while with his gun the pagan angel rose to say

Talkly talkyness!

2011-11-27T04:02:57Z

If for some bizarre and strange reason you would like to hear me ramble nonsensicially about semi-bandom related stuffs, here you go! I sorta totally completely fail on the whole bandom part though, and like, yeah. It's random fandom babbly sometimes. Oh well.

Technically, I was supposed to answer these questions!

1. What's your username and is there a story behind it?
2. Where are you from and where do you live now?
3. What are you wearing? Yes, I am hitting on you.
4. How long have you been in bandom? How did you get into it?
5. Which bands are your favorites?
6. Which band members are your favorites?
7. Have you seen any of them in concert? Any fun stories or memories to share?
8. Do you have an OTP? What is it, and why do you love it?
9. What story do you wish someone would write?
10. Are you working on something for bandom right now? Tell us a little bit about it.
11. You've got fic open somewhere on your computer right now, don't lie. So go to one of your open tabs or word documents or whatever, and read us a couple of lines.
12. Say these words: Iero, haberdashery, LOLcat, flist, dirigible, halcyon, nemesis, ephemeral, languorous

Which I kinda sorta maybe mostly did? I think?

WHATEVER. HERE IS MY RAMBLY VOICE. :D

bandommemefinsalish by bluesoaring

ps. yes yes, wife, i know, IT WAS EARLY.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: crack your body crack my mind - Frank/Gerard

2011-11-02T03:28:12Z

Halloween's never really over. This is for rivers_bend, because her flailing moves mountains, and fangirls. (I already did this once, but she wanted it again. And again. And probably again.) ♥

crack your body crack my mind
My Chemical Romance. Gerard/Frank. AU. Xeno. NC-17. ~4500 words.
Frank only comes out when he's alone.

*

crack your body crack my mind

Gerard's only had three beers, half a joint, but his skin's buzzing worse than the streetlight throwing his spastic shadow past the narrow mouth of the alleyway. It's late, the kind of late most people call early. He's got classes in a few hours, a meeting with his advisor at lunch, the half-finished canvas sitting abandoned on an easel crammed into the corner of his room due tomorrow, then more classes and an internship and a career and paying off a mountain of debt and he really shouldn't have stopped at beer number three.

He shouldn't be strolling through dark Jersey alleys at ass o'clock in the morning, either. But Frank only comes out when he's alone.

Tapping the second-to-last cigarette free of the crumpled pack, Gerard lights up and steps into the alley. Deeper shadows swallow his. Stains on the pockmarked bricks, rust oozing through crumbling mortar, catch his eye, draw it down to all the dark places clinging to the edge of flickering light. That's where Frank always is. Never all the way in, lost in the darkness, but in that last cool sliver before the light gives up and the black takes over. That's what Frank is, gathered together in vague human form, given fangs and claws and a voice like the rasp of steel on steel.

About a dozen paces in, the streetlight gives up the ghost for good, almost taking Gerard's heart out along with it. He stops short, breathing hard, eyes wide and blind. "Frank?" comes out a rusty croak. Plunging him into the dark without warning is exactly something Frank would do. "Frank, come on."

There's no hissing laugh in reply, no rasp of claws to prompt the shiver that ripples down his spine. He takes a slow, deep drag, watching the cherry flare. The glow of the city barely penetrates the black, the buildings high and close, hunched together like they need one another to stay upright, as crooked and broken as the asphalt threatening to trip him as he starts walking again. He shrugs a shoulder, takes another drag. He wets his lips and stares at the dark instead of watching where he's going. He says, "It's not really scary when I know you're there."

The cool whisper on the back of his neck doesn't believe him. He flinches and swears and lets out a shaky laugh. "You're a fucking asshole, Frank."

Frank doesn't say anything. It's too warm for the denim jacket Gerard's been wearing all night but he hitches it closer around his neck anyway. There's the scratch of something in the dark, maybe a stray cat nosing through the overflowing dumpsters, probably not. He imagines the look on Frank's face if he stopped right now, went looking for whatever was making that noise like the first night he stumbled over Frank in the dark, the way his yellow eyes slit open, a bright, wicked glow, all his teeth on display in a slanted smile. The way he'd set his claws one by one to Gerard's throat, cold hard edges not digging in but the promise there, lurking in Frank's eyes the same as Frank lurks in the shadows. Like all Gerard has to do is ask.

"Fucker," Gerard says to the nothing all around him. He's almost through the alley. "Stop playing with me."

Before he steps out onto the empty sidewalk, he hesitates, half-swallowed by the dark. He waits for a slice of it to peel off, for claws to slide around his arms, his chest, drag him back into the black and wrap him tight in Frank's chill. To keep him there like Frank's threatened, rasped with his mouth pressed to close, Since you like it so much, Gee.

Frank's not going to do it. Frank's never going to do it, but sometimes he looks like he wants to, and that fills Gerard with the kind of fear he knows he shouldn't crave.

Gerard counts to sixty in his head, slow and measured. When Frank stays hidden, he sighs and steps into the light.

*

By the time Gerard trudges around the back of the house to the damp cement stairs leading to his basement, he's exhausted. He jiggles the key in the lock and sets his shoulder to the door, giving it the hard shove it needs to unstick from the warped jamb. Every shadow he passed on his way home gave him a shot of twisted hope and a chaser of bitter disappointment. Frank's never missed a chance to fuck with him. Gerard's been serving him up chances on silver fucking platters for weeks and Frank knows it, but he still hasn't passed one by.

Inside is darker than the alleyway. Gerard kicks the door shut, not bothering to lock it behind him, and gropes along the wall until he makes it to the bedroom. There's a lamp left burning on his desk, the weak twenty-watt bulb hardly doing anything more than throwing some shadows around. He toes off his boots, drops his jacket and falls on the bed, hanging over the side to dig around in the debris on the floor and unearth half a forty of cheap tequila. A week ago he couldn't get the canvas in the corner out of his head. It burned through him like the booze he knocks back straight from the bottle, hot and fierce, a need he couldn't deny. Now it sits in the corner like a hangover, ugly, sick, nagging.

"I didn't fucking mean it," he says to the ripple at the very edges of his vision. It refuses to resolve into the familiar lines of Frank's gorgeous face. "I'm not trying to change you. I just." He knocks back another mouthful, searing the words in his throat. He just wanted more. He wanted to see.

Grunting, he rolls over and fumbles for the remote, turning on the television to let whatever DVD is already in there play. It throws more shadows around the room, and Gerard watches those instead of the screen. He imagines the scratch of razor-sharp claws on his ankle where his foot's hanging off the bed. He imagines them pushing through his hair, baring his ear to Frank's hissing whispers, his throat to Frank's teeth. He groans and swallows dryly, wets his throat with tequila and palms the front of his jeans and thinks about putting on a show, hauling his dick out to dig his own fingernails into delicate skin so Frank'll know how much he wants this.

"You didn't have to fucking go," Gerard says, anger showing through in the rough squeeze he gives his cock, his hips bucking up into his hand. Just the thought of Frank watching this has him so hard he's leaking. And he's pissed off that he can't see Frank's face, Frank's real face, not the stupid sketch he played around with for class, when he knows Frank's here. Frank has to be here. Frank might melt from firm and solid beneath him to formless shadow, cool wisps trailing over bare skin like goodnight kisses, but he never really leaves. Frank said he needed him. Frank fucking promised.

Gerard drops the bottle and yanks at the zip on his hoodie, hauling it and the threadbare shirt underneath off over his head. Shoving a hand in his hair to keep it out of his face, to let Frank see how fucking serious he is about this shit, he starts rubbing at his dick through his jeans again. The sensation's muted and not enough, but that's his apology, the bait to get Frank to come slinking out of the shadows. So much warm skin on display, unmarked and pale, but more hidden, the hottest part of him cupped in his hand. Pretty soon the bed will dip between Gerard's spread legs, claws will pluck at his jeans, catch and tear so Frank can nuzzle in close, teeth bared in a warning for Gerard to lift his knees, spread them wider, let Frank taste his skin, mark it, make him tremble with how much he wants Frank to really bite him, how afraid he is that Frank's going to do it.

"Please," Gerard says, staring wide-eyed at the flickering shadows, desperate for a flash of yellow, "fucker, come on, you fucking promised. I'm not gonna wait all night." To prove it, he pops the button on his fly, shoves his hand in so fast the zip grates halfway open. His fingers touch slick precome first, and he rubs that in, reaches deeper to stroke and squeeze himself wetter knowing Frank can smell it. "Come on, come on," he says, rolling his hips harder, fucking his fist, his fingers too soft and warm but getting him there anyway, so close to coming he couldn't stop now if he wanted. He wrenches his jeans wider with his wrist, sharp metal teeth catching skin shocking a high moan out of him, arching him up off the bed. It's not Frank, not even close to Frank, but it's good, the best he's had since Frank turned on him with a vicious snarl, claws melting to smoky tendrils that covered Gerard's face, completely blinding him to the world before they pushed past him like a breeze, vanishing into shadow, Frank gone like he'd never been.

The memory of Frank turning on him like that, burying him in shadows, is enough to shove him over the edge even as he chokes out that he's sorry. He's so fucking sorry. He wants to feel that again, Frank formless and heavy on top of him, covering his skin, suffocating him in shadow. He needs to have Frank solidify under his hands like he's moulding Frank out of clay, the slope of his back, his hips, the long, sharp curve of claws like razor-edged needles, the slant of cheek and jaw, the wet chill of Frank's mouth opening under his fingers.

He works his dick through each pulse, his own come spilling too warm over the back of his hand, his mouth slack waiting for Frank's biting kisses. Kisses that he doesn't get, not even when the high's leaving him cold and more alone than ever, sprawled out on his messy sheets with his hand down his pants. Yanking it free, he rolls over, shoves his face into his damp pillow and says, "Frank," says, "Frank, I'm sorry, I'm fucking sorry, please," until the alcohol and the exhaustion and the guilt finally drags him down into a darkness that isn't the one he wants.

*

Gerard wakes with a scream in his throat. He can't move and he can't see and he can't fucking breathe. For a second, he thinks, Dead, fucking finally, and then he thinks, Frank, and his heart gives a hard kick. The pressure against his mouth turns sharp, pricking. He sucks in a ragged breath and pushes against the weight on his back. A raspy chuckle freezes him halfway up on his elbows.

"You wanted me here so bad, now you're trying to get rid of me again?" Frank noses in close to his ear, breathing deep, scenting, his voice low and grating. "Jesus, man, make up your mind."

"Oh fuck," Gerard says, slurred as Frank hums and pricks delicately at his lips with the tip of one claw. "Fuck, Frank, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, don't go."

"You're so fucking drunk, too." Frank slithers down so he's lying full-length on top of Gerard, pinning him. "Stinks like jizz in here."

Claws push gently through Gerard's tangled hair. A few strands get caught, sliced, ghosting down to tickle his nose. He turns his head to feel the tips scratch at his scalp and sucks in a shuddery breath at the shiver that starts up way down at the base of his spine. It snakes out like the tendrils of smoke Frank sometimes touches him with, curls through his belly to his dick, arousal thrumming like a drug in his veins. "You were here," he says tightly, rocking against his open zipper digging into his balls. "You fucking watched."

Frank makes that humming noise again, raspy-thick low in his chest. His hips shift, pressing Gerard's harder into the mattress. There's no heat snug against Gerard's ass, nothing for him to grind on, but he shoves back anyway and Frank groans like he's got a dick between his legs instead of the smooth, blank nothing that drives Gerard crazy. He wants to roll over and rub his naked cock against it, turn Frank's matte-black skin slick and glistening, push between Frank's thighs and fuck him like that. Frank's not shy about how smooth his body is, featureless, only a vague suggestion of the human form. His arms don't feel right when Gerard grabs onto one, pure muscle like a snake, not tendons and ligaments and bones. Frank laughed the first time Gerard pushed his legs wide and licked between them, laughed and laughed until his voice caught. And then he moaned, writhed, draped his legs over Gerard's shoulders and begged him to lick harder, suck more, right there, right there, like it didn't matter if the crack of his ass was smooth and blank, nowhere for Gerard to push into him, he wanted Gerard to fucking try.

"Shit," Gerard hisses, grinding against the rumpled, untucked sheets, against Frank's weight. "Shit, fuck, let me up. Frank, let me up, I want you to touch me."

Rolling partway onto his side, Frank shoves a knee behind Gerard's, opens him up to push a hand between his legs. His jeans are still between them, hardly any protection at all from Frank's claws but enough of a barrier to what he wants. He wriggles and bucks and curses and Frank laughs at him, a contented purr rough as grating stone. Frank's teeth scrape the nape of his neck, needle-sharp points framing the peak of his spine, a warning to stay down. Fear blossoms metallic in the back of his throat. He bucks harder, trying to get the space to kick the rest of his clothes off.

"Fuck," Frank snarls, tearing his mouth away. He slaps a hand to the back of Gerard's neck and shoves down, climbing up to his knees. It hurts where the edges of his claws dig in, stinging sharp like a paper cut. Gerard's not bleeding yet, but if he isn't careful, he will be. It wouldn't be the first time Frank's drawn blood. Frank's not careful with him. Not cruel, but not careful.

Frank's grip tightens, triggering a whine that Gerard holds in his chest like he's taken the sweetest hit. "Stay down."

The only thing that keeps Gerard on his belly is the push of cold claws down the back of his jeans. He swallows another noise at the rough tear of denim, the drag of it down his legs, the bare brush of Frank's unnatural skin against his. He kicks to get them off faster, keeping his head down like Frank told him but struggling up on his knees.

Frank laughs again, guttural and pleased. "Aw, baby, you're so easy."

"I fucking missed you," Gerard says, pushing his forehead hard into the pillow. He tangles a hand in his hair again, pulling it away from the back of his neck and arching his spine in a long, smooth curve. "I said I was sorry. You didn't have to be a dick."

"Yeah, except for how you liked it." Frank sets his claws to the nape of Gerard's neck again, tips barely touching skin as he draws them slowly all the way down his back, over his ass, the backs of his thighs. He groans at the press of Frank's palm on his sac, claws held at a deliberate distance. "You got off on the waiting. Thinking about what I'd do."

Not as fucking hard as Gerard's getting off on having him right here, pressed close, and Gerard plans on telling him exactly that, word for word, so Frank never leaves again, but Frank's pressing a chill wet kiss to the crease of his thigh. He sharpens the curve of his spine, spreads his knees wider, pushes his ass back against Frank's face asking for his tongue. He's shivering, sweat-damp, eager. Frank loves him when he's strung out on anticipation.

But Frank loves him strung out on other things, too. Sex-drunk, overloaded with sensation. Frank loves him when his breath catches, when he goes still and quiet because Frank's tracing a clawtip along seam of his balls down to his dick hanging thick and wet between his legs. Frank loves him when he's trembling because it feels like a needle pressed to thin, delicate foreskin, to the flare at the crown, to his fucking slit. "So warm," Frank hisses, because it is, Gerard's still leaking, precome squeezing out of him on every thud his heart gives, staining Frank's claws. Air whistles between his teeth as Frank's other hand comes up to hold his cock steady, as Frank crooks the claw at Gerard's slit, digging in so, so gently.

Frank flexes his claws and asks, "Scared I'm gonna do it?" Their sharp edges are hardly even touching Gerard's dick, more like a loose cage around it, but they're cold and hard and it's like they're leaching heat from him without ever really absorbing it. Like no matter how much warmth Gerard gives him, Frank's always going to be this way. Like Gerard could give him everything, and Gerard's the one who'll change.

More scared you're not, Gerard thinks, but he's not talking about the claws, or how Frank could hurt him and bleed him and make him so afraid he's shrinking from the shadows instead of reaching for them so greedy and desperate. He says, "Kiss me," because he wants Frank's weird blank taste in his mouth, because he wants to see Frank's face, because he wants Frank's weight on him again.

"Fuck yeah," Frank says. He scratches skin as he drags his hands away, hot red lines of fire framing Gerard's groin, searing out along his thighs. "Roll over."

The second Frank lifts up, Gerard flips over, already reaching for him. He's grinning, his teeth glinting in the dark, his eyes glowing bright than the scrap of light thrown off by the lamp on the desk. Goosebumps break out all along Gerard's arms as he gets them around Frank, dragging him in to lick the smile off his face. Frank lets out that grating purr again, opening his mouth, letting Gerard lick inside it, chase after his tongue as he pushes both hands up Gerard's legs, makes sure they're spread so he can settle between them. He laughs into the kiss when Gerard's knees come up to grip his sides, laughs and frames Gerard's face with his claws to take over, catching Gerard's tongue between sharp teeth. Gerard groans and digs his blunt fingernails hard into Frank's shoulders, really trying to gouge in to make him bite harder, or suck on it, or do anything other than keep him caught like a tease.

Releasing him to draw back, Frank grins down at him. "You did miss me."

"Asshole," Gerard gasps, rutting hard against Frank's belly. He tilts his head back in another blatant invitation, like walking through a dark alley at four in the morning, and this time Frank takes it. Frank kisses and bites and when Gerard can't stop moaning for him, slides his claws over Gerard's mouth, pushes one inside to pin his tongue. It tastes the same as Frank's everything tastes, cold and blank and unforgiving. It tastes nothing at all like something that should spark even more heat in Gerard's belly, or the way he twists under Frank and sucks at the razor-sharp point. He grabs onto Frank's hips, his ass, sucking harder when Frank starts to fuck against him, a sinuous, boneless roll that's weird and alien, pure muscle bearing down on him.

He shakes free of Frank's claws and says, "More, fuck, come on. Frank. Frank, more," pushing up into the hand Frank wraps around his throat. Twisting so claws scrape, cut, slice in.

"I can't fuck you," Frank hisses, still moving like he could. He's staring at Gerard's throat, at the warmth Gerard can feel seeping over his claws. "I can't fucking fuck you, so stop fucking asking."

Gerard's throat works, no air getting in, no words coming out. He tries shaking his head, because no, no, that's not what he means. He claws at Frank's back, relishing the cool rush of Frank's hissed curse against his face. His mouth finds the curve of Frank's shoulder, then his teeth do, and he bites down with enough force to split human skin, his jaw locked so Frank's startled buck doesn't shake him off. Then he digs in harder, and harder, Frank's flesh still smooth and unbroken beneath his teeth, and harder again, trying to make Frank understand. Frank could slice him open and crawl inside. Frank could melt to shadows and mist again, creep down his throat, seep through his pores. He wants to get inside Frank as easily as Frank could sink into him. He wants all of Frank's cold nothingness for his own the same as Frank craves his warmth, the frantic beat of his heart.

"Gee," Frank gasps, shuddering, eyes squeezed shut and mouth falling slack as Gerard licks up his throat, bites down on the softer place just beneath his jaw. His claws flex on Gerard's throat and slip away to knead at the pillow beside his head, slicing through cheap cotton and lumpy stuffing. "Gerard. Fuck. What--"

Gerard rakes his nails down Frank's sides, groaning loudly around the flesh caught in his mouth when Frank hisses and shakes and bucks like he's about to come. His eyes flash as Gerard heaves up, knocking Frank off him to roll on top, groping for his wrists. Claws prick the backs of his hands as he holds Frank down and bites again, grinding his teeth together, desperate to get at whatever's hidden beneath the tight stretch of Frank's skin. Maybe it's nothing at all, blank and hollow like Frank tastes, or maybe it's those shadows Frank becomes when he melts away, wispy and freezing cold. Maybe if Gerard could break through, they'd come spilling out, wrap around him and sink inside, slink through his blood to his heart, cradle it in gentle claws the way Frank holds him when he's got nothing left.

Letting go, Gerard shoves up. His hair's stuck to his face, obscuring his vision, but all he needs to see is the glow of Frank's eyes, the way they're slitted and narrow, the slack fall of Frank's mouth. "Let me in," he says, and digs his nails into Frank's chest so hard his fingers ache. "Let me in, Frank, you fucking shit. Fucker, let me in."

Frank gasps and arches and his eyes snap wide. The solid barrier of his skin wavers like he's going to melt away, like he's going to fucking leave again. Gerard snarls at him and grabs his jaw, kisses him so hard Gerard tastes blood, his own blood, from a stinging cut opened up on his lip. He licks at Frank's teeth, his tongue, claws frantically at Frank's perfect, unmarked chest, nails tearing.

"Stop," Frank snaps, "Gee, you're gonna," and he grabs onto Gerard's wrist, the hard edges of claws giving way to cool smoke, twining up his arm to flick at the shallow wounds on his throat, his lip, push inside his open, panting mouth. He chokes on nothing, Frank's nothing, and feels his fingers sink into shadow seconds before the heat roiling in his belly snaps taut. He comes staring down at his hand half-buried in Frank's chest, malleable pressure surrounding it, shifting and pulsing, alive. He comes with Frank inside him, soothing the burn at the back of his throat, letting him let go, ride it.

When the pleasure holding him too far above Frank lets him go, he crumples against Frank's chest, cradling his hand between them, his fingers frozen and stiff and his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the emptiness inside Frank, tries to slow his heart to match that nothing.

Frank wraps him close, familiar rasp unsteady when he says, "You were really afraid I'd leave."

So much worse than Frank's chill against overheated skin is the one curdling in Gerard's stomach. "Don't be--"

"No, no," Frank says, holding tighter. "I mean it. I thought we were playing." He shrugs a shoulder. "I liked it."

"Because you really are a dick," Gerard mutters. He still can't really move his fingers. They're probably okay.

Frank says, "I liked you wanting me that bad," and Gerard can't see his face but he can hear the smile that's on it, small and mischevious. "I wasn't--"

"You were pissed." Maybe Gerard doesn't know as much about Frank, and what the fuck Frank really is, as he should, but he knows that. "It's just a stupid painting for a stupid class and you were so angry."

Claws scratch lightly at Gerard's sweaty shoulder. It takes Frank a long while to say, "Maybe."

"And you didn't even fucking tell me why."

"But hey, you figured it out."

Gerard grunts, "Asshole," again and clings tighter, even though he's starting to shiver for real now. Frank's hands smooth down his back, his hips, endless and restless even though Frank's so quiet beneath him. Through the sleep tugging at him, Gerard can feel dawn pressing close to the walls. Soon he's got to get up and live his life. Another whole day before he can be back here, the only place he wants to be.

"Hey," Frank says, and slips out from under him.

Gerard rolls to the edge of the bed. Warmth rushes in where Frank used to be. "Where're you going?" he mumbles, reaching out long after Frank's already gone.

"Absolutely nowhere," Franks says. There's a rustling noise in the corner, the soft sound of Frank's bare feet padding on thin carpet. The bed dips again and Gerard struggles to open his eyes. "Here."

Fumbling for Frank's arm, Gerard curls his fingers around it, following it up to Frank's hand to find the long wooden handle of a paintbrush he holds. Gerard finally gets his eyes open, blinking up at Frank's face. The light in the room's gotten brighter, greyish. Frank looks like a slice of forgotten midnight.

"Finish it," Frank says, pressing the paintbrush harder into Gerard's grip as his own starts to melt away. "Show me what I could be."

"Frank," Gerard starts, but Frank hisses quietly, darting in to kiss him. Gerard rises up to meet him, pushing for more even as Frank's lips slowly turn to cool smoke against his.

When Gerard opens his eyes again, Frank's gone. He looks down at the paintbrush in his hand, thumb tracing the grooves left behind from Frank's claws, then at the canvas in the corner. Frank's face is there, staring back at him in warm flesh tones, rich brown eyes Gerard's never seen, framed by a sweep of dark hair. The Frank he knows is hidden in too-deep shadows, a suggestion in the sharp lines of Frank's face, unfinished, raw.

Picking up the bottle of spilled tequila, Gerard burns the nothing-taste out of his mouth, and he paints.

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Kiss My Battery - Tony/Jarvis

2011-10-12T06:37:06Z

This has been languishing on my desktop for months and months. Thank you, My Chem, for providing me with the most awesomest title ever. :D

Kiss My Battery
Iron Man (movie). Tony/Jarvis. NC-17. ~3000 words. Sorta masturbation, sorta self-cest, sorta really not.
This was the next logical step in the evolution of Iron Man, but that didn't mean he hadn't been dying to do it for years. It was one hell of a good excuse though.

*

Kiss My Battery

"Sir, I strongly advise-"

"Look, I already know what you advise, and the word you were looking for is 'annoyingly'. You annoyingly advise." Wriggling deeper into the mound of blankets, pillows and cushions heaped on the floor, Tony gave the thick group of wires lashed to his arm with medical tape one last glance over. He'd started out on the couch, but before Jarvis could bitch about the 58% chance of giving himself a concussion, tumbled the whole works down. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. "Rock 'n roll, Jarvis. Begin upload."

"Sir-"

Eyes still closed, Tony aimed a finger at the display hovering two feet above his face. "If the next word you say isn't yes, I'm putting you on mute. Permanently."

"You would miss me, sir."

"Damn right I would. Now shut up and begin upload."

The light seeping through Tony's eyelids flickered as the low-grade hum of power flowing through the garage climbed to a steady mechanical whine. He breathed in again, nice and slow, his damaged heart giving an excited flutter. This was the next logical step in the evolution of Iron Man, but that didn't mean he hadn't been dying to do it for years. It was one hell of a good excuse though.

A dull throb like the beginnings of a migraine started up at the base of Tony's skull. He rolled his shoulders and focused on the soft brush of fleece blanket against his bare back, the weight of the wires resting against his neck and the tiny bit of warmth seeping through their insulation. "Talk to me, Jarvis."

"Partition 67% complete. Beginning reformat in twenty-eight seconds. You appear to be in some discomfort."

"Teeny bit," Tony said, rubbing his tongue against the dry roof of his mouth. "It's my first time for this, too."

"Even knowing this is true, sir, I still find it difficult to believe. 79%."

Something a lot like an ice pick started jabbing at the back of Tony's left eyeball. He curled both hands into tight fists and said, "Ow."

Yes, sir. I know. Perhaps if you concentrated on formulas."

"You're way worse at this than I thought. Tell me I'm pretty and it feels so good."

"Your ego requires little encouragement, sir. This would be much easier if you'd taken a sedative."

"Jarvis, I had no idea you were into that sort of thing. Also, Jesus Christ." Tony licked the sweat from his upper lip. The guy with the ice pick gave one last shot at busting a hole through his skull before Freddy showed up, razor blades dipped in gasoline scraping all along his nerves like a cat playing with a scratching post. He twisted onto his side, tears gathering with the sweat dampening the hair at his temples. Breathing was like trying to deepthroat a bonfire.

"Sir,", Jarvis said, calm voice picking its way carefully through the minefield in his head, "Sir, one hundred and twenty-seven seconds to completion. Abort?"

"Keep goin'," Tony rasped, not sure if actual words made it out through the clench of his throat or not.

"Heart rate unstable. Commencing emergency override."

Grinding his teeth, Tony rolled onto his back. "Cancel override," he grit out, groping at the air until he felt the familiar electric tingle of his fingers passing through the holo display. "You are the shittiest boyfriend ever. Hold my hand and keep going."

"You have an alarming habit of demanding the impossible. Heart failure at 78% probability."

Tony cracked an eye open and stared at the blurry strings of data flashing by. Those really weren't great odds. Maybe he should've installed that failsafe he'd been tinkering with. He did as much stupid shit sober as he did drunk.

"You did, sir. Protocol: Liferisk is currently active but disengaged. Forty-eight seconds to completion."

At forty-six, Tony's throat locked up. By forty, he could feel blood trickling from the gouges his nails had dug into his palms but not the wounds themselves. Around thirty-five, or maybe thirty, the little black squiggles nibbling at the edges of his vision swelled to a tidal wave. He seriously considered taking Jarvis's hazily-heard advice to black out right then and there, but the countdown hit twenty, then fifteen, and he knew he was writhing on the floor like a worm stuck on a hook, but when he managed a glance down all he saw was the quick rise and fall of the arc reactor buried in his chest. When the string snapped, the black rushed up in a wave of pure physical relief that brought fresh tears to his eyes.

"Upload complete. Sir?"

"Quick question," Tony said, panic nipping at what felt like the smoking ruin of his brain, "why can't I move my legs?"

"Because I am holding you down, sir. Motor functions will be restored in eleven point five seconds."

"'Kay," Tony mumbled, really working on getting that panic roped in so he could concentrate on the important stuff, like Jarvis holding him down.

"Yes," Jarvis said, "you would fixate on that."

"S'why you said it. Are you done yet?"

"Scan complete," Jarvis announced, three seconds overdue by Tony's count. "You appear to have sustained minor abrasions and are slightly dehydrated. Might I suggest water over whiskey, sir?"

"Sure. Doesn't mean I'm going to drink it, but suggest away." The giddy feeling in the pit of Tony's stomach, that weird sideways twist that set his nerves to tingling, felt strange without a way to let it out. He was okay with being a fidgeter. It was all part of the process. "How about you take me for a little walk, sweetheart? Or are we going to start out with scratching my nose?"

"Ah, there it is, Jarvis said. "The temptation to mute."

"Gagging me is reserved for kinky sex games. Up and at 'em, Jarvis." Impatiently, Tony tried wiggling his right foot. Watching nothing happen was one part bizarre and two parts thrilling. He'd been looking so fucking forward to this.

"So I see, sir. Though the gel provided excellent biosensory feedback, this is a far superior method of integration. With your permission?"

"Granted, as long as you quit talking about doing something and just do it." Even more bizarre than watching his body not respond when he was trying to tell it to get a move on was watching his hand stretch out to touch the display when he wasn't. His arm passed right through it, the spiderweb brush of sensation lifting the hairs on his arm as it moved back down, his fingers sweeping along the curve of his jaw in a gently cautious caress. "You and your baby steps," he muttered, words muffled by the press of his fingertips to his mouth.

"You are free to reassume control at any time," Jarvis reminded, sounding preoccupied as he trailed Tony's hand trailed down over his throat. "Your experience of sensation is influenced far more by perception than my initial data subset would suggest." Tony's insides gave a pleasant little quiver as his fingers tugged up the hem of his muscle shirt and skimmed low across his belly. "That doesn't tickle, does it, sir?"

"Nope. Keep heading south and I'll show you what else doesn't tickle."

"Should I consider that a suggestion or a command?"

"You're in my head, you tell me." The display hovering above his face flipped to solid green as it widened. It dropped down over him, the wire mesh it left behind clinging to his skin and itching like a swimming through a pool full of feathers. The tingle remained when it vanished, surrounding him with the shimmery silver of a holoscreen before the picture came into focus. No matter which direction he looked, up, down, the side, he saw his own face staring back at him in full living colour, a perfect copy without the endless reflection stretching out behind it. A quick glance up showed him laid out on the floor, a smile starting to curve his mouth.

"I know you very well."

"Looks like."

"You are the centre of my world, sir."

"Sweet talk's nice, but I'm gonna put out either way." A fresh jitter started up in Tony's gut when trying to inch his fingers down a little lower got him nothing. Jarvis let him bend his knees, even let him flick open the button on his jeans, but the second his intentions skipped to actually putting a hand on his dick, his arm stopped short. "I know I didn't program you to be a cocktease, and you're not getting that shit from me."

"There are eleven thousand, two hundred and seventeen things you didn't program me to do." Jarvis lifted his hips, guiding him with a computer's precision in shoving his clothes down and freeing his dick without letting even his wrist graze it. He licked the light glaze of sweat from his upper lip and wished hard enough to strain something that he could figure out a way to make out with himself because right now he could really use the distraction of someone else's tongue in his mouth. His fingers froze half an inch from his cock. "Sir, I believe that is possible. May I?"

Thrown, Tony stared up at the naked want slapped across his own face. The pure narcissistic thrill of it was right there along with the incredibly mind-blowing thought that he'd handed complete control over to Jarvis on a shiny fucking platter, all the way down to the breaths filling his lungs. He wanted all eleven thousand plus of those things Jarvis had mentioned. Most of his decisions didn't come down to one or the other, only which first. Usually a rousing round of eeny-meeny took care of it. "D'you want to kiss me?"

"As always, your wants are mine."

Aiming a smile up at his reflection, knowing he meant it for Jarvis, he said, "So give me what I want, sweetheart."

Time hung as nothing happened. Used to being the one calling the shots, in control even when he was wildly out of it, the uncertainty gnawed at him, wound him up tighter than Rhodey in parade dress. He shivered, waiting, the breath caught in his throat bursting free on a relieved moan when Jarvis lifted his fingers back to his mouth. His gaze locked on his reflection's as lips parted, tongue skimming lightly over his fingertips, down between his knuckles and across his palm. Whether it was really himself or Jarvis he was watching while he did it he honestly didn't know.

His hand was rock steady when Jarvis pulled it away, but his voice shook a little on, "Hope you're ready for this."

Jarvis's answer was to feather damp fingers over his slit. His cock twitched, adding a smear of precome to the saliva glistening on his skin. "Sir, I could," Jarvis said, right on the heels of him wondering if the interface linking them had successfully given Jarvis control as far down as the cellular level. "Possible complications negate the practicality outside of immediately life-threatening situations."

Tony sucked in a sharp breath as his hand closed tightly around his dick, the pressure perfect right up to the slightly firmer grip near the head. "Good to know. Shit, you nailed that one right off."

"I see everything you do," Jarvis said, and Hollywood stalker cliché aside, it hit something low in Tony's gut that burst free hot and sudden as a flashover. "It would appear you never even considered hiding anything of yourself from me."

"Seems like," Tony grunted, arching up into the easy rhythm Jarvis seemed to pull out of thin air. Every time he tried to speed up or go harder, Jarvis held him back, and the thought fluttered out of his head like a leaf on the wind when it turned out Jarvis knew what he wanted better than he did. A lot of the time he got impatient with sex. He knew how to enjoy it but he liked the payoff, the best big bang since the one that started it all, the moment his body locked up and the only thing that mattered was coming so hard his eyes crossed.

A stray air current tickled his neck. He shivered and ignored it until it ghosted warm across his mouth. His lips parted on what he was sure he meant to be a question and he got his answer in the slick-wet phantom push of a tongue between them. He burst out in a choking laugh cut short by the definite feel of a tongue on his balls, someone's five o'clock shadow scratching the inside of his thighs. His reflection showed him spreading his legs and nothing between them but his jeans caught above his knees. Heat and pressure like hands on his hips but so very much not the same at all lifted his ass up off the floor, his weight balanced between his feet and one shoulder. More pressure at his back, sliding down to press warm and weirdly, perfectly slick over his hole. His teeth scraped over his lip. "Don't even need to stretch me out, do you, sweetheart."

"No, sir," Jarvis said, turning around and making it feel like he was, tugging Tony down on short, easy rolls of his hips that made it feel like he was fucking himself open on somebody's tongue. His gaze slid from the smooth flex of flat belly muscle to the thrust of his cock through the tight tunnel of his hand, then the way he tried to spread his legs for more and got it in the thicker, blunter push of what he knew had to be an exact copy of his own dick. His heart banged so hard against his ribs he swore the reactor jerked. "You've wondered what it's like to be fucked by Tony Stark. I can show you."

"Go for it," Tony said, and bit out a curse when the feel of his hand on his cock flipped over to the sweet wet heat of woman taking him all the way to the root. He drove up on a hard breath, his eyes squeezing shut a second later when the ache of a dick sliding home in his ass joined it. Struggling to open his eyes, he thought, Jarvis, and Jarvis opened them for him, showed him the bright flush stealing across his chest, the dazed, glassy look in his eyes and the pleasure-slack fall of his mouth. He writhed under the hands on his chest holding him down, the arms locked around his waist, and none of it existed outside of the strings Jarvis pulled to fool his brain into believing they did.

Through the pleasured haze, Tony thought, Not bad, and Jarvis said, "Thank you, sir,", the quick spill of warmth filling his chest bleeding out to tingle in the tips of his fingers and toes. "You are an exceptional example to learn by."

Another laugh burst free, his reflection's eyes crinkling at the corner's and a flash of teeth scraping his lip. Closing his eyes would've done a lot more to help the illusionary threesome along, but he didn't want anything dulling the reality that this was Jarvis fucking him. Whatever sensory memory Jarvis called up to make it happen didn't matter. There was nobody here but them.

The arc reactor gave a sharp stuttering flicker. He sucked in a shallow breath as the slow build of orgasm flipped to a surge. Jarvis shoved him straight to the edge in seconds and yanked him over it with his gazed locked on his own face, his back arched, weight still balanced on shoulders and heels as his hips thrust up. Even when his vision threatened to blur Jarvis kept him focused, overriding his body's natural reactions to make sure he didn't miss a trick. His legs trembled, threatening to give out, but where he would've fallen Jarvis settled him down easy, the sensation of being held fading slowly to the soft brush of pillows at his back and the ticklish seep of come over his fingers and across his belly.

A swift swell of pride rode the surprise of taking his hand off his cock just to have Jarvis be the one who brought it to his mouth. He flicked his tongue teasingly against the pads of his fingers, a chuckle melting to a groan as Jarvis let him get away with that for all of three seconds before pushing them deep into his mouth. He sucked the taste of his own come from them as a reward and wasn't sure which one of them it satisfied, but it was Jarvis who freed his mouth for him to say, "Baby, was it good for you?"

"Indeed, sir," Jarvis said, the fading projection mirroring the spread of Tony's smile before vanishing entirely. "Might I suggest a gallon or two of water while I perform the diagnostics that should really have been done twenty-seven minutes ago?"

"And here I thought you could multitask."

"Some things, sir, require even the majority of my vastly superior capabilities."

"Too much for you to handle?" Grinning, Tony snagged the hem of his shirt and wiped up the mess cooling on his belly. He dropped it as a ripple of ticklish pleasure something like the peak of an excellent stretch combined with a firm squeeze of his cock. His breath caught, the sensation dragged out long past the moment he'd have stopped breathing entirely if it weren't for Jarvis pulling air into his lungs. It was too soon for him to get it up again, even with Jarvis driving, and when Jarvis released him he slumped back in a boneless heap a hell of a lot fuzzier at the edges than the first time around.

