fucking dick," laughter in his voice, a big grin on his face and a bizarre light in his eyes as if he's actually serious about wanting to see Adam's junk. Neil's seen Adam's junk. It's not that impressive. Certainly nothing to go making a fool of yourself over.

On his knees, Adam leans back all the way, caught on the palms of both hands as he fucks up into nothing. Mike applauds politely, the rest of the crew catcalls, and Tommy looks like he's about to climb up on that stage to give Adam something really fun to grind against.

Neil sags against the bar, head in his hands. He's not watching this. Tommy was supposed to be his backup, his comrade in arms, his voice of reason to call on when Adam wouldn't listen. Tommy is not supposed to be trying to suck Adam off through his shorts in the middle of a titty bar on Neil's fucking birthday.

This is the problem with Adam. Everything's got to be about sex around him.

Another round of applause goes up. Neil is not going to look. He's going to sit here and drink enough booze to erase this night from his memory forever.

"What the fuck!" he shouts, staring at Tommy up on the stage on his knees, mouth wide open and all of four inches from Adam's crotch. Neil rounds on the table. "Why'd you let him get up there!"

Dave, always useless when it comes to Tommy, shrugs. "They're having fun."

Of course Adam's having fun, he's ten seconds from getting a blowjob from a pretty blond twink. Neil knows full well Adam's got an exhibitionist streak a mile wide, and most times Tommy doesn't mind pandering to it, but this is different. Exactly how it's different Neil doesn't want to waste time explaining.

Neil gets to the stage as Adam's hauling Tommy up to his feet, pressing him face-first against the pole and kicking his legs apart. Wild approval comes from the strippers as Tommy grabs onto it with both hands, back arched and ass up. Mike says something Neil doesn't catch, and Tommy winks at him, wiggles his ass.

"What the fuck!" Neil shouts up at Adam.

Adam blinks at him like he's the one gone crazy. "Birthday spankings!"

"It's my birthday!"

A low chorus of melodramatic oohs go up. As Adam levels a finger at him, Neil backpedals so fast he bangs into a chair. He knows that glint in Adam's eyes. It reminds him of their parents' backyard at midnight, high noon under the desert sun. That is not a look Adam needs to be giving him. "No. Adam. Adam, that is not what I meant."

"Get 'em!" Adam shouts.

Neil puts up a good fight. It's Custer's last stand all way, doomed to failure when Adam hops down off the stage to direct the mob of Neil's supposed friends, and hops back up again after they give Neil a hearty toss. Neil rolls across the slippery floor, bumping to a stop against Tommy's leg.

"Hey," Tommy says.

"I'm not drunk enough for this shit," Neil grunts.

"Sure you are," Adam says, giving Neil a hand up. "Now are you gonna spank him or what, bitch?"

Neil stares. Tommy cocks an eyebrow expectantly. "I realise you like to change things up," Neil says, very calmly, "but this is not how birthday spankings work."

Adam's smile is pure, impish glee. His eyes are glassy with something slightly harder than booze. "I could spank you instead."

"You are insane."

"Spankings!" Adam shouts, arms raised high. Their group picks up the call first, then the strippers join in. Somewhere in the middle it switches from spankings to spank him, and somebody starts stomping, rhythmic chant of spank him, spank him, spank him melding with the music. One of these days, Neil has got to give Adam a firm talking-to about crowd mentality.

"Alright! Would you all shut up, god, alright." The second Neil capitulates, the chant stops and a raucous cheer goes up. Cursing under his breath, the turns around to face Tommy. "I hate you," Neil tells him.

Tommy shrugs. "It's my ass you're tanning. You want, I'll do you."

"Thanks," Neil grumbles, "I'll pass." He steps in behind Tommy, hand braced on the small of Tommy's back for balance, and gives Adam a flat look as Adam moves in behind him.

"What?" Adam asks. "I just want to make sure you're doing it right."

"I think I can handle smacking somebody on the ass," Neil says. "Even an ass as non-existent as Tommy's. Back off."

"Hey," Tommy says, leering. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

Adam leans in close, voice lowered. Heat pours off his bare chest, seeps through Neil's shirt. "He likes it fast and hard."

Neil heaves a sigh, shoulders Adam off him and flicks a hopeful glance heavenward, as if after more than twenty years of waiting, divine aid is on finally its way. Given how the last time Adam got that look in his eyes went for Neil, he's not holding his breath.