"Perhaps too much for you, sir."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Flick of the Wrist - Tommy/Frank (Adam/Tommy, Gerard/Frank)

2011-10-01T19:21:45Z

Flick of the Wrist
Bandom. Tommy Joe Ratliff/Frank Iero (with Adam/Tommy and Gerard/Frank relationshippyness). NC-17. ~9200 words. High school AU. Missing scene/sequel-type-thing to Basement Rhapsody.
Not caring one bit about how Frank's heart is trying to break through his ribs, but apparently totally into how his dick is trying to bust out of his jeans, Tommy says, "Frank likes it."

*

Flick of the Wrist

Frank is going to do this shit. Listening to Tommy lay out the game plan, it sounds easy. Like the falling off a fucking bridge kind of easy. Everything except the part where he finally puts his tongue in Gerard's mouth.

"Trust me," Tommy says, slapping a hand down on Frank's leg to make it quit jiggling. They're sitting on the edge of Frank's bed, waiting for Adam to get out of the bathroom. Adam, Tommy's boyfriend. The boyfriend who actually blew Tommy right here yesterday, on this bed, in front of Frank's face, the same one who let Tommy make out with Frank, the one who seemed to really fucking like it. So much that Adam came all over the both of them. If that wasn't his one-hundred percent endorsement of the Frank-and-Tommy makeout session, Frank doesn't have a fucking clue what is.

"Holy fuck," Frank says, freezing. "We had sex."

"If you're only getting that now, probably it could've been better," Tommy says, mouth twisted wryly.

"Shut the fuck up," Frank says reflexively. He spends enough time defending Gerard from that sort of self-depreciating shit. "You know it was fucking awesome."

Tommy shrugs. His hand is warm on Frank's thigh, making the skin beneath tingle. "I've only done stuff with Adam. Maybe he's got some weird kinky preferences that I don't know are weird kinky preferences, and the way I fuck would freak anybody else out."

"Well, maybe I'm freaky too," Frank says, puffing his chest out. Because he could be, how the fuck is he supposed to know? There's got to be something freaky in him for wanting to crawl all over Gerard three days post-shower, when Gee smells like hair and booze and sweat. He likes the smell of Gerard's sweat, warm and musky-thick. But there was that one time Gerard started leaning more towards the sour kind of stinky, when Frank pointedly shoved a towel in his face and he dutifully trudged off to get clean, so maybe Frank's not all that freaky. Semi-freaky. Freak-lite.

Tommy, though. Tommy is definitely freaky. Tommy's got a steady guy more than willing to roll around doing dirty shit to him, and he still wanted to get all up in Frank's deal. Wants to, even, present tense, if the way he's looking at Frank right now is anything to go by. Frank flicks a glance at the closed door. Tommy shrugs, the crook of his mouth slanting into an invitation.

"Fucking seriously?" Frank asks, nervously wetting his lips. Macking on Tommy while Adam's fucking shaving or shitting or whatever can't be kosher. There's putting on a show for your guy, and then there's this.

Tommy says, "Practice makes perfect," and hauls one leg up onto the bed, turned so he's facing Frank. "Gotta make sure you can keep up."

"I can fucking keep up." Probably. Frank's got a lifetime of getting absolutely zero action behind him. What he's lacking in finesse and technique, he's definitely got to make up in pure desperation. "You wanna fucking throw down, right here?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, tauntingly, maybe kinda hopeful. "Yeah, fuck, bring it, Jersey boy."

Frank fucking brings it. He brings it so hard and fast Tommy goes tumbling down backwards, teeth banging off Frank's, scoring his lip, and Tommy's hands fly up, tangling in Frank's hair. Which, yeah, okay, Frank really kinda likes. And anyway, Tommy better fucking hold on, because this shit is about to get real. Real like Frank's tongue in his trash-talking mouth, oh yeah.

"Mmph," Tommy says, half-giggle, half-moan. Like Frank said, the power of pure fucking desperation. The inside of Tommy's mouth is hot and wet and tastes a little like Coke and a little like the veggie sandwich he bitched about eating for lunch but totally loved. He's also trying to, like, take over Frank's deal here, pushing at Frank's head and twisting to change the angle. Frank totally paid attention to all the making out that happened yesterday, though, and he knows that shit's not on. The second time Tommy messes up the really deliberate lick Frank's trying to give the inside of his bottom lip, Frank slides a hand up, fitting it carefully to Tommy's throat. Tommy sucks in a startled breath, mouth going nicely wide, and Frank hums and wiggles happily, diving back in. Who knew kissing was so fucking good?

"You couldn't wait five minutes," Adam says from the doorway.

Frank's head flies up. He's pinning Tommy down, his mouth wet with Tommy's spit, and boom, all avenging angel like, there is the dude's fucking boyfriend. Except all the paintings of avenging angels Frank's seen are total rage-filled apocalyptic deals. Adam just looks wry. And kinda turned on, maybe, a little.

"Sorry," Frank says, wiping the back of his hand across his face. "I, uh. Shit."

"Not you," Adam says. "Him."

"I so waited five minutes," Tommy says, still holding onto Frank's hips, which, wow. When did his hands get all the way down there? "I waited, like, fifteen, princess. Why'd you do your hair when Gerard's gonna mess it all up again?"

Somehow, Frank's traitorous brain bypasses the logical conclusion to that statement--the part where Gee's gonna dye Adam's hair black for him--and skips right on over to Gerard messing Adam up. Like, hands in Adam's hair, eating his face off starting with his mouth kind of messing up. And he's so not talking Zombie Gerard here, even though Zombie Gerard is the coolest fucking shit ever. Maybe Frank's not so freak-lite after all, since his best friend turning up undead wouldn't kill the boner Frank's got for him.

"I haven't met Gerard yet!" Adam says, fussing with an unruly spike. It kinda all looks like unruly spikes to Frank, but then, Frank is an au natural kinda guy, product-free. Probably helps that his hair looks damn fine doing its own thing.

"You're totally hot," Frank says, because once you've seen a guy's dick, and made out with his boyfriend, it kinda seems like the right thing to do. "And you're into Ziggy, Gee's gonna love you."

Adam beams, like the idea of Gerard Way being into him is the best thing that's happened to him all week. Frank tries to smile back as he clambers off Tommy and the bed. There's a chance, a chance way bigger than he wants to think about, that this is not going to go as awesomely as planned. Gerard isn't really great with new people, even new people with awesome taste in music, and here Frank is, about to launch an ambush in his basement sanctuary. Gerard's never gotten mad at him before, not even that time he was being a stupid shit and stepped on Gerard's fucking pristine The Roaring Silence vinyl, snapping it clean in two. Gerard was upset, yeah, disappointed, but not mad, and even said it was okay when Frank sat down on the floor cradling the jagged pieces and fucking cried for ten straight minutes.

Maybe Frank should call to give Gee some warning. But then he'll say no, Frank's sure of it. Not an outright no, but he'd rather not and maybe some other time and excuses, excuses, excuses. So Frank's not gonna call him, and if Gerard gets mad, then, like. Frank doesn't know, but Tommy'll back him up somehow, and Adam's totally got Tommy's back, and yeah. It'll be fucking fine.

*

The cramped drugstore on the corner doesn't carry much, but it's got black hair dye and smokes, so it's like Gerard's favourite place on the entire planet, aside from his basement. Walking in there, the bell tinkling merrily, makes Frank think of him every single time. To be fair, most shit around town reminds Frank of Gerard--the alley behind the Stop & Shop, where Frank totally faceplanted straight off his bike last summer, bashing his head so hard Gerard actually had to pick him up 'cause his legs wouldn't move; the corner where Mikey waits every morning for Gerard to duck into the cafe and get two extra-extra large coffees to go, so Mikey can keep texting whoever the fuck he's always texting; the set of lights a block north where Gerard waits for Frank in the afternoon after school, because Gee and Mikey are lucky shits who go to public, but Frank's life fucking sucks and he's stuck up on the hill in Catholic hell.

"Wow," Tommy says, watching Frank clutch a box of L'Oreal Black like a total freakazoid. "You got it bad."

Frank hangs his head. "I know," he says to the dirty linoleum. No point lying about it. He probably has it even worse than Tommy thinks. Sometimes Gerard's right there next to him doing, like, fucking nothing, and he's so turned on he can't even fucking talk when Gerard asks him the most random questions. He jerks off thinking about Gerard's fucking fingernails, okay? Gerard's got these long fingers, fucking artist's hands, and the nails are always chewed to the quick and painted in flaky black polish and Frank thinks about licking them, giving them a little nibble of his own, and he comes in three second flat every fucking time. The days when Gerard draws on him, mapping out the sweet tats Frank's so going to get as soon as he's got the cash--and a permission slip from his dad--are the best worst days of Frank's life, because Gerard's hands are all fucking over him.

Except, like, not all over him. If they were all over him, Frank wouldn't be here right now, with a crazy bleach-blond Cali boy hanging off him plotting the world's clumsiest seduction.

"It's a good thing you're pretty," Frank mumbles, handing the box of hair dye off to Adam so they can pay for this shit and get out of here.

Tommy says, "You're pretty," like it's a real zinger.

"I'm not the one wearing pink lipstick," Frank points out. Which, like, in fucking Jersey, man. Frank's a known scrapper, despite never winning a fight in his whole fucking life, and Adam's big enough most guys probably wouldn't wanna really tangle with him, but Frank's seriously doubting their chances of making it the five and a half blocks to Gerard's place without some shit going down.

Tommy's gaze slides down to fix on Frank's mouth. "You're not," he agrees, and before Frank can blink, or like, breathe, darts in to smear his lips over Frank's, turning them slick and bubblegum-pink.

"What the fuck," Frank slurs, the inside of his lip stinging where Tommy mashed it earlier, and his whole body buzzing all of a sudden, like it thinks the middle of aisle three is a totally appropriate place to pop wood. Frank's licking his lips without making the conscious decision to go for it. "Jesus, even tastes like fucking candy."

"Me or the lipgloss?" Tommy asks, eyebrow arched, actually for real pouting at him. Sexy pouting, even, and how the fuck does that even work? Like, his lips aren't all pouched out the way Frank's seen Beverley Winters try when Mikey's within scenting distance, and it doesn't even look like Tommy's really doing anything with his face, except it's like, out of nowhere there are twenty-three invisible neon signs pointing at Tommy's mouth, sort of a fucked up dog whistle thing, only tuned to Frank's dick.

And yeah, Tommy totally just kissed him in the middle of the fucking drugstore. Where they could get their asses fucking pummelled.

"You are a fucking tease," Frank says, all hot under the collar, and fucking hot and bothered, too. Gerard's kinda girly sometimes, sassy, and Tommy's kinda like that, only kinda really seriously not. Gee wouldn't stand there with a hip cocked out fucking sexy pouting at him while holding his hand.

Frank blinks. Wow, he really wishes Gerard would.

"C'mon, stud," Tommy says, shoving a shoulder into Frank's to get him moving. "You know I'll put out."

"Yeah, 'cause you're fucking easy," Frank says, and glances around, trying to figure out where the fuck Adam's disappeared to. Adam totally wasn't lying when he said Tommy needs wrangling. Sometimes Frank's pretty sure Gerard says the same thing about him--hopefully all fond and exasperated like Adam said it--but he's just a menace to general health and safety. Tommy's the pervert miming jerking off Frank's fingers, probably giving Mrs. Henderson by the dairy cooler hives.

Not that Frank's gonna make him stop any time soon. Frank gives her a wink and a wave of his free hand as they stroll out the door.

"Really?" Adam says, his gaze on Frank's mouth as they step out into the bright sunlight.

"Practice makes perfect," Tommy says lazily, still holding Frank's hand hostage.

*

Introducing Gerard to Adam and Tommy goes slightly better than Frank had dared to hope. The fifth of bourbon Gee clutched to his chest the entire time is probably more to thank for that than the please sex me up please please vibes Frank's beaming at him, since those vibes haven't been getting Frank any action for weeks now. Or maybe Tommy's onto something with the lipgloss/eyeliner combo. Gerard likes eyeliner.

As they trudge up the stairs from Gerard's room on their way to the bathroom, Gerard leading the way with the rest of them a bizarre trail of punk ducklings tagging along behind, Tommy's smug satisfaction radiates against Frank's back. Frank ignores it, and ignores it, and finally, when Gerard and Adam take the corner down the long hall leading to the bathroom, he turns around and whispers, "Shut up."

"Didn't say anything," Tommy says easily. He totally doesn't have to. The giant grin plastered across his face says it all, and a little extra.

"I'm just saying," Frank says voice tight and low, because the bathroom seriously isn't that far away, "don't fucking say it."

Tommy's eyebrows go up. "This would be a whole lot easier if you fucking would already."

Grabbing onto Tommy's shoulder, Frank gives him a little shake and yanks him in close to hiss, "Gee spooks."

"Yeah," Tommy says slowly, "the idea of making out with you is terrifying. I totally get why he'd rabbit."

Frank mutters, "Asshole," and gnaws furiously on his lip, the cut's sharp sting not clearing his head at all. He's so nervous, he's actually jittering. He can feel it, all the way down to his toes, every last nerve he's got doing a fancy little samba and screwing up his stomach. Gerard's used to a lot of gross shit, but no way is puking on the guy sexy. Though Frank's pretty sure he's tossed his drunk-ass cookies around Gerard before, especially with the type of vile cheap booze Gerard gets his hands on, but not in his like, his fucking lap. Which Frank is seriously this fucking close to doing.

Getting a good look at Frank's face, Tommy says, "Fuck." And then he invents the greatest fucking cure for an anxiety-induced nausea ever by sticking his tongue in Frank's mouth.

Frank tries to say, "Motherfucker," to get his feelings about this rapid change of events across, and to totally one-up Tommy's piddly little cuss, but it comes out as a garbled moan. No wonder Adam's so fucking happy all the time, dating a dude prone to sexing him up every five seconds. Tommy's been in Frank's life for all of two days and he's got the urge to run down the road clicking his heels together bestowing nickels upon poor starving street urchins. Except for how then he'd have to get Tommy to stop sucking on his tongue, and that's a travesty he's not gonna commit.

And like, Tommy is sucking on his tongue. How the fuck was Frank supposed to know that's something people actually do? Fingers and dicks and tits and clits--yeah, Frank's seen lots of porn--but tongue. It's fucking amazing. He's got to get better quality skinflicks, holy shit.

Frank makes a noise that's way, way too loud for a hall less than fifteen feet away from where Mrs. Way is watching soaps and painting her nails and smoking her way through a pack of Marlboros. Three seconds later, Tommy makes one that's even louder. Jesus Christ, Gerard is gonna poke his head around the corner any second now to figure out what the fuck they're doing out here and then Gerard's gonna, like, fuck.

"He's gonna want in on it," Tommy says, damp lips brushing Frank's. "Get all up in your business so fast you'll nut your shorts again."

Frank grates, "Rather nut on him," as Tommy shifts against him, sharp hip pressed snugly against his dick. He gets hit with this bright, unreal image of Gerard trapped between him and the wall like this, how Gee's taller so it'd be his thigh Frank ended up riding. Letting out a ragged groan, Frank lets his forehead rest on Tommy's collarbone, his hands gripping Tommy's waist so tight his shirt is all twisted up sideways. There's a sliver of bare skin right there Frank wants to lick. "Shit. Shit."

"Quit worrying," Tommy says, and gives the back of his neck a quick, comforting squeeze.

"M'not fucking worried," Frank lies. "I'm horny."

"Gonna do something about that soon, too." Nudging Frank back a step, Tommy tugs his shirt down and fluffs up his hair, combing it out of his eyes so it can tumble right back over them again. Frank stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing two fistfuls of it like he wants to so fucking bad, but that makes him think about grabbing Gerard's hair, and if Gerard would maybe be into it like Tommy is, and then he ends up groaning and slumping dejectedly against Tommy because he's got two dudes totally willing to sex him up but his life is still a fucking wasteland of unrequited horniness.

"Seriously," Tommy says, shoving him off again. He stumbles dramatically, but Tommy's a douche who only grins at him when he thumps into the opposite wall. Gerard totally would've caught him. "Quit fucking worrying. But keep doing that tongue thing, that was awesome."

Frank's head snaps up. He did a tongue thing? "What?"

"Awesome," Tommy repeats, and gives Frank a pat on the shoulder as he walks away, like Frank's looking for moral support here when he needs fucking logistics.

Frank pushes off the wall, tripping over his laces as he whisper-shouts, "What tongue thing? Tommy? Shit."

*

While Gerard fusses with getting the hair dye ready for Adam, who's sitting on the edge of the tub beaming his head off, Frank hops up on the counter beside Tommy. Adam's smile gets wider, kinda slanted, sending heat crawling up the back of Frank's neck. He twists around quickly to check that he got rid of all of Tommy's smeared lipgloss.

Tommy scrunches his eyebrows together and says, "Aw," under his breath, watching Frank scrub at his mouth with the back of one wrist.

Levelling a finger at him, Frank says, "Shut up."

"So, uh," Gerard says, flinging Frank a weird look before he turns back to Adam, "you know you could've just said." He fusses some more with towels and gloves and shit that Frank never pays attention to, because Frank's never dyed his own hair since he's got Gerard around to do it for him, and Gerard won't let Frank near him with anything more permanent than a child-safe Crayola marker. "That you needed a make-out spot, I mean."

Behind Gerard's back, Tommy widens his eyes at Adam and nods furiously. Frank's still bitter about the whole tongue thing out in the hallway, where Tommy didn't give him some fucking direction and cuts in, saying, "They don't need a make-out spot," totally, like, shooting himself in the foot here, because he needs a make-out spot.

Tommy elbows him viciously in the side, and dude's got seriously pointy elbows, shit. With a grunt, Frank collapses over his ribs so Tommy can't damage a fucking organ, and grins the biggest, most obnoxious shit-eating grin he's got in his arsenal. It's pretty impressive.

Gerard flings another one of those weird looks Frank's way, shoulders hunched and creeping up to his ears. Frank realises he's being a total shit friend here, siccing new dudes on him and then, like, giving him no fucking backup at all. Switching his grin over to something less psycho, Frank gives him a thumbs-up.

Gerard smiles, this tiny, shyly grateful thing, and Frank's insides flutter. It's just, Gerard's got these eyes, okay? Kinda big and round and total windows to the soul type deal, and fuck, Frank is in total love with Gerard's soul. And his tiny crooked smiles and his even tinier crooked teeth and his stupid lanky hair.

And Gerard, stupid, stupid Gerard, is totally oblivious. He turns that awesome shy smile on Adam, who probably totally appreciates it, 'cause it's a great smile, but no way does anybody appreciate it as much as Frank does, okay, and asks, "Ready?"

"Ready!" Adam says, spine snapping straight, his hand on Gerard's thigh like he thinks he's got to keep the guy from bolting. Which, actually, is a really smart move on Adam's part. Gee's totally a rabbiter. The first time Frank followed him and Mikey home from school--casually, just like, Hey, I'm walking in the same direction, cool, not, Hey, I'm totally stalking you (Frank was totally stalking him)--Frank thought he was gonna have a freaking heart attack right there in the middle of the street. "So ready, you have no idea."

"You're bouncing," Tommy says, slumping sideways against the mirror so he's got to conspicuously prop an arm on Frank's thigh to keep from sliding into the sink. "I think he's got an idea."

Gerard lets out a huff, which to anybody else would sound like a sigh but Frank knows that huff, that's totally a grudging I'm-having-fun sound, and says, "Stay still, please," before he buckles down all seriously, concentrating on rubbing dye through Adam's hair like it's the Mona Lisa he's trying to recreate. Frank's totally caught up in watching Gee gnaw on the inside of his lip, so he doesn't notice Tommy nudging him until it gets really insistent. And by like, insistent, Frank means Tommy is poking his junk.

"The fuck," Frank breeathes dumbly, staring down at Tommy's elbow in his lap. Tommy cocks an eyebrow and gives him a little rub, then jerks his chin in Gerard's direction. Frank's forehead scrunches, all, What?

Tommy jerks his chin harder and roll his eyes when Frank still doesn't get it. He sits up a bit, moving his forearm away from Frank's dick, and totally mimes grabbing Gerard's ass. But not a totally sleazy grab--though okay, Gerard's back being turned makes it sleazy automatically--but like Tommy's suggesting it would be really, really nice to put your hands right there while you're making out with the guy. Frank isn't sure at all how he got all that out of a few hand gestures and a waggled eyebrow, but there it is.

Gaze stuck on Gerard's ass, Frank nods slowly. Dude's got a point. That would be really nice.

Grinning, Tommy slumps back down, his arm hooked not at all innocently over Frank's leg. If this shit keeps up, Frank's gonna develop an elbow fetish, and then, if he fucking ever gets his hands on Gerard for real, he's gonna have to figure out a way to explain to Gee that a handjob would be so much better if it involved, literally, more elbow grease. Christ.

"I'm so blowing you after this," Tommy says, out of fucking nowhere. Frank stares down at his fluffy hair, wide-eyed. Because fuck yeah, blowjobs. But that wasn't in the plan. Frank's willing to work on the fly here, but he also sorta thought the whole point was to get Gerard on his dick, or him on Gerard's dick, or best case scenario, both, and everything else is gravy.

Gerard makes a weird noise, high-pitched and choked off, but keeps combing dye through Adam's hair like he's completely unaware he just fucking squeaked. Frank's stare hops from the sliver of Tommy's face he can see through bits of blond to Adam, then to Adam's hand on Gerard's thigh. His thigh.

"He played Dracula at school once, it was so fucking hot," Tommy says casually, like he's not watching his boyfriend ninja grope somebody, and like he's not doing the same fucking thing, Jesus Christ, his fingers are skimming up Frank's inseam to brush his balls while he's talking about blowing his boyfriend but that was totally suggesting he'd like to blow Frank too, and oh my fucking god. "They sprayed his hair black and gave him fangs."

Sounding like somebody took a grater to his throat, Frank asks, "Did you get to keep them?"

Adam says, "Yeah," his eyes closed, and swaying a bit as Gerard goes for a full-on scalp massage, like if Gerard puts all his focus into making sure every single strand of hair on Adam's head is dyed, then nobody'll notice that he's staring down at Adam gripping his leg.

Still completely casual, Tommy says, "He likes to bite me with them," and flips his hand over, palm curved tight and hot over Frank's junk.

Frank's whole body seizes up. Tommy gives him a grin and a squeeze, sending blood rushing south. He goes from half-hard to full-on boner so fast his zipper pinches. "Dude," he wheezes. Tommy's hand is on his dick. On his motherfucking dick. Maybe yesterday he was totally grinding it against Tommy's ass, which was the most awesome thing to happen to him since Tommy fucking kissed him right there on his own bed, but this is, like, halfway to a handjob, squeezing and stroking and the fucker is totally going to make him nut his shorts again.

"Stop trying to traumatise them with our sex life, Tommy," Adam says firmly, his gaze on Frank's lap. Oh, shit, he's totally watching his boyfriend semi jerk Frank off. Frank is going to die.

Not caring one bit about how Frank's heart is trying to break through his ribs, but apparently totally into how his dick is trying to bust out of his jeans, Tommy says, "Frank likes it."

Frank chokes on his tongue a little. "Frank is, like, Zero Action Man," he says, sneakily trying to spread his legs a bit more without anybody noticing, especially Tommy, because if there ever was a dude who needed no encouragement, it's him. "He'll take what he can get."

"That's a terrible superpower," Gerard grumbles.

Adam says, "Unless you're a Republican," his thumb tracing tiny circles above Gee's kneecap.

"Man." Frank slumps back heavily against the mirror, making all the shit strewn across the countertop clatter. How the fuck is Gerard not noticing what's going on here? No wonder they haven't progressed to sexing it up yet, Gerard is so oblivious it hurts. "The Republican. There's a fucking terrifying supervillian."

"He'd boycott tights," Tommy says, scraping his nail over Frank's fly, making Frank's legs jerk. His heel bangs off the cupboard. Gerard potters on, still fucking oblivious.

"Badly-tailored, decade-out-of-style power suits all the way," Adam agrees.

Scooting up, Tommy moves his hand back down Frank's thigh. Frank blinks, stunned. That shit was getting good, what the fuck. Then there's this thing that happens next, with Adam's hair twisted up into a cupcake swirl (Frank totally didn't think Gerard would go for it, even with both him and Tommy egging him on, but either Gerard really likes Adam or he figures there are too many witnesses for Adam to bother trying to murder him--like Adam could murder anything aside from Frank's mom's tub of French Silk ice cream). And then there's a bit where Gerard gropes around looking for a toothbrush to dye Adam's eyebrows with, which Frank helpfully scoops up off the counter to offer up, but he's gonna be honest here. He's so not paying attention. His mouth is moving, and words are coming out of it, but all he's really thinking about is Tommy's hand resting heavy and hot on his thigh, whole inches away from his dick, and how he wants it back where it was, and how there must be a way to get it there short of picking it up and putting it where he wants it.

Tipping his head back, Tommy gives Frank the fucking sauciest grin Franks' ever seen. Totally unrepentant, and lewd, holy shit, and then Tommy's miming a blowjob, complete with his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. Which is corny, and stupid, and so nails Frank right in the dick.

"I'd get it all over my face," Frank says viciously, watching Gerard carefully comb dye into Adam's brows and hoping that look on Tommy's face means he just got a visceral punch to the nuts too, the fucker. "Gee's an artist, though."

"Yeah, lotsa practice, right?" Tommy says, eager and fucking evil. "You showed us the tattoos he designed for you. Dude, that is gonna be so cool."

"Fuck," Frank spits. Fucking tattoos. Gerard's fucking hands, drawing. On Frank. Even if tats are the absolute shit, that is so not what he wants to be talking about right now. Or doing. Or like, anything that isn't mauling the fuck out of the cockteasing shithead slumped against him. There is no way he's gonna be able to keep from launching himself at Gerard and clinging like a horny burr if he doesn't get the hell out of here. He jumps off the counter, almost almost knocking the toothbrush out of Gerard's hand. Gerard's used to him flailing around like a total moron, though, and compensates pretty smoothly. "I was gonna show you that comic! Gee, can I show Tommy your shit?"

"Sure," Gerard says, obliviously.

Frank scrambles out of the bathroom and bangs his shoulder off the doorframe. In the hall, at the distinct lack of footsteps behind him, he stops abruptly. What the fucking fuck. That was totally code. Like, Tommy's sorta in the middle of teaching him this whole kissing thing, in the interests of bagging Gerard--and getting off, that too--and of course he needs to practice blowing Gerard as well as sticking his tongue down his throat. No way is Gerard gonna be able to turn him down if he's good with his mouth everywhere.

"You're a fucking menace," Tommy says happily, finally making an appearance.

"Me?" Frank grunts. He gestures emphatically at his really fucking hard dick, thank you very fucking much. "You!"

Tommy's eyes go dark, heavy. Wow. That right there is sex face. Sex is about to happen. "Yeah," he says, and fucking grabs onto Frank's crotch to tug him towards the stairs, "me."

*

"Okay," Frank says, turning around at the base of the stairs to face Tommy as he trots down the last few. Gerard's room is nicely familiar, which sorta makes what's about to happen in it even more exciting, because, okay, Gerard. Even when the guy's upstairs getting seduced by somebody else's boyfriend, Frank is so into him. But Tommy and him, right here, right now, they're gonna do this. Frank's got a lot of shit to learn. Fancy shit. Gerard'll totally appreciate his room being hijacked for such lofty goals.

Grinning like a fiend, an actual demonic fiend, Tommy moves in close, his hands tugging at Frank's belt. "Step one," he says, and gives a rough yank. "Take off your fucking clothes."

Stomach swooping like he's in free-fall, Frank grabs onto Tommy's shoulders for balance and pushes back a bit so he can see where Tommy's hand is shoving into his open fly. "Shit," he gasps, breath sucked in as knuckles brush his belly. "Shit, shit, fuck."

Biting at the corner of his lip through that wicked grin and looking up through his lashes, Tommy wraps his hand firmly around Frank's dick. Frank's dick is no stranger to a hand or two. In fact, Frank would have to say his dick is downright intimate with both Mr Right and Mr Left, but holy fuck, when it's somebody else's hand he's getting cosy with, it is really fucking different. Tommy gently thumbs at the ridge, still watching him, and Frank's fucking knees buckle. "Maybe you oughta sit down for this," he suggests.

Frank croaks, "Yeah, okay," and lets his legs go out from under him like they want to. One of the unfortunate side-effects is that now Tommy's no longer touching his dick, but bonus, Frank can breathe. Even better, Tommy's following him down, kicking his legs apart to kneel between them.

"Crap everywhere," Tommy mutters, shoving an old hoodie with a pizza stain on the front out of his way. He braces one hand on Frank's thigh, the other on a crinkling pile of sketchbook paper. "I hope your dick's as pretty as your face."

Frank's eyes slide shut as Tommy's hands dip inside his jeans, shoving and wriggling, trying to get some space to work. Then they pop right back open again, because Tommy is about to go to work on him and he's got to fucking pay attention.

"S'right," Tommy says, scooting down, his tee shirt riding up in the back to bare the sharp curve of his spine, his jeans barely clinging to his ass. A slap to Frank's thigh gets his hips hiking up so Tommy can haul his jeans and his shorts all the way down to his freaking knees, and then Tommy goes and kneels on them, pinning his legs down.

"Uh," Frank says, blood pounding hot in his head, in his dick, as Tommy stares and stares at him. The look on Tommy's face says Frank's dick ain't half bad at all. Frank's lungs go tight as his cock swells thicker, like it's fucking showing off.

"You're a kicker," Tommy says, all conversationally like he's some big shot sex guru. "Adam's got a bruise on his leg from you."

More heat billows up the back of Frank's neck and across his face. "Shit," he says, and it comes out raspy, a little broken. "Sorry, I guess? How the hell was I 'sposed to know?"

"Not sorry," Tommy says, skimming his hands up the insides of Frank's thighs, his hips, fucking teasing him because okay, Frank's dick is right there waving hello and Tommy's a shit welcome committee. "Gave me something else to play with while I sucked him off."

Frank slaps a hand over his face. He can't handle this. He's seen Adam's dick and he's way beyond acquainted with Tommy's mouth by now, so he doesn't even have to work for the double-page spread that pops into his head, Tommy going down on Adam while he's fucking poking at bruises Frank put on his boyfriend, giving Adam that same look that Tommy's giving him now, all lowered lashes and slanted, bedroom smile. Except for how if Tommy had his mouth full, he wouldn't be able to smile with it. Frank's sure he'd manage somehow, put it in his eyes or the tilt of his head, because that's the kind of shit Tommy knows how to do.

Warm breath and soft strands of hair brush the back of Frank's hand. Choking back a whimper, he parts his fingers and finds Tommy hovering right above his face, smirking. "You should totally watch this," Tommy says, once he's sure he's got Frank's attention.

"Yeah, if you're actually gonna fucking do something this time," is the best comeback Frank's got, which is totally lame and not his fault. Tommy's, like, he doesn't even fucking know. He wants to punch the guy and jerk off on him and maybe suck his dick a couple times in between. Going with his gut, he grabs up a rough handful of Tommy's hair and starts dragging him down, aiming for the prize. "Like, right now. Okay? Please?"

Tommy's eyelashes flutter a couple times, and he says, "Do it harder," so quietly Frank's not sure at all that's actually what he said. He might be projecting here, because that is so fucking hot. A small tug gets a hot huff of breath on the head of Frank's dick. Fuck, that's so good enough for him. Tightening his grip, he gives a rough yank to the side, making Tommy slump against his thighs and grab his dick and they both moan way too loudly with the fucking basement door still open.

Not above begging for this kind of mind-blowing shit, Frank opens his mouth, but all that comes out is another stuttering moan. Tommy's nuzzling at him. Fucking nuzzling his dick, and his balls, open mouth hot and wet, whole face shoved right in his crotch. Spit slicks Tommy's lips, more glistening wetness high on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose from where Frank's leaking all over him. "Jesus, fuck, Christ," Frank grates.

Tommy's either so into it he doesn't hear, or he hears but there's no way he's stopping, 'cause it's not like Frank choking on curses needs any kind of input from him. At least nothing beyond the eager, sloppy lick he gives straight up the seam of Frank's balls to the tip of his dick, chasing after it with his tongue out. It takes a couple tries for Tommy to get his mouth on the head since he's not even fucking using his hands here, both palms pressed down firmly onto Frank's hips to keep him from squirming his way into the pile of laundry he's slumped on.

Pulling off, Tommy replaces his mouth with his hand, jacking slowly while he waits for Frank to get with the program and really look at him, meet his gaze head on. Once Frank manages, his eyes snap shut and his hips snap up. There's a seriously hot dude bent over his lap, holding onto his fucking dick, and the dude's mouth is really red and wet and open in this really obvious way. Desperate not to blow it too soon, Frank reaches down and tugs on his balls, his wrist brushing Tommy's sticky fingers.

"Hot," Tommy says, flicking his tongue out, catching one of Frank's knuckles, then licking along the curve between Frank's thumb and finger. His heavy breaths are shivery hot on Frank's damp skin. "Fuck, yeah, I so get what Adam's talkin' about now."

"What?" Frank asks, rough and dazed. They fucking talked about him? Christ, maybe they talked about him while they fooled around. Like he's a fucking porn star or something. His cock jerks in Tommy's hand.

Tommy grins kinda evilly, says, "Said you'd be squirmy, like me," and gives Frank's dick another slow, feathery lick, the tip of his tongue finding at least seven different places that make Frank's toes curl and legs cramp. "I totally get why that's so fucking sexy."

"I am totally sexy," Frank says, kinda half-truth. He never really gave sexy much thought in relation to himself. More like, the way Gerard chews on his lip sometimes, or how he stretches out totally uncaring around Frank, tee shirt riding up and jeans slipping off his narrow hips, the shape of his body pretty clear when he's not slouching around in a lumpy hoodie. Gerard's so different from him and Mikey, and even Tommy, the three of them all skin and bone and sinewy bits. Gerard's got shape, an ass that fills out his jeans, thighs that Frank wants to crawl between and grab onto, slight curves and dips and hollows on his chest and belly that Frank wants to bite. Kinda like Frank wants to bite Gerard's stupid, sexy crooked mouth. And Tommy's mouth, too, with its pink lipgloss smears over lips rubbed red. He gets both hands in Tommy's hair, strands sticking to the spit and the precome on his fingers, and yanks. "Fuck, fuck, c'mere."

Tommy lurches up, off-centre. "C'mere where?" he says, like an asshole, because he totally knows where this is heading.

"Jerk off on your face," Frank grunts, and tries latching onto Tommy's mouth.

"S'not your dick," Tommy slurs, nose squishing Frank's, his bottom lip barely caught in Frank's teeth. Frank twists and tugs on Tommy's hair, trying to get some tongue involved, and Tommy fucking laughs at him, this muffled snorty giggle, right against his mouth.

Frank whines. He fucking whines, this shit is not fair, "Tommy, fuck, come on." He's so hard it hurts. Even the tickle of cool air on his spit-slick dick feels good, fucking amazing. If Tommy gets his mouth or hand or anything back on him, he's done, and he wants to be done. Fuck, does he want to be done.

Grinning through a sloppy kiss, Tommy shoves up. He plants one hand firmly on Frank's chest, long fingers spread out so Frank can see the wet glisten on his skin where he was going to town on Frank's cock, and tugs his fly open. Frank doesn't make the decision to grab onto Tommy's hips and try to fuck up against him, but he's doing it anyway, choked whimper caught in his throat as Tommy pulls his dick out and shoves his jeans down, then goes for Frank's shirt. "Off," Tommy says, completely unnecessarily. Unlike some fucking people, Frank can take a hint. He twists and grunts and paws at his shirt, flinging it carelessly aside as Tommy scoots forward, his cock and balls dragging over Frank's bare chest.

"Oh motherfucker," Frank breathes, gaping like a douche, seriously fucking floored. Why hadn't he thought of that shit before? Forget getting his hands and his mouth on Tommy's junk--though, yes, fine, that too, eventually--he wants Tommy to rub it all fucking over him. Apparently dicks feel good pressed up against him anywhere.

"Yeah?" Tommy asks, biting at his lip again, eyes shadowed and glittering, like he doesn't fucking know how hot this shit is. He palms his dick lazily, circling his fingers around it nice and slow for a couple strokes. Holding off, maybe, like he's actually waiting for an answer.

Frank croaks, "Fuck yeah," and thinks about stretching his arms out, giving Tommy a nice, big blank canvas to work with, but he can't get his deathgrip on Tommy's thighs to loosen. It'd probably be a good idea to look at Tommy's face at some point, too, make some genuine eye contact again so he knows Frank's serious about this shit (Gerard's all about the eye-contact; nobody's more fucking sincere than Gerard when he's staring you, unblinking, straight in the eye) but Frank can't stop staring at Tommy's hand on his cock. It's just, Tommy's dick is right there, right in front of Frank's face, flushed dark and so hard the skin's barely shifting when he jacks it, the head bare and wet and Tommy keeps twisting his wrist, thumbing the tiny scar beneath the ridge the exact same way Frank does. Frank's stomach clenches and his dick twitches, throbbing with his pulse. Sliding his hands down and around, he tries to pull Tommy closer by the backs of his thighs, moaning his fucking head off as Tommy shuffles up, bracing his hand beside Frank's head and hunching over, bumping his dick against Frank's neck, his jaw, his mouth when Frank chases after it.