"Really," Adam says, taking Neil by the back of hand to demonstrate a slow, powerful swing that doesn't connect. Beneath Neil's palm, Tommy tenses. "Like that."

Under his breath, the thud of the music and the cheers from the group, Neil mutters, "What is my life?" Of course no one answers, divine or otherwise, and Tommy flicks hair out of his face, twists to peer up at Neil out of the corners of his eyes. Adam's pressed too close for Neil to really get some distance in, but he taps Tommy's back once in warning, swing nearly going wide when Tommy drops his head between his arms, shoulders hunched and braced to absorb the impact.

"What the fuck," Neil says at the same time Adam purrs, "Good boy," and honest to god, that had better have been directed at Tommy. Except confirmation that his brother has spanked the fucking bass player isn't really much better than Adam back there talking trash at Neil. Again.

Tommy tosses his head back and laughs. "C'mon, Lambert," he says. "Don't pussy out. Really give it to me."

"You people are certifiably fucking insane," Neil growls, shaking his hand out to lay another one on him. He takes it easily, rocking up on his toes and settling back down in time for the next, then the one after. Adam edges in closer, arm around Neil, hand sliding over Neil's on Tommy's back.

Before Neil can tell him to fuck off, Adam says, "That's it, baby."

"Oh my god." Neil stops short. "What the hell is the matter with you?" Adam looks at him like he doesn't understand the question, and Neil hisses, "No, really. I'd like to know."

Propping an arm on the stripper pole, Tommy turns halfway around. "That was like, seven. I'm pretty sure you're not seven, dude."

"And you," Neil says, levelling a finger at him. "I thought you were normal."

Tommy's grin goes lopsided. "You're totally freaking out."

"I am not freaking out! You're using me in kinky exhibitionist sex games without my consent!"

"Not really." At Neil's stare of pure disbelief, Adam shrugs. "What? It's not kinky."

"Your brain," Neil says. "There are significant parts of your brain missing. That's the only explanation."

"It's not kinky," Adam insists. He plants a hand on the pole to lean in, forcing Neil closer to Tommy. Who, for completely inexplicable reasons, is bent over in front of a stripper pole patiently waiting for the brother of the guy he's apparently at least occasionally sleeping with to get back to spanking him. "Kinky's when you like it."

"I'm gonna be insulted if you keep talking like that," Tommy says, shifting all his weight to one leg, casual lean against the pole like he's got all day for Neil to man up, find his balls, and spank a guy.

Eyes glittering, lip caught between his teeth, Adam glances down at Tommy, back up to Neil. "But you don't, right? So it's no big deal." Snake-quick, Adam grabs Neil's hand, slaps it back hard to Tommy's ass. "Not a big deal at all. So quit being a little bitch about it and give it to him."

"If you don't back the fuck off," Neil warns, trying to extract his hand, "I'm gonna-"

"Gonna what?" Adam cuts in gleefully. "Spank me?"

Faster than Neil's ever seen Tommy move, including the time Adam brought an armload of tacos, beer, and lesbian porn to a crash party--lesbian porn and empty calories, from Adam, Neil should've known something was up--Tommy's in Adam's space, grabbing him by the back of the neck to drag him along as Tommy falls back against the stripper pole, legs spread and braced for when Adam stumbles against him. The burst of Adam's laughter gets cut short as Tommy does something to the front of Adam's pants Neil really, really wishes he hadn't seen. Which apparently nobody else saw, because they're all laughing their asses off like it's prime time instead of the beginning of a really cheap porno.

"What'cha waiting for?" Tommy asks, cheek pressed to the side of Adam's head, his grip on Adam's hair white-knuckle tight. "Give him a couple if you wanna."

Neil gapes. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Told you he wouldn't," Adam says to Tommy, shifting as if to straighten up. One of Tommy's knees quickly shoved between his stops him short. He snorts a laugh into Tommy's shoulder. "Come on, Tommy Joe, that's not gonna-- shit."

Neil stares at his backstabbing hand. Clearly it's been possessed. Idle hand, devil's plaything, et cetera, et cetera. He's about to disclaim any and all responsibility for whatever the hell any part of him is doing close to any part of Adam in this entire fucked-up scenario, but Tommy's smirking at him, Adam's fallen even closer, and the plebs in the chairs have started up that fucking chant again almost loud enough to drown out the music. Before Neil can think about it, he draws off and wallops Adam's ass again.