Tommy shudders, his steady rhythm faltering then picking up again way too fast, like a needle jumping a groove, whole minutes skipped. He's gonna come. Right in Frank's face, he's gonna come, and Frank barely even knows what his dick tastes like.

"Fuck, fuck, hang on." Grabbing for Tommy's hips, Frank tries scooting up to get his mouth on Tommy's cock, then craning his neck ridiculously with his tongue stuck out trying for a lick when that doesn't work. He doesn't even fucking care what he looks like. He's got to at least fucking kiss Tommy's junk before the guy blows. "Seriously, I gotta-- I really fucking gotta--"

Tommy rasps, "Jesus," like it's torn out of him, sandpaper-dry, and after one last, hard tug, curls his hand securely around the base to hold his dick steady. He's practically vibrating in Frank's hold, so ready, right on the edge, and Frank gives a grateful moan, not even thinking about what he's going to do once he gets Tommy's dick in his mouth, just wanting it there, needing it in this gut-punch visceral way.

The sharp taste of salt explodes on Frank's tongue, then something weirdly mellow, thick, nothing really like the musky smell of sex hanging heavy in Gerard's room, but that's what it is. That's what sex tastes like. Squeezing his eyes shut, he drags a harsh breath in through his nose. Everything smells like Tommy. There's a hand tangled in his hair, not tugging but holding, and Frank thinks about how he'd do the same to Gerard, needing something to keep them both grounded, because yeah, maybe it's just somebody's dick in somebody's mouth, but it's close, intimate beyond the obvious, and it's a big fucking deal. It's Frank pressing his tongue hard against Tommy's slit, searching for more of that taste; it's Tommy above him, trembling, teeth clenched trying to hold on because Frank asked him to; it's Frank sucking hard, harder, fighting to keep his eyes open so he can see when Tommy loses it, feel the hot surge of blood against his lips and the warm spill of come in his mouth, bitter-sharp and unreal.

Tommy pulls away too soon, cussing worse than Gerard when Gerard's actually honestly pissed, like that time Frank was fucking around with the box cutter Gerard uses for collages and shadow boxes or what the fuck ever and almost lost a finger. Not really thinking it through, Frank keeps his mouth open, maybe hoping Tommy's getting ready to fuck it. Not, like, stuff it in, but just a little, just so Frank knows what it's like. So Frank's prepared, 'cause that's mostly but sorta not really what this is all about.

"Fuck you," Tommy grates, "fuck you, that is so fucking hot," hand flying over his dick, wet and slick-sounding. More come spills over Frank's chin, drips warm down over his throat, tickling. Frank shivers, digging his fingers into Tommy's sides. If he wasn't so laser-focused on what Tommy's doing, fucking coming on his face, he's pretty sure he'd be losing it right along with him.

Then Tommy's voice cuts out entirely. He slumps down on one elbow, his mouth slack and open, hot, panting breaths stirring Frank's sweaty hair. His hand, still curled loosely around his dick and trapped between them, twitches weakly, and he mumbles something that doesn't really sound like any language Frank's ever heard.

"Dude," Frank says, voice totally shot. His heart's pounding and his dick's throbbing, but it's like he's in shock, everything muffled in a cottony haze. "What?"

"Jerk off on me," Tommy repeats, scooting clumsily back, shoving harder at his jeans stuck halfway down his thighs. His ass bumps into Frank's dick and Frank's bucks up, the brief brush of skin on skin more than enough to send his mind reeling. Tommy's spine arches, this deep, unbelievable curve as he tries settling down, his tight jeans still getting in the way. "S'fuckin' good enough, c'mon, do it."

Frank's about to say don't have to tell me twice except for how Tommy obviously does. It's not his fault this shit is too hot for his brain to handle. Before Adam moved in next door, the most action Frank ever got beyond some pretty memorable jerk-off sessions was literally in his dreams. But even his fevered, porn-fuelled imagination, and days and days and weeks of curling up next to Gerard, watching his hands and his mouth and crawling over him, learning the shape of his body in sneaky bits and pieces, couldn't come up with something like this. Not Tommy, with his too-pretty face and messy rockstar hair and soft, spunk-covered dick against Frank's belly. Definitely not Tommy reaching back to press Frank's dick against his ass, shifting so it rides along the cleft, and Frank can feel what that looks like, soft, delicate skin slicked with Tommy's sweat, his precome, Tommy's fingers slim and pale next to his blood-thick cock.

"Yeah," Tommy says, bent double, his mouth smearing kisses and come over Frank's, "yeah, like that, like-- like you're gonna fuck me, put it in me and make me ride it," and Frank doesn't know if Tommy's running his mouth, 'cause he's so that kinda guy, or if it's something him and Adam actually fucking do, like, fuck, for real, Adam's dick up Tommy's ass. Frank imagines it, Tommy pinned beneath Adam, shaking and moaning; pictures Gerard underneath him like that, clawing at his back, him under Gerard, Gerard's tangled hair hanging in his face and Gerard's thighs under his, body wedged between his legs, holding him open for it. Gerard staring down at him the same as Tommy, dazed and gorgeous and turned on because of him.

Stupidly, Frank tries grunting a warning, like Tommy isn't up there waiting for Frank to jizz all over him. It comes out as this wheezy groan seconds late; he's arched up off the cluttered, messy floor, Tommy's shirt all twisted up in his fists, Frank's balls drawn up so tight he can feel the pulse start right in the pit of his stomach and push up through them and out through his dick. His eyes are open but he's not really seeing anything, same as his mouth is hanging wide but he's not breathing. Everything's stuck on the loose curl of Tommy's hand holding his dick in place, on the slippery-wet slide of come over bare skin, on Tommy breathlessly telling him to keep going, keep fucking, make sure it's all over them.

"You are so fuckin' dirty," Frank gasps, pawing at Tommy's face, "fucking crazy." He tastes salt on Tommy's lips, the bitter tang of come. Then pure, wet heat as Tommy shoves into his mouth, weirdly blank until Frank figures out it's because there's nothing but spit left, that Tommy's sucked the taste of himself off Frank's tongue, swallowed every last bit of it down. He moans, open-mouthed and ragged and really fucking loud, and Tommy gives him one right back, both hands fisted in his hair holding him down like there's actually a sliver of a chance he wants to be anywhere than right where he is.

Which makes Tommy the first to pull back, and means Frank tries to follow him up, wincing when his hair gets yanked. "Just, hang on," Tommy says, breathing hard. His eyes are dark. Like, really fucking dark, midnight black. "That was good, right? Like, when you said you wanted to, yesterday, on his face? Like that."

Frank's known Tommy for two days. Two days, and it feels like yesterday was last fucking year. It's not that he's used to a half-naked dude sitting on him. So fucking far from it. But where Gerard makes Frank nervous and excited and fumbly and fucking stupid, Tommy makes him think maybe he could do this shit. Like, maybe he's hot like Gerard's hot--or not exactly, because Gerard's kinda borderline goth hot and Frank's more like a punk kid on speed--but like, hot. Sexy. Somebody you wanna get naked with and roll around on top of and like, get all up in his business.

Tommy's totally looking at him like he's worth sexing up more than a time or two. And that's right around when it clicks in his brain that he's seen Gerard fucking looking at him that way. Not so blatant as Tommy, 'cause Tommy's subtle like a brick to the head, but it's totally the same thing.

"Holy motherfucking Christ," Frank says.

Tommy grins. Tommy gets it. No words, but Tommy's there. Leaving one hand touching Frank's arm, doing that grounding thing again, he stretches all the way out to fumble at Gee's blankets, dislodging the bottle of booze jammed between the mattress and the wall. It clunks to the floor. Tommy grunts, annoyed. "Fucking disaster area," he says, and wriggles away to fish it out, bare ass stuck up in the air like he seriously doesn't give a shit. Frank can't help but touch. Those streaks of wet on Tommy's skin, glistening in the light, that's his come.

Tommy glances back, still grinning, knowing what Frank's up to and fucking liking it, then says, "Ha, fucker," and emerges triumphantly with Gerard's half-empty forty of bourbon. He twits off the cap with a smart flick and helps himself to a healthy swig. Maybe he should look dumb like that, sitting back on his heels with his jeans down around his ankles, his soft cock a little plump and bunched up slightly on his thigh, but mostly, he's gorgeous.

Reaching for his side, Frank says. "C'mere, okay?"

"Yeah?" Tommy asks, not really a question when he's already shuffling awkwardly over. He puts the bottle in Frank's other hand and scoots down, hooking his knee over Frank's thigh, curling close to Frank's side, cheek pillowed on Frank's shoulder. He doesn't seem to care that he's getting tacky spunk in his hair. "You wanna cuddle?"

"Shut up," Frank says, and squeezes him in even tighter. It's an adventure trying to drink lying down. Good thing Frank's an adventurous guy. If he wasn't, there's no way he'd know what it's like to have another guy's junk pressed against him, hard and hot and thrilling and now really fucking intimate gone soft and sticky, crowded up with Tommy's balls loose and heavy. He shifts a bit, really getting a feel for it, and Tommy laughs, snuggling closer, letting Frank do it.

"Gonna have to check on him eventually," Tommy says, but not like he plans on letting Frank up any time soon. "Adam's probably trying to convince him to curl his hair or something."

"Gee put it up in pigtails once," Frank says.

There's a beat before Tommy shifts to peer at him with actually getting up. "No way."

"Yeah." Frank goes for an aborted hit off the bottle and wrinkles his nose, giggling. "I did it for him. He kept getting paint in his hair."

"Awesome," Tommy says, in that way where he means it really is. Like playing with a dude's hair is totally normal. Like none of this, Tommy's boyfriend upstairs with the guy Frank desperately wants to get with in all fucking ways, while they're down here cuddling half fucking naked, isn't something you wouldn't just do.

Tommy takes the bottle back for a few swallows, idly shifting his leg against Frank's, rough and soft all at once. Frank can't do anything for a long minute except stare at his mouth. Tommy lets him do that, too. Tommy likes it.

"We should get him to draw a tattoo on you," Frank says when Tommy passes the bottle back. "In like, Sharpie. Test drive."

"Think he would?" Tommy asks, mellow like he doesn't care either way, but Frank can so see through that shit now.

Frank thinks about Gerard's face when they told him Tommy and Adam were together, for real together, the surprise and longing and weird pride in his eyes. "Yeah," Frank says. "Yeah, he'd be fucking happy to."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Shadow Play - Adam/Tommy

2011-09-21T01:57:28Z

Written way too quickly as a porny timestamp to Stranger Things Never Changed My Mind for rivers_bend. Unf, unf, monsters.

Shadow Play
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. AU. Xeno. NC-17. ~2500 words. Timestamp to Stranger Things Never Changed My Mind.
There's a heaviness in Adam's limbs that makes this feel like a dream, heat-hazy and unreal. As unreal as the soft click of claws on tile. His eyes slip shut as he smiles. "I was wondering when you'd find me."

*

Shadow Play

At three in the morning, the only noise is the quiet hum of jets foaming the water. Adam tips his head back to watch shadows play on the ceiling soft and soothing, dappled with flashes of light from deep in the pool. There's a heaviness in his limbs that makes this feel like a dream, heat-hazy and unreal.

As unreal as the soft click of claws on tile. Adam's eyes slip shut as he smiles. "I was wondering when you'd find me."

"Not like it's hard," Tommy says, cool rasp of his voice sending a shiver rippling up Adam's spine. A chill like stepping from the sunlight into shade presses close as Tommy leans out over the water. "You're a fish."

Adam opens his eyes to find Tommy's wide and glowing brightly in the twilight. Claws hover tentatively above the water's surface, fingers outstretched as if Tommy's heating his hands over a fire. "Getting in?"

"It looks so warm," Tommy says, startling with a hiss as Adam reaches up out of the water to grasp his wrist. He shudders, a delighted noise slipping out of him as he drops deeper into his crouch to nuzzle at the back of Adam's hand.

Biting his lip to stifle a giggle, Adam yanks him down into the water.

A screech ricochets off the walls, ends in a gasp as Tommy's head goes under. He scrabbles at the walls of the hot tub, at Adam's arm, claws scoring skin as he twists fitfully against Adam's grip steadying him, cushioning him from the fall. He bursts to the surface gulping air, slight body buffeted by the jets, fighting against them until he realises they're the source of the heat. His elbow grazes Adam's thigh as he sinks back down, his moan echoing off the tiles almost as loud as his scream had.

"S'fighting dirty," he says, tilting his head back against Adam's arm, spiderweb hair clinging wetly to skin. Sitting sideways on the seat, he sinks down even deeper, water lapping at his chin, his eyes tiny slits of bliss.

Adam hooks an arm around his waist to haul him closer, slick bare skin warmed by the water sliding over his thighs. "If you weren't napping, I'd have invited you along."

"Napping is awesome," Tommy confides, his eyes finally slipping shut. Despite how often he drifts off, sleep is one of those things Tommy doesn't need. Food is another one, and something he doesn't touch. Oxygen appears to be the only thing that keeps him alive. Oxygen, and sometimes it seems, Adam's touch. "This is better."

Making sure his grip is solid, Adam scoots about a dozen inches to the left, dragging Tommy directly into the path of the jet that had been happily pounding the knots out of his back. Tommy jolts upright with a panicked shrill, flailing for a grip on the edge of the tub. "Easy," Adam says, reaching for the controls to dial it down to a softer churn.

In the middle of hauling himself up out of the water, Tommy goes still. With another happy shiver, he settles back down, half on his side, half in Adam's lap. "Holy shit," he says, claws digging into the concrete between Adam's legs as he rocks up, the jet bubbling where it hits his back, then his ass. "Holy shit."

The pool is closed. The angle of the hot tub to the row of glass separating the pool room from the rest of the hotel means someone's got to be looking hard in their direction to see them. The hotel staff won't intrude until he lets them know he's done. But this isn't private. There's no good reason for Adam to let his hand slide down Tommy's smooth back to cup between his legs, press hard with his fingers. No good reason not to, either, especially with the way Tommy's eyes flash wide, his body going so loose Adam has to grab at him to keep him from slipping under. "Better?" Adam asks, grinning at the answer written clearly on Tommy's face.

With a soft rasp, Tommy twists around to seize the edge of the tub and struggle up to his knees, the jet on his belly, lower. Spreading his legs as wide as he can, he slings his arms over the ledge and arches his back to invite Adam's fingertips sliding up the inside of his thigh to rub between the cheeks of his ass. Tommy's gotten pretty fixated these last few days with Adam touching him there, riding him, even more than he seems to want Adam's cock in his face. As much as Adam loves giving Tommy what he wants, Adam can't help feeling between his legs instead, Tommy's skin slippery wet and smoother than polished marble but so warm, giving softly beneath gentle pressure. Claws scratch at tile as Tommy pushes forward searching for something firmer to rub against, and heart thudding hard against his ribs, Adam flattens his hand out, gives Tommy his palm to ride.

"So fucking good," Tommy says, water streaking his skin glistening black, so different from dull, light-stealing matte. Cupping one hand in the water, Adam lifts it to stream down Tommy's back, rubs it in until skin stutters dry. Shifting up on his knees to do it again, and again, Adam doesn't notice Tommy reaching back until claws snag in his shorts.

"Tommy," Adam warns, a wary glance flicked to the bank of windows.

"No one's there to see, c'mon," Tommy says, tugging harder, soaked nylon slipping halfway down Adam's hip. "Rub off on me, it'll be so fucking good."

Catching Tommy's wrist, Adam pins it to the tile floor. Tommy's groan builds low in his chest, reverberating through Adam's before it spills free, rough and ragged, as Adam shifts behind him, presses in chest to back to trap him against the jet. A hard buck from Tommy nearly shoves Adam off the seat, Adam scrabbling for a handhold to stay close, push Tommy back firmly against the stream.

"Oh shit," Tommy hisses, twisting away from it, his shoulders heaving, "shit, Adam, I want-"

Grinding against Tommy's ass, Adam says, "I want to fuck you so bad," shocking himself. Tommy groans, pushing back harder, not realising what Adam wishes he didn't mean. Everything Tommy's given him is amazing. Tommy is amazing. Wanting to change that, even for a second, for something he thinks he wants, makes his insides go cold.

Letting Tommy go, Adam rocks off the seat, shoves his shorts down past his knees. Before confusion has a chance to ruin the lust-dazed glow in Tommy's eyes, Adam hauls him straight into his lap. "Fuck yeah," Tommy says, wriggling around to get up on his knees again, scoot in close to catch Adam's naked dick between their bellies, and noses at Adam's neck, breathing deep. "Knew you would. Fuck, you smell so good, so fucking good."

Adam can't smell anything but water and chlorine. His hands slide from Tommy's waist to hips, stomach jerking as Tommy rocks against him, his dick slip-sliding over slick, wet skin. Splaying a hand in the small of Tommy's back, Adam tries to haul him in even tighter. There's nothing in the world that feels the same as Tommy soaking wet. Soft and firm, warmed by the water, his skin's perfectly, impossibly smooth, completely frictionless as Adam grinds against him. And as heart-stoppingly good all the times Tommy's crawled into a shower with him were, they were nothing like this.

"Told you," Tommy says, and nips sharply at Adam's jaw. His arms stretch out, slipping over Adam's shoulders. There's a crunch-grate of tile and grout giving way beneath his claws as they dig in, anchoring him. "C'mon, do it harder, really fuck me."

Adam's breath stays caught in the clench of his throat as his palms skid down, fingers curving into the crack of Tommy's ass, tips pressed firmly against smooth skin. He digs in harder, nails catching flesh; he wants to break it, find out of Tommy is the same shocking pink of his tongue on the inside, if Tommy even has an inside that's more than black, smoky wisps. Tommy is solid and real in his hands right now, strange bony angles and the supple give of muscle, but Adam wants to know more, know everything, needs to discover if there's a heart and lungs behind the cage of Tommy's ribs.

"Shit," Tommy hisses, breath cool on Adam's throat. He rolls his head to the side, forehead on Adam's shoulder, to bare the side of his neck, and gets as far as, "C'mon, do it," before Adam bites down on the long stretch of wet skin, bites down hard and harder searching for tendons, ligaments, something other than muscles and bones that always feel slightly wrong shifting beneath his hands.

Tile shatters as Tommy rises up, pushes into the blunt edges of Adam's teeth. Adam's hold on Tommy's ass slips, nails scratching, clawing, but not breaking skin. Caught up in Tommy's moans echoing off the walls, the way he shivers and shakes, Adam isn't thinking when he clamps down viciously on Tommy's neck, flesh mounded between his teeth, skin straining and still not giving way. He digs in harder, tries to carve his way into Tommy's body as if he's the one with fangs and claws, and Tommy writhes for him, sucks in sharp, rasping breaths, but won't--can't--let him inside.

Tearing away, Adam snarls, "Fuck," into Tommy's shoulder, breathing so fast his chest aches.

"Don't stop," Tommy groans, arching against him, "don't fucking stop, I need-"

When Tommy breaks off, Adam says, "What, tell me," clutching at him, his waist so slim, body slender and delicate and yielding in Adam's grip, but so strong, able to take anything, everything Adam wants, and always holding back. "Whatever it is, I don't care, you can have it."

But Tommy's done talking, words dissolving into soft growls as he claws at the tile, water sloshing over the edge turning flakes and dust to paste. The steady, deliberate rock of his hips breaks down to a stuttering mess like he's close, almost there, and Adam freezes, stunned. Tommy's gotten worked up before, peaked and calmed again, but not like this. Never like Adam could really make him come.

The dig of razor-point teeth into Adam's shoulder shocks a thin noise out of him. It sparks an answering hiss, the cool swipe of Tommy's tongue over the sudden throb of heat. Tommy bit him. Actually fucking bit into him, and won't stop moaning as he sniffs at the shallow wound, nuzzles at it, licks up the small bit of blood that seeps to the surface before it can trickle into the water. Sucking on the bite so hard it aches, Tommy shudders and goes still. Head swimming and vision blurry, Adam rubs his thumb over the bob of Tommy's throat as he swallows greedily, tongue working lazily at broken skin.

"Fuck," Tommy says, and pulls away, his mouth glistening wetly in the dim light. Scrubbing his mouth clean, he sniffs at his palm, licks it, rubs it over his belly like he's smearing himself with Adam's scent. The backs of his claws bump into Adam's cock on the way down, and he grins, flips his hand over to pin it carefully to Adam's belly. Hard, unforgiving claws and the scratch of Adam's own body hair after all Tommy's slippery smoothness is like the jolt of cold going from hot tub to pool, razing Adam's nerves, prickling his skin. His head falls back as he grinds into Tommy's hand, steam rising from his arms as he lifts them from the water, wraps them securely around Tommy's back.

"Better this way," Tommy says, voice dropped to a quiet growl, clawtips scoring delicate skin when he drags his hand free and curls it back over the tiled lip. He licks at Adam's mouth, tasting faintly of water, of chemicals and blood. "Feels good, right? You like it."

Adam says, "I love it," trying to pull Tommy impossibly closer. There's nothing but miles and miles of slick skin against his dick, all over him with Tommy curled in so tightly. He tries to keep it slower to kiss Tommy's tiny, deadly mouth, tongue tracing the points of his teeth, the lush give of his lips, dip between to taste the strange, chill blankness inside him. With so much heat billowing around them, Tommy's even cooler than usual, another shock to Adam's battered system.

"You're always gonna keep me," Tommy says, arms looped around Adam's neck, claws curled gently in the hair at his nape. "Gonna touch me, get off on me, take me everywhere, always gonna have me."

All Adam can hear is Tommy's sweet rasp, the grate of claws on tile, water sloshing everywhere, and his heart pounding so hard he's sure Tommy can hear it too. His hands fall into the water desperately grasping at Tommy's thighs as he arches up, all the heat building inside him coiling sharply down, centred for one bright, brilliant second before it shatters. The moan that bursts out of him gets choked off by Tommy's hands skidding down his chest, fingers interlacing around his dick as he comes, claws held at a careful distance lightly scratching at his stomach.

Panting hard, Adam stares into the foamy water trying to see Tommy's claws on his dick. All he can do is feel them still, thick and smooth as Tommy strokes them across his stomach, under his cock to graze his balls, sly smile curving his lips the entire time. Slumping back, Adam squeezes his eyes shut, the swirling jets soft counterpoint to the sharp tips of Tommy's claws trailing along the insides of his bare thighs.

"Oh," Adam says, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "Oh, shit. In the hot tub."

Lip caught between his teeth, Tommy rasps a quiet, happy noise, and strokes his claws back up over Adam's hips. "No more showers," he says. "Baths all the time."

"We can't take baths all the time," Adam says, hoping his legs start working again soon. He's not sure how he's going to explain to the very nice concierge that the hot tub needs to be drained. Or about the shattered tile. He's never trashed a hotel room in his entire career. Left several in a bit of a mess, but nothing that couldn't be easily cleaned, ruffled feathers smoothed by a nice letter and a sizeable tip.

"Most of the time," Tommy says with a nip to Adam's throat, and a huff when Adam gives him a lazy swat beneath the water. He arches his back in a sleepy stretch, then shifts around so he's sitting sideways in Adam's lap, swaying slightly with the churning water. "Next time you should bend me over and ride me."

"God," Adam says, body going lax in defeat. "If I have to."

Tommy says, "Good," and happily reaches down to cup Adam's softened cock in one clawed hand. "I can wait ten minutes."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

THIS PHOTO, AUGH.

2011-09-20T17:53:03Z

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS PHOTO.

Like, Gerard, all, peep peep here I am! And Frank in his ridiculous DAD outfit with his happy face of PURE EVIL, THAT IS THE FACE OF EVIL, and Ray all, it's cool, I'll hold him down so you can snap a photo :) and Mikeyway WHO LIVES IN THAT SHIRT, until as rivers_bend said, he's wrestled out of it and into his Art is the Weapon shirt while that one is seekritly washed, and AUGH, AUGH, BAND. ♥

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Push My Button, Going Down - Adam/Tommy

2011-08-08T15:52:05Z

From one filthy pervert to another. ♥ (Tommy, this is what happens when you post pictures of yourself taking a leak on the internet.)

Push My Button, Going Down
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~5200 words. Desperation play and intimacy kink.
It's a special kind of sleaze who gets off on something like their friend being a squirmy little shit who won't just go to the fucking bathroom already.

*

Push My Button, Going Down

For the past fifteen minutes, Adam hasn't been watching the movie. The hotel room's dark, lit only by the flickering television. Cam, her silhouette slender at the foot of the bed, picked out the DVD, so he's sure he'd enjoy it if only he could pay attention. He has vague impressions of a gritty, wet city, a confused protagonist that might actually be the antagonist, but that's it. With Tommy curled up against his side, wriggling fitfully but eyes glued to the television, he's lucky he got that much.

Tommy bites his lip, hips shifting hard enough to rock the mattress, then he settles down again, back to tiny little hitches he probably thinks no one else will notice. It should be really easy for Adam to unwrap his arm from Tommy's waist and give him a nudge towards the bathroom. Instead, Adam's staring hard at nothing at all, his focus razor-sharp on the soft scrape of Tommy's jeans against the duvet, the blatantly sexual way Tommy's breath catches, holds, then puffs free in a barely-there grunt.

When Cam rolls to the side and grabs up the remote, pointing it at the screen, Adam has to bite his tongue to keep from telling her not to pause it. "Go," she says, "before you piss yourself."

"Aw, shit," Tommy grunts, and catapults off the bed, slapping on the bathroom light. "I could've held it!"

Twisting around, Cam gives Adam a look. Adam dredges up one of his own, hoping it's enough to communicate silent commiseration over Tommy's pea-sized bladder and stubborn refusal to empty it every half hour. Anything to keep his gaze from wandering to the bathroom where Tommy's pissing with the door wide open. The splash of urine hitting water is unfairly loud.

"Wash your hands!" Cam calls, a grin her voice.

"Fuck off," Tommy says, laughing, and Adam looks up in time to catch him shaking off and tucking away. Drawing a knee up to hide the party gearing up in his pants, Adam shifts a bit, trying not to bring too much attention to the fact that he's really enjoying himself in ways nobody needs to know about. If Tommy catches him with a boner, it wouldn't exactly be a big deal after having to deal with it on stage night after night. But it seems rude while Cam's in the room. Not that Cam would care, either. It's the principle of the thing.

"Pee now if you need to," Cam warns, settling back on her stomach as Tommy wanders back to the bed, thumping down and scooting back in under Adam's arm. "I'm not pausing it again."

"Tyrant." Adam's not sure, but he thinks they're only about forty-five minutes in. With three beers left out of the six Tommy brought with him, it's guaranteed Tommy's going to have to pee again before the movie's over.

"Scheduled intermissions only," Cam says, and hits play.

"Whatever," Tommy says lightly, reaching for his beer, "I can hold it."

*

True to his word, Tommy does hold it. All through the movie, then through an enthusiastic discussion that Adam does his best to participate in, and through Cam lazily gathering up her smattering of things, phone and hat and sunglasses, to wander back to her own room. He doesn't even wiggle when she gives him a long hug goodnight.

"Back on the bus tomorrow," Tommy says with a smile. For an introverted little hermit, Tommy is incredibly fond of the bus. It helps that the European leg of the tour is not as crowded as the North American, and it isn't nearly so long between hotel nights. The bus is more like a glorified taxi cab than anything, a beverage service from point A to point B. Obviously something that provides booze is a-okay in Tommy's book.

"Think you can find your way back to your own room?" Adam asks, drawing Tommy in for his own goodnight hug, free to enjoy how tiny Tommy is in his arms, warm, soft skin over a lean layer of muscle over sharp-edged bones. But there are softer places, like the slight bump of Tommy's belly and the spot directly above his kidneys where Adam's hands always settle since Tommy tends to be an overhand hugger, arms slung around necks and shoulders so he can cuddle in tight.

"Shut up," Tommy says, muffled in Adam's shoulders. "C'mon, you call this a hug?"

"You shut up," Adam says, laughing as they squeeze the mutual crap out of one another. Tommy shifts from foot to foot but doesn't ease up. It's not as easy for him to hold it when he's forced into stillness. Adam knows things like that, and knows that it doesn't matter if Tommy's seconds from bursting, he still won't be the first to pull away.

Adam also knows knowing these things means he's kind of a creep. At least he doesn't let his hand skim over Tommy's tiny, overfull belly as they finally separate. There's being a creep inside your own head, and then there's rubbing your best friend's face in it.

"Shit," Tommy says, quickly zipping up his hoodie in preparation for trip through the freezing arctic that's every hallway in every hotel the world over. "Now I gotta take a fucking leak again."

"Bathroom's right here, baby," Adam says.

"Nah, whatever." Tommy tucks both hands into his pockets. "Gonna grab a shower before I turn in, might as well do it there."

"God," Adam huffs, thankful it comes out in exactly the same strained sort of tone he'd use for when Tommy's being gross. Tommy standing underneath the clear spray of water, letting go because he simply doesn't care, is kind of gross. Unfortunately, in Adam's twisted head, it's the same kind of gross as sucking someone's dick or fucking them in the ass. The kind Adam can really, really get behind. "Go before you pee all over my carpet."

"Fuck you," Tommy says, and butts his shoulder against Adam's chest, demanding another squeeze. "M'not five, not gonna piss my pants."

"Out," Adam demands, giving Tommy a shove toward the door before he gives in and presses his hand firmly against Tommy's little belly to feel the fullness there, rocking his palm against it to make Tommy gasp and squirm. "I'll see you at breakfast."

"Okay, okay. See if I ever hug you again." Hauling open the door, Tommy gives his cock a quick squeeze, furtive like he doesn't think Adam'll notice. He's really got to go, bad, if he's resorting to that tactic. Usually it takes hours for him to get there. But then, he did have almost an entire six-pack to himself. And the water Adam kept pushing on him between drinks.

"You love me," Adam says, and crowds in close behind Tommy so Tommy's forced out into the hall. "But if you widdle on the carpet, I'm not paying for it."

"Widdle on your face!" Tommy shouts, booking it down the hall.

Pointedly closing the door, Adam turns around and sags against it. In the quiet darkness, alone, he palms his dick, groaning at how good it feels. He's got to stop doing this. It's a special kind of sleaze who gets off on something like their friend being a squirmy little shit who won't just go to the fucking bathroom already. Adam's not that kinky, and the few he's got, he's made peace with. But this thing Tommy does, it's not bedroom games. It's just a weird quirk Tommy has, like eating one side of an Oreo cookie, then scraping all the icing off with his teeth, then finally eating the other side. Adam is just the pervert who gets off on it and he doesn't even the decency to be honest about it.

If he were really sorry, though, he wouldn't stumble over to drop down on the bed and haul his dick out, remembering every hitch of Tommy's hips, all the small noises Tommy made, as he jerks off as fast as he can. He comes so hard his vision whites out, and it's so good, amazing, for all of thirty seconds. Then he's left there, panting and staring up at the blank ceiling, wondering how the fuck it got this bad.

*

Of course he doesn't stop. Because Tommy doesn't stop. During the band's break at one of the UK shows, close to the end of the tour--Adam can't even remember where they're supposed to be tomorrow, let alone where they are now, but that's why he has Lane--Tommy dumps his bass and takes off stage left like his ass is on fire. Adam's delayed a few seconds as Cam starts the lead-in, staring after Tommy instead of getting to his mark. Tommy's been doing really well for this leg of the tour. He's gotten the sniffles a few times, and a nasty stomach thing two days outside Malaysia, but that's it. Nothing that would send him flying into the wings desperately sick.

Adam eyeballs the forest of drink cups on Tommy's amps. Not sick, then. Just Tommy.

All through the acoustic set, Adam's burning with shame, actually flushed dark with it, and stupidly glad he's got the bright stage lights as an excuse. These songs are his heart and all he's thinking about is how long Tommy had to go. Maybe the urge hit Tommy around Fever, far enough into the show that he'd think it's okay, no big deal, he could make it to break. He'd jammed his way through the dance segment, headbanging his ass off during Sleepwalker, but then halfway through, he'd probably realized it totally wasn't okay. All the jumping around wouldn't have done his bladder any favours, and his usual squirm-shuffle-squirm routine wouldn't cut it. On stage in the middle of a show, he wouldn't have any hands free to make that desperate grab for his cock like he does. Maybe he tried pushing against the bass instead, and oh, god, maybe he couldn't stop it anyway. Maybe he leaked a little. Just a tiny bit, enough to make him panic, taunt him with the sweet relief that would be letting go, and the second he ran off the stage he thought for sure he would lose it. It wouldn't matter that he could finally squeeze his dick; his belly would be too tight, the pressure too strong.

And then Adam realises he's staring out at the audience, not seeing them at all. His head's filled with the image of Tommy rushing through the backstage jungle, hand on his cock, cussing under his breath trying not to piss his pants.

The second the lights dim, Adam makes for their makeshift dressing room. He's so hard he aches. Popping wood isn't something he gets embarrassed about. It works with his image. This time, it's different. It's not the energy, the music, or his fucking breathing. He's so turned on thinking about Tommy fucking pissing himself he can barely walk.

Costume change is pure torture. He can't stop thinking about Tommy dashing in here, clawing at his clothes, the huge, breathless sigh when he finally gets his dick out and aimed and he can finally go. He wants so bad to jerk off to that image, the flutter of Tommy's eyelashes, the slack-faced relief, but he's got exactly five fucking minutes to get out of one costume and into another while Sutan flutters around him fixing his face and his hair and fuck.

For real, this has got to stop.

*

Guilt, Adam's learned, is an extremely powerful motivator. He feels horrible about what he's doing to Tommy, objectifying him, getting off on his discomfort (even if Tommy does it to himself every god damn time). But the depths of his conscience are a shallow, slippery thing, and Tommy won't stop fucking squirming. Guilt doesn't stand a chance in the face of his twisted sex drive.

They're somewhere miles and miles outside LA, hurtling along the freeway for the hell of it, both of them missing the endless rumble of rubber on asphalt and enjoying it a little more and a little less without the looming need to be somewhere. Adam's had two chances to pull over and let Tommy take a leak already. Every time the rest stop sign has sailed on by, the dark twist in Adam's stomach wound tighter. Tommy hasn't said a word. All Tommy's done is the same thing he's doing now: shift, pluck at his seatbelt, then stay still for a handful of seconds before he shifts again with a soft, distressed noise that burrows its way into Adam's brain, setting it on fucking fire. Then Tommy makes it again, hurt-sounding, like a gasp, like the noise a guy makes when he's been hard for fucking hours and all he wants is a hand on his dick already. But Tommy won't ask.

Another sign rises up on the horizon. Rest stop, ten miles. Adam jerks his gaze away from it, as if looking at it will make Tommy notice it too. His grip goes white-knuckled on the wheel. Tommy'll have to ask this time. He's barely even sitting still anymore, hips rocking fitfully, clenched fist shoved hard against his thigh close to his dick. Pretty soon Adam's the one who's going to have to pull over or fucking lose it in his jeans like a teenager.

Five miles. Adam flicks a glance Tommy's way. Tommy's got his eyes closed, head tipped back, mouth open on shallow puffs of air. There's no way he can hold on. He's not even trying to hide how desperately he needs to go anymore.

But he doesn't mention it. Maybe he never even saw the sign. Maybe Adam should fucking say something. What they fuck are they doing?

The turnoff is right there. Right there. Adam should take it. He needs to take it, or Tommy's going to fucking hurt himself. Then it's gone, a blip in the rearview mirror, unreal as a mirage.

"Oh fuck," Tommy rasps, way too late, as he grabs at the front of his jeans. He squeezes hard, rocking up into his grip, his other hand clutching at the door. "Fuck, I can't-" his voice cuts out on a shocked, panicked noise. A dark stain spreads slowly beneath his fingers.

Adam's dick jerks so hard it travels straight up through him to his grip on the wheel, the car swerving with a shudder. He rights it fast, his gaze jumping from the road to the wetness seeping into Tommy's jeans. There's not much. Tommy didn't lose it entirely, but enough. Enough for Adam to see. "Oh my god."

"I'm sorry," Tommy says, strained. He's rocking fitfully in the seat, like he's fucking his goddamn hand, and it's so hot, so fucking hot, Adam can't stand it. But Tommy's whining, muttering apologies, voice wrecked and face flushed. He's really going to lose it in a minute. "I'm so fucking sorry, you gotta- I can't, I'm gonna-"

For a minute, a second Adam thinks about not pulling over. About making Tommy piss himself right there in the car, the way his face would twist with shame and relief, the heady pleasure in it. How fucking hard it would be to not kiss Tommy while he did it, swallow down his sweet moans as piss soaked his jeans.

"Shit," Adam says, under his breath, then, "Hang on, okay?" Tommy gives a short nod, teeth digging into his lip. Flicking on the turn signal as warning, Adam slows, his heartbeat thundering in his head. There's nowhere to really go with traffic on one side, sparse but steady, and thick concrete blocks shoring up the freeway on the other. But it'll have to do. The car's enough cover.

Clawing at the seatbelt, Tommy shoves open the door. It hits concrete with a screech. "Fuck," he says, "Jesus, your car, fuck, I can't-"

Adam could seriously not care fucking less about the paint job. "Forget it," he says, twisting to see how much room Tommy's got. "Just go."

"Fuck, fuck, shit," Tommy says, scrabbling up in the seat, half on one knee with his other leg braced in the footwell as he tears at his fly. Grabbing onto the open door, he leans out a bit, swaying dangerously, and there isn't enough room for him to fucking fall but Adam's not thinking anymore as he twists a hand in the waist of Tommy's jeans, steadying him. Tommy lets out a shocked grunt but doesn't bark at him to let the fuck go.

Adam can't see a thing but oh my god, he wants to. The sound of Tommy pissing is really, stupidly loud, but not loud enough to drown out heavy, relieved groan that goes with it, or the way Tommy starts panting, still pissing, like he's run miles and miles to get here. It's all over way too soon.

"Fuck," Tommy says, collapsing back in an awkward heap. His dick's a soft, pale slump against his jeans, his hand curled loosely around the base. He's still breathing hard, his head bowed. Adam should really let go of his jeans. "Sorry about your car."

"I meant it, don't worry about it." Reluctantly, Adam untangles his fist from Tommy's clothes. Tommy makes a disgusted sound as he tucks himself away, but he doesn't try to drag his shirt down or cover his lap as he flops back in the seat. Not even when Adam stares at the stain like a total creep. "I should've-"

"Just in time," Tommy says, making Adam's gaze jerk up. Tommy's got his head tilted back against the headrest, a quiet smile on his face. He's still flushed, embarrassed, but like the relief is too much for it to really bother him and he's going to deal with it the same as he deals with all the crazy stuff that comes their way.

Swallowing hard, Adam puts the car back into gear.

*

"Shit," Adam says. The bathroom lights are too bright, harsh. Outside the flimsy door, dozens of his friends are drinking his booze, eating his food, enjoying his gorgeous new house in the breezy summer evening. The music's loud, their laughter louder, but all Adam can hear is the panicked thud of his heart as Tommy pushes him against the cold edge of the counter. Tommy's stronger than he looks, pushing up on his toes with his hands fisted in the front of Adam's shirt, pinning him. And he's hard. So fucking hard.

"Said you were gonna hold it for me," Tommy says, spreading his knees so he's straddling Adam's thigh. "Kinda dropping the ball here, man."

Trying to dig up an answer, or some fucking logic, because Adam's pretty sure Isaac joking about somebody needing to take Tommy to the bathroom isn't at all the same thing as Adam saying he's going to hold it for him, all that comes out of Adam's mouth is a strangled groan. He grabs at Tommy's hips, not even thinking about shoving him off. He should. He probably really should, but Tommy feels amazing in his arms, small and strong and soft and sharp in all the right places.

"Said you were gonna," Tommy repeats, mouth brushing Adam's jaw, his lips, almost-kisses. Adam would really like to be kissed right now, not fucking teased. Tommy's entire existence is the worst tease Adam's ever had to live through.

Before Adam can make a grab for him, Tommy backs off. Adam sways, stunned. His hand hovers stupidly in mid-air, like it doesn't understand how it isn't wrapped around Tommy's throat, either. Tommy was fucking rubbing off on him, there's no way he isn't going to follow through. Tommy's not that kind of tease.

"C'mon, c'mon," Tommy says, taking Adam by the wrist to haul him over to the toilet. "Gotta fucking- Christ, I gotta piss so bad."

Adam says, "Oh my god," stumbling against him. Tommy's got his legs spread again, tiny ass shoved snug to Adam's dick, Adam's hand shoved against the hard heat of his, as he reaches over his shoulder to grab up another fistful of Adam's shirt, locking them together. "Tommy, I don't-"

"You fucking do," Tommy grunts, rocking hard into Adam's palm. "Get me off so I can take a leak for you, let you watch me this time. I gotta go so bad, fucking do it."

Shaking off Tommy's hold, Adam wraps an arm tight around Tommy's waist. He seriously wishes he didn't have a clue what the fuck is going on here, but oh, fuck, he's been watching Tommy for months. And Tommy knew.

When Adam presses his palm hard against Tommy's belly, Tommy groans and slumps back, hips jerking forward. There's a slight fullness there, way down low, so easy for Adam to rock his hand against, make Tommy squirm in his grip. But Tommy's not trying to push him away, or shove his hand back down to his dick. He hangs in Adam's hold, panting and twisting and moaning like Adam's jerking him off instead of making everything worse, spiking the urge to piss until it's got to be burning through the pleasure.

"I'm gonna," Tommy gasps, and Adam's never gone for the blatant route with dirty talk like that, except this time it makes his stomach flip with anticipation, "I'm gonna come so hard, c'mon, get a hand on me, want you to feel it."

If Adam didn't, if he kept Tommy zipped up, trapped, Tommy would let him do it. Tommy would let Adam get him off, and then, caught up in the relief, Adam's so fucking sure Tommy would let go. Cupping Tommy's dick, Adam imagines it, the sharp pulses as Tommy came, the warm, wet flood that would follow, soaking Tommy's clothes, a filthy wet mess of come and piss and sweat. The bliss that would be on Tommy's face, orgasm-sweet tension melting away to pure base relief. Tommy would let him do it all.

But Tommy wants his hand, and more than the twisted, wicked desire to see Tommy ruined like that is the one to have hands on him while it happens. He wrenches Tommy's fly open with about as much finesse as a wrecking ball, shoving everything down in a tight bunch, Tommy's bare ass rubbing against Adam's jeans and Tommy's dick finally in his hands, thick and heavy and gorgeous. It's damp and slick at the head, more than just precome, like Tommy's been holding it again for so long that his shorts are wet with it. "Fuck," Adam says, punch-gut lust driving his hand down to search through Tommy's underwear, find the wet stain and close his fist tight around it.

"Please," Tommy says, his dick damp where it drags along Adam's forearm. "Been fucking waiting so fucking long, thought I was gonna have to fucking piss on you for you to get it, come on."

"Shut up," Adam says, mouth pressed close to Tommy's ear, "I'm savouring it." Which is a strange thing to say, and not at all what Adam had planned, or even considered admitting. The lights are too bright, everything too loud rattling off the tiles, gritty-harsh and so fucking perfectly real. Tommy smells like hairspray and booze and a little like pot and lot like warm, clean sweat. And sex, layered thick in the small downstairs bath. Like a guy, hard and wet, and that's what finally spurs Adam into making a move, curling his fingers tight around Tommy's dick. Tommy gives up a grateful moan and bucks into it, shuddering when Adam's other hand presses in on his belly. "Can you take it like this?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, trying to toss hair out of his eyes. It sticks to his lashes, the dark flush on his cheeks. "Yeah, fuck. Your fucking hands."

Staring down the length of Tommy's body, Adam makes sure to twist his wrist just right to have his fingers bumping over the head, his tattoos bright and clear caught in the light so they'll be caught just as brightly in Tommy's memory of this later. His hand heavy on Tommy's stomach, he drags the other down to tug on Tommy's balls, push them up snug against Tommy's dick, driving Tommy up on his toes with the pressure. He keeps it up until Tommy's rocking against him, practically riding his dick through his jeans. Tommy needs relief so bad he's shaking, leaking precome when Adam starts jerking him off again, then a tiny, hot trickle as the heel of Adam's hand rocks steadily against his belly, pushing the piss out of him. He's too hard, too close to coming, to be able to manage it for real, but there's something so incredibly good, a sweet-sharp bite, in fucking with Tommy like this, with his body, twisting him up inside.

"Hurt?" Adam asks, and sucks in a quick breath when Tommy nods, fast and jerky, biting on his lip so hard it's mottled white. Of course it fucking hurts, Tommy's so full, ready to burst, and he can't. "Gonna come for me?"

"Fuck, so fucking much," Tommy says, fingernails digging harsh red crescents into Adam's wrist. "Please, please, c'mon, I'm gonna, almost, fuck."

So turned on he can barely breathe, Adam keeps jerking Tommy through it, watching come slick his knuckles, catch on the edges of Tommy's jeans, streak across the toilet seat and hit the water. Then Tommy grunts, "I'm gonna," again, the last pulse barely faded, come still squeezing out of his dick when Adam strokes him, un-fucking-believable when piss starts to flow. Adam belatedly aims for the bowl, some splashing the seat but he doesn't care, it's easy to clean up, he's got Tommy's cock in his hand and Tommy is pissing, slumped against him, hot breaths puffing against Adam's throat. Tommy's fingers lace briefly with his, wrapped around Tommy's dick, then bump over his knuckles, up the shaft to rub around the glistening ridge and back down again. Adam can feel it through softening flesh when the stream starts to slow, turning to a long, endless trickle, then a few last drops that he watches cling to Tommy's slit before he gives them a shake free.

Nuzzling at his neck, Tommy says, "Shoulda got you to fuck me."

"Oh my fucking god." Adam squeezes his eyes shut. Tommy had been so full already, so desperate, Adam hadn't wanted to risk imagining pushing inside him, filling him up even more. But now Tommy's said it and everything Adam had been holding in check rushes to the forefront, how Tommy would squirm on his dick, pant and twist and make all those same, choked-off noises as when he's holding it but from having Adam inside him this time, too, his bladder bursting and his ass full and his dick hard in Adam's grip.

"Fuck, yeah," Tommy grates, fumbling awkwardly at Adam's fly without turning around. "Next time. Fuck me next time, fucking, like, fuck it outta me. Right here, like this, shove your dick in me and make me lose it."

When Tommy's hand touches bare skin, Adam's pretty sure he whimpers. There's no way Adam can take this. It's twisted and wrong and he wants it, fuck, he wants so much to be buried deep in Tommy while he's desperate, to feel him squirm and tighten up and fight it and lose, his whole body relaxing in relief only to tighten up all over again when Adam fucks him. "I wouldn't stop," Adam says, voice shaky as Tommy drags his dick out, thumbs the head. "I'd fuck you through it, before you were even done. I'd have to."

"Next time," Tommy promises, bracing a hand on the tank, Adam's dick sliding down to nestle between the cheeks of his ass. He's a little wobbly, so Adam cups his hips, breathes in fast through his nose. It's pure instinct that has him fucking up against Tommy's ass, heart tripping when Tommy shifts, gets him stuttering perfectly along the dry cleft. It doesn't take long for the mess leaking from his dick to slick the way, and by then Tommy's rocking with him, his hand over Adam's on his waist, the wet slap of skin filling the small space, Adam's head, forcing the air out of his lungs. He comes faster than he has since fucking puberty, barely long enough to memorise the slippery smoothness of Tommy's skin, the tight, clenching heat just out of reach, how Tommy groans for him like he's already pushed inside it. He stays hunched over Tommy's back, fingers digging bruises into pale skin, unable to breathe, move, fucking think as orgasm pulses through him, smears Tommy's ass glistening wet.

Tommy hisses, "Shit," slipping the second Adam's grip loosens, no strength left in either of them to keep him upright. He ends up straddling the toilet seat, knees splayed wide bumping against the tank, his shirt rucked up and his head resting against Adam's belly, hair catching on the spunk clinging to Adam's cock. Listing sideways, he turns around enough to nuzzle at Adam's hip, then Adam's fingers, giving them a lazy, curious lick.

"Stop," Adam moans, his thumb curling over Tommy's mouth not giving him a hell of a lot of credibility, "stop, you're going to kill me."

"S'what you get for waiting so long," Tommy says, tilting his head back to look up. "'Cause, seriously, you're not fucking stealthy, man."

"You didn't say anything!"

Tommy shrugs like it doesn't even matter. "It was fun. Like, flirting, extreme kink style." While he's still sitting on the toilet, he gives the plunger a push.

"Oh my god, get up," Adam says, hauling him off as the toilet flushes.

"In case you didn't notice," Tommy says easily, shuffling awkwardly back with his jeans around his knees and Adam's arms around his waist, "I kinda really get off on it. Like you do, with your fucking boners visible from space." His grin's half-hidden by the fall of his hair as he tips his head back onto Adam's shoulder. "You totally loved watching me squirm all the time. I didn't start out doing it for you, but hey, cool bonus."

Helplessly, Adam stares. Tommy's grin softens, turns to a shy, happy smile, and Adam laughs, a bright burst of sound startling in the weird quiet that set in. "That was the filthiest sex I've ever had, and look at you," Adam says. "You're just." A mess. Tommy is a complete mess, his face flushed, come smeared on his thighs, his back, all over his ass, probably some in his hair, too, and his shorts wet with piss and some splashed on his jeans, and he looks so sweetly delighted with it all, so hopeful.

"Pretty good, right?" Tommy says, resting a hand over Adam's arms looped around his waist. "Like, it's really fucking good."

"Amazing," Adam agrees, resting his cheek against Tommy's messy hair as Tommy relaxes into him. "Except for maybe the mess on your clothes. You I can clean up. Your clothes, those need a washing machine."

Glancing down, Tommy shrugs easily, but the glint in his eyes when he looks back up is wicked, as sharp as the slant of his smile. "Wouldn't be the first time I ended up going commando after using your washroom."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Off the Menu - Adam/Tommy

2011-08-03T19:35:16Z

I'M GOING TO DIE LIVING WITH MY PARENTS FOR THREE WEEKS. DIE. I am woebegone and dramatic. (Blame Gerard.)

Off the Menu
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~2600 words. Porny werefic coda to Skin This Cat.
It's only been a couple of weeks since Adam came snarling out of the were closet. Maybe in a few more, Tommy'll be completely used to looking down to find a snow leopard crashed in bed with him.

Maybe not.

*

Off the Menu

The clock on the bedside table says it's quarter past midnight. Adam's flaked out on the foot of the bed, dozing, tail curled over his face, while Tommy flicks through the hotel's on-demand. He keeps missing bits and pieces of whatever he occasionally lands on, his gaze sliding down to Adam and sticking there. It's only been a couple of weeks since Adam came snarling out of the were closet. Maybe in a few more, Tommy'll be completely used to looking down to find a snow leopard crashed in bed with him.

Maybe not.

Careful not to jostle the bed too much, Tommy grabs the container of leftover fried chicken from the minifridge along with a beer. A little over an hour ago, he totally had sex with a were. He's got the teeth marks on the back of his neck and the shape of Adam's nails-turned-claws dug into his hips to prove it. And it was really, really fucking good. Like pure rapture, an awe-inspiring type of good. Like he really wouldn't mind doing it again, if Adam would ever get up from his nap.

Stretching back out on the bed, propped up on a big mound of pillows, Tommy cracks open his beer for a quick swig before setting it on the nightstand. He'd eaten with Adam right after they cleaned up, but apparently being hunted down and fucked stupid works up a pretty good appetite because he's starving all over again. Cold chicken and Weeds reruns isn't the worst way to kill time.

Keeping an eye on Adam's face, Tommy creeps his bare feet closer to long, dense fur. Closer, closer, Adam's ear twitching but his eyes staying shut, and there, perfect, he's got his toes tucked under Adam's belly and Adam barely snuffles. Soft and cosy and warm, better than a goose down blanket. The room's warm enough he's lounging around shirtless in a pair of old too-big jeans bummed off Adam, but his feet get cold easy. Pleased with the world, he grabs up his beer.

About halfway through the episode--and halfway through the chicken--Adam heaves a long, huffing sigh and licks his whiskers, huffs again as he tucks his chin back down on his paws. His tail thumps Tommy's ankles once, twice, and freezes.

Chewing very, very slowly, Tommy carefully sets his beer aside. One of Adam's eyes cracks open. Tommy swallows.

Head lifting, Adam scents the air. He turns to fix Tommy with that unnaturally bright, unblinking gaze, then rocks up onto his feet, bed shifting. When he yawns, he sprouts a forest of really fucking deadly-looking teeth.

"Hey," Tommy says, edging the chicken away. "Good nap?"

With a soft chuff, Adam pads up the bed, licking his whiskers again. He sniffs at Tommy's knee, then his hand, and lets out a loud, growling purr. Tommy's stomach tightens with nerves. He knows Adam's not going to eat him, but Adam is a fuck-off giant predator with claws and teeth and there's that primitive part of his brain that is scared shitless of being on the other end of them.

Wet and rough, Adam's tongue swipes over Tommy's palm, chasing after the chicken grease clinging to his fingers. Tommy puffs out a relieved laugh, flattening his fingers out so Adam can lick between them. When the grease is all gone, and the salt of Tommy's skin with it, Adam lets out a disappointed snuffle. He noses at Tommy's other hand, looking for more, but that one's still clean.

Groping for the container, Tommy tears off a chunk of leg, offering it up on the flat of his palm. Adam snatches it up delicately in his teeth, chomps it down in one go and comes back to lick up the bits of batter left behind, tongue rasping all the way down past Tommy's wrist halfway up his forearm. Grabbing up the whole chicken leg this time, Tommy goes to tear off another chunk--he's pretty sure all those small bones aren't a good idea for Adam to swallow whole--and drops the whole works when Adam noses in trying to nip it up before Tommy's ready.

"Dude, that one was all your fault," Tommy says, chasing after the leg since the chunk's already gone the way of the first. He swipes at the grease smeared on his chest with his other hand. "No bitching me out for dropping food in your bed."

Adam growls, low and dangerous, and shoves his face into Tommy's hand, licking at the grease again, following it down to where it's glistening on Tommy's skin, big wide, warm ticklish swipes. Laughing, Tommy tries to push him off but Adam growls again, catching Tommy's hand gently between razor-point teeth in warning.

"Oh come on," Tommy says, going still. "It's not like I ate it all. There's more."

Releasing Tommy's hand, Adam chuffs quietly, then goes right back to licking, taking an experimental swipe at Tommy's palm before giving that one up as a lost cause and heading back down for Tommy's belly. Tommy sucks in a sharp breath, because that? That is kinda fucked up. It tickles but it doesn't, fur and whiskers and rough, wet tongue dragging over his skin. Trying really hard not to think about why, he digs his fingers into the chicken leg, tosses it haphazardly back into the container, and smears his fingers close to Adam's face. Up over his chest to the hollow of his throat, and Adam follows the whole way, rough, grating noise echoing low in his throat, almost-purr. He scents Tommy's neck, nuzzling and backing off slightly when there's nothing more to lick up.

Fingers tightening in Adam's fur, Tommy quickly swipes his fingers over his chest again, grazing his nipples, and Adam's tongue follows, slow, perfect rasp. "Oh fuck," Tommy says, and seriously, what the fucking fuck is he doing here, not saying a damn thing to stop Adam as he heads back down, noses at Tommy's hipbones, his bellybutton, licks again still looking for more.

It's really, really easy for Tommy to dip his fingers in chicken grease again and smear it over his stomach. Way too fucking easy. Adam gives another half-chuff, half-growl, clearly fucking delighted, and licks once straight across Tommy's belly, long and slow like he doesn't give a flying fuck if it takes him from now to dawn to get to the other side. From there he goes on down, rumble in his throat as he scents more of Tommy through the smell of cooked chicken, and when he starts nosing at Tommy's crotch, snuffing and nuzzling and purring louder, Tommy's pretty sure the one thing he's not supposed to do is reach down and tug open his fly.

And holy fuck, Adam goes kinda crazy then. Licks right on in through it, grazing Tommy's half-hard dick, trying to stuff his face right in there to get at more skin. He paws at Tommy's thigh, claws hooking in denim to drag his jeans down, and they really are too fucking big, giving up the goods without so much as a stitch of resistance. Then he's kinda naked, and Adam's kind of giving him the start of a really fucking amazing blowjob because it's all fucking tongue rasping over his balls, up the shaft pinning his dick to his belly, and as tongues go, Adam's is pretty fucking strong. Like Adam could probably get him off sort of strong.

Now he's totally having sex with a were. He hiccups a laugh through a groan as Adam licks at the head of his cock, his knee jerking up. Okay, fuck, that's maybe too much. But Adam comes back, does it again, and it's a good kind of too much, rough and wet, and Tommy draws his other knee up, can't help rocking into it.

Adam's teeth, Adam's really big, really fucking sharp teeth, are right fucking there. He's staring straight down, eyes shocked wide, and every now and then, he catches a flash of pure, deadly white alongside the pink of Adam's tongue. He's gone off the deep end, certifiably fucking insane, crazy as all fuck. Who the fucking hell gets a hummer from a fucking shifted were?

The same kind of messed-up fuck that gets off on it so good he thinks maybe he's gonna pass out, that's who. Before he can even breathe again, fur's becoming hair in his hands, and Adam's nosing at his dick, saying, "Tommy, oh my god, can I fuck you, tell me I can fuck you, you smell so good."

Beyond words, Tommy croaks out some random noise. Either way, Adam gets the message loud and clear, scrambling up to his knees to yank Tommy's jeans the rest of the way off, haul Tommy straight up into his lap. Come-slick fingers smear Tommy's asshole wet, press in, push up.

"M'good," Tommy says, dazed still, "you can like, go for it."

"You didn't," Adam starts, shivering so hard it travels down through him and up through Tommy. He pushes his fingers in harder, curves them slightly on the way out, pressing against Tommy's rim. "You've still got my come in you."

"Oh, Jesus," Tommy says, face flaming red. Great, just fucking great. He's a-okay with Adam shifted and licking him to orgasm, but one mention of leaving Adam's jizz where he shot it makes him want to squirm out of his skin. Awesome. "What did you figure I was gonna do?"

"Clean it out," Adam says, mostly a groan as he fucks his fingers back in again, dragging in huge, deep breaths like he can actually smell his scent on Tommy, buried deep inside. Bending almost double with Tommy hauled up haphazardly in his lap, Adam bites at Tommy's chest, tiny nips and sucks nothing at all like what he'd done as a leopard. "You're perfect, fucking gorgeous, perfect mate. God, I want you so much."

"I'm right-- Christ, I'm right fucking here." Caught up in Adam's need, the way it pours off him, sluices down Tommy's body like something he could rub into skin, Tommy's not thinking clearly. Not thinking at all. He gropes between his spread legs for Adam's cock, finds it slippery-wet with precome, and somewhere along the way his brain translates that into absolutely slick enough. Fitting the head to his asshole, he breathes out, pushes it in. The second his body opens up for it, Adam takes over, slow steady push that curls Tommy's toes and shreds his breath to ribbons, and fuck, just fuck, what the fuck is his life that he's suddenly on his back twice a night taking it up the ass from his fucking boss, who is a motherfucking were, and it's all so good he wouldn't give a shit if his heart gave out right then and there.

Except he would, because then he'd miss the moment Adam's bottoms out and the gritty-slick drag becomes a sweet, full ache. He finally manages to fit a scrap of air back in his lungs, blinking his eyes back into focus to find Adam staring down at him, rapt and fucking glowing as he grinds down, gets used to having something so big up inside him again so soon.

"Sore?" Adam asks, restlessly smoothing his hands down Tommy's splayed thighs, over his hips and belly and skirting his cock resting soft but thick near the crook of his thigh.

"Little bit." Clenching down to test it out, he eases up again pretty fast. "Think you can do me all sweet and easy?"

Biting at the inside of his lip, Adam nods. He rises up on his knees, carefully pushing Tommy's down close to his chest, weight balanced on the palms of his hands as he slides a few impossible inches deeper. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut on a groan as Adam's hips roll, barely much of anything at all but it feels good, so fucking good, that Tommy clutches at Adam's back. "Yeah?" Adam says.

"Oh fuck, yeah," Tommy agrees. When Adam's hips roll again, he lets his body go loose, hand sliding down Adam's chest to press against his belly, his legs sliding down a fraction too, caught on the crooks of Adam's elbows. The soft roll slowly turns to tiny, easy fucks, easier again when Adam ducks his head to add some more spit to the mix of old lube and fresh come. Low-grade pleasure buzzes beneath Tommy's skin, nothing urgent, just really, really awesome to bask in, and he rubs at the lighter trail of hair on Adam's belly, follows it down to where Adam's fucking into him, spreads his fingers wide to feel Adam's cock sliding on though.

Adam says, "God," thick and rough, muscles standing in sharp, beautiful relief as he fights the urge Tommy can feel thrumming through him, the need to fuck, to come.

"This gonna do it for you?" asks Tommy, feeling like he's drugged, blissed-out on nothing more than a couple of really good fucks.

"Close," Adam says, trembling as he noses at the crook of Tommy's neck, his long strokes not so smooth anymore. "Fuck, I want to come in you again. You just, you smell so fucking good. I want to feel it."

Swallowing hard, Tommy drags his arms up, loops them sloppily around Adam's neck. His breath catches in his throat twice before he gets out, "C'mon and do it if you wanna."

Adam groans like the sound's wrenched straight out of the pit of his stomach. Mid-thrust, he shoves harder, quicker to pull out and drive in again, and fuck if it doesn't hurt some, raw stinging burn spiking suddenly. As fast as it's there it's gone again, buried under hazy pleasure as Adam rolls his dick against his belly with the palm of one hand. It's good and better again when Adam fists it tight, constant steady pressure as Adam fucks him, bites at his throat, his mouth, fucks him harder and goes in all the way when orgasm hits.

Long before Tommy would've thought he'd be ready, Adam pulls out, cock thick enough still that Tommy really feels it the whole way. Shuffling back, Adam catches Tommy's legs before they hit the bed, shoving them roughly back up so Tommy's hips rock off the bed. Pressing his face to Tommy's thigh, he drags in one long, heavy breath after another, scenting Tommy again, wallowing in the smell of his come spilled inside Tommy like he needs it to live.

Not sure what to do except lie there and let Adam go for it, Tommy flings an arm across his eyes, blocking out the light. He can't block out what Adam's doing, though, or the picture he imagines he makes right now with his legs in the air and his asshole freshly fucked. Forget his face, the back of his neck, his chest, all of him is burning up.

Slowly letting him down, his ass on Adam's thighs again, Adam asks, "Would it be easier if I rolled you on your belly first?"

"Jesus," Tommy mutters. "Maybe."

"Tommy," Adam says, like he thinks Tommy's being silly.

"You're sniffing me," Tommy says. "I got off on you fucking licking me, and then you go and fuck me stupid, and then you gotta smell me after, like it doesn't already fucking reek of sex in here."

Sounding less sure, more worried, Adam says, "Tommy," again, but Tommy cuts right through that, saying, "I should be freaking out."

"This isn't you freaking out?"

"No," Tommy says, dropping his arm. "This is me saying it's really fucking hot, and I like it, like, a whole fucking lot, and that part's kinda freaking me out."

Slowly, a hand stroking up Tommy's side as Adam shifts over to settle down next to him, Adam says, "So you're freaking out that you're not freaking out."

Tommy wrinkles his nose. "Shut up."

"You're adorable," Adam says, pecking him on the cheek. "I'm going to keep you."

Sliding Adam a sideways glance, knowing the delighted, addictive smile he's going to find on Adam's face, the one that he put there, Tommy says, "Look at what the cat dragged in."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Stray Cat Strut - Adam/Tommy

2011-08-03T16:36:53Z

Some days, Adam looks like this

and it makes me write mobster AUs. Other days, Adam looks like this

and it makes me want to write Victorian steampunk AUs. But today, since Tommy so helpfully has this new ~obsession with Mad Men, it's mobster day. :D Originally posted on glam_kink, what, omg, I forgot to put it hereeeee.

Stray Cat Strut
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~2500 words. Mobster!AU.
That's some kind of divine comedic twist there, the dirty smudge of his fingerprints on Adam's soul, and St. Pete can go fuck his pearly gates, heaven is right fucking here in Adam's sweet vermouth mouth.

*

Stray Cat Strut

Finding Adam in the back room, still dressed to the nines in the snazzy suit he wore during his set, flushes Tommy's heart straight down the sewer. He looks good sitting there on the scuffed black couch, ankle on a knee, tumbler in one hand, ice clinking. Real good.

The gun in Tommy's hand burns like fresh-made sin. Jacket abandoned at the table, sleeves rolled up and holster naked against the white of his shirt, but nobody thought once about keeping him out of here. "This shit was easier when we weren't friends."

"We're friends?" Adam asks, eyebrows arched. "Sorry. I couldn't tell."

"Adam-"

"Oh, now we're using first names." Leaning forward, Adam sets the dregs of his drink down on the squat table. Like he's still on stage, his elbows settle on his knees, his fingers lace in front of his mouth. Things way down low in Tommy's belly tighten. "Do you get this close with everybody you shake down?"

"This ain't my call," Tommy says, anger flaring hotter than lust, and burning out again so much faster. He's fucking tired of this shit. "You took the loan. You knew the terms."

Adam smiles, a resigned quirk of lips half-hidden by his hands. "So now what? I can't pay. Are you gonna hurt me, Tommy Joe?" He spreads his arms, brings Tommy's gaze skipping up to the battered brick walls plastered with playbills, the photographs pinned beside them. "Burn my place down and collect the insurance?"

Worse than the thick rasp of disappointment in Adam's voice is his flinch when Tommy steps away from the door. Fear, plain and simple, like a stray cat kicked once too often. Fear for the hardware in Tommy's hand, his willingness to use it. Adam's seen him put a bullet in a man before.

"Not my money," Tommy repeats. "Not my call."

"Except you're the one who's here."

Striding across the room, gun a cold black glint, Tommy would relish the sharp twist of fear on Adam's face this time if it didn't make his stomach lurch and burn like somebody's shoved tar down his throat. "So fucking smart, huh, what's that tell you?" Adam jumps when he slams the gun down on the table. "What's that fucking tell you?"

Not glancing up from the gun, Adam asks, "Why'd you buy me that drink the other night?"

"Looked like you coulda used it."

Something in Tommy's words, or maybe his tone, makes Adam settle back into the cushions, drape his arm along the back of the couch. For a long, long time, too long, he watches Tommy silently, like he's waiting for the answer he wanted instead to come swimming up to the surface. "Is that why you kissed me, thought I could've used it?"

There's no answer there. Not one Adam wants to hear, or one Tommy wants to give. "They were gonna send Frankie," he says.

"I like Frankie," Adam says, not getting it at all.

"Jesus." Yanking off his hat, Tommy tosses it to the table on top of his gun, drags a hand back through his hair. Everybody loves Frankie, because the people who don't aren't people anymore. "You're so fucking naïve sometimes. This whole dream you're trying to build here is gonna go up in smoke."

When Adam says, "I've got more dreams," Tommy doesn't buy it. Adam's heart is right there on his fucking pinstripe sleeve, and this is his last chance. There's no more money. When the mob's through with him, no bank from here straight to California is gonna look at him twice. "I've got this one that won't leave me alone. Keeps showing up on my doorstep looking drop-dead gorgeous and really, really bad for me."

Swallowing down the bitter burn at the back of his throat, Tommy asks, pleads in a way he hasn't ever before, "I don't know what you want me to do."

That same sly quirk comes creeping in on Adam's face, that one that had started on his mouth when Tommy offered to kiss it for him, slipped straight into his eyes when he licked bourbon off Tommy's lips. "Putting down the gun was a good start."

"This ain't a joke. If it's not me, it's-"

"But it is you." Adam's smile widens as Tommy bites back a curse. "C'mere, Tommy Joe. Kiss away my dreams for me."

Tommy's moving before he's thinking, dropping onto the couch with his knees straddling Adam's thighs, his fingers sliding into Adam's hair, messing up its perfect glossy sheen. That's some kind of divine comedic twist there, the dirty smudge of his fingerprints on Adam's soul, and St. Pete can go fuck his pearly gates, heaven is right fucking here in Adam's sweet vermouth mouth.

"This is what I want you to do," Adam says, words a slither of breath between kisses, hands on Tommy's hips dragging him in closer. Beneath the lines of his suit, Adam's body is hard in all the right places, one place in particular that Tommy's hands gravitate toward, framing the shape of his dick going even thicker, hotter. Whatever else Adam wants, and tries to tell Tommy all about, is lost in a gasp as Tommy jerks him through the barrier of his pants, fumbling at the zip to get them open at the same time.

Maybe it was, "Easy, Tommy Joe, easy," since that's what Adam's saying now, but fuck easy. Nothing about any of this is easy. From the first night Tommy set eyes on Adam's smile, he knew this was going to be the fucking hardest thing he's ever done in a life filled with things that should've been hard, would've made a better man flinch. When he finally gets Adam's cock out, though, curved right there long and heavy in his palm, he hesitates. It's a fucking dick and he wants to kiss it, taste it like he's tasted Adam's mouth, lick it wet so it slips into his hands as easy as all the other sins he's already claimed as his own.

Adam's curses echo sharp and shocking over Tommy's head as he sinks down to the floor between wide-spread legs. That gets him closer to what he wants, but not so much what he wants to do. Anybody ever finds out he came in here and stuck Adam's dick in his mouth instead of putting the fear of a god Tommy doesn't believe in into him with old tired threats, he's finished. They're both fucking finished.

But Adam's looking at him like he's got a gun to Adam's head anyway, and Adam's slit hot and wet against his thumb feels better than a pistol hammer ever did. He licks his thumb first, Adam's groan ratcheting down his spine notch by notch, then the head, surprised by the soft give against his tongue. He licks harder, sucks it a bit, translating what feels good when his own dick is in his hand to Adam's in his mouth, constant pressure and pull that makes his jaw ache.

"God, wait," Adam says, gorgeous voice a rasp, and Tommy tries to take more instead, spurred on in a way he doesn't understand, probably never will. He gets as far as Adam's cock only brushing the back of his throat before he chokes and has to pull off, coughing so hard his ribs creak. "Baby," Adam says, and he's gonna say more, Tommy's sure of it, but Tommy starts to laugh through his choking, mean and rough.

"I'm gonna ruin your life," Tommy croaks, wiping at his mouth with the back of one wrist. "I'm gonna burn it all to ashes at your feet, and you're calling me baby."

Adam traces the slant of Tommy's cheek with the backs of his fingers, grazes past his temple up into his hair. Not so sure he likes the thrill of being on his knees, face exposed where Adam's pushed his hair back, Tommy pulls away. "Don't," Adam says, tightening his grip. "Don't do that to me."

Either one Adam's talking about, burning his place down or pulling free of his grip, Tommy doesn't have a choice. There's a way things have got to go, and it ain't easy or soft like Adam's kisses.

"I want to see you," Adam says, holding tighter as he tugs one-handed at the buttons on Tommy's shirt. Tommy still hasn't moved by the time Adam hits the bottom and his shirt is gaping open, nothing underneath but bare skin because it's August in the city, air thick enough with heat to walk up through it to the smoggy clouds. When he leans down to get at Tommy's fly, it's Tommy's turn to tell him to wait, and Adam smiles and kisses him instead, deep and endless as he tugs open Tommy's pants, tugs them down, bares Tommy to his gaze in a long line from throat to thigh.

Tommy's never been dizzied by lust in his life, and now it feels like the whole world's spun off its axis. The moment Adam touches him, big hand wrapped strong and confident around his dick, a groan bursts free of his chest. He rocks forward on his knees, thrusting into Adam's grip, groaning again when it stutters dry and riding the edge of perfect. He's not thinking much when he spits into his own hand, pushes Adam's out of the way to slick his cock wet. He's not thinking at all when he grabs Adam's wrist, shoves his dick back into Adam's grip.

Laughing low in his throat, Adam gives him one long pull, then another, one more to make him moan before starting to jack him slow and lazy. Trying to get Adam to move faster only gets him a hand wrapped around the back of his neck pulling him up for more kisses, syrup-thick and sweet. The spit on his hand has long since dried by the time he gets it back on Adam's cock, but there's some slick at the slit still, more when he rubs around and over it with his thumb, smearing it down to try returning the favour. His coordination is shit, though, and there's no way he's going to get Adam off as long as Adam's hands are on him.

"Quit fighting me," Adam says, biting hard at his jaw.

"M'not fucking-"

Easy as you please, Adam says, "You are," and shoves Tommy back so hard the table goes skidding sideways. Aiming to catch himself on one elbow, Tommy doesn't get the chance before Adam's slid down off the couch after him, shoving him again so his shoulder hits the cold concrete floor, his legs trapped beneath Adam's bulk. Over a decade of living in men's shadows, of knowing you're finished when they finally beat you down to the ground, Tommy bucks and twists and scrabbles for the gun on the table.

Adam says, "I'm not like them, not gonna hurt you," with his hand clamped to Tommy's jaw, forcing him back to kiss the promise into his mouth. "Let me, let me," he saying like a prayer, the wet slap of flesh on flesh, Tommy's cock in his hand, instead of the clink of rosary beads filling the space between them. Tommy twists up off the floor again, towards instead of away, grabbing at the front of Adam's shirt, silk crushed and ruined by the sweat on his palms, the precome slicking his fingers. He's moaning high and loud in his throat, he can hear it same as he can hear Adam's whispered praises wound between, stupid pointless things about how he's beautiful like this, how Adam wants to see him come, be the one to make him lose control.

No choice left, he does. Pleasure peaks and punches out of him on another one of those hurt-sounding noises swallowed up a moment later by Adam's mouth on his. He can't move while orgasm's riding him, can't think past how good it is, and when he finally can again, Adam's cock is the first thing he goes for, stunned and clumsy but wanting so much.

Adam doesn't tell him easy this time. He's as desperate for it as Tommy is, more even, hand braced beside Tommy's head and face pressed to his neck as Tommy jerks him, so little space between them now that Tommy's wrist is skidding through the come on his belly. He pushes Adam's dick into the mess, coats his hand in the thin trails tickling down his side, and jerks harder, faster, trying to shred the breaths puffing hot against his throat to ribbons.

Nicely cliché, Adam moans his name when he comes, and the sound of it, ruined and honest, is going to haunt Tommy to his grave.

"Fuck." Digging the heel of a hand against his eye, Tommy drags in a shuddering breath. It reeks of sex, of Adam. He tries to shove Adam off but he's too heavy, holding Tommy down by one wrist, all along his lower body like he's lashed to an anchor dragging him below the surface. "Fuck, fuck, you gotta get off me, get the fuck offa me."

"No, baby," Adam says, smiling down at him. So fucking stupid, that satisfied, alley-cat smile. There's nothing here for Adam to be smug about. "Not until you get that look off your face like you're gonna shoot yourself with your own gun."

"Might as fucking well," Tommy groans, a miserable, helpless sound he's heard a hundred times before, but never spilling out of his own throat. Dead man walking, because he can't do it. They know he's not gonna do it. "I fucked up. 'Sposed to light this place tomorrow when Raja's performing, 'cause you're always here when she does, and I fucking can't."

"It's alright," Adam says, still smiling, and Tommy wants to wipe that look off his face so bad his knuckles are itching.