"Atta boy," Tommy says, arm slung around Adam's back to hold on tight, fingers denting flesh, and Roxy calls, "Nine!" at the top of her lungs, "Ten!" when he goes again. Eleven, twelve, thirteen and Neil's hand is a hot, stinging burn, fourteen and he glances up to see Tommy looking down at Adam, Adam's grin knocked loose as Neil goes for fifteen and sixteen and seventeen. By the time Neil hits twenty, one of Tommy's hands hasn't made an appearance in far too long, the muscles in his arm flexing conspicuously when Neil takes the time to really look. The expression on Adam's face isn't anything Neil hasn't seen before, especially given the flavour Adam's performances take, but in combination with everything else going on here, it's not good.

"Oh my god," Neil says, stunned. "Are you jacking him off?"

Distracted, Tommy says, "What, no."

"You are." Realising he's leaning heavily against Adam, breathing hard, Neil jerks away. He's already way more involved than he needs to be. "Your hand is on his dick right now."

Tommy's teeth flash white in the crazy lights. "Not the same as jackin' him."

Sluggishly, Adam lifts his head. He looked fairly baked before. Now he looks absolutely done, gone, floating outside the stratosphere. "What the hell was he smoking?" Neil asks.

"Something awesome," Tommy says, shifting his weight again. "You done already?"

Adam mumbles something that sounds disturbingly like, "I hope not."

"Oh, I know you're not done," Tommy says, wicked glint in his eyes Neil's never, ever seen before, most certainly does not need to see ever again. "You like this whole tag-team thing? 'Cause I'm liking watching you get it."

On a ragged groan, Adam drops his head back to Tommy's shoulder. "Fucking terrible," Neil thinks Adam says.

Tommy's gaze flicks up, fixes on Neil's as he says to Adam, "S'what you get for teasing me. Putting it right in front of my face like that, knowing I can't have it," and Neil would really, really like to know why Tommy feels the need to say all of that now. Some things, despite Adam's incredibly liberal views, are not meant for the stage.

And then Tommy's gaze sharpens, weird spike in his focus like he's some jungle cat about to pounce, and he says, "Little bitch, c'mon, give it to him. Teach him to keep it in his pants for once. Or you afraid you're gonna-"

"You fucking didn't," Neil hisses at Adam, "tell me you didn't or so help me god, I'll," and Adam smiles, fucking smiles wide and delighted, and nuzzles Tommy's chest, says something Neil really, really hopes isn't, "Tell Tommy Joe everything."

"So," Tommy says, nosing aside Adam's hair to put lips to ear, still looking at Neil, "you done?"

"No, I am not done," Neil snaps, and picks up where he left off out of pure self-defence. All his hopes that Tommy would shut the hell up and stop looking at him like they're in the middle of something they are most definitely not in the middle of are smashed to tiny woeful pieces as Tommy's grin stretches even wider. The absolute worst kind of shit comes pouring out of Tommy without him breaking a sweat, "Oh yeah," groaned low, but not low enough Neil can't hear it, "harder, give it up, couple more," and then he starts talking about Adam's dick again, calling it big and pretty and an awesome ride, or maybe that's his own dick he's talking about, or god, Neil's dick, and Neil's dick does not need to hear Tommy talking shit about it, no it does not.

It doesn't need to hear Adam moaning, either, and he's shit out of luck there. It most definitely doesn't need to be taking an interest in the whole debacle. The seven months of therapy he's going to need after this is coming out of Adam's pocket. Or even better than gouging Adam, he's going to pretend none of this ever happened. If anybody mentions it, he's going to ignore them point blank. There is no way in hell what's going on right now is reality, anyway. In no universe that could possibly exist does Adam Lambert bend over to take a birthday spanking from his little brother while his whatever the hell Tommy is to him pins him down for it by playing with his cock on stage in a strip joint. It's impossible, inconceivable, and it's not happening, period.