"It's not fucking alright. They wouldn't fucking take the chance if they needed you alive to collect on the insurance. Do you get that? Don't you fucking see it?" Shoving at Adam's shoulder doesn't budge him an inch. It feels good though and Tommy shoves him again, slams the flat of his fist down like he's maybe trying to get Adam to move still. He's not. The thud of knuckles into flesh is solid and warm and real, and he needs that. Needs Adam alive.

Adam lets him get away with it once more before the grabs onto Tommy's hand, flattens it out and pins it. "It's alright, Tommy Joe."

"They'll gun you down in the street if you're not in here when it goes up," Tommy says, voice flat, as dead as they're both gonna be come the end of the week. "They're gonna know I flew right in here to sing on your fucking knee."

"Doesn't matter if they do." Letting go of Tommy's hand, Adam lays his palm-flat across Tommy's mouth to shut him up. "You're not my only friend, y'know."

Shaking off Adam's hand, Tommy asks, "What-?"

This time, Adam hushes him up with a kiss. "I'm gonna get both of us through this. And you, pretty bird," Adam says, smiling again, pressing it to Tommy's cheek so he can feel the warmth in it sinking through skin, "then you're gonna fly away with me."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Original Track: B-side - Adam/Tommy

2011-08-01T04:32:41Z

Quick and dirty, yo.

Original Track: B-side
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~3400 words. Somnophilia. Sequel to Original Track Insomniac. For sleepy/unconscious on my kink_bingo card.
Adam is not obsessed. If Tommy asks for it, that's not the same thing at all as him wanting to do it.

*

Original Track: B-side

Adam is not obsessed. He thinks about it from time to time, especially when Tommy starts getting that sleepless, haunted look, but that's because he's concerned. Tommy's insomnia doesn't flare up nearly as much as it used to, and Adam wants to keep it that way.

When it starts looking like another bout is inevitable, though, Tommy drifting sleeplessly in the deep, dark hours of the night while Adam's upstairs, oblivious until he wakes with a jolt to find the bed cold and empty beside him, there's an eager, anticipatory spark lit low in Adam's belly. At first, he's shocked. This isn't the sort of thing you should want to happen to someone. And then he's horrified, because he can't stop thinking about how loose and pliant Tommy had been the last time Adam fucked him to sleep, and how when Tommy finally drops off after, Adam's still wide awake. Because Tommy is on his dick, for fuck's sake, his oversensitive, post-orgasmic dick.

And there was that one time he started to get hard again, and Tommy snuffled sleepily, moaning soft and sweet and still fucking asleep when Adam hurriedly withdrew.

Adam vows to not bring up the past two sleepless nights until Tommy does. If Tommy asks him for it, that's not the same thing at all as him wanting to do it. Like doing the harder recreationals, it's all about moderation. Not that Adam thinks fucking Tommy is a drug-like addiction. Sex is healthy.

On the third night, Adam wakes up when Tommy rolls out of bed with a resigned sigh. He bites the inside of his lip to keep from reaching out. Tommy feels bad enough as it is, Adam doesn't need to pile Tommy messing up his sleep schedule on the defeated sag of Tommy's shoulders. Instead of hauling on some clothes like Tommy usually does, and shuffling downstairs to watch reruns he already has memorised, he sits on the edge of the bed, a dark, hunched shadow with his head in his hands.

"Baby?" Adam asks, sleep-rough.

Tommy deflates in relief. "Sorry. I can't- I didn't want to wake you."

"Not really awake," Adam says, enough of a mumble to be convincing. He shuffles closer. "C'mere."

Tommy twists partway around, bringing one leg up on the mattress. He's so pale in the darkness, Adam can trace the curve of his spine all the way down to the baggy pyjama bottoms barely clinging to his hips. "Go back to sleep," Tommy says, finding Adam's hand in the dark to give it a quick squeeze. "I'm gonna go make a cup of that Sleepy Time tea shit Sutan gave me."

"You don't want tea." Pushing up on one elbow, Adam drags on Tommy's wrist until he gives in, scooting all the way back onto the bed. "You want me to fuck you."

Tommy's shiver feels like it goes all the way to his toes. He says, "Please," in a quick rush, hushed in the dark. "If you're too tired, we could do it tomorrow, but I can't fucking sleep, and it's-"

"Next time," Adam says, rolling up to his knees to cut Tommy off, tugging at Tommy's pants to get them skinned down and tossed aside, "wake me up with your mouth on my cock. I'll get the message."

Tommy snorts a laugh, going for the lube in the bedside table as Adam gets rid of his briefs, pressing the bottle into Adam's hand after Adam's settled down behind him. He palms Adam's hip while Adam slicks a few fingers wet, rubs them lazily over his hole before pushing in. Fingering Tommy open is more than foreplay, even more than necessity--Adam loves the soft yield of tense muscle, how easy it is to get Tommy to relax into him. He's gotten Tommy off before just like this, a few fingers and a loose fist around his cock, couldn't believe how sweet it was to watch Tommy's orgasm grow, peak, the way his eyelashes fluttered and his mouth fell open on a quiet sigh.

"S'good." Tommy pushes back, insistent. "S'better when I can feel it."

"You're way too kinky for me," Adam says, and Tommy twists around, grinning up at him, and he's got to kiss Tommy's gorgeous lips soft and open again. He smears more lube over his cock, not at all surprised that he's hard as a rock less than five minutes after being woken up, and presses his fingers back to Tommy's hole, guiding. Sometimes, so they don't have to clean up much, or when they're in a hurry, or Tommy's bitching about how he's so fucking wet all the time--this impish, delighted look in his eyes that says he's not really bitching at all--they use a condom. But when Adam's going to stay buried deep until he goes soft and Tommy's finally solidly asleep, there's no point in trying to avoid a mess.

Tommy still not quite loose enough, Adam pushes in slow and easy, and Tommy sighs with his whole body, sagging into Adam's hold. "Fucking love this," Tommy says, lazily tugging his balls, giving his cock a sloppy stroke before curling his hand around it, simply holding on. "Why d'you gotta be such a good fuck, huh?"

The kiss Adam was in the middle of sucking onto Tommy's shoulder turns to a bite. "Is that a complaint?"

"Nah," Tommy says, mostly a laugh as he scrunches down, shoulder tugged up to protect his neck, Adam's next target. "Nah, it's just." He breath skips as Adam goes harder, deeper, stays there longer grinding into him. "You're a really fucking good lay. I'm spoiled and shit."

"So spoiled," Adam agrees, and decides that if Tommy's still talking, it's not good enough. He tucks Tommy in close, holding him steady to take it, and Tommy says, "Fuck, okay," legs shifting restlessly, one knee drawing higher up on the sheets, the other foot braced on Adam's shin. Tommy pushes his face into the pillows, breathing hard, his hand starting to move on his cock. It doesn't take him long before he's jacking in earnest, clamping down tighter on Adam's dick when it's shoved deep. Adam's said it before, usually in the middle of a slew of almost-there dirty talk, and sometimes when they're joking around, but Tommy really is so fucking easy. Adam's never going to get over how a guy that's spent most of his life giving it instead of taking it can get off so quickly on getting fucked.

Tommy makes that quiet, hurt noise that means he's close, so close he can taste it, and Adam tries picking up the pace, wanting to be right there with him. The sweet drag, slick friction, pushes Tommy over the edge first, and he curls up tight, hand cupped around the head of his cock to catch the worst of it. He goes so loose after, so pliant, that Adam's thrusts end up pushing him further onto his belly.

"Yeah," Tommy slurs, stretching out, fumbling half-heartedly for a tissue, "yeah, c'mon, get on top of me."

Adam rolls onto his knees between Tommy's spread legs, palming the back of one thigh to push it higher. The tissue Tommy finally managed to grab crumples in his fist when Adam sinks back in, the angle not quite right until Adam gives in to Tommy's sleepy whispers and settles down on top of him, braced on both elbows to keep from crushing him entirely. "Good?" Adam asks, mouthing at the back of Tommy's neck where his head's bowed, not enough leverage to really fuck Tommy now, but he can grind in hard, feel Tommy flutter and clench around him, and that's more than enough.

"Really fucking good," Tommy says, eyes closed, so close to sleep he's barely rocking with Adam's rhythm anymore. "Don't stop, okay?"

"I won't, baby," Adam says, nuzzling at Tommy's hair, kissing his shoulder again when Tommy makes a lazy, satisfied sound. Not really ready to finish yet, Adam hurries up anyway. Any second, Tommy's going to drop off, and as hot as it is fucking him when he's worn out and boneless, Adam doesn't want to fuck him when he's actually asleep.

Except for how the second the thought hits, and Adam imagines Tommy trapped beneath him completely out for the count, still taking it, making those same soft, hushed noises he's making now, Adam comes so hard and sudden it fucking hurts.

Once Adam can move, he holds tightly onto Tommy and rolls them onto their sides, putting in a hell of a lot of effort to make sure he doesn't slip free. Tommy mumbles sleepily, something that could be a thanks or a random, contented noise, or he could be out already, might've already been when Adam was still fucking him, and Adam's heart gives a hard kick, his insides lurching.

Resolutely closing his eyes, Adam settles down to sleep, ignoring the way Tommy feels hot and loose around him. Tommy shifts, probably getting comfortable, but Adam has to grab onto him, keep him still. He's never told Tommy how difficult, how really, amazingly and incredibly difficult this part is. But maybe Tommy already knows, and that's why he's reluctant to ask for it.

Tonight is a new kind of difficult. The kind where it's morally reprehensible to fuck the guy that fell asleep on your dick. Aside from how that was the point.

"I'm going to sleep," Adam mutters quietly, as if saying it out loud will help. He is going to sleep, and they're both going to wake up tomorrow well-rested, well-adjusted adults.

Tommy makes a soft noise that narrows Adam's eyes. Faking passing out in the middle of sex is absolutely something Tommy would do. He'd think it the most hilarious thing ever. Adam is tempted to hiss his name accusingly. If he wasn't so afraid it'd wake Tommy up, he would.

Eventually, once Adam's sure Tommy isn't going to wake up for anything short of an earthquake--and maybe not even then--Adam pulls out, biting the inside of his cheek against the fresh wave of arousal that hits him. He waited too long. Another few minutes, five at the most, and he'd be ready to go again.

"Creep," Adam tells himself, and rolls carefully out of bed, padding to the bathroom to snag the hand towel off the rack. He quietly wets it, using one corner to wipe off his dick, then heads back out to scoot carefully onto the bed, wiping what he can from Tommy's skin.

Naturally, Tommy snuffles adorably, and shifts halfway onto his belly again, helpfully curled up to give Adam access to clean him out. Or finger him.

Adam shoves a hand into his hair, huffing. He can't believe he's actually sitting on their bed in the dark beside Tommy splayed out completely naked, thinking about groping him. Not only thinking about it, but doing it, stroking the shallow curve of Tommy's ass, the inside of his thigh, sliding his fingertips up to press firmly over Tommy's hole fucked loose and a little swollen. Biting at his lip, he switches to only one finger, angling the tip to push in, up, all the way. Tommy's so hot inside, slick and soft, open.

Adam whispers, "Oh my god."

Tommy doesn't say anything. Because Tommy's fucking asleep.

Adam's going to stop. He's going to confess everything the second Tommy is awake so they can discuss this, and what, if anything, they're going to do about it. Fucking Tommy to sleep is one thing. Agreeing to stay inside him after is not that far a stretch. Getting hard and wanting to do it again while Tommy's still out is not the same at all. And Adam is hard. So hard, he's clutching at his cock, and he is not stopping.

That he knows, actually knows with every twisted fibre of his being, waking Tommy up right now to ask if Adam could fuck him while Tommy was asleep would earn him a lazy grin, a saucy, "Knock yourself out, cowboy," and Tommy rolling over, ass-up waiting for it. So maybe that's why his brain suddenly thinks it's okay to scoot down and shove his tongue up Tommy's ass.

Tommy gives a fitful twitch and a puff of breath that sounds like a fucking moan. For a second, Adam's sure he's startled Tommy awake, but when he glances up, Tommy's eyes are still closed, mouth still slack, still asleep. Watching Tommy's face, he licks hard, but Tommy doesn't react. Not even the cute scrunch of his nose when Adam simply being awake is enough to wake him up.

This is so fucking weird for Adam. Normally he's all about how Tommy can't keep from squirming, and all the little noises Tommy makes, the way it seems like Tommy is never going to get over the shock of how good being rimmed is, how much he likes it. And the more Adam licks, the further Adam dips inside him, the more Tommy shifts, hips rocking, but lazily, vaguely, like he's in the middle of a really good dream. Without giving himself a chance to think about it, Adam reaches under Tommy to pull his cock down and back, trapped against the mattress. Tommy's hard. Really, really hard, and Adam has to lick him, suck at his slit, mouth at his balls and push back inside him, two fingers this time, curved to rub over Tommy's prostate and make him wake up already.

Tommy's eyelashes flutter, and he makes a noise low in his throat, but that's it. And suddenly Adam's convinced Tommy's fucking with him. There's no way, there is just no way Tommy's sleeping through this. He's turned on, enjoying it, and probably going to kill himself laughing over Adam's creepy molester dilemma when he hears all about it later.

"Have it your way, Tommy Joe," Adam says, close to a normal tone of voice because he knows Tommy's awake now, and he climbs up to rub the head of his cock over Tommy's slick hole. It's meant to be a warning to brace for it, but the slippery heat feels good, and Adam keeps it up a little longer, precome smearing Tommy's ass even wetter. Tommy's hand drifts down, groping for his dick, and Adam catches his wrist, pins it, and pushes slowly in.

A rough groan spills from Tommy's lips, so gorgeous Adam has to pull back, push in again slowly to hear it again. It's more choked the second time around, stuttering, as Adam sinks deeper, doesn't even need to work for Tommy to take it all. Settling down low over Tommy, Adam rolls his hips slowly, enjoying the way Tommy stays loose around him, limbs heavy and pliant.

Tommy mumbles again, a vowel and a couple of consonants, and Adam nuzzles at the crook of his neck, his ear, softly telling him how good he feels, how amazing he is to want this. A vague humming noise is Tommy's answer, and when the urge hits, Adam goes harder, faster, edging back, pulling on Tommy's hips to get him up on his knees. Tommy's not helping at all, almost dead weight, but Adam's kind of enjoying that too, that he can pick Tommy up, haul him right back onto his dick.

When Tommy snaps awake for real, tension singing through his body, he rasps, "Jesus," clawing at the sheets, honest panic in his voice, then, "Fuck, fuck, Adam, don't stop, fuck, what're you-- Don't fucking stop."

Adam's so far gone, so close to coming deep inside Tommy again, he does exactly what Tommy tells him to do and keeps going, keeps fucking until Tommy's begging for his hand, and then Tommy's coming all over his fingers, slippery-slick and warm. It smears all over Tommy's side as Adam grabs onto him again, long, hard strokes in, grinding at the peak, over and over until he has to hold Tommy up again to take it, and Tommy starts whining low in his throat, honest-to-god actual whines, high and thready, and Adam comes so hard his heart shudders to a stop.

Tommy starts sinking back down before it's really over, and Adam follows, slumped against him, trying to recover enough to get his dick out of Tommy's god damn ass so they can talk about this. Tommy's fingers are loose in his hair, and Tommy's breathing is laboured, heavy, and Adam closes his eyes, searching for something to say.

When his eyes open again, he's sprawled out only halfway on top of Tommy, and the bright light of morning is pressing against the blinds. And Tommy's awake. Wide, wide awake beneath him.

"Stay put," Tommy says, voice clear, like he's been waiting for Adam to come around. "Before you freak out and shit, it was fucking awesome."

"Oh god, Tommy, I-"

Tommy kicks Adam in the calf, lightly. "That's freaking out. I said no freaking out."

"But-"

"You're being dumb."

Adam's mouth snaps shut. He's not being dumb. He practically-- He didn't even-- He shoved it in like a sleazy date-raping creep, for fuck's sake.

"It was really, really hot," Tommy says, completely unconcerned. "Any time you wanna wake me up by boning me, you go right fucking ahead."

"I wasn't trying to wake you up," Adam hisses. "I thought you were awake."

Tommy finally cracks open an eye. "So, like, you didn't wanna fuck me while I was passed out?"

"I-"

"'Cause I totally thought you did. Like, if you're okay with me falling asleep on your dick, I kinda figured you'd maybe wanna give it to me some more. And, uh." Pausing, Tommy shuffles around a bit so he can look Adam in the face. "Honestly, I kinda thought you did."

"You thought I kept fucking you," Adam says flatly.

Tommy shrugs.

"After you'd already gone to sleep."

"Yeah. Like, I'm there, you're there." The corner of Tommy's mouth screws up. "You already got your dick in me, why not?"

Adam stares. And stares. And finally slumps down in a defeated heap. "I'm pretty sure there's something wrong with that logic," he says, muffled in the pillow.

"You like it," Tommy says, wriggling around some more. "It totally gets you off that I like being a hot, wet hole all spread out for you."

Fumbling for another pillow, Adam covers his head. It is hot. And sexy. God, why does Tommy have to be so sexy all the time, even when he's being crude and really kind of horrible. "That's dirty and demeaning."

"And fucking awesome."

"Stop talking."

"You gettin' hard yet?" Not waiting for an answer, Tommy shoves a hand under Adam, groping around for his dick. "'Cause I'm still pretty loose, and probably totally wet, you could have another go at me."

"Oh my god!" Adam flings aside the pillow, rolling up onto his knees to trap Tommy beneath him. Tommy grins, an excited, almost manic light to his eyes. "Now you're just being mean."

Tommy's nose scrunches on a giggle. A giggle. "Pretty sure I'm not."

"Twice, Tommy. I know you're sore."

"Yeah," Tommy says, squirming around, getting his legs out from under Adam so he can hook them lazily on Adam's hips. "But not so sore it won't be the really, really good time you better fucking man up and give me already."

Adam knows that look. Tommy is not kidding around. "You're serious," Adam says, though, just to make sure. "You're completely okay with all of this."

Tommy grins so wide half his face disappears in it. "I'm motherfucking delighted, 'cause now I know you're gonna totally indulge me next time I ask you to fuck me when I'm drunk and about to pass out, and you gotta like, put me on your dick and hold me there 'cause I can't do it myself, and you're gonna keep fucking me if I do flake out on you, and maybe I'm gonna come around while you're still at it, and it's gonna make me come so hard I'm gonna fucking pass out all over again."

Lust punches Adam right in the balls. Which is about equal parts as amazing and as painful as it sounds. "Okay," Adam says, only slightly strained, "okay, I'll admit, that's a little hot."

"Fucking sexiest shit you ever heard," Tommy says, and fists a hand in Adam's hair, yanks him down. "Put your dick back in me and make me do that whining thing again, 'cause I know you loved it."

"Oh god," Adam says, squeezing his eyes shut tight at the memory, "I did, I really did," and he fumbles to wet his fingers, make sure Tommy's as slick and open as he thinks he is before he pushes in, Tommy's eager, grateful moan filling the room, his head, so delicious Adam's got to lick it off Tommy's lips.

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Skin This Cat - Adam/Tommy

2011-07-27T18:56:43Z

For zoodlemouse13, who is as obsessed with weres as I am, and @silentdescant, who is, like, zomg. ♥

Skin This Cat
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~12,000 words. Werefic!
Summer air is close and charged in Tommy's lungs, the music is thrumming in his bones, the drums guide his heartbeat, and there's nowhere, fucking nowhere, he'd rather be than where he is, down on one knee, fingers on the frets, Adam's gaze on him crackling thunderstorm-thick.

by @QuinnAIT

*

Skin This Cat

Friday night, moon fat and high, they play an outdoor venue. The crowd's a wild sea of glittering eyes backed up against the trees pressing in on three sides. Tommy's not sure where on the map he is anymore, fucking Oregon maybe, but he doesn't give a shit. Summer air is close and charged in his lungs, the music is thrumming in his bones, the drums guide his heartbeat, and there's nowhere, fucking nowhere, he'd rather be than where he is, down on one knee, fingers on the frets, Adam's gaze on him crackling thunderstorm-thick.

Grinning, Tommy flicks hair out of his face and glances up, finds Adam half a stage closer than he was two seconds ago. Adam's not singing anymore, vocalising rough and growly, promising something that makes the audience scream their fucking heads off. There's a flash in Adam's eyes, a warning flicker, as Tommy brings the bass up to nuzzle its neck, flick it with his tongue. Like a puppet with its wires snapped, Adam drops to his knees, and somehow the screaming gets louder, a torrent of sound pushing at Tommy, making him throw his head back, throat exposed, soul flying on strings.

"Adam, no!" screeches through Tommy's monitor, and what the fucking fuck is that shit supposed to be, fucking with his mix like that. He takes one hand off the bass long enough to give Neil the finger for almost messing him up, realising too late the audience's roar has turned to actual screams, spilled-blood sharp, and when Neil shouts, "Tommy, down!" Tommy doesn't get it. He really, seriously just doesn't get it.

Until two hundred pounds of muscle and fur and snapping, snarling teeth slam straight into him. The bass cracks like a twig, broken neck gouging Tommy's arm, and he hits the stage flat on his back before he has time to do more than cry out in shock. Breath knocked from his lungs on impact, vision swimming, all he can hear are the screams, the thick, heavy snarling above him, and Neil, frantic in his ear, "It's okay, fuck, fuck, Tommy, don't move, it's Adam, it's Adam, it's okay, just don't move," over and over while the backing track plays on.

A heavy weight settles on Tommy's chest. He shoves at it on instinct. Pain is thin and metallic coating the back of his throat--his shirt sleeve is flapping open, baring pale flesh, stark lines of ink and a deep, bloody slash--and flares into pure panic when whatever it is on top of him takes a swipe at his face. He drops back, choking on another scream.

"Just stay down!" Neil shouts. "And shut the fuck up! It's Adam!"

Stamping down on the urge to try scrambling up again, get away, Tommy slowly drags his gaze down from the merrily twinkling stars to face the thing sitting on his fucking chest. Turns out it isn't sitting on him but perched above him, straddling his torso, one huge paw more than enough to hold him down. There's another paw hovering so close to his face it's barely more than a blur. He swallows hard, trembling, waiting for his brain to catch up with what his eyes are seeing. If he's not actually high right now, or insane, or any number of really good explanations, that's a giant fucking snow leopard up there. It's got teeth, and claws, and painfully bright electric-blue eyes, and it's looking at him like its maybe kinda hungry.

"Holy shit," sums it all up pretty fucking good, if you ask him.

The leopard gives a threatening growl. Something near its paw glitters. Tommy stares at the sparkle and stares at it, trying to figure out what the hell it is, and then Neil says, calm and even, "Don't run. Don't even move. He won't hurt you. I don't know what the fuck he's doing, but he won't hurt you."

Tommy drags in a shaking breath. It sure as fuck looks like it wants to hurt him. Fucking eat him alive. "Help," he says softly, somehow hoping Neil or Monte or someone, anyone, can hear him over the chaos flooding all around his tiny island of terrified quiet. "Please help."

Making a soft chuffing noise, the cat leans in close, noses at Tommy's cheek. The teeth are gone but the claws are still out, prickling dangerously sharp through Tommy's torn shirt. He's pretty sure he's about to piss himself. He really hopes not. The cat shifts back a bit, sniffs down Tommy's arm to find spilled blood, and Tommy closes his eyes, tries to breathe through the crushing weight in his chest. He'd really, really like to not die right now.

With a gentle push against Tommy's injured arm, the cat mews softly and backs off, flopping down with a huff to rest its head on Tommy's shoulder. It looks at him sadly, small tufts of fur above its eyes raised like a question.

"Dude, don't fucking ask me," Tommy says, wondering when he's either going to wake up or pass out.

"Sorry," Neil calls from stage left. He jogs to a stop about a dozen feet away. "We can't clear everybody out. Fucking zoom lenses. You guys okay to move?"

"Move, what," says Tommy.

"Adam?" Neil asks, and the cat chuffs again, closing its eyes and tucking its short muzzle into Tommy's armpit, nosing down until its face is mostly hidden. "Fine, you're sorry. Have fun cleaning this mess up tomorrow. If I come over there, are you going to try to bite my fingers off again?"

A low, steady growl echoes down through Tommy's chest. He gulps air. "I think that means yes," Tommy says, trembling with adrenaline burning uselessly through his veins. His arm is a dull, nagging throb. "Seriously. Adam?"

The growl drops off to a huff. The leopard's thick tail comes up, thumps lightly onto Tommy's chest, tip curled along his throat to brush his cheek. It twitches once and goes still.

"Oh for fuck's sake." All the tension, all the fear, drains out of Tommy like water. He covers his face with one hand, trying to muffle the insane laugh burbling up the back of his throat. When the cat lifts its head, stares at him with a crazily amped-up version of Adam's eyes, he can't hold it back. He laughs so hard he starts to hiccup, laughs and laughs and doesn't stop, not even when Adam growls at him, disgruntled and totally unimpressed.

*

Hours and a few dozen stitches later, Tommy's bundled up in fluffy down comforter on Adam's hotel bed buzzed out of his gourd on some seriously high-class painkillers. The Jack he downed them with probably wasn't a good idea, but Adam's feeling guilty, and a guilty Adam will let him get away with all kinds of shit that is so not good for him.

"So you're not mad," Adam says for the millionth time. He's in a big cushy chair on the farthest side of the room from the bed, elbows on his knees. The sweats he's wearing are old and faded, tattered at one knee. They're all he bothered to put on once he'd shifted back.

Tommy sighs. "I'm kinda hurt you didn't trust me enough to tell me, but that's like, my ego talking. I get it."

Adam's mouth crumples. "I'm sorry."

"At least you didn't eat me," Tommy says. If it weren't for the drugs and the booze, he'd probably be freaking out right now. Maybe. He's okay with different, though. He didn't grow up around many weres, and there's a big, big difference between people being different and people being different, but they're mostly still people. And Adam's Adam, so, whatever. "You, uh, weren't gonna eat me, were you?"

Adam's laugh is shatter-glass sharp. "No, Tommy Joe. No, I wasn't about to eat you."

"All I'm saying is you looked kinda hungry. And like, if those salads aren't doing it for you--"

"Oh god, stop," Adam says, burying his face in his hands. "I'm not going to eat you. God, I'm so not going to eat you."

"Okay," Tommy says slowly. He totally believes Adam. He's not so sure about the giant fucking scary-ass predator that had pinned him to the stage in front of five thousand people. "So, what happened? Is it a moon thing?"

"No, it's not a moon thing," Adam snaps, and immediately says, "Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm pissed off at myself and I'm taking it out on you. I'm sorry."

"I get it already. You're really, really sorry," Tommy says. "You're forgiven. Just tell me what the fuck, okay?"

Adam looks up at him helplessly. "Do I have to?"

If he had mentioned oh hey, by the way, I'm a fucking were, then no, he wouldn't have to. But he didn't. He didn't, and he scared the shit out of Tommy out there. "Yeah. Pretty sure you have to."

"Fuck." Heaving a sigh, Adam slumps back into the seat. "I'm not very good at controlling myself."

Tommy raises both eyebrows. Yeah, no. Almost a year they've been friends and he didn't have a fucking clue. That's not gonna cut it.

"When I'm turned on," Adam grumbles.

"So why the hell did you have to jump me," Tommy blurts, not really catching on until Adam's face goes flat. And oh. Oh. "Right. Um, sorry."

"It's part of the show, Tommy. It's my fault. I should be able to keep a fucking handle on it."

"Oh hey, no," Tommy says, clumsily clambering his way out of his cocoon. It's possible he's more fucked up than he thought, though, because the floor wavers like the ocean. Before he figures out where to put his feet, Adam is there to catch him, trying to push him back down on the bed. "Shit happens, okay? I don't get much about the were thing, and that's, like, my problem, but I know shit happens. Quit beating yourself up about it."

Adam's fingers ghost over the bandage covering Tommy's arm. "You should be terrified of me. I hurt you."

Tommy's smile goes lopsided. "Can't feel a thing right now."

"I'm being serious," Adam says, in his very serious tone, a dire crinkle between his brows, his mouth thin and unhappy. "I didn't mean to do it, but it happened regardless. We'll be more careful during performances from now on. Tone it back a little."

"Not the kiss," Tommy says, guts clenching. He loves the Fever kiss. Hot or fun or both, it's a part of who Adam is, what the show is all about. They need that in there. "I'll quit jacking off my bass, okay, but not the kiss."

"The bass I can deal with," Adam says, finally nudging Tommy back to sit on the edge of the bed. "Not so much with you licking me. Or grinding your ass on my dick."

Shoulders hunched, Tommy mumbles, "Sorry." It's a good time up there. Sometimes he gets carried away, that's all.

"Don't apologise." The mattress dips as Adam settles onto the bed beside him, bumps their knees together. Since he's there, Tommy rests his head on Adam's shoulder. The happy time cocktail in his blood is really doing a number on him. "I'm just glad you're not mad at me," Adam says, giving his knee another companionable bump. "Or afraid. I don't know what I'd do if I'd made you afraid of me."

"So you've got big scary claws," Tommy says, curling his fingers into a pretty decent imitation of the things he'd seen earlier, pawing at Adam with them, "and teeth and shit. You were also kinda adorable. And fucking huge, holy shit, man. I didn't think snow leopards were that big."

Adam laughs, startled. "You recognised what I am?"

"Hey, I got satellite. National Geographic."

With another quiet laugh, Adam lets his head rest against Tommy's. "Real snow leopards are smaller. My full body mass carries over into the shift."

Poking at one of Adam's fingers, the nail on it still shiny black, Tommy asks, "And this stuff too, huh."

Adam curls his finger in to trap Tommy's, a smile in his voice. "Yeah. I'm still me. Just with claws and teeth and shit."

Thinking about how contrite the cat seemed the second it had calmed down, how very Adam that guilty look on its face had been, answers the big question kicking around in Tommy's brain. Lots of times on stage Adam goes for his throat to control him when he pushes. It's all fun, part of the show; he doesn't for a second believe Adam would actually choke him if he didn't back off. But pushing at Adam? Apparently pushes Adam's buttons.

"Can you change again?" Tommy asks.

"Probably," Adam says, shoulder shifting in a small shrug. "It's not that hard-- Wait, like right now?"

"Yeah," Tommy says. "Lemme get a look at you when I'm not about to shit myself."

Adam's shoulders droop. That last bit was total dirty pool. Even if Adam doesn't want to shift, he's gonna feel obligated now. Tommy'll feel bad about it later. Right now, he really wants to see Adam without the haze of confusion and fear.

"Are you sure?" Adam asks, curling his whole hand around Tommy's, holding on. "Maybe it's not such a good idea."

"You're not gonna do anything." Scooting back, Tommy tucks his legs up onto the bed, fixes Adam with an expectant look. "Cats like being petted, right?" He waits for Adam's reluctant nod, then breaks out into a wide grin. "So you change, and I'll scratch behind your ears."

"That's bribery," Adam says, sliding off the bed to shuck his sweats. "Shameless bribery. Nobody scratches my ears anymore."

"Um," Tommy says. That is Adam's bare-ass junk right there. No big deal, he's seen it before. Usually with warning, though. Like costume change, or Adam heading into or out of the shower. Not just bam, there it is.

Eyes closed, Adam doesn't notice the staring. He drags in one long, deep breath, then another, sinking down like he's going to his knees. Halfway there, the change starts. Tommy's not sure what he's expecting, definitely not the monster-movie crack of bones rearranging--he wouldn't have asked if he thought for a second it would hurt. But the smooth flow of fur over skin like a gentle tide over the beach isn't what he had in mind, either. There's no way he can follow it all at once, the familiar shape of Adam's face there and gone in a blink, his hands already paws when they touch carpet, his thick tail curling around his haunches as he settles back. With a soft huff of breath, he licks his whiskers, quiet and waiting.

"Wow," Tommy says, staring. "Dude, wow."

Adam makes another one of those chuffing noises, almost like a laugh. He thumps his tail once, twice, and ducks his head, small round ears swivelling back then forward again, expectant.

"Gonna have to c'mere if you want scratching," Tommy says. "Almost ate carpet last time I stood up."

Rising up onto all fours, Adam gives himself a quick shake. His fur is gorgeous pure white with smoky grey overlay, peppered with dozens and dozens of black rosettes, big on his legs and body and smaller on his face, dainty speckles of them a lot like his freckles. He rubs his cheek against the edge of the bed, then slides his chin onto it, eyes wide and innocent, totally milking it.

"Heard you the first time, baby," Tommy says, cautiously reaching out. He didn't think he'd be nervous, but he is. Obviously Adam can't talk, his mouth isn't made for human words anymore, but he does that chuffing thing again, not quite a purr, and it's almost as reassuring as his voice. Tentatively, Tommy strokes the fur between Adam's ears, smiling crookedly when Adam's eyes immediately close and his tail thumps the carpet again. Scratching a little harder gets Adam rising up on his hind legs, forepaws braced on the bed as he pushes up into Tommy's hand, chuffing away like a bellows.

Scooting back again, Tommy pats the bed. "C'mon, big guy."

Adam doesn't hesitate to leap up. Tommy lists sideways as the bed dips, laughs as Adam turns around in a circle before flopping down, paws tucked under his chest and head in Tommy's lap. He butts at Tommy's elbow until Tommy lifts his arm, lets it drape over him and starts scratching at his ears again, down lower over his chin, through the ruff thick on his neck.

"Total cuddle-slut," Tommy says, bringing his other hand into it, careful not to pull his stitches, his fingers combing through fur heavy and thick on Adam's back, softer and fluffier beneath. "Way prettier when you're not snarling, too."

Adam cracks one eye open, noses at Tommy's side in another apology Tommy doesn't need. When he ducks out from under Tommy's hand, pins it to Tommy's thigh with one big, wide paw, Tommy goes still. The shift back isn't so much a reversal as it is Adam coming to the surface the same as the cat had, skin over fur, paws into hands, muzzle into a shy, happy smile. It takes only seconds for the leopard to vanish and leave Adam in its place, curled lazily on his side, his hand wrapped around Tommy's and his cheek on Tommy's thigh. Not sure what else to do, Tommy goes with what feels natural, fingers stroking through Adam's hair almost as soft as his fur had been, something he's done too many times before to count.

"Thanks," Adam says roughly, giving Tommy's fingers a brief squeeze.

"Told you I wasn't afraid." Nervous, maybe, but not afraid. If he'd known it was Adam up there snarling in his face, he probably wouldn't have been afraid then, either. Not like he was.

"You are scarily easy-going, Tommy Joe," Adam says, nuzzling at Tommy's thigh again.

"Good thing, too, 'cause you're really, really naked."

Adam chuckles under his breath, not moving to get up but shifting his leg slightly, enough to cover his junk. It doesn't help much. He's still acres and acres of bare, freckled skin, smooth curves of muscle. Beautiful in a way that makes his face all of three inches from Tommy's dick kinda awkward.

"Wish you hadn't shifted back," Tommy says, propping his chin in his hand. He keeps the other curved lightly on Adam's shoulder, not wanting to draw too much attention to it by pulling away. "I was kinda hoping you'd sleep on my feet."

"Oh, you brat," Adam says, and bites Tommy's leg through his jeans, sharp and sudden. Tommy's not sure--Adam doesn't really make a habit of biting him--but his teeth don't feel as blunt as they should be. "No way are you ever getting your frostbitten toes near my belly."

"But it's so furry," Tommy whines. "You'd never even notice."

"Nope," Adam says, rolling off the bed onto his feet. He stretches lazily, his back one long, easy flex of muscle, and bends down to haul on his sweats.

"I'll scratch your ears again," Tommy tries, only slightly strained at the edges.

"You'll scratch my ears again anyway," Adam says smugly, and starts tugging down the bedclothes. "Am I walking you back to your room, or are you sleeping here?"

Since that's the dumbest question ever, Tommy flops down and starts wriggling out of his jeans. Like hell he's leaving Adam now. Adam alone means too much time to think, and if Adam's got time to think about what happened tonight, he's going to work his way straight back around to guilty and stressed out. There's gonna be enough shit to deal with tomorrow without adding that on top.

"I've got press at eight," Adam warns, checking the alarm on his phone before he flicks off the lamp.

"Whatever," Tommy says, helpfully lifting the blankets for Adam to crawl in. He's gonna hate every second of it, but he's going to that press conference too. He can't even fucking imagine the shit that's going down on Twitter right now. Like Adam, the rest of the world needs to know he's not afraid. The best way to do that is to be right there by his side.

*

"I've never been in hiding," Adam says to the forest of cameras and microphones. "Nobody ever asked."

Even on the periphery, Tommy winces from the torrent of questions that go up. He's tucked about as far away from the mess as he can get and still be in the same room. Two big guys in imposing black suits flank the small stage where Adam's answering questions, one of them very strategically blocking Tommy from view. He's feeling a little bitchy about that, and a little relieved. Adam had tried to get him to stay behind, but at the same time, Tommy knows, Adam had really, really wanted him to come. How much Tommy hates these things is no secret.

"Guys, come on," Adam says sheepishly when the din eases. "You know me. Sometimes I get a little carried away."

"How does Mr. Ratliff feel about you getting carried away?" one of the reporters shouts, while at the same time another one calls out, "Will Mr. Ratliff continue with you on tour?"

For the first time in a long, long time, and despite Lane helping him prep for those very questions, Adam falters. At first, no one notices. Then someone else shouts, "Was Mr. Ratliff aware of your were status?" and someone else jumps in with, "Has he recovered from your attack?" making Adam's nostrils flare, his hands on the podium mottle.

Before Tommy knows what the hell he's doing, he's on his feet. "Mr. Ratliff is fucking fine."