At twenty-four, Adam hits his knees on the stage, face pressed against Tommy's thigh, back sweat-slicked and heaving. Stumbling over his feet, Neil shakes his throbbing hand out, not sure who the hell passes him up a beer and not caring one bit. It's heaven in his palm, icy cold easing the hot burn. He quickly switches it to his other hand and scrubs cool condensation over his face. It's blazing like hell under the lights, probably welcome when the girls are down to a g-string but not so much for him in a shirt and jeans. He manages to down about half the beer before somebody snatches it out of his grip. Choking on an abrupt mouthful, he glances over to find Tommy slumped back against the pole again, pants undone, hand in Adam's hair as he finishes off the beer.

Thinking it's a pretty good idea, Neil hits the stage on his ass, hunched over his dick telling it to shut the fuck up. To the applause he waves a hand, says, "Yeah, yeah, more beer." Of course, nobody gets him one.

"So that was pretty hot," Tommy says, wiping his mouth off on the back of his wrist. There's a glisten on his palm Neil resolutely decides is condensation. "Happy birthday, man."

"You're not allowed to talk to me anymore," Neil states.

"You sure?" Hitching up his pants, Tommy zips up one-handed. "'Cause he's gonna be pretty out of it for awhile, we could get those girls back up here."

Neil squints up at him. "If you try to tell me this was for my benefit, you are more fucked in the head than he is."

"Heh," Tommy says, ruffling Adam's hair and smiling dopily when Adam mumbles at him nonsensically. "He's pretty fucked. But no, like, all I'm saying is when something's working for you, no reason to not take advantage."

Taking it all in, the lights and the music and the catcalls and the absolute end-of-the-world insanity, the pretty clear invitation Tommy's just extended for a whacked-out good time Neil, despite his dick's current input, does not need to have, Neil slaps his hands on his thighs and stands up. "Good point. Help me move his inebriated ass."

"C'mon, baby," Tommy says, nudging Adam's shoulder with a knee. "You're gonna cuddle me while some quality T&A shakes it up here."

Adam clambers up, leaning heavily against Tommy with an arm slung around his shoulder. For as slight as he is, Tommy handles the extra load easily, navigating the stairs at the back of the stage like he's had some practice hauling Adam's useless ass around. At the foot of the stairs, Tommy glances back, grins when he finds Neil following along.

Amidst a cloud of back-slaps and dirty jokes, Tommy plunks Adam down in a chair and flops on top of him in a careless sprawl, completely unconcerned with Adam's wandering hands, or the fact that he's sitting on Adam's dick in front of everybody. There are a few chairs free elsewhere throughout the group, but that would mean running the gauntlet of jeers aimed Neil's way, and it seems so much safer to drop in one right here.

Not so safe when Tommy grins, jabs Neil in the thigh with a boot and says, "Atta boy," like Adam's dick isn't two layers of denim and one public decency law away from shoving up his ass. Someone Neil suddenly dislikes very, very much hands Adam a beer, who passes it up to Tommy, who sucks on it happily while Adam lazily mauls him.

"I hate you," Neil says, and Tommy winks, blows him a kiss over the bottle. "No, really. I hate you. And whatever the fuck he told you-"

"Didn't tell me nothin'," Tommy says, in the exact way that means Adam told him absolutely everything.

"Fine," Neil growls, more than willing to go along with their delusions as long as they don't fucking talk about it. He turns back to the stage, and like a train wreck, ends up spending as much time watching Adam and Tommy as he does the girls. Whatever the fuck that's going on in their heads, it's not logic. There's easy-going, there's being a pushover, and then there's Tommy, who not only doesn't seem to mind dirty-talking Neil's big gay brother right in front of him, he gets a kick out of it. And whatever Adam gets out of it Neil's refusing to acknowledge, because that's not normal, or healthy, or his problem.

It is not his problem. It isn't.

Catching Neil staring, Adam tucks his chin in the crook of Tommy's neck, whispers something that makes Tommy jerk he laughs so hard. Neil wrenches his gaze back to the stage and sinks deeper in his chair. He sends up prayer for the early onset of erectile dysfunction for his brother and immediately takes it back, because then he'd have to hear all about it, and he'd probably end up spending the rest of his life filling prescriptions for little blue pills, with cute pharmacists the world over giving him sad, pitying looks. He doesn't need to deal with that shit.

Something cold bumps Neil in the arm. Though a slanted smirk, eyes heavy for reasons Neil is not looking down to discover, Tommy says, "Drink up, baby bro. Night's young yet."

Neil grabs up the beer and drinks like his life depends on it.

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