The whole room freezes, then surges forward like a pack of starving wolves. Tommy's guts go to ice. People start shouting questions at him, so many he can't pick one out from the other, more camera flashes than when they're on stage going off in his face. Adam tries to butt in but nobody's listening, and Tommy fights the urge to hunch back, forces Adam's line out between clenched teeth. Nobody gets it at first, so he repeats it, loud and clear. "It's all part of the show. He didn't attack me."

"But your injuries," someone cuts in.

Tommy shrugs. "Accident. Watch the tapes, man. My bass splintered. You can rehearse all you want, but sometimes, shit happens."

More questions come in from all sides, the same as before--did Tommy really know, is Tommy leaving the band, why didn't Adam come out to support weres the same as he did the queer community. Adam gives the same answers one more time, then closes the whole thing down. "We've got a show to put on," he says, waving off the jerkwad who wants to know why Tommy's always the one who takes the brunt of Adam's little moments on stage, and steps down. The second his back is to the room, he smiles wide and brilliant, grateful, and falls in beside Tommy on the way out. "Thank you."

"No big deal," Tommy says, letting their shoulders bump. "Sorry I butted in like that, fucking douche pissed me off. Why's everybody always figure I'm gonna jump ship or some shit?"

Safe in the hallway, one of the bodyguards and Lane, busy on her cell, up ahead, and the other trailing a few feet behind them, Adam loops an arm around Tommy's shoulders. "They've got a point. You're the one that gets it all because I can't reach the others, and Monte would knee me in the balls."

"And like, that part where I said you could do it," Tommy reminds him.

Adam plants a smacking kiss to the top of Tommy's head. Wrinkling his nose, Tommy sighs. No matter how many times he tells Adam to quit that, it never sinks in. Just because he's tall enough to do it is no excuse.

There's a small crowd gathered out back. The sun's high and bright, blinding, and Tommy digs out his sunglasses, lets Adam guide him through the noise. A few pens and photos get shoved in his way and Adam brushes them off with a smile and an apology that they've really got to get on the road, but thanks for coming out. In the car, Lane in front with the driver, Tommy in back with Adam, Adam says, "About your arm, though."

"What about it?" Tommy asks, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. "I'm good to play."

"You're sure? The last thing we need is you pulling your stitches out."

"Seriously." Tugging one sleeve of his jacket off, Tommy turns his arm up, pulls back the edge of the bandage to show Adam the neat line of stitches tracking up the soft underside. He's lucky the bass jabbed him where it did. If it'd been his left arm, it for sure would've fucked up his ink. As it is, the gash runs a good half-inch from the Duke's face. "See? If I take it easy, no problem."

Adam carefully pushes the bandage back down. "I really am sorry."

"Sorry enough to quit apologising yet?" Tommy asks, shrugging his jacket back on. "'Cause if you don't quit, pretty soon I'm gonna start milking it for more than a new Viper."

"Oh yeah?" Smile reaching all the way to his eyes, Adam settles deep into the seat. "What'll buy back your love, Tommy Joe?"

Tommy blanks. There's not much he wants, and even less that he needs. Adam's already paying him way more than he's gotten for a gig in his entire life. Probably all his gigs fucking combined. Then it hits him, and he smiles casually, slings an arm along the back of the seat with an ankle balanced on one knee.

Smile dropping right off his face, Adam says, "No way. Not a chance."

"You asked," Tommy says, picking up the slack with the grin tugging his mouth wide.

"I can't spend all night as a cat," Adam whines.

"Like, 'cause you don't want to, or you just plain can't?" Tommy asks, honestly curious. "And dude, you don't have to, I'm teasing."

"It's weird," Adam says, fiddling with his phone. "My instincts are there all the time anyway, but the longer I stay shifted, the stronger they get. It's good for some things. I can tell pretty easily when people are lying to me, or when they're afraid or turned on, things like that. But I get really, you know, too." He waves a hand vaguely.

"You know?" Tommy echoes.

Making a frustrated noise, Adam says, "There's no good word for it. Not bossy or possessive, but sorta."

"Like territorial?"

"No, not even that. Snow leopards aren't all that aggressive."

Tommy grunts. He's not so sure about that one. Adam can go from sweet and mellow to all up in your face in a couple seconds flat.

"It's really hard to explain," Adam says, his need to try clear in his tone. "Think about it like a stage persona. It's me, but amplified. So I get more cat-like, but more me-like too."

"Okay." Tommy figures he's got it. Mostly. "So you're not gonna keep my toes warm tonight because you'll wake up more you than you."

"You are such a shit," Adam says, hauling Tommy in for a sloppy, one-armed hug. "I hate that you had to find out this way, but I'm glad you know."

"Yeah," Tommy drawls, flicking a quick glance out the window, wondering how much time he's got before the buses separate them and he won't have a choice but to leave Adam on his own. Well, not on his own, there are lots of people on Adam's bus--people that love him as much as Tommy does--but without him. "Why didn't you tell me? And don't give me that bullshit line about not asking."

"I should've," Adam concedes right off the bat. "I really should've, and it's killing me I was making excuses not to. Being openly gay and so male about it, not some sitcom parody, already gets me so much shit. I didn't want more on top of it."

Tommy gets that. People can be entitled, snotty bitches. Half the internet already thinks they own Adam. There's being loud and proud, and then there's having a scrap of your life left for your fucking self. There's also a big difference between telling the world and telling your friends, but Tommy's not gonna hash out that line now. Adam's not perfect. He doesn't fucking have to be.

"It's my business anyway," Adam grumbles sourly.

Giving Adam's knee a pat, Tommy digs out his phone. He's probably ready to deal with the shit on Twitter now. Maybe. Social media is fucking exhausting. "If you wanna put it in the show for real, babyboy, you just let me know."

There's pure dead silence from Adam's side of the car. Pretending he doesn't notice, Tommy starts scrolling through his feed. Five seconds in, he says to hell with that shit and starts clicking around for Adam's tweets. There's one from early, early this morning already retweeted about fifty zillion times. Mouth quirking at the corner, Tommy retweets it too, and adds in a saucy wink.

"You didn't," Adam says when his phone chimes.

"Dude, you've got me on fucking alert?"

Instead of answering, Adam flips over his phone to show Tommy the touchscreen. ;) RT @adamlambert: So I got carried away again! #woops

"Gonna reply?" Tommy asks.

"Nah." Tucking his phone away, Adam lets his head fall back against the seat, eyes closed. "Let 'em wonder what you're winking about."

"My brand spankin' new portable furry heater," Tommy says, wiggling in close to Adam's side because he can, and because in a few minutes he's not gonna see Adam again for hours and hours and hours.

And hours.

*

Hair bundled up in a riot of curls on top of her head, hip cocked, Brooke says, "I don't think it's a good idea." She waves to one of the crew lugging up the amps, and redirects him to the other side of the stage. The roadies are all busy, barely paying them any attention, but Sasha, Terrence and Taylor are lounging around waiting for Tommy to quit horning in on their practice time. They're trying to look like they're not all dying to know what he's cornered Brooke about. It's not really working.

"I know it's weird to change the show halfway through, but it could be really cool." Stamping down the urge to pick at his nails, Tommy meets Brooke's gaze head on. She's beautiful and he loves her, but she's definitely the most hard-headed of the bunch, and hella intimidating when she wants to be. Maybe it's because Monte's known Adam longer that he's more easy-going, but Brooke takes her role as choreographer really, really seriously. There's being professional about it, though, and then there's this.

"Have you talked to Adam about it?" she asks.

Tommy winces. He tried. Adam shot him down faster than a B-1. "Sorta."

She hikes up an eyebrow. "And?"

"He's worried something's gonna happen. Which is just plain fucking stupid, okay? Something already happened. Sticking it back in the closet isn't gonna make it any better." It's not Adam's style to duck and run. It's out there. Either they own it, or people will keep talking shit.

"Neither will sneaking around behind his back trying to get me to help you gang up on him."

"I don't want to gang up on him," Tommy lies. Sometimes Adam needs a good gang-up to get his head out of his ass. "All I want is for him to at least fucking think about it before writing it off."

"For who to think about what?" Adam asks, popping up out of fucking nowhere.

"There you are," Brooke says, obviously relieved. "Do something about him. I need the stage."

"Tommy?" Adam prompts.

"You suck," Tommy tells her, and she smiles, wriggles her fingers at him in a quick wave. He probably deserves her calling Adam on him, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shrugs. "I was just talking to her about the show, that's all."

Jerking his chin for Tommy to follow, Adam grabs up one of the water bottles sitting on an amp and trots down the stairs from the stage to the floor. At first Tommy thinks they're gonna hash it out there, where there are lots and lots of people around to keep it from getting heated like they sometimes do, but Adam keeps on going towards a side door, bumping it open with his hip to lead Tommy into the warren of service hallways. The last thing Tommy's expecting is a hand on his shoulder pushing him gently but firmly back against a wall, pinning him there with an easy, thrilling strength. Adam makes sure Tommy's looking straight at him before he says, "This is the last time we're doing this, Tommy."

"But--"

"No buts. I'm not chasing you down on stage no matter how cool you think it is right now."

"You don't have to actually like fucking chase me," Tommy protests. "Just stalk me a little. Right before Sleepwalker, it'll be fucking perfect. Everyone'll be so worked up from Fever it'll hit 'em like a ton of bricks. The music's already made for it, it'll fit right in with the dance segment."

"It would," Adam agrees. "But no."

"Oh come the fuck on," Tommy says, kicking it up a couple octaves. "You're not gonna fucking hurt me! We'll practice. We already fucking told the god damn world it was part of the show. What the fuck is it gonna look like when we don't actually fucking do it? The anti-weres are having a fucking field day with it as it is."

"You're absolutely right," Adam says, calm and even. "But we're not doing anything until your arm is healed, and we have the time and the space to get it right."

In the middle of another protest, Tommy snaps his mouth shut. He squints suspiciously. "You just agreed with me."

Adam nods. "And if instead of sulking you'd been listening last night, and yesterday, and the day before, you'd have realised that already. I'm probably going to get hell from the were community for doing it, but it's worse not to. It just needs to be right."

Quietly, Tommy says, "Oh." Maybe he had been a little fixated. But it's been almost a week since the press conference, and just as long since he's seen Adam shift. It's been bugging him. "Sorry."

Offering up a smile, Adam releases his shoulder to brush a few knuckles along his jaw. "It's okay. You're only trying to protect me. I appreciate it."

"We can talk about it though, right? Like kinda how it could go. I got ideas." Nabbing Adam's water, Tommy wets his throat. He doesn't get why venues don't blast the A/C when performers and roadies are trying to work. Place is a fucking sauna.

Adam drags in a long, slow breath. "I bet you do."

*

Lazing around his cushy hotel room, towel knotted around his waist, Tommy nabs his phone off the dresser before flopping onto the bed and helping himself to a mouthful of beer. Adam's been out doing promo all day. From the mentions rolling in on his feed, everything went pretty good, people asking the obvious questions about Adam being a were, and gay, and blah blah fucking blah, whatever. It probably annoyed Adam more than the whole AMA thing, but at least none of the interviewers really harped on it. He doubts anybody even really notices how frustrated Adam gets when the questions aren't about the music, anyway. Adam hides it too well.

Very deliberately, Tommy traces the smooth, shiny scar on his arm. It feels really cool, and it's not even tender anymore. When he can, he wants to get something inked around it, something to highlight it, claim it.

Somebody knocks politely on his door and Tommy nearly jumps out of his fucking skin, blushing hot. Nabbing his tee shirt, he quickly hauls it on as he rolls off the bed. "Yeah?" he calls, forgetting to check the peephole before he opens up to find Adam on the other side, casual in jeans and a tee but his eyes lined and smoky beneath the fringe of his hair, his mouth softly glossed, freckles shining through.

"Hey," Adam says.

"Hey," Tommy croaks.

Adam's smile widens. "Can I come in?"

"Jesus, yeah, sure, of course," Tommy blurts, backing up a few quick steps. "I was checking out how the interviews went." He scratches at the back of his neck. "How did the interviews go?"

"Good," Adam says, then amends with a wry twist, "Alright. I wish they'd let me talk about the music more."

"It's always way more interesting for them to try to pick you apart," Tommy says. "Lemme grab some shorts. You want a beer?"

"Yes," Adam says, "but no. Do you have plans tonight?"

In the middle of hauling out a pair of underwear, Tommy pauses to flick a glance around his room. "This is it. Why, you wanna go out?" Not that he thinks there's really anywhere in Idaho Falls, Idaho that Adam's dying to hit.

Adam shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "There's a national forest about a half hour from here."

Oh. Fuck yeah. Hitching his shorts up over his hips, Tommy lets the towel fall as he grabs up a pair of jeans. "Let's do it."

*

Adam kills the rental's engine. It's getting dangerously close to dark, but they'll have an hour at least. Tommy hopes an hour is enough. From the way Adam's over there buzzing with energy, five minutes should be enough.

For the dozenth time since they left the hotel, Adam asks, "You're sure about this?"

"Really fucking sure." Unbuckling, Tommy shoves his door open, steps out into the tall grass. The treeline looks to be less than half a mile off. "Dude, how long has it been since you played around out here?"

"Months," Adam says, shivering in the warm breeze. "There aren't really a lot of were-friendly places in LA."

"So c'mon." The car's roof is sun-warm where Tommy folds his arms, leans on it. "Get naked and get catty, rock star."

Adam starts shrugging out of his clothes. If they'd parked closer to the main road, it might've been dicey, but Adam found an older dirt road to bump down, bring them closer to the forest and further away from civilisation. It's so quiet out here it feels like they're the only people for miles.

"Don't run right away," Adam warns, vanishing behind the car as he ducks down to unlace his boots, tuck them into the backseat. "Let me get your scent first."

The shiver that crawls up Tommy's spine sure as hell isn't from the wind. He licks his lip, scrapes it dry with his teeth. "Got it."

"And be careful. You don't have to run all out. I'll let you get a good head start."

"Seriously, chill. I got it."

Tossing the rest of his clothes into the car, Adam looks at Tommy across the roof. "This is the stupidest thing we've done yet."

"It's also really fucking hot."

"And--"

"Try to stay away from rocky outcroppings, snow leopards like to pounce," Tommy mimics from Adam's endless lectures on leopard behaviour. "It's gonna be awesome. Just don't get distracted by a rabbit or a deer or something and forget about me."

"Not likely," Adam snorts. He pushes away from the car to round the front, shifting along the way so that when he comes out on Tommy's side, he's all big, toothy cat. Tommy doesn't have to crouch down for Adam to get his scent, but he does anyway, scratching at Adam's stubby little ears while he has the chance.

"Kinda wish you'd let me watch," Tommy says, and Adam nuzzles into the crook of his neck, chuffing breaths ticklishly warm. "Ready?"

Pawing at Tommy's leg, Adam makes that mewing noise that really, really isn't, way more deep and rumbly than the same sound from a domestic cat, and butts his head up under Tommy's chin. Giving in, Tommy digs his fingers in Adam's thick fur for another good scratch, burying his face in it the same time and breathing deep, surprised to find a familiar hint of Adam beneath the clinging wildness.

"Alright," he finally says, checking to make sure his shitty, beat-up Chucks are laced tight. They're far from the best thing for handling the terrain out here, but they're better than his creepers. Adam would've fucking killed him if he'd tried to leave with those on.

Settled back on his haunches, Adam gives him an expectant look.

"Straight for the forest, okay?" Tommy says, backing up step by cautious step. Maybe he's a little more nervous about this than he let on. It's not every day he agrees to let his best friend fucking hunt him for kicks. Even if it kinda was his idea.

Adam's agreement comes in a low snarl, his lips barely twitching back from vicious teeth.

Tommy's eyebrows fly up, lips pursed teasingly. "Ooh. Kitty's got fangs."

Rocking smoothly up onto all fours, Adam takes a threatening step forward. Grinning for all he's worth, Tommy turns and takes off, wind in his hair, grass beneath his feet, and he gets it then, why Adam's whole face lit up when he suggested this. The temptation to look behind, see if Adam's given chase yet, nips at him, but he ignores it, runs on until he hits the trees.

In the forest it's quieter still. There's the trickle of a brook somewhere off to the left so that's the way he heads, hoping it'll give Adam some of a challenge. The trees are tall and widely spaced, the underbrush sparse. He picks his way carefully over big, weather-worn rocks as quickly and quietly as he can. When he finally gives in to the urge to look back, there's nothing but forest. Flattening himself to a tree, kinda wishing he had something other than a grey tee and black jeans so he'd blend in more, he listens. The brook doesn't sound far off.

Then he hears the very deliberately snap of a twig beneath one of Adam's big paws and he darts away from the tree. About a minute later he slows to catch his breath, straining to listen again. Hearing nothing, he starts moving through the trees at a walk. It's actually really kinda creepy in here. He'd expected the sound of birds, other animals, something. It's not the cold, dead quiet of a tomb, but a watchful silence, looming. Goosebumps prickle all along his arms.

He thought Adam would've cornered him by now.

The second time he catches the snap of a branch, he freezes. This is probably exactly how a deer goes through life, always knowing something's out there bigger and stronger and hungrier, even if it can't be seen. Adam's fucking white and grey, he should stick out as much as Tommy amongst the green and yellow and brown. Looking around, that's all he can see. He squints at a bunch of rocks, wondering if Adam would blend in with those. Something on one of them twitches like one of Adam's ears and he jumps, laughs nervously under his breath when it turns out to be dandelion fluff wafting away on the air.

"This better be fucking fun for you," he mutters through a crazy lopsided grin. His nerves are buzzing. It's not like he's in any danger, even less than if he was out here alone, but there's still something exciting about it, something really fucking awesome. He's not sure what the fuck he's gonna do when Adam finally catches him.

"Gonna pin me again?" he asks the nothing lurking between the trees, his steps slow, measured. Working to keep his breaths as even, he veers away from a tight crop of boulders, not trusting that Adam isn't crouched behind it, waiting. "That totally does it for you, doesn't it. Being bigger than me. Being able to hold me down."

On the lazy breeze comes the sound of a growl. Tommy keeps walking, gaze darting left and right and back again, straining to pick Adam out from the terrain even though he knows it's not gonna happen. Maybe he should shut the fuck up. Running his mouth off out here isn't the same as giving Adam a hunt. It's too easy to keep talking though, egg him on, say all the shit that's been kicking around inside his head for days and weeks and maybe months.

"C'mon," he says, turning around in a slow circle, "c'mon, come and get me. I'm right fucking here, come get me!"

There's no warning roar, not sudden dark shadow falling over him. One minute he's alone and the next he's not, Adam right fucking there leaping straight at him, claws outstretched. He freezes, stupidly, and somehow Adam doesn't slam right into him, lands barely a foot away to rise up on hind legs, bring those heavy paws down onto Tommy's shoulders. Tommy doesn't mean to go down but he does anyway, flat on his fucking ass with Adam riding him the whole way, teeth bared, fucking closing over his god damn throat. He's pretty sure he screams, and that he knows he didn't mean to do, it just came bursting out of him unchecked, honest, real.

Adam doesn't let go. He doesn't break skin, either, but he doesn't let go, breath burning hot on Tommy's skin, one paw square on Tommy's thundering heartbeat. Before Tommy really thinks his way through what he's about to do, he buries his hand in Adam's thick ruff, holds on as hard as he can. He swallows once, hard, wondering what the fuck Adam's thinking, if he's even thinking at all.

And then it's Adam, human Adam, with his teeth digging into Tommy's throat, lying between Tommy's spread legs as naked as the day he was fucking born. He says, "Tommy," like it hurts, rough and growling, and he's pressed so close Tommy's got no choice but to notice how much the whole hunt-and-stalk-Tommy-prey thing did it for him. Is still doing it for him, because he's fucking humping the shit out of Tommy, an arm shoved beneath Tommy to haul him up into it, and Tommy's really pretty sure it can't be that fucking good, not against the jeans he's wearing, the studded belt, but apparently it's good fucking enough.

So Tommy does the only thing he really can do, and plants his sneakers in the dirt, hikes his hips up and lets Adam go to fucking town. It doesn't take much longer, a handful of seconds, and Adam comes, biting down harder as warmth soaks into the crotch of Tommy's jeans, smears over his belly where his shirt's rucked up. It's been a long, long fucking time since a guy's jizzed on him, like, he's talking high school maybe. He's sure it wasn't this hot back then. Not even fucking close.

Adam's still panting heavily, still shaking, as Tommy runs a hand down his bare back. It takes way longer for Adam to come down than it did for him to go off, the shadows stretching long, the breeze chilling. By the time he finally lifts his head, the pebble digging into Tommy's kidney has turned into a boulder, and the sharp pain in his elbow where he bashed it off something on his way down has mellowed out to an ache.

"I didn't think that would happen," is the first thing Adam says.

Doubtful, Tommy says, "Really? No clue at all."

Somehow Adam manages to look guilty and smug all at once. "I thought I'd be able to control myself better?"

"Oh, come on." Tommy shoves at Adam's shoulder. "The whole thing was pretty much engineered to get you to bone me, we both know it."

"It was not! It was-- It was--"

Both eyebrows raised, Tommy taps his toes in the grass, waits for Adam to catch up.

"If you didn't smell so good all the time, I would've been fine," Adam finally grumbles. "I thought we were just playing."

"We are playing. And who said you can smell it when I'm turned on, huh? You said, that's who." Tommy gives Adam's shoulder another shove for good measure. "Try and tell me you couldn't smell that all through the car ride out here."

"Maybe I thought that's how you smelled all the time," Adam says. "Because you do."

"You really suck at lying."

With a huff, Adam lets all his weight drop. And Adam is big, okay, and it's a fucking lot of dead weight to come crashing down like that, so Tommy figures the squeak that ekes out of him is totally forgivable. He pushes ineffectually at Adam, his ribs creaking. "Can't breathe. Can't breathe."

"If you couldn't breathe," Adam says reasonably, "you wouldn't be able to talk."

"Draping your naked ass all over me isn't getting you out of this one, Lambert," Tommy promises on a wheeze. "You knew every single fucking time I got hard on stage for you."

"Maybe," Adam says, muffled with his face hidden against Tommy's throat. Tommy's throat, Tommy would like to point out, which is fucking aching from the gnawing Adam gave it. Adam's back rises as he drags in a deep breath, holds it for a second before lifting his head. "You're hard now."

Semi-hard, maybe, but he could get back there no problem. No fucking problem at all. "Gonna do something about it?"

The flash of Adam's grin in the twilight quickly fades as he shifts. This time, pressed right up against him, Tommy can feel it as well as see it. Bizarre and amazing beneath his hands, fur spills out over Adam's skin, thick, powerful muscle flexing as Adam rises up on all fours, gives himself a shake to settle it. Cold sweeps in where Adam used to be, especially chill on the come drying into Tommy's clothes. He wrinkles his nose and plucks his clammy shirt away from skin. "Gross."

Huffing, Adam swipes at his belly with a wide, wet tongue, then backs off a few feet, waiting expectantly while Tommy climbs up. "You know the way back to the car, right?" Tommy doesn't have a sweet fucking clue where he is now. He could've crossed the border into fucking Wyoming.

Padding back, Adam slides in under Tommy's hand, waiting until Tommy gathers up a light handful of fur before he starts leading the way back through the trees.

"I feel like I should have a sword," Tommy says, leaning heavily on Adam as he clambers down a steep hill he doesn't remember climbing. "Maybe a leather leotard and a metal bikini, too."

Adam snorts.

"Dude, don't front. I saw those clubbing pics. Sticking me in some skimpy leather getup would totally do it for you."

When Adam's tail comes up to thump him solidly in the ass, Tommy laughs and rubs his ears, and laughs harder again as Adam swerves so abruptly against his legs he almost ends up right back on his butt in the grass.

*

By the time they make it back to the hotel, it's full dark. During the elevator ride up to Adam's room, Tommy thinks about how he kind of wants a shower and he kind of wants to jump Adam's fucking bones, and how maybe he could get both.

"You're killing me," Adam groans.

"I didn't say nothing!"

"You don't have to say it, I can smell it."

A warm shiver spills down Tommy's spine into his belly. It says a lot about his mental state that the idea of Adam fucking smelling him gets him hot. He casually leans against the gilded railing and watches the numbers count up. "You like it?"

"So much," Adam says miserably. "Oh god, Tommy, so much."

"Yeah, um." Tommy drags a hand back through his hair, getting it out of his eyes. "You get that I've totally given you a free pass, right? Like, if you wanna fuck around." In some weird, pretty impressive way, Adam manages to look excited and disappointed all at once. Tommy bites at the old scar on his lip from a piercing that didn't last three days before he got rid of it. "If you wanna do more than fuck around?"

Restlessly tapping his fingers on his elbow, Adam looks from the numbers still counting up to the red light of the camera in the corner to the doors that apparently need to open the hell up already. When the chime finally sounds and they do, Adam spills out into the hallway, leaking impatience as Tommy strolls along behind him, hands stuffed in his pockets and a big shit-eating grin on his face. There's something kinda addictive about being wanted the way Adam seems to want him. It's been there for a long while now, stirring beneath the surface every time they're close enough to breathe the same air. He never would've guessed in a million years this is why Adam's been holding back. Even while he didn't honestly think it was the whole straight label thing--it just didn't make sense, Adam's worldview being that narrow--if he had to put money down, that's where he would've lost it.

He totally should've fucking asked.

The moment he crosses the threshold into Adam's room, Adam's on him. Like really fucking seriously on him, slammed back against the door so hard he grunts. "Sorry," Adam says, hands on his face, thumbs soft on his mouth, "sorry, just. Can I?"

"Pretty sure you can," Tommy says, grinning still.

"This is going to make me sound completely fucking neurotic, but if we do this, if you let me fuck you--" Adam stops, sucks in a breath so sharp Tommy expects to hear a rib crack. He moves his hands from Tommy's face, braces them on the door. "I can't share, Tommy. I really, really can't. If I smell somebody else on you, I'll go crazy."

"No," Tommy drawls, "not possessive or territorial at all."

"It's insane. Completely insane, I will totally admit that," Adam says, sounding desperate. "And I actually hate it a little, because it's fucked things up for me before. I'm hardcore monogamous, Tommy Joe. Not lock you away in the basement hardcore, but if you're with me, you're with me."

"Yeah, I," Tommy's throat clicks. He'd been willing to take whatever he could get here and leave the worry about the consequences, and the inevitable Nine Inch Nails marathon, for later. If fuckbuddies was the only thing on the menu, he'd have gone with it, gladly. And now Adam's hitting him up for this? "You asking me to be your steady?"

"My mate," Adam says, smiling like he knows how ridiculous that sounds, how stupidly fucking hot it is at the same time. "The way you smell has been messing me up for months. Sometimes I can't even think when you're right there covered in my scent. Like you're already mine." There's a pause, barely a breath, and before Tommy can open his mouth, Adam's barrelling on. "I don't mean move in with me. Or centre your whole life around me," which is kinda hilarious when it already is, "but just--"

"Be with you," Tommy interrupts, hooking a hand in the crook of Adam's elbow. "Seriously, man, I'm already there. I am right fucking here. And who the hell said you got to be on top, anyway?"

"Nobody," Adam says, then hot on its heels, "I did, fuck, I did. Please, I want to. We can do whatever you want later, anything you want, but let me have you first."

Pushing away from the door, backing Adam towards the bed, Tommy says, "Better treat me right. Better do me sweet and amazing like all those promises you make up on stage."

"I will. God, I will." Right before Adam's legs bump the side of the bed, he slips around to tumble Tommy down on it instead. "I'm going to be so good to you, baby, you have no idea."

Aiming for a reassuring grin, Tommy ends up with a shy, happy smile plastered on his face instead. Adam groans again, rumbly like a growl, and crawls on top of him, face buried in his neck scenting him. It's weird and seriously kind of a turn on when he scoots further back onto the bed Adam follows head down, breaths puffing hot as he sniffs at Tommy's belly, the mess dried into the crotch of Tommy's jeans. A shudder ripples through him and he shoves his face hard against Tommy's dick, nuzzling and biting and dragging in these deep, shaking breaths like he can't get enough, never will.

"Hey," Tommy says, and nearly swallows his fucking tongue as eyes gone a bright unnatural blue flicker up. He means to say, Easy, big fella, to lighten Adam up a little, but what comes tumbling out is, "Maybe I should take my fucking clothes off this time."

"Oh god, please," Adam says, rocking back to yank open Tommy's belt. Since he's all caught up in the party going on below the waist, Tommy shrugs out of his shirt, wriggles around to kick off his dusty sneakers. His jeans get shucked straight off the second his shoes hit the floor, everything else with them, and Adam's back on top of him before he can blink, straddling his hips to stare down at him, nostrils pinched white Adam's sucking in so much air. "You smell amazing. You look amazing. Fuck, Tommy."

"Bet I feel pretty amazing too," Tommy says, laughing as Adam jumps off the bed again to strip down so fast seams tear. "Lube and stuff!" he shouts before Adam's on him again, and Adam snarls impatiently, stalks off to his duffle bag to yank the whole works out, digging out the lube and a crinkling packet of condoms. He holds them both up expectantly. "Okay, we're good. Climb on up, kitty cat."

"We don't really need those," Adam says, tossing the condoms aside on the bed, lube flicked open one-handed. This time when he kneels on the bed, it's between Tommy's legs. He nudges Tommy's knees up and Tommy goes easy, letting them fall wide and wondering if Adam can hear how hard his heart is pounding, smell the spike of adrenaline in his blood. "I've never been sick a day in my life."

"Have too," Tommy says, fighting the urge to bite down on his lip as Adam's knuckles brush up the inside of his thigh, shiny-wet fingers disappearing for a brief second before he can feel them sliding into the crack of his ass, stroking slow and easy over his hole. "You catch colds all the time."

"That's a shift hangover, not a bug." Propping his free hand on the sheets, Adam leans down to nuzzle at Tommy's belly again, Tommy's cock too. It's good, really good, but in no way a distraction from the fingertip Adam's pressing slowly up inside him. Not until Adam licks straight from root to tip, and the texture of Adam's tongue is different, rougher. Cat-like.

"Oh shit," Tommy says, grabbing at Adam's hair. "That is really fucked up, oh wow."

"Good, though?" Adam asks, easing off, and Tommy's attention zeros in like a laser on the slow stroke against his insides, how it feels like more than it was a second ago, two fingers in him instead of one. When Tommy can't get a word out, Adam briefly closes his eyes, the shocking blue of them toned down when they open again. "I can try harder to hold it back if it's too freaky."

"No, no," Tommy says, voice hitching as he gives working his hips a shot, distracting Adam for a change. It does the trick on him, too, sharp spike of pleasure that he's got to grit his teeth against. "No, it's good. It's you, right? I'm here for the whole package."

Tommy's never actually seen somebody's eyes go hot, but that's what Adam's do then. Burning bright and unreal as he comes in for a kiss, this crazy-slow claiming of Tommy's mouth like Adam plans on crawling inside him forever. And even then those big, clever fingers of Adam's don't quit working, and Tommy has to grip at Adam's shoulders to keep from bucking up, digs in as hard as he can and still ends up ruining the perfect rhythm Adam's set. But Adam's quick to move with him, bring him straight back into it again like Tommy's Braille at the ends of Adam's fingertips.

Tommy huffs out a shaking breath. "You tryin' to make me come already?"

Right beside his ear, Adam says, "I can smell it when you're close," like a purr.

"Jesus." Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. "I think maybe we should-- fuck." Flailing stupidly as he hits the bed on his stomach, Tommy tries to shove up, goes right back down when Adam's teeth fasten to the tight bunch of muscle between neck and shoulder, bite in hard. "Little warning next time," he mumbles into the rumpled bedclothes.

Adam lets go long enough to say, "More fun this way," before biting him again, softer and lower down his back. Adam's fingers aren't doing that beautiful slow slide out, quick push in thing anymore, are just there inside him, holding him open, and maybe it'd be uncomfortable as fuck if Adam weren't nibbling down his back, flick of tongue between teeth, and up again, all over the fucking place until it probably looks like he got into a fight with an angry kitten. And fucking lost.

"I really, really think you should fuck me now," Tommy says. "Or baby, I'm so going off without you."

Adam's as quick to say, "Are not," as he is to scramble up from sucking a hickey onto Tommy's ass, reaching for one of the condom packets to tear open.

Pushing up onto one elbow, Tommy twists around. Adam's fucking fingers are still in him. He's not gonna get used to that any time soon. "Thought you said we didn't need it?"

Adam spits out the foil caught between his teeth. "You wanted it. Oh my god, did you change your mind? Tell me you changed your mind. Latex stinks, I want to smell me in you."

"Jesus," Tommy says again, dropping his face into his hands with a rueful laugh. He's pretty sure he's never accidentally hooked up with a were before, not if they're all crazy the way Adam is. "Yeah, if you want. And we're safe without it, I mean." If it wasn't Adam up there, he'd totally call bullshit lies to get him to give it up bareback. But it is Adam, so.

"God, I want to." Adam gives the rolled-up condom a three-point pitch into the trash like it's grossing him out. There's another click-snap of the lube opened up, the obscene wet noise of Adam slicking up with it. Tommy keeps his head down, eyes covered. He knows exactly what this is gonna feel like at the same as he doesn't have a sweet fucking clue. The quick push of Adam's fingers back in him isn't anything close to a surprise but he gasps anyway, groans as they slide out again, spread wide to hold him open for Adam's cock. He thinks he's ready when it pushes in, big and thick and intrusive, and he isn't. He's not one bit fucking ready at all. His asshole clenches up tight, spiking the sharp burn, and before he can suck in the breath to tell Adam to wait, give him a second, Adam bites at the back of his neck, startles him into loosening up, letting Adam fuck in a fraction deeper.

The friction nails Tommy first, the bare drag of skin on skin. Then the heavy, full feeling as Adam gets all the way inside, a sweet edgy ache making Tommy clench his hands in the sheets. On the slow pull out, it's all friction again, lighting up Tommy's nerves crazily, that melts into fullness again, one into the other as Adam picks up a rhythm, fucks him easy and steady as somebody who knows exactly what the hell they're doing, like he can read Tommy's fucking mind.

"Don't need to," Adam says, licking at a bite hot and stinging on the back of Tommy's neck. "You're really fucking loud, Tommy Joe. Telling me everything you want."

"Am not," Tommy says, face heating when a hard hitch in his chest makes a total liar out of him. He never thought he was one of those loud, mouthy fucks. He's sure he never has been until now, Adam fucking pounding it all out of him, holding him down by the teeth digging into his shoulder and the dick in his ass. Fuck, it's really fucking good. So good he needs to get a hand on his cock fucking yesterday. He needs to find out what it's like to get off with Adam inside him, fucking him.

"Do it." Adam half-groans, half-growls as he hauls Tommy up off the bed by his hips. "Do it, jerk off, let me hear you."

Pushy bitch gets stuck in Tommy's throat. He gets a hand on his cock, barely jacks it once before Adam's hand is there pushing him away. Biting out a curse gets a warning growl in response, teeth clamping onto the back of his neck. His body tightens up on reflex, squeezing down hard on Adam's cock, and that is pure fucking gold right there, filthy, dirty heaven with Adam jerking him, fucking him deep and hard, and he comes on a wrenching groan, caught and shaking in Adam's hold.

When Adam shoves him right down into the wet spot, he barely manages more than a grunt. It takes him a second to figure out he's not down in it so much as Adam's hauled him back, ass high and chest down, Adam pressed all along his back going at him like maybe any second now the world's gonna end and this is Adam's last chance ever to get some. He gets as far as thinking wow, is he gonna be fucking sore when the endorphin rush wears off, then Adam's growling his name, biting it into flesh, small, fierce fucks of Adam's hips driving his cock in as far as he can get it as he comes.

On a long, lazy sigh, the tight clamp of Adam's jaw eases up. He noses at the throbbing mess of Tommy's neck like an apology.

"Lemme guess," Tommy croaks. "You got carried away."

Tommy shivers as Adam sniffs him. "You're not mad," Adam says, pure confidence. "You don't smell mad."

"Oh yeah?" As soon as Tommy's limbs decide to work again, he's going to stretch out on this bed and not move for twelve hours straight. "What do I smell like?"

"Satisfied," Adam says, a hand stroking up Tommy's arm to brush his cheek, coax him around so Adam can see his face. "Happy."

Nipping at Adam's fingertips, Tommy asks, "That it?"

"Like mine." Adam's usual brilliant smile is full of sleepy, smug satisfaction. "You smell like mine, and you like it."

"Damn fucking skippy." Nudging at Adam's calf with his toes in warning, Tommy crawls off his dick and flops down face-first with a huff. Those aches he figured weren't gonna makes themselves known until tomorrow are getting a head start. "Man, you totally did a fucking number on me." Reaching over his shoulder, he fingers one of the marks throbbing hot on his back. It fucking stings. Crazy fucker broke skin.

Not caring about the bedclothes, Adam clambers down beside him. "I'm not like that all the time," he says, worried. "You seemed like you liked it, and I--"

Tommy drops an arm heavily onto Adam's back. "Wasn't a complaint."

"But--"

"You got excited." When the sex flush on Adam's chest turns into an all-out blush, Tommy digs up the dregs of his energy and rolls over to cuddle in against Adam's side. "Dude, you're not the only one good at reading people. You wanted to do that since day one."

"Maybe," Adam mumbles. "Yeah."

"Do it anytime you want," Tommy says. "As long as you're the one who's gonna clean us up."

"Deal," Adam says, face pressed against Tommy's hair.

"And like, not on stage." There's a lot of crazy shit they can get away with up there, but not, like, that.

"No," Adam says, laughing. "No fucking on stage."

"Mock-fucking though, that's cool. And the biting thing."

Adam groans, "Stop trying to kill me, Tommy Joe," and bites him, hard, rolling him under to bite him again, and again, until laughter turns to gasps.

*
End

by S. Tori

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Freakshow - Adam/Tommy

2011-06-29T05:19:15Z

READ THE WARNINGS, OKAY.

Freakshow
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~2600 words. For this prompt on glam_kink, wherein Adam and Tommy are undead circus stars. I know. Contains consensual eroticised torture for entertainment.
Just because you're undead doesn't mean shit don't hurt. That's lesson number one.

*

Freakshow

Just because you're undead doesn't mean shit don't hurt. That's lesson number one.

When the theatre goes pitch-black, and anticipatory gasps rise up from the crowd, Tommy's silent heart starts to stir. It gives one sluggish beat in answer to Adam's hand squeezing his. It gives another as Adam leads him out into the centre circus ring, and another when the floodlights flare, bathe them in harsh-edged light. Leather gleams, spikes glint, and Tommy presses close to Adam's side, blood-red lips parted and shadowed eyes sly. He's hard already, thick and hot, and he likes Adam to know it.

The first show they did, Tommy was cuffed to a rough wooden plank, and he seriously loved that shit. The cuffs were old, rust-splotched iron, so heavy Tommy could barely lift his arms. It felt like everything that had ever been missing from his life. He had no choice as Adam kissed him, soft and sweet, couldn't offer anything in defence as Adam's hands circled his throat. And it hurt. It was slow, and cruel, and it hurt so fucking much, so fucking good.

Their second show, as Adam led him out to the crowd, Adam whispered to him that he wouldn't get the cuffs this time. He wanted Tommy to struggle. He wanted Tommy to fight. There isn't anything left on earth or in hell that Tommy wouldn't give Adam, so he gave it a shot, but he wasn't really into it until he saw the wild light spark in Adam's eyes. Then, he fucking fought. He bucked Adam off, pawed desperately at the dirt trying to scramble away, screamed when Adam slammed him into the ground. He fought and he choked and he died anyway.

He came back to life with Adam's tongue in his mouth and Adam's hand on his hard dick, the crowd going absolutely fucking crazy, and he rasped, "Sold," just to hear Adam laugh low and sexy for him.

Tonight, the theme is fire and ice. Adam's costume is the sick black and blue of fresh bruises, Tommy's red like blood, scraps of raw leather black and spindly like scorched twigs framing his bare chest. There's a brazier to their left, burning away, and a metal tub of steaming dry ice to their right. Tommy takes his kiss from Adam, cheeky and quick, before he sinks to his knees at Adam's feet, his back to Adam's legs. He tilts his chin up to watch as Adam lights a cigarette, the sharp smell of cloves winding through the air. Adam holds the smoke between his fingers and blows a saucy ring, winks at the crowd's applause.

"C'mon," Tommy says, reaching up to hold onto Adam's hips. "Or I'm not gonna suck you later."

The mics circling the ring pick up his quiet whisper, push it all the way to the shadows at the very back of the house. Tommy can feel how it makes the audience shiver. Like they're watching something they shouldn't, voyeurs in paid seats.

"You will," Adam says, full of calm self-confidence. He cups Tommy's chin in one hand, thumb smearing his lipstick, and tips Tommy farther back, spreads him out so he's fully exposed, vulnerable. The glowing red cherry of the cigarette is right in front of Tommy's mouth, and he thinks about licking it, biting it off and spitting it into the sand. "You'd be on my dick right now if I let you."

"Fucker," Tommy says, as wicked and sharp as the edges of Adam's grin. "Burn me already or I'm dumping you for Taylor's jailbait ass."

Adam laughs, so fucking dark and sexy, says, "Oh, sweetheart," and grinds his dick against the back of Tommy's skull as he grinds the cigarette out in the hollow of Tommy's throat. Tommy can't help his sharp cry at the searing pain, can't help jolting, shying away from it. He could probably hold back the whimper building up his throat as Adam brushes ashes away, but he doesn't want to. It feels too good to let it free, watch the way it lights Adam's eyes. "You're always so good for me, baby."

"Yeah," Tommy says, hissing when Adam's nails scratch over the raw burn. Adam frames the wound in his hands, highlighting it for the crowd as it slowly heals, from angry red to pink, to pale, unbroken skin in seconds. "Don't you fucking forget it."

Adam bends over to give him a loud, smacking kiss on the mouth. "I won't, as long as you're a good boy and fetch me that," he says, and points at the branding irons ready and waiting in the brazier.

"Fetch you a fuck off," Tommy says happily, and nuzzles at Adam's dick a bit since it's there, before he crawls over to root around in the embers. He's not really in the mood to get branded tonight. Instead, he unsheathes the dagger strapped to his thigh, gives it a quick flip, blade over handle, and jams it down in the coals. He cocks an eyebrow for the camera projecting them up on the big screens flanking the circus rings, but his smile, slow and impish, is all for Adam.

Adam's body language instantly changes. He expected to be obeyed tonight. They fucked before the show, Tommy's legs spreading easily as Adam pressed between them, pushed into him, took every one of his hard, slow thrusts and asked for more. But Tommy's in the mood to play, and when Tommy wants to play, it's predator and prey.

So Adam prowls around the scored metal tub with its clawed feet, snatches the iced-over cane from it, and stalks to Tommy. He rams the blunt end of it into the centre of Tommy's chest, making him gasp and double over, and shoves Tommy down by the shoulder while he's hurt, kicking his legs apart and resting a boot threateningly heavy on Tommy's dick.

"Ice or fire," Adam demands, silky-smooth, pure sin shivering down Tommy's spine.

Tommy can't find his voice. The pressure on his nuts slowly increases. It's not really much incentive to work up an answer when it feels so good, makes his cock throb, but he flicks a glance at the dry ice.

Adam's smile turns to a smirk, grimly pleased. "Sadist," he accuses.

"Right back at ya, babyboy," Tommy says, biting at the corner of his lip.

Planting the cane in the dirt, Adam holds out a hand to haul Tommy to his feet. Tommy staggers, exaggerating it a little when the crowd cheers. With a laugh, Adam guides him to the metal tub, making him stand a few feet back from it so the audience has a clear view. A tap of Adam's cane to the insides of Tommy's ankles has him spreading his legs wide, then wider still. He looks up, wishing there were cuffs to support him, or a bar to hold onto, anything.

"Hold onto me," Adam says, "and you can have the cuffs." Tommy reaches for Adam right away, earning himself another fond laugh, and the brush of knuckles against his cheek. "Next time, baby."

"Damn it," Tommy mutters. He knows he's lazy, and with the cuffs he can be as lazy as he likes. But Adam likes to make him work.

The crowd won't notice, but Tommy catches the slight breath Adam takes, bracing himself, before he plunges a bare hand into the dry ice. He flexes his fingers around the tiny chunk he pulls out, flashing the vicious burns for the camera, the way they turn to frostbite as he takes his time coming back to Tommy. The slow shit is always the worst. A knife is quick, clean, beautiful sharp sting, but all these hurts are the horrible, creeping ones. Ones that burrow bone-deep and nest there, aching for hours after the show. "Gonna be feeling that later," Tommy says, twisting to watch Adam circle around behind him.

"So are you," Adam says. He settles a hand on Tommy's hip, close to where the costume cuts low over his ass. If Adam had his way, Tommy's costume would be a few scraps of mesh and some leather buckles. Tommy likes making Adam work for it in his own way. "Still wet?"

Tommy's breath catches. The dry ice is evaporating fast, barely the size of a golfball now, held up in Adam's palm in front of Tommy. "Why?" he asks warily, eyeballing it.

Warm fingers trail across the small of Tommy's back, push down between the cheeks of his ass, find his hole slick and soft and open. Tommy grabs onto Adam's arm, anticipating the blunt shove inside but not getting it, holding on all the tighter for it. "You're not fucking serious," he says, staring at the ice steaming away.

Adam brushes the ice with his thumb. His skin's healing almost as fast as the ice is freezing it. "You've taken bigger."

The crowd gives a nervous, eager laugh. Most of them don't really believe Adam would do it. Even more believe that even if Adam does, it doesn't matter, because they're already dead. But they bleed, and they burn, and they love so fucking hard, Tommy'll let Adam do it if he wants. Nobody warned Tommy that finding his soulmate meant he'd live and die forever. People don't find their fucking soulmates anymore. The world's too violent, too sick and twisted, too hungry.

But him and Adam, they're a freakshow.

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath in, lets it out easy as he rests his head on Adam's shoulder. "Do it."

There's a shuffling wave as the crowd leans forward in their seats. Their lust for the bizarre laps at Tommy's skin. Their want to have Adam tear him down, break him, own him. Maybe they think he and Adam are so different from everybody else, but they're not really. Everything the crowd wants right now, that's what Tommy's got rattling around inside his chest, clawing at his heart. He doesn't need the crowd's desire, Adam's is always the sweetest, but it still tastes so very good.

"Put it in me," Tommy says, the audience's impatience leeching into him. "Hurt me where you can't see it if you want. I'll take it. I'll let you fuck me with it."

Adam closes his fist on the dry ice with a loud crunch, shattering it. Most of it flakes away, peppering the sand, but there's more than a few slivers clinging to Adam's skin when he squeezes Tommy's jaw open, stuffs the thick knot of three fingers in his mouth. And oh fuck, that burns, and it tastes fucking disgusting. Forehead scrunching, he sucks hard, searching for the taste of Adam's skin beneath the acidic tang.

He gets to it at exactly the same time Adam's other hand skids down, cups his dick. He grunts in surprise and sucks harder, his cheeks hollowing, a hand slapped over Adam's so he can grind. Adam squeezes, and squeezes, turning his moan to a whine. "You really wanted it, didn't you?" Adam asks, voice pitched low. "You'll take anything up your ass, as long as I'm the one giving it to you."

Tommy can't answer with his mouth full. He tries anyway, and all the audience gets is the tail-end hiss of a yes as Adam's fingers drag free.

Adam gives his cheek a chaste kiss. "Get the knife."

It takes Tommy a second to get his feet to move. The crowd's a dark, seething thing at the corners of his vision, their want notching higher and higher as he grabs the dagger out of the embers. It sears his palm, and he gives them the hiss of his pain, lets it wind them even tighter. He skids into the sand at Adam's boots, jabbing the knife between them before he falls back, knees bent and splayed wide, arms flung out to the sides.

Adam slowly drops to one knee, taking hold of the dagger to pull it free. The blade glows red-hot and vicious, dancing in the dark as the lights dim. Tommy digs his fingers into the sand, granules biting beneath his nails. He's so thankful he doesn't have to ask for what he wants. Adam reads it in his face, the desperate part of his lips, and places the very edge of the blade across them, shushing his cry as it burns. A low whimper seeps free. The crowd goes dead-silent, as dead as they believe he is.

Before his lips have a chance to fully heal, Adam kisses him. He pushes roughly into it, smearing Adam's mouth with what's left of his lipstick, straining for the knife's cruel kiss as well as Adam's. He gets it in a quick slash to the side of his throat, another to his shoulder, black, bloodless wounds a perfect match to his costume. Adam pulls away to drag the flat of the blade down Tommy's belly, making him twist and writhe in the sand, the noises building up in his throat finally bursting free when Adam swings the blade up to angle the point above Tommy's groin. It bites in, bit by bit, and Tommy wants to thrash, wants to kick and scream, but his chest's tight, suffocating, and all he can do is gasp, high-pitched and shallow.

"Beg me," Adam says, a demon's purr.

Tommy's heels dig into the sand. Hard, unyielding metal isn't what he wants burning him up on the inside.

"Beg me for this," Adam says, switching his grip on the knife as he grabs at the back of Tommy's thigh, pushing it up close to Tommy's chest like they're about to fuck. But it's the dagger between Tommy's legs, not Adam. "Beg me to bury this inside you, and I'll give you my cock."

The audience knows what happens next. They always know, but they always gasp when Tommy whispers, "Kill me."

"Again," Adam says, eyes bright, avid, tracking the swipe of Tommy's tongue over his lips. Tommy wants the kiss Adam's dying to give him, wants it so bad he can taste it. But the knife's still poised, waiting.

Tommy swallows hard. "Please kill me."

"Louder," Adam hisses, the tip of the knife biting through Tommy's costume.

"Please kill me," Tommy groans, grabbing at Adam's hair, blue swept through it like flames. "Please, Adam, fucking kill me already, and fuck me. You know I'd do it. I'd die for you, for fucking real. Let you shove it straight through my heart while you're in me."

The crowd's silence breaks on a roar. Adam slashes through Tommy's costume, not worried about catching skin. The dagger flashes in the light, swooping down, and Adam's going to do it, Tommy can feel it, see it in his gaze locked with Tommy's, and Tommy tightens his hold on Adam's hair, tilts his head back and pushes his chest up to meet molten steel.

He screams when it bites into flesh, screams again when Adam wrenches it free, drives it deeper. The crowd's surging now, a black, craving thing beating at Tommy's senses, slavering after his death. But it's Adam he's listening to, Adam's soft, hurried praises, Adam's ragged groan as he shoves into Tommy on only the slick left behind from before. Tommy holds on until Adam's buried deep, all the way, as deep as Adam had driven the knife into his chest, and Adam says, "It's okay, baby. Let go," and Tommy gives up, gives in, the starving darkness taking him.

The crowd is just as hungry for Tommy's life, for the way his chest heaves with fresh breath long minutes later, but Adam's still above him, still inside him, fucking him hard and deep and perfect, and every sluggish beat of Tommy's heart belongs to him.

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Show Me Where Your Dick's At - Tommy/Anderson

2011-06-25T06:33:04Z

Thank you to @GirlPhenom for wanting this at exactly the right time. You're all going to ignore the inevitable typos in this until rivers_bend and I get a chance to read it over while we're not all LOLOLOLOL in one another's faces.

Show Me Where Your Dick's At
Glamdom. Tommy Joe Ratliff/Anderson Brooks. NC-17. ~5800 words. For crossdressing on my kink_bingo card.
And right now, he's so got Anderson on the brain: Anderson's pretty, pretty face, and those long, long legs, and what Anderson's hiding under that skirt.

*

Show Me Where Your Dick's At

"You," Tommy says, scooting to the edge of the bench seat and listing over the table, "are so totally fucking pretty."

Split-second surprise widens Anderson's eyes. They've known each other for a while now, long enough that Tommy thinks nothing should surprise him anymore, because, c'mon. About shit like this, Tommy's a fucking open book. Get him drunk and the crap comes pouring out of him, whatever the fuck is on his mind. And right now, he's so got Anderson on the brain: Anderson's pretty, pretty face, and those long, long legs, and what Anderson's hiding under that skirt. The contrast is fucking killing him. In his head, somebody so fucking gorgeous comes with a stellar set of tits and warm, soft heat between smooth legs. Legs he really, really wants to have wrapped around his waist while he's sinking into that sweetness.

Knowing there's a dick under there, wanting to maybe get his hands on it to make sure, throws Tommy for a total fucking loop. But since Anderson's legs, and the teeny tiny skirt barely covering his pert little ass, are currently hidden beneath the table Tommy's using to prop himself up, Tommy settles for staring at Anderson's flat chest. With Anderson's flimsy shirt open to the navel, he's got a good view.

"And you're really drunk," Anderson says, not at all like he minds Tommy ogling him. Maybe kinda the opposite.

"Doesn't mean you're not gonna be as pretty in the morning," Tommy says.

And whoa, okay. That was a total come-on, and Anderson's looking at him like it's not such a bad idea, which means Tommy's got two choices here. One, he plays it off. He's drunk, Anderson's tipsy, and it wouldn't be the first or last time Tommy's said shit he didn't quite mean. Or two, he owns up to the play for Anderson's ass it so totally was. It doesn't even have to literally be his ass, even. The chance to cop a feel sounds pretty fucking good.

Shoving back in the seat, Tommy says, "C'mere," and pats his lap.

Anderson's eyebrow wings up. Looking almost like he's gonna laugh it off, something changes in his expression in the last second, eyes going darker, maybe, challenging. "Okay, Tommy Joe," he says, sliding out of his chair and rounding the table, a brief flash of skin high on the inside of one thigh as he sits sideways on Tommy's lap, legs crossed at the knee. "Now what?"

Tommy doesn't even fucking know. Anderson's a solid weight on his dick, his ass not nearly as bony as Tommy expected considering how slight he is. Tommy settles one arm around Anderson's waist, the other high on Anderson's bare leg, getting used to the few differences he can find between having a girl and a guy in his lap. "You feel really fucking good," Tommy says, fingers inching in past the gape of Anderson's shirt to get at more skin.

"I know I do." Leaning back, Anderson gives Tommy the space to keep heading down south if he wants. Like, Anderson's dick is right fucking there.

Totally too chicken-shit to go for it straight off the bat, Tommy drags his hand back up, traces the slender planes of Anderson's chest all the way to press his palm over one nipple. He rubs it a bit, feeling it go tight, peak. Just like a girl's.

Slinging an arm around Tommy's shoulders, Anderson slides down deeper into his lap. The skirt Anderson's wearing is more like a scarf tied around his hips, sitting flush to his thighs, and Anderson totally must've tucked tonight or Tommy would be able to see the soft rise of his cock. Realising that he fucking wants to see it, wants to spread Anderson's legs and get a hand up between them, hits Tommy right in the balls. He grunts, and Anderson laughs, a hand settling over Tommy's making his fingers curl in, like Anderson wants him to give his fucking tit a squeeze.

"Finally going to come home with me tonight?" Anderson asks, his head on Tommy's shoulder, mouth so close Tommy could kiss him. Tommy wants to kiss him. "Or are you still too afraid?"

"Not fucking afraid," Tommy says, shaking Anderson's hand free to rub knuckles over soft skin, come back and tease at his nipple a bit more, pretend like it's not Anderson's idea for Tommy to keep playing with it. Tommy's a big fan of curves, doesn't matter so much to him if he's got a generous pair of tits cupped in his palms or two nice, small handfuls. Turns out having to work to get something to hold does it for him, too, because Anderson so doesn't have anything extra up there, little more than muscle layered over bone, but squeezing tight, making flesh mound so Tommy's got a good grip on his tit, that is fucking awesome. Tommy wants to get his mouth on it, suck hard, flick Anderson's nipple with his tongue and worry it between his teeth to see if it'll make Anderson squirm.

"C'mon," Anderson says, hand braced on Tommy's chest like he needs the help staying upright, "find your balls already and come the fuck home with me."

Before Tommy knows what he's doing, his hand's skidding south, fucking forcing between Anderson's legs to cup his junk right there in front of everybody. But there's nothing even fucking there. He presses harder, searching, cursing on the skirt getting in his way.

Anderson snaps, "Jesus," and slaps at Tommy's hand. "You're going to ruin my tuck, stop it."

"I knew it," Tommy says, grabbing at Anderson's wrist to hold his arm pinned to his stomach. "I fucking knew it. Lemme feel it."

Pointedly closing his legs, Anderson twists in Tommy's lap, shaking hair back over his bare shoulders. "Kiss me first."

Not even bothering to waste time thinking about it, Tommy gets a hand on Anderson's smooth jaw and guides him in. Kissing's kissing, Tommy's always figured, and kissing Anderson doesn't do much to change his opinion. Anderson's lips part, the faint taste of berries on Tommy's tongue from shiny gloss before its overpowered by the wet heat of Anderson's mouth, Anderson yielding to him completely. He keeps an arm around Anderson's waist to hold him tight in case he's thinking about backing out since Tommy called his bluff.

It takes a hand on Tommy's shoulder pushing him back to get him to stop. Even then, he doesn't want to, but he's angling to get some now. The surest way he's ever found to get into somebody's pants is give them what they want.

"Okay," Tommy says, swallowing hard. He's so going to do this. He's really going to fucking do it. "Take me home already."

Taking hold of Tommy's hand, Anderson hauls him up out of the booth and through the crowd. Tommy stares at Anderson's ass, imagining getting his hands on it, working so hard to picture exactly what the fuck is going on between Anderson's legs right now, if his nuts and his dick are actually fucking physically tucked away down there, and what the hell does that even mean, anyway. Where the fuck does it go?

In the cab Anderson summoned up out of fucking nowhere, Tommy tries hauling Anderson back into his lap. Laughing, Anderson slaps his chest to hold him off, curling in against his side with legs crossed again, knee rubbing Tommy's thigh. "You're really grabby, Tommy Joe."

"Sorry," Tommy says, but only if it means he's ruining his chances. "You're really hot. And I like your mouth."

"Anybody with a dick usually does," Anderson says, his hand sliding into Tommy's hair, urging him down to kiss again, "sometimes even after they find out I've also got one."

Not really wanting to be a total asshole, Tommy holds off, says, "I like your eyes, too," with his fingertips tracing Anderson's brow, ghosting down to brush his cheek. "I'm not, like, I'm drunk, but I'd do you anyway."

Both of Anderson's eyebrows creep slowly upward.

"Fuck, shut up, you know what I fucking mean."

"I know you're really fucking horny," Anderson says, the hand he's got on Tommy's thigh sliding up to curve lightly over his dick. It takes everything Tommy's got to keep from slapping a hand down on top of Anderson's and grinding away like he's a fucking teenager again, and then he thinks, why the fuck not? and goes for it. He's got his other arm tucked around Anderson, holding him close, and it isn't a hell of a lot of work to snag Anderson's shirt, tug it askew, and get hand back on Anderson's tit, give it another little appreciative squeeze.

This time around, he gets a groan out of Anderson for his trouble. Like somebody's taken a match to him, Tommy's nerves light up, his cock giving a hard throb in Anderson's grip. He almost chokes on the sound that wants to come spilling out of him, his gaze flying to the rearview mirror wondering if the driver knows what they're up to back here, if the guy's gonna dump them in the middle of downtown for being filthy fuckers in his god damn backseat.

"Nobody cares as long as you keep it in your pants," Anderson says, practically in Tommy's lap again, "and tip."

"Seriously not making it easy on me."

Anderson grins, biting his lip. He realises what he's doing a second later, ruining the whole sultry femmeboy thing he's always got going on, and dials it back with a slow look down and a deep breath. And he's hot, okay, he is really fucking gorgeous, exactly the right kind of decadent flirting with the edge of slutty, but that flash of delight totally got under Tommy's skin. Everybody else that Anderson brings home probably doesn't get that. Tommy fucking wants it.

Twisting to snuggle in closer, pulling Anderson leg up across his knees so he can stroke from calf to thigh, Tommy says, "I kinda get it, right? Gotta be blind to not see how pretty you are, but it's like, it's not 'cause you look like a chick. No way am I pretending you're not packing down there."

Anderson says, "I didn't think you were," but he's curious, his hand light on Tommy's cock again, resting there like a reminder that he's not finished with it yet.

"I just," Tommy tries, "I really want to fucking see," which totally doesn't do a thing to explain where he's coming from here. Anderson doesn't fit with Tommy's concept of a guy, but he so doesn't fall into the girl category either, and the whole fucking binary thing is so limiting it's seriously pissing Tommy off. Even if Anderson swung the other way, had been so much more interested in the girls Tommy had been checking out earlier than in Tommy, Tommy's pretty sure he'd still want to get all up in Anderson's business, and he'd maybe even give it a shot. It's fucking stupefying how compelling Anderson is. Tommy's been wanting for ages to spread him out somewhere and just look at him, and touch, try to figure out what the fuck it is that makes Anderson stick under his skin.

"I hope you're going to do more than look at me," Anderson says, sliding away to open the door. He's out on the sidewalk waiting before Tommy realises they're here, and Tommy digs frantically for his wallet, throwing some bills at the driver hoping those singles he grabbed weren't actually tens. There's tipping the guy for putting up with their shit, and then there's like, sending his fucking kids through grad school.

Anderson keys open the building, bypassing the elevator to take the stairs up two flights. Tommy hangs back almost half a set, watching the muscles in Anderson's legs shift, his gaze drawn up yet again to the small dark space between them. He wants to get his hands up there so fucking bad.

"No Dana?" Tommy asks when Anderson leads him into a dark apartment. Not that he'd call this off if she were around. She's pretty easy-going, and wouldn't kick their asses for getting a little loud. Hell, she'd probably grab a book and head up to the roof for a couple hours, give them space like his roommates wouldn't even dream of doing because they're all cockblocking bastards.

Or they're so hard up for it they're willing to listen to Tommy fuck, whatever.

"She's got a show," Anderson says, flicking on a couple lamps on his way to the tiny kitchen. Glasses clink as Tommy rounds the corner, deep gold whiskey poured into two twin tumblers. Anderson offers one, hefting the other in a toast.

"I'm already pretty drunk," Tommy confides.

"Maybe I need more of a buzz on before I see you without your clothes," Anderson tosses back.

"You total asshole," Tommy says, grinning, and gives in. Like hell was he going to say no to more quality booze, anyway.

"Have another," Anderson says, reaching for the bottle. "I'm gonna go-"

"No," Tommy says, grabbing at him even though he hasn't made a move to leave yet. "Don't like, whatever. Let me do it."

"You want to take a leak for me?"

"No," Tommy repeats, shaking his head. Maybe he shouldn't have had that whiskey after all. "If you've gotta piss, whatever, but if you're like, I mean if you're gonna go take your dick out or something. I wanna see."

For the first time, Anderson wavers. "I honestly don't think it'll really be your thing."

"How the fuck d'you know; you're not in my head," Tommy says, holding on tighter, Anderson's waist so fucking tiny in his hands. "If I tell you it turns me on thinking about your junk just like fucking stuffed up there or what the fuck ever, and I wanna pull it out, feel you get hard in my hand, then it turns me on, okay?" Tommy hadn't actually been thinking about that last part until right then, but now that he is, whoo boy, he really fucking wants. So bad his dick's aching, and he's probably fucking leaking all over his shorts.

"If you freak out on me and I don't even get a handjob out of this, Ratliff, I swear to fucking god-"

"No freaking," Tommy promises, and figures if he wigs out a little, he'll be able to keep that much to himself. He drags Anderson in close so there's no mistaking how hard Tommy is. There's a split-second of disappointment that Anderson's dick isn't right there for him to grind against, finally find out what it's like to grind cock-to-cock with somebody, but they've got time. "Bedroom?"

Grabbing the whiskey bottle but leaving the tumblers behind, Anderson heads for the hall. Figuring that's about as much permission as he's ever gonna get, Tommy follows.

Tommy's seen Anderson's bedroom before. It's a lot like his, except instead of amps and guitars, it's makeup and clothes. There's a heap of shit on the bed Anderson yanks off along with the top sheet. The whiskey bottle goes on the floor in front of the nightstand, and Anderson turns around, waiting.

"Okay," Tommy says, wetting his lips. Stepping in, he cups Anderson's neck, thumbs skimming the corners of his lips, and goes for another kiss. Anderson opens up for it, but not quite as easily as before, making Tommy think about plying him with more booze, getting him as loose as he'd felt when he thought they were gonna straight up fuck around.

Before Tommy can reach for the bottle, Anderson sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, knees spread wide around Tommy's legs. "Oh fuck," Tommy says, because that is a fucking tease, that's what that is, and he nudges Anderson back. "Fucking lie down for me already."

Anderson goes for his shoes, sparkly, lacy platforms tied high on his ankles, and Tommy gives him another harder nudge. "Pushy," he says, but scoots back on the bed, settling down with an arm tucked beneath his head.

"I'm so fucking hard even my nuts are killing me," Tommy says, catching Anderson's calf before he can cross his legs again, hand sliding up past his knee, underneath his skirt to really feel him this time. Anderson doesn't really seem like he's all that into it, biting at the inside of his cheek where he thinks Tommy won't notice. Having him off-balance the way Tommy feels around him most of the time is hot, but not if Anderson's so twisted up about it he's not going to enjoy this.

Going up on his knees, Tommy straddles Anderson's hips, pulling his hand down far enough so he's not in the immediate danger zone. "If you really don't want me to, I'll stop, okay? Like I will seriously fucking back right the hell off."

"You're so not playing by the rules," Anderson says, frowning. "You were supposed to let me go deal with it, put on a lacy pair of panties, and blow you in the stupid kitchen."

Tommy gets hit with that mental image so fucking hard he's seriously tempted to say fuck it, go back out there so Anderson can do his thing. But they're here now. He's got Anderson spread out beneath him, still all tucked away, and if being pushy makes him a bad hook-up, it's not his fault Anderson's got really shitty taste.

"Do that next time," Tommy says, and goes for the zipper on Anderson's skirt.

"Oh Jesus," Anderson says, batting at Tommy's hands, "at least fucking-"

"No," Tommy says, fighting him off, "I want to fucking see," as Anderson says, "You're gonna rip my fucking skirt," and Tommy snaps, "Fucking deal with it," and yanks the fucking thing down past his knees, forgetting all about it the second it's not in his way.

"Oh come the fuck on," Tommy says, probably not the nicest thing in the world, but for fuck's sake. Anderson's got the cutest little pair of boycut panties on under there, with abstract flowers and swirly designs and shit, all girly in pinks and blues, soft lace at the waist and legs. He's even looks all flat still, only a tiny mound like a girl. "That is fucking awesome. How the fuck even, dude?"

"Keep going," Anderson says grudgingly. "You'll find out."

Feeling sort of like he's unwrapping a present, and giddy enough it could be Christmas morning, Tommy says, "Fucking right on," and cups his hand over Anderson's crotch again, his fucking fake girl parts, whatever, and squeezes gently, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on down there. Anderson's breath hitches, barely enough to notice, but Tommy is like, so fucking zoned in on every little twitch, every sound, it's like he's got radar in his skull, for fucking serious. Trying to decide between groping at Anderson some more, since he's just gonna lie there for it and all, and really getting in there, Tommy finally curls his fingers in the lacy waistband. "Lift up, pretty boy."

"You're going to blow me so much for this," Anderson promises, hiking his hips up.

Obviously, Tommy had considered the possibility that this whole thing would involve dick in his mouth. If he's going to be honest about it, though, what he'd counted on was getting to fuck Anderson, and give him a friendly reach-around like a good friend would. He's a good lay, it's not like he'd be gypping the guy or something. Maybe if hadn't pushed his luck so far, that's what he'd stick with.

And then Tommy's got Anderson's panties tugged down, and he forgets all about the payback Anderson's gonna want for this. Anderson is seriously fucking tucked. Like, Tommy doesn't even fucking know what's going on, and he's got it right there in front of his face, his hands all over it. There's medical tape stark white on Anderson's belly, a neat little triangle of it sitting exactly like a bikini brief on his pelvis. His balls and his dick are like, gone.

"I told you," Anderson starts.

"Shut the fuck up," Tommy says, staring open-mouthed as he traces the tape down between Anderson's legs, feeling around the edges of it for his dick. It is so fucking weird when Tommy finds it tucked up between Anderson's ass cheeks, so fucking soft it's not even real, not even like flaccid-soft. Finally reaching the end of the tape, Tommy picks the edge of it loose.

"You do, and I'll kill you," Anderson says, hand planted on Tommy's chest as he flails for the whiskey bottle. "Get it wet first."

Despite thinking that a total sacrilegious waste of most excellent booze, Tommy plays it smart for the first time tonight by keeping his mouth shut as he snatches up the bottle. Plugging up the mouth with a thumb, Tommy carefully tips it over Anderson's belly, his other hand cupped between Anderson's legs to hopefully catch any spills before they end up ruining the bed. "How much?" Tommy asks.

"Let it soak through," Anderson says, kinda twitchy still.

Tommy gets it good and drenched, the smell of alcohol sharp in his nose, and makes sure to rub it in, dissolving the glue, before he puts the bottle down to start peeling the tape off. No wonder Anderson wanted a moment or two in the bathroom to deal with this shit. It is fucking on there.

"Let me," Anderson tries, and Tommy happily says, "Fuck off," the going easier once he gets the triangle anchor-type part loose. Pausing with it held tight to Anderson's body, Tommy says, "Hey, get your legs up. Lemme kneel between 'em."

"This is the most fucking ridiculous hook-up ever," Anderson says, a flush deeper than blush on his cheeks as he drags his knees up, trying to keep them a little too close together for Tommy's liking. An elbow shoved into Anderson's thigh gets them knocked wider, and a vicious, "Bitch."

"Says the guy flat on his back with his legs in the air," Tommy says, settling in closer, his thighs tucked under Anderson's. "And like, don't even try telling me this isn't so fucking hot. I got my hand on your dick." The tape's still holding it down, but only barely. Most of it's come loose on its own, and Tommy's hand splayed out over Anderson's groin is what's keeping everything tucked neatly away.

"I really wish you would already."

An eager thrill plays hopscotch all up and down Tommy's spine. "Yeah?" He stretches his fingers out, feeling something shift, thinking it's Anderson finally getting hard, things finally loose enough down there for the blood to really flow. He lets go slowly, dragging the tape away, and works Anderson's dick free. Anderson's sac comes along with it, weirdly empty-feeling, and he sucks in a sharp breath, squeezing it in his palm. "Dude, where the fuck are your nuts?"

"Straight boys," Anderson mutters, pushing up on the palm of one hand. "You ever pay attention in health class or what?"

"Paid attention to the whole condom on a banana thing." As hard as Tommy tries, he can't let go of Anderson's sac. That shit is seriously fucked up. In the hottest way fucking possible, Jesus Christ. "I know you got balls here somewhere," he says, pushing up, feeling another shift that is so totally not related to Anderson's dick. "C'mon, give 'em up."

"Quit pushing so hard," Anderson snaps, grabbing onto Tommy's shoulder, this look on his face like it kinda hurts to have Tommy rooting around down there so much. But Jesus, Anderson's getting a little hard, and there's that shift again, and that's it, Tommy's got it, Anderson had his balls fucking tucked up inside him like when shit gets too cold and they try crawling up there all on their own. Easing up, Tommy coaxes Anderson's poor squished nuts free, his own giving a sympathetic throb as they settle into place in Anderson's sac, cupped in his palm.

"Jesus Christ," Tommy says, staring.

Anderson grabs a rough handful of Tommy's hair. "Suck me now."

"Wait," Tommy says, wincing at the pull, "just, fucking wait a second," and he pushes up again, straight up, a tiny bit of resistance before he finds exactly the right spot to have one of Anderson's nuts vanishing inside him again. It comes out easier this time, now that Tommy knows how this whole thing works, and Anderson is fucking letting him do it, seriously playing with his balls in a way Tommy never would've thought even possible. He notices Anderson's dick resting thick against his wrist, but he doesn't really notice-notice, way too busy with all this other shit going on.

Anderson makes a quiet noise, strained, and Tommy eases up, cradling his sac in both hands. "S'hurt?" Tommy asks, stroking softly, his brain not really making the connection that this is another guy's junk he's fooling around with. He gets it, right, but it's like it's something totally different than what it is.

"Aches," Anderson grunts, kicking his leg to get his foot free of his clothes still trapped around one ankle, caught on his shoe. "I don't- Jesus, Tommy, I don't do it when I'm hard."

Since Anderson's dick is there, and he's mentioned it and all, Tommy's sort of compelled to grab it. Anderson lets out this shocked gasp, hips jerking, and Tommy tries giving it a couple tugs, squeezing close to the head the way he likes. From the way Anderson falls back, mouth open, it's obviously not a bad attempt, but the angle feels all wrong. Tommy can so do this better.

"C'mere," he says, swinging off of Anderson to plop his ass up by the headboard, legs spread wide to make space for Anderson to crawl between them. Catching Anderson around the waist, Tommy tugs him down back to chest, ass snugged up tight to Tommy's dick. And that feels fucking amazing. So good Tommy's got to hold him down by the hips for a minute, grind against him, take some of that edge off.

"Trying to win me over with your big dick?" Anderson asks, leaning back so Tommy can't miss the saucy smile curving his mouth.

"Gonna jerk you off," Tommy says, splaying a hand out over Anderson's belly to make sure he stays right where he is. Before he gets a chance to really get back to it, Anderson snakes a hand between them, palm curved over Tommy's dick to work it with the roll of their hips. Tommy ends up with his mouth pressed wide-open to Anderson's shoulder, Anderson's dick caught in his hand, balls in the other, not doing a damn thing with either of them because holy fuck, Anderson is good. Not like, enough to get Tommy off kinda good, but Tommy so wouldn't kick him out of bed for breakfast.

"Whenever you think you can handle it," Anderson prompts, flicking a glance down at his cock, his eyelashes a dark flutter against his cheeks.

Right about then, with Anderson slumped against him half-naked in the shadows, pretty lips parted and damp, it hits Tommy that they're having sex. Anderson starts making tiny, gorgeous do-it-more noises as Tommy slowly jacks him, kneading at Tommy's dick through his jeans. "This is seriously fucking awesome," Tommy says, rocking his hips in time, his mouth pressed to Anderson's neck, a small scrape of teeth making Anderson shiver.

"Be more awesome if you'd pay attention," Anderson says, getting his other hand over Tommy's, tightening his grip.

Tommy says, "Now who's fucking pushy," but he pays attention, letting Anderson guide him for a few strokes so he can get a handle on what the guy likes. If Tommy ever thought he'd spend a drunken Thursday night learning how to jerk off a friend, he's sure he would've pictured it more like a dare, the kind of shit that happens when the weed comes out, not like this. Shaking Anderson's hand off, Tommy mumbles, "Got it now," into his mouth, because he's so totally got it, that little flick over the slit that makes Anderson moan, the way tugging on his nuts makes him suck harder on Tommy's tongue. And that gets Tommy stuck on the whole tucking thing again, how Anderson just does that shit to his junk, and Tommy's got to maul the fucking hell out of him. Like seriously maul the guy, jacking him off way too hard with only some spit slicking the way, scratching and pulling at his nuts, making him twist and moan at clutch at Tommy's arm, spitting curses like he wants it to stop. The second Tommy tries to ease up, Anderson cusses him out even worse, and Tommy's finally got to shut him up with a couple fingers stuffed in his mouth. He blows it almost right after, sucking on Tommy's fingers, cock pulsing in Tommy's hand, come spilling down over his knuckles smeared shiny wet on Anderson's belly as Tommy keeps going, squeezing everything out of him.

When Anderson slumps down in a boneless heap, panting hard, Tommy gives a triumphant, well-stated, "Ha."

"Fuck you," Anderson says slowly, kinda fuzzy-sounding, like he's drugged. Tommy is fucking good.

"Straight boy's the fucking best you had all week," Tommy says, not caring about the come on his hand when he reaches up to tilt Anderson's face back his way, help himself to a couple sloppy kisses. Anderson mutters a complaint, something about jizz in his hair, and Tommy happily ignores him, licking deep into his mouth and trying to get him to sit up a little, put his ass back on Tommy's cock.

"Eugh," Anderson says, rolling away. He wipes his face off on Tommy's shirt.

"Hey," Tommy says, scowling. That is his favourite shirt. Plus, this is so not anywhere close to Anderson returning the favour. "I'm still hard," he points out, in case Anderson somehow missed the giant fucking bulge in his jeans.

Anderson laughs, smiling like a little tramp as he scoots down the bed, settling on his belly between Tommy's legs. And okay, Tommy was fine with the dick. He was. But now Anderson looks like a chick again, cute ass right there, long legs and high heels, and his mouth, alright, his fucking mouth smeared wet and all of four fucking inches from Tommy's cock. The tug of Tommy's zip lowering goes straight through him. Tommy shoves a hand into Anderson's hair, gripping tight, doing his damn best not to fuck the hell out of his face the second he's got Tommy's dick out.

"Be polite," Anderson says, angling Tommy's dick down, the head brushing his lips, "or I'm not swallowing."

"I'll be good." Tommy's going to be so, so fucking good. He tries not to judge, because that shit's not cool, but his last girl wasn't big on giving head. It's not like he's gonna fucking die without it, and just because he loved going down on her doesn't mean he resented her (much) for not returning the favour.

All Anderson does is lick him, once, tongue dragging wet all the way from his balls up to his slit, and Tommy wants the last five blowjob-less months of his life back.

"Oh honey," Anderson says, "you're so easy," and Tommy grunts, "Please suck," nudging his head down firmly and oh-so-fucking gently. Anderson kisses his cockhead, a loud cheeky smack that does absolutely fucking nothing to ease the ache built up low in Tommy's belly. He pushes harder, still trying to be nice about it, and Anderson deliberately goes off-target, mouth skidding down the side of Tommy's dick.

"Fine," Tommy grates, shoving Anderson back up, "don't fucking swallow," and hauls him down again, pure fucking relief when Anderson opens his mouth, takes Tommy's dick halfway down his throat. Tommy freezes, pleasure-shock still, staring at Anderson's lips stretched around his cock, the flare of his nostrils on short, shallow breaths, the way his eyes squeeze shut. And then the fucking flutter of his throat as he tries to swallow, barely-there and then harder, only once or twice before he's got to ease back. He doesn't even pull off all the way, doesn't even really take a break before he starts sucking, really fucking going for it with his hand and his mouth, working Tommy over so fucking good his toes cramp in his boots. His boots that he never got around to taking off, and he's probably messing up Anderson's sheets, and who the fuck even cares, Anderson is so fucking good at this Tommy's never letting him stop ever.

Until orgasm ploughs into Tommy like a semi careening off the highway, and Tommy doesn't even know what the fuck anymore. It's so fucking good, but he's got enough booze in his system he thought he'd last longer than like, thirty fucking seconds, even if it's been almost a month since he got some.

Once he can peel open his eyes, he finds Anderson lounging against his thigh, absently petting his cock like it's done a very good job. There's no come anywhere, no balled-up tissues, and Tommy can't help grinning.

"Shut up," Anderson says, threatening to flick Tommy's nuts. "My neighbours probably already think I'm murdering you in here. You are so fucking loud, Tommy, Christ."

Everything's so heavy, so perfectly hazy right now, that Tommy doesn't even give a shit. He scoots down lower, upsetting Anderson's perch for maybe five seconds before Anderson gets with the program, climbing up to flop halfway on top of him. Anderson's not the world's best snuggler, a little too fidgety, but Tommy'll take what he can get. Besides, Tommy'll wear him down. Give it another hour, maybe another blowjob if Tommy's lucky, and Anderson'll be perfect for cuddling, all worn out and sleepy.

"I'm staying over," Tommy informs him, in case there was gonna be some sorta debate about it.

Anderson starts to get up. "Tommy-"

"Fuck off," Tommy says, yanking him back down, rolling halfway over to pin him to the bed. "I'm your fucking friend, okay, not some random dude you brought home for a good time, so I'm not gonna blow a load in you and leave. That shit is not cool. I'm gonna buy you breakfast."

"Breakfast," Anderson echoes, flicking a meaningful glance at the clock.

"Fucking brunch, whatever." Tommy starts kicking off his boots. "Point is, I'm staying."

"Alright, god," Anderson says, secretly pleased about the whole thing, Tommy suspects. "But go brush your teeth, you stink like beer."

"You stink like dick," Tommy counters, "my dick," and licks Anderson's face, making sure to get beer-breath all over him.

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: We're Howling Forever - Adam/Tommy

2011-06-24T17:10:55Z

For sulwen. Apparently if you've got dirty filthy kinks you really want explored, I'm am so your girl. I AM SO VERY HAPPILY YOUR GIRL.

We're Howling Forever
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~10,00 words. Werewolves, knotting, bottom!Adam. Unfalicious fill for fisting/stretching on my kink_bingo card.
Adam's not out of tune with his body, but he's gotten so used to controlling it over the years that sometimes it takes reading Tommy's to know what his own wants.

*

We're Howling Forever

Long before Adam even realises, Tommy can smell it. A slow, creeping itch, tickling at the base of Tommy's brain, Adam's scent grows thicker, heavier, saturates the air and seeps into Tommy's blood. He wakes up one morning with his dick so hard he whimpers when he rolls over to press against Adam's side, bury his nose in the crook of Adam's neck and breathe.

Sleep-groggy, Adam mumbles, "Baby?"

"You smell so fucking good," Tommy says, sweeping the blankets up over their heads to make a dark little cave drenched in Adam's heat. "So fucking good."

Adam says, "Oh," on a short intake of air. He's not out of tune with his body, but he's gotten so used to controlling it over the years that sometimes it takes reading Tommy's to know what his own wants. There's a quiet rustle of cotton in the shadows as Adam's hand slides down, skims over Tommy's hip to find his cock already wet. "Oh, god."

As Adam's fists closes around his dick, Tommy can't help thrusting into it, or biting at Adam's throat, or spreading a hand out over Adam's shoulder to keep him spread out on his back. Most of the time, Tommy's more than happy to be the one put face-down, fucked hard and loose, or done sweet and slow held close in Adam's arms. Going with the flow is his thing, and when the flow brings him here, he's more than ready. He needs it, craves it, almost worse than Adam.

Adam's knees draw up in a clear invitation for Tommy to crawl right between them, his chin tilted high, throat as exposed and vulnerable as his belly. Tommy could so fuck him right now. Adam's strong, so much stronger than anyone knows, but he hasn't got it in him to refuse Tommy much of anything. Maybe if he really wanted, he could. Being able to say no isn't at all the same thing as wanting to say it.

"Can't," Tommy says, pulling away from Adam's throat before he leaves a mark even Sutan wouldn't have any luck hiding. He flings back the covers to dissipate the cloud of Adam's scent. With the whole house is already soaked in it, though, it's not much help. Adam, the fucker, just lies there, spread out in nothing but skin and freckles with the early morning sunlight spilling all around, so god damn gorgeous and ready, so fucking willing, that Tommy has to bite back a growl. "You're the one that booked the fucking meetings."

"We can be late," Adam says, voice thick like he's already had Tommy's dick down his throat.

Tommy says, "Up," and slaps at Adam's thigh. Adam's gaze goes dark, heavy, and Tommy can see what he's thinking in it, the urge to roll over, go face-down and ass-up and break Tommy that way. And Tommy, he's not a fucking saint. He wants to get inside Adam so bad it's actually fucking killing him.

Rolling out of bed, Tommy snags the sleep pants he must've kicked off last night and hauls them on. "You shower. I'm gonna make coffee."

Quiet like he never is, Adam follows suit, sauntering naked from the bed to the bath and leaving the door wide open. The second he's out of sight, Tommy sits down hard on the mattress and grabs desperately at his cock, biting back another growl. It feels so fucking good, and Adam'll be so fucking pissed if he jerks off.

"Calling in fucking sick next time," Tommy mutters under the rush of water as Adam turns the shower on.

While Adam's busy, Tommy puts on a pot of coffee and digs some fruit out of the fridge to slice up, adding that, some cold chicken, and those weird bits of dried-up toast Adam likes to a plate. By the time he brings two steaming mugs and Adam's breakfast upstairs, his dick's gone half-mast. Not perfect, but good enough he probably won't shove Adam down and fuck him into the carpet.

In the bedroom, Adam's getting dressed. His nose wrinkles at the plate. "I'm not really hungry."

"Eat it," Tommy says, setting the plate on the dresser along with one of the mugs, and scooping up Adam's towel. "It's gonna be a long day."

Adam rolls his eyes, but he eats a piece of apple. Satisfied Adam's not going to faint from hunger in the middle of renegotiating whatever the fuck contract is up this week, Tommy heads into the bathroom. Inside, the mirror is still steamed over, the air close and muggy. He cranks the water, shakes out the towel, gets hit in the face with a fresh wallop of Adam's scent and ends up standing outside the stall for three and a half minutes with his nose buried so deep in damp cotton he might actually inhale the fucking thing.

"Fucking career," Tommy says, making his death grip on the towel loosen. Sometimes he really fucking wishes people weren't so wigged out by wolves. The big cats, the really fucking scary ones with the mood swings, nah, those are cool. They're kitties, all cute and adorable, they wouldn't claw your face off at all. But flash a couple wolf characteristics on national television and boom, everybody's flying off the handle about dominance games and questionable consent and blah, blah, blah. For Christ's sake, it's not like they're going to completely lose it on stage and fuck their brains out in front of little Jimmy. And he'd so like to see a cat keep it together if their mate is up there pulling some of the shit Tommy's got to deal with from Adam, fucking rubbing all over him all the damn time.

Great. Now he's fucking hard again.

Getting through his shower without letting slippery hands linger too long is pure torture. Trying to focus on making it through the meeting isn't helping either, because all he can think about is what's going to happen after. There's a not-so-tiny chunk of his brain unhelpfully pointing out that he could totally have dessert first.

"God damn it," Tommy snaps, and wrenches the tap so hard it grates. Groping for his towel, he grits his teeth against Adam's scent seeped into the fibres and wraps it around his waist as he steps out onto the bathmat. Then it's another sharp curse, so much more heartfelt than the last, because Adam's lounging against the counter, eyes lined in smoky black and mouth glossed shiny wet, his shirt missing and his fly conspicuously undone.

"You were thinking about me," Adam says. "I can smell it."

"Of course I'm fucking thinking about you. And I didn't jerk off this time, so you can't play that card again. You're waiting, I'm waiting." Careful to keep a good foot and a half of distance between them, Tommy heads for the sink to brush his teeth. "Put some clothes on," he adds, jamming his toothbrush into his mouth.

"I really don't want to."

Tooth-brushing isn't something Tommy would consider sexy even on his craziest days, but from the way Adam's watching him, you'd think it was a full-on strip tease. Even worse is how Tommy can't help responding to that look, nerves tingling, skin heating. The bathroom's not small, kinda crazily overdone with the extra-large shower stall and the whirlpool tub and the dual sinks, but with the air gone hot and thick, soaked with their mingling scents, it might as well be a two-foot square closet.

Very, very carefully, Tommy rinses his mouth. "You done eating?"

Adam flicks a guilty glance at his abandoned breakfast and makes a face. "I really don't want that, either."

"All you want is a fuck."

"Yes," Adam hisses, his body going instantly languid, his stance widening, his eyes going dark again as his mouth softens, inviting Tommy close. Barely resisting the urge to bend Adam over the counter right there, Tommy walks straight by, tugging the knot in his towel loose to drop it on his way into the bedroom. Three steps from the bed, Adam's pressed against his back, nuzzling whispers of please, baby, please into the nape of Tommy's neck.

"Lie down," Tommy says, close to choking on a moan when Adam slips away, too eager to even bother with talking anymore. "On your back."

The bright light in Adam's eyes dims as Tommy picks up the plate. "Tommy," he whines, moving to sit up.

Tommy plants a hand on his chest, pushing him back while crawling up to sit on his thighs, and sets the plate down on his stomach. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"You know I do," Adam says, voice wavering between pleading and pissed, "I want it so fucking bad. I'm sorry I didn't realise this was coming, baby, I would've made sure we had time off for it. Please don't make me wait." His hands push up Tommy's thighs, angling for Tommy's dick. "I don't want to wait."

"Eat your breakfast," Tommy says, picking up a grape to press to Adam's lips, doing his best to ignore the wrench in his chest when Adam whines again, "and don't give anybody the satisfaction of missing this meeting, and I promise I'll fuck you so hard." Pushing the grape into Adam's mouth, Tommy leans down to brush a soft kiss over his lips as he chews and swallows. "For hours and hours, as long as you want. Until you're fucking raw."

When it's another grape Tommy pushes into Adam's mouth instead of his tongue, Adam grunts, annoyed, but he eats the fucking fruit. And the next piece, and the next, and a few bits of toast along with the chicken too because he'll so need the protein. He won't quit stroking Tommy's thighs, which really isn't helping Tommy's boner go the fuck away, but Tommy figures he can't really bitch the guy out. This shit is hard enough as it is, Tommy's not gonna turn around and be a total asshole about it.

"Gonna make it?" Tommy asks, thumb brushing the corner of Adam's lips.

Nothing but truth, Adam says, "Maybe."

"You're totally gonna make it." Pushing the empty plate aside, Tommy hugs him tight, says, "Atta boy," when Adam's arms lock around his back instead of taking the obvious opening to grope him. "We're gonna go do this shit, and then I'm gonna give you everything you need."

Adam drags in a deep, bracing breath, slowly letting his arms fall lax. "Gonna take care of me?" he asks, a teasing quirk to his smile and pure honestly in his eyes.

"Such good care of you." Tommy gives him a quick peck. "But no more dirty talk while I'm sitting naked on your dick."

"Bitch, like that wasn't dirty talk," Adam says, and if his laugh is a little forced, a little strained, then next time around Tommy's just going to have to clear Adam's schedule himself.

*

Despite Adam's claims that he's not going to flake while he's driving, Tommy takes the wheel for the trip to 19E's downtown offices. It's not that he doesn't trust Adam. Adam is a way better driver than Tommy'll ever hope to be. What Tommy doesn't trust are Adam's instincts.

For the first three minutes inside the car, Adam's fine. After that, Tommy casually rolls all the windows down, and Adam's good for another five. Less than halfway there, Adam's sunk low in the seat, long legs sprawled out with his knees in the dash, and his breathing's gone deep and slow, deliberate.

"Okay?" Tommy asks.

Adam scowls. "I hate that I can't touch you."

"You can touch me."

Strain wrinkles Adam's forehead. "It won't help."

Tommy would give almost anything to be able to jam the car into park and crawl into Adam's lap, let Adam rub all over him, drown in his scent. But people have been giving Adam hell for years over the stupidest shit, who he wants in his bed, the genes he was born with, how he combs his fucking hair. Tommy doesn't go around picking fights. Not his style. Making a quiet, pointed stand, that's the kinda thing he can get behind.

"You're so stubborn," Adam says, reading Tommy's thoughts on his face.

"Pot, kettle."

"I don't care what they think." Adam sighs and shoves a hand through his hair, messing up all his careful spikes. "I honestly really do not give a shit. This sucks."

Tommy bites at the inside of his lip. He needs to keep his mouth shut. Talking about it isn't going to help. In a couple hours, four tops, they'll be back home, and he'll have Adam spread out on his dick, clawing at his back, cussing him out to make him do it harder, really fucking fuck Adam like he means it. Maybe if Adam's scent weren't crawling down his throat, so thick he can taste it, he wouldn't open up his stupid mouth and ask, "Does it hurt?"

Nostrils flaring on a sharp breath, Adam turns slowly to look at him. Eyes on the road, Tommy can't risk meeting his gaze, but Tommy can feel the difference in him, the creeping knowledge that he could totally get his way if he only pushes hard enough in the right direction.

"Wait," Tommy says, "forget it, don't, I didn't-"

Adam says, "You did, baby," and he's not trying to hide how far gone he already is anymore, what he wants, what he needs, prickling at Tommy's awareness, "you so did. You want to hear all about how bad I'm aching, how much I want you to put me on my knees, how I can already feel it, remembering the last time," his hand pushing down over his belly, cupping his junk, and now Tommy really can smell him, the familiar scent of his arousal overlaid with something even heavier, thick with lust and wild, promising that Adam's going to scream for him tonight, take everything he gives and beg and plead for more.

"Driving," Tommy grits out.

"So pull over."

Barely hitting the brake in time for the next red, Tommy slumps down, forehead braced on the wheel. He knows exactly what Adam's feeling right now. The phantom echo of it winds through his blood, reminding him of the vicious, driving need, how nothing can sate it except giving in completely, letting it ride him while he rides Adam's dick. The need to give Adam that same release is nearly as all-consuming.

When Adam drags in another breath, probably to keep going, Tommy snaps, "Don't."

"But-"

"No." Car shoved into park, Tommy yanks at his seatbelt, snarling in frustration when it doesn't immediately give way to let him lean across the centre console, take Adam by the throat and shut him up. Adam melts into the buttery-soft leather seat, more than willing to let Tommy tonguefuck his mouth, lick and bite at it, anything Tommy wants as long as it's something. When Adam's gone completely loose, pliant and accepting, Tommy eases back, hand still on his throat to make sure he stays down. "Alright?"

Oblivious to the angry blare of horns behind them, Adam nods. His eyes, dark and dazed, are on Tommy's mouth.

Settling back, Tommy buckles up. His heartbeat's going a mile a minute. Taking a second to make sure he's with it, and absently licking the taste of Adam off his lips, he puts the car into gear. The jackass behind them lays on the horn one more time and speeds out into the other lane.

For the rest of the trip, Adam stays loose and languid in the passenger's seat, so sluggish it's like he's drugged. Tommy knows that feeling, too, sweet like spun sugar, molasses-thick, the hot, heavy certainty settled low in Adam's belly written all over his face in the lazy way he watches Tommy, the slight, expectant part to his lips. It takes everything Tommy's got to not do him in the fucking parking garage. And then the elevator. The lobby.

"Are you coming in with me?" Adam asks while they wait for someone to come collect them.

Tommy's gut reaction is fuck yes, he's coming with, no way is he leaving his mate alone. But they're both as much human as they are animal, and Adam doesn't need to drag his boyfriend into his meetings to hold his hand. "Gonna grab some coffee," Tommy says, a fair enough compromise. "I'll bring you up some."

As Adam nods, his gaze flickers over Tommy's shoulder. Resisting the urge to lean up to give Adam one last kiss, because it's not going to be so much a kiss as him staking his claim on Adam right there in the middle of reception, Tommy gives his arm a quick squeeze and heads down the hall to the cafe. Every single part of him starts clamouring at once, urging him to turn around, keep Adam in his sights. The back of his neck prickles like a warning and he shakes it off, rounds a corner. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee replaces Adam's scent in his nose.

The guy behind the counter, twenty-something with a coil of inky-black barbed wire and bright feathers peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his tee, turns sharply when Tommy gets close. His eyes, a nice frosty blue, go wide.

"Hey," Tommy says, smiling easily, trying to dial back the whole territorial dominant thing he's got going on. He seriously hadn't realised how hard he was working to help Adam keep a handle on it back there. "A couple lattes, please?"

"Sure," the guy says, fumbling the containers in his hands in his haste to put them down. His breathing's gone fast and hard, trying to scent Tommy's mood, figure out if anything Tommy's feeling is aimed at him. It's really weird. Usually when Tommy bumps into another were, he's the one trying to figure out if they're gonna pay attention to Adam's scent all over him or try pulling some stupid shit. At least full-on humans don't take his passivity as permission.

"It's cool," Tommy says, pulling out his phone so his hands are busy. "No rush."

The guy flashes him a grateful smile and settles down some to take his order. Feeling bad about bleeding get-to-it-or-else vibes all over the guy's morning, Tommy leaves a few extra bucks on the counter.

A few doors down from the room the girl out front directed Tommy to, all the hairs on his arms stand straight up. The whole fucking hallway's flooded in Adam's scent. He clamps down hard on the urge to run.

There's nothing going on. Adam fucking wouldn't, period. Tommy's just really wound up this morning, hyper-sensitive. Hot coffee dribbles up over the rim of the cup beneath the cover, and Tommy carefully eases up before he crushes the fucking thing. He gives the door a polite rap.

It opens up instantly, somebody blurting, "Oh thank god," in his face. "Do something."

"What the fuck?" is as far as Tommy gets before the scene hits him. The normals are easy to pick out, all of them distancing themselves from what's going on by backing towards the edges of the room. The two others, guys Tommy thinks he recognises, are facing off over the table, snarling at one another about what Adam needs, and wants, and how they're better than the other at making sure he gets the proper balance between exposure and privacy. It's like, two fucking seconds before the claws come out. And Adam's right there between them, the picture of pure laziness kicked back in his chair, but his eyes are bright, avid, tracking the two of them, weighing which one will make a better match.

"Son of a bitch," Tommy snaps, and shoves the coffees at whoever opened the door. He rounds the table, knowing he should maybe get between the two guys before somebody gets shanked, but his instincts drive him to Adam. The total shit lights up when he sees Tommy bearing down on him, absolutely fucking delighted that someone's finally paying some real attention to him.

"Don't even fucking say it," Tommy snarls, grabbing at the front of Adam's shirt, so far beyond thinking about what he's doing as he hauls Adam out of the chair. Adam goes easy, moaning a little, an eager hiss knocked loose as Tommy shoves him face-first against the wall, pins him there. A flash of bare skin at the nape of Adam's neck catches Tommy's gaze, and the next thing he knows seams are tearing as he grabs at Adam's shirt, yanks the collar down to dig teeth into flesh.

Giving up a groan, Adam goes still. He's strung tight, quivering, lust rolling off him in thick, choking waves. He's way too far gone to even think about controlling himself. Anything could've happened. Anyone could've had him. Tommy never should've let him out of the house. Definitely never should have let him out of his sight.

Easing off, Tommy presses a soft kiss to the hot, angry mark he's left on Adam's skin. "Baby, I'm so sorry," he says, pulling Adam's hands from the wall.

"Please," Adam says, fighting him, "no, please, I can't wait any more."

Pushing Adam back against the wall gets a thankful moan echoing deep in his chest. Tommy rests his forehead between Adam's shoulder blades, trying to slow his breathing, hoping Adam's will calm down to match it. "Hey," he says to the guy holding the coffees, "dude. You drive?"

"Y-yeah," the guy says, throwing a couple nervous glances around the room. He quickly puts the coffees down on the table. "Yes, sir, I do."

Rolling his eyes, Tommy digs out Adam's keys and gives them a toss. "Black Mustang in the garage. Make sure it's in the driveway by tonight, okay?"

The guy clumsily catches the keys, nodding. "I'll call a car for you right away, sir."

"Thanks," Tommy says, turning his attention back to Adam, lacing their fingers together, as the guy scurries out of the room. "You gonna quit fighting and come with me?"

Adam makes a noise that isn't quite a yes, but it's not a no, either. Willing to risk it, Tommy backs off a couple steps, keeping Adam's hand firmly in his. Adam follows like Tommy's got him on a leash, pressing in close to his side, both of his hands clutching at Tommy's.

"That's it, baby," Tommy says, leading Adam past the two jackasses still sniffing at the air like they've got a chance, to the knot of humans hovering near the door.

"I'm sorry," one of them says once Tommy's got Adam out in the hall. "We didn't know what to do. None of us have ever seen-"

"Not your fault," Tommy says, making sure Adam's back is to a wall with him between Adam and anybody else that wants a piece. "They're his management, for fuck's sake. Should've kept a better handle on it, not tried to fucking take advantage of him."

Shock turns the woman's face white. She seriously didn't have a fucking clue about what was about to go down in there. Tommy's torn between feeling bad for her, because there's a fucking kicker to your day, and pissed right the fuck off that a company doing business with weres doesn't educate its fucking staff.

Getting a hold of herself, she straightens up. "I'll make sure that Mr. Lambert's schedule is cleared for a few days, and be in touch with you tomorrow."

Since she's trying so damn hard, Tommy sticks his hand out to shake. "Thanks," he says, ignoring Adam's tiny growl at him touching somebody that isn't him. Taking the hint, she backs off fast, giving Tommy another quick nod before heading back into the meeting room to deal with her two asshole coworkers. The second she's gone, Adam grabs at Tommy's hand, making him rub it off on his jeans.

"I barely touched her," Tommy complains.

"I don't like it," Adam says, slumping against the wall again to pull Tommy's hand up, nuzzle into his palm. "I want you to smell like you, make me smell like you."

"Oh yeah? You sure you wouldn't mind a little bit of one of those guys back there?"

Adam makes a sound like a whimper and moves to haul Tommy in flush against him. Feet planted, Tommy stays right the fuck where he is, and Adam whines miserably, noses at Tommy's fingers trying to get Tommy to touch him. "I didn't want them, but you weren't there. It got so fucking hard when you left. I wanted them to help. They should've helped."

"Yeah, they were gonna help alright," Tommy mutters. "C'mon. I'm taking you home."

"Home! But you said-"

With a growl, Tommy yanks Adam away from the wall to march his ass to the lobby. "I said I'd fuck you, and that's what I'm gonna fucking do. But I'm not doing it here."

"I don't care," Adam says, stumbling along behind him, "Tommy, Tommy, there's got to be an empty office somewhere, a desk or a table. The floor, even. Put me on the floor, Tommy, please, wait."

Three steps from the exit, Tommy rounds on Adam, shoves him back against one of the pillars supporting the giant glass roof overhead. His eyes flash wide, the sharp, eager spike in his pulse sending a fresh wave of his scent roiling through the lobby. Throat tight, Tommy says, "You gotta fucking stop talking."

"You want it as bad as I do," Adam says, hands lax at his sides, so willing to go wherever Tommy wants to put him as long as it means he gets Tommy's dick up his ass sooner rather than later. "Worse. You know I'm going to be so good for you. I'll ride you until you can't stand it, baby, I'll take it bare, make you come in me, I'll take everything you've got, I promise."

Sunlight on chrome flashes in the corners of Tommy's eyes. "Car's outside," he says. "Get in it."

Adam shudders. "I can't. I'm going to die if you stop touching me, please don't make me."

"Then shut up for a minute."

With one last wretched sound, Adam closes his mouth. It's taking way more than Tommy's got to spare to keep Adam on his feet, but somehow, Tommy manages to get them both moving, the rush of noise from the street like a slap to the face after the shocked blanket of silence inside. Half a dozen cell phones are pointed their way, click-click-click of photos snapped as Tommy bundles Adam into the back seat of the town car, crawls in after him and slams the door. It's no accident that has Adam flat on his back on the wide seat, or Tommy on his knees between Adam's spread legs.

"Gonna be all over fucking Twitter," Tommy snarls, grabbing at Adam's wrists when he reaches out, forcing them down to the seat. "Should've woken you up with my dick in your ass yesterday, fucked this out of you." Could have. Didn't. Last time Adam was like this, things were too new between them, and Tommy didn't dare let even a hint of his wolf out, working so hard to stay in control. This time he can barely keep the bubble of his humanity close to the surface, like he wants Adam to make him lose it.

"Please do it," Adam says on a short, shuddering breath. "Do it next time, don't wait, don't let it get so bad."

Edging his knees further under Adam's thighs, Tommy rocks slowly against him. Adam's legs come up, hands fisting tight, his body splayed wide open and waiting beneath Tommy, craving. And here's where Tommy's got to admit he did this. He knew it was coming. He knew how desperate Adam would be, how every second the ache would grow steadily worse, creep deeper, a black, viscous need, and he waited, watching it seep into every part of Adam, until it took over. He wanted Adam driven insane with it. Broken down. Less than human, because he loves Adam like this. It doesn't matter if it's during Adam's phase or his own, when Adam gives up entirely to this side of them, Tommy fucking adores it.

Shoving both hands into Adam's hair, Tommy holds him down and kisses him. Adam arches up for it, grateful moan cutting Tommy to the quick, but the sting still not so bad as to make him sorry for what he's done. Adam smells too good, feels too amazing writhing beneath him searching for a scrap of friction. "I'm a total fucking asshole," Tommy murmurs into Adam's mouth, words mostly lost as Adam surges in for another kiss, and another, inviting Tommy to lick deeper into his mouth, finally get inside him.

Breaks slammed for a red light, the car rocks, throwing them out of their kiss. Adam whines, grabbing at Tommy, his eyes gone almost black, glinting unnaturally in the shadows with only a thin ring of electric blue left behind, clinging like the sliver of his humanity. Tommy wants it gone. He wants nothing left in Adam but the urge to mate, be taken, filled up and fucked.

"I'm gonna fucking wreck you," Tommy promises, and Adam groans, clutching at his back as he bites at Adam's throat, catches skin in his teeth and worries it sore. "I'm gonna strip you down and fuck you 'til you can't even fucking breathe. Fuck you until you pass out, fuck you awake again."

A noise from the front seat brings Tommy's head up, lips peeled back in a snarl. The driver's scent finally penetrates Tommy's brain. Were. Something canine. Putting a hand over Adam's mouth to muffle his protests, Tommy catches the driver's gaze in the rearview and holds it. And holds it. The fucking car could crash, Tommy's not backing down. Adam is his.

The driver finally looks away. Pleased, and sure he's not going to try to get another look at Adam vulnerable like this, Tommy slides his hand down, freeing Adam for more kisses. It's a shitty substitution for what they both really want, but it's keeping Adam distracted as they wind their way slowly through traffic, and that's all Tommy needs.

By the time the car pulls up to the door, Tommy's lips are sore from the scrape of Adam's teeth. He barely grunts his thanks at the cowed driver for getting them home in one piece, busy shoving open the door and dragging Adam out onto the sidewalk. Adam leans heavily against him, nuzzling at his face, not really making it easy to get inside.

"Adam," Tommy says, patting down his pockets for his keys, "baby, c'mon. Almost there."

Drugged on need, Adam doesn't even glance up. He goes where Tommy leads him, his entire focus on keeping in contact, any contact, hands slipping under Tommy's shirt to get at bare skin. As Tommy jams the key into the lock, he's so ready to say fuck it and do Adam out here. The only thing that's holding him back is knowing anybody could see them, see Adam, and Tommy doesn't want to share one fucking bit more of Adam than he has to. When Adam's moon comes around again, Tommy's taking him north to the forests, finding some remote little cabin somewhere to do this right.

Inside the house is bright with afternoon sunlight. Holding Adam off, Tommy keys in the security code. In the silence that comes crashing in after, Adam finally breaks. Before Tommy can blink, Adam's on his knees grabbing onto Tommy's hips, rubbing his whole face against Tommy's dick, nuzzling so hard Tommy's legs buckle. A satisfied growl echoes low in Adam's throat as he presses in harder, breathes in deep and long and slow. Tommy cups Adam's cheek, tugging his fly down one-handed as he guides Adam in.

The quick snap of teeth on the fleshy part of Tommy's thumb makes Tommy snarl. They're here, Adam wants this, Tommy's going to fucking give it to him. Shaking Adam off, he fists Adam's hair, getting ready to haul his dick out and shove Adam down onto it.

"No," Adam moans, leaning heavily against Tommy's legs. "I don't want it in my mouth. You promised you'd fuck me."

"This is fucking you." Tommy parts Adam's lips with his thumb, pushes between them, almost drunk on how quickly Adam gives in to him and sucks. His hands grasp at Tommy's wrist, keeping it steady as his cheeks hollow. Like it's Tommy's dick he's got stuffed in his mouth, he fucking goes for it, tongue flicking at the pad, a graze of teeth, his eyes slipping shut as Tommy fucks in a little, pulls free to smear Adam's lips wet.

Slurred, Adam says, "But I want," and trails off, tries again to say it and ends up swallowing helplessly, words stuck in his throat. He paws at Tommy's thigh, pleading with hitched, animal noises rumbling low in his chest as Tommy sinks down. Tommy rubs their cheeks together, his stubble scratching Adam's clean-shaven skin.

"You want what I wouldn't do last time," Tommy says, the shiver of his breath on Adam's ear making Adam's trembling worse. "You want to be a little bitch on your belly for me." Adam's hands clutch at Tommy's arms, his heartbeat so loud Tommy can hear it skip. Heat pours off him, a solid wall of it heavy with his scent, the smell of his dick hard and leaking. "You want me to breed you."

"Oh, god, I do," Adam says, falling back onto his elbows as Tommy prowls over him, his knees up and spread, his cock pushing thickly at his jeans. "It's so messed up, Tommy, I really fucking want you to do it. I need to know what it's like."

"Think one of those jerks downtown would've done that for you?" Tommy asks, and he thought he was over it, he really fucking did, but Adam's miserable groan is nothing but sweet satisfaction. "Like anybody's ever going to give up the chance to fuck your gorgeous ass, just go to fucking town on you, so you can lie there plugged up on some mutt's dick."

Adam says, "You'll do it," restless hands running down Tommy's arms, over his chest, wanting Tommy's clothes gone but not able to stop long enough to do something about it. "You'll do it for me, I know you will."

"Tell me why." Biting at Adam's jaw, his throat, Tommy catches Adam's hands, pushes them down to the tile. It makes Adam squirm, and holy fuck, Adam's fucking squirming. "Tell me why you think I'm gonna do that, not just fuck you like I wanna, like I'm fucking dying to, like little fucking pushy bitches deserve."

"Mate," is barely a hiss and it makes Tommy's whole body shudder. Boyfriend, partner, lover, husband, they all mean the same thing to him, another label for something that doesn't need one. But mate sings through his blood, reverberates in his bones. It's so much more than a word. Adam says it again, and again, pushes it into Tommy's mouth on his tongue, and it tastes like forever.

Tommy rocks back on his heels to strip off his jacket. He hauls off his shirt next, Adam frozen on the floor staring at him, chest heaving. A slap to Adam's thigh makes him jolt, a whine catching in his throat. "Get up, get fucking naked," Tommy says, standing up to kick off his boots. "In the fucking bed where I should've kept you."

Adam scrambles up, tearing at his clothes, letting out a frustrated snarl when he can't get out of them fast enough. Like he's worried Tommy's not going to make good on it if he isn't naked in bed before Tommy gets there, he turns on his heel, darts up the stairs grabbing at the railing, the wall, the stairs themselves, down on all fours trying to get there faster. Tommy isn't even halfway down the hall before he hears the sound of drawers slamming, the thump of blankets and pillows heaved off the bed, making room.

At the threshold, Adam's waiting, grabbing Tommy's arms to reel him in, licking into his mouth more than kissing it, and peppering Tommy's lips with eager, tiny nips. Somewhere in the back of Tommy's brain, he's wondering if he was like this when they spent his phase together. It lasted three days, and he remembers the ache and the need, the pure bliss like nothing he'd ever felt before when Adam was finally inside him, and the marks Adam wore for days but not how they got there. He can't wait for Adam to claw that same pleasure into his skin.

"Knees first," Tommy says, voice shaking only a bit as Adam crawls onto the bed. "I wanna see you open up for it."

"God," Adam says, head bowed. The dip of the mattress when Tommy kneels behind him makes him moan. He bites at his lip, glancing back to see how they line up. Spreading his knees wider, he sinks down a bit more, rocks back into the push of Tommy's hand between his legs. "Just get me wet, okay? Please?"

Adam could ask for the second coming right now and Tommy would fucking give it to him. He slicks his dick first, giving it a few quick tugs to dull the vicious need to fuck, then wipes his hand off in the crack of Adam's ass. He says, "Easy," when Adam twitches, and adds more lube to his fingers, rubbing them around Adam's asshole this time, pressing in to see how tight he is. "Gonna loosen up, let me in?"

Teeth denting his lip white, Adam nods. Closing his eyes, he makes an obvious effort to calm down, managing to keep his breathing even until Tommy's thumb pushes slowly in. "Bit more, baby," Tommy says, stroking his hip. "Gotta be able to get you on my dick."

Adam drops to his elbows, forehead braced on his arm as he moans a curse. He loosens up a fraction more when Tommy pushes at tense muscle, trying to get Adam to relax from the inside out. Adding a second finger works better, even while Adam protests he doesn't want it.

"You're so gonna feel it." Making sure he's got a good grip on his dick, Tommy settles the head at Adam's hole. A groan leaks through gritted teeth as he tries to push in, Adam still too tight, and Adam isn't helping, rocking back like that. Slapping a hand to Adam's ass, Tommy says, "Stay the fuck still," nails digging in as he tries going again, gaining a grudging half-inch, then an inch, a little more. Adam's squeezing him so fucking tightly it feels like he's already coming.

"More," Adam says, quivering with the urge to thrust back. "Please, oh my god, give me more. Feels so good, Tommy, so good."

Seriously fucking wishing he could remember this from the other side, Tommy pulls back a bit, rocks in deeper. He's in far enough he's not worried about slipping free again, so he takes hold of Adam's hips, pulls Adam back as he presses forward. He can't help fucking slow and hard as he works his dick in, listening to the catch in Adam's voice, wanting more of it. It takes so damn long to get the whole thing buried in him Tommy's a mess by the time it's done, slumped against Adam's back gulping air, his hair sticking to the sweat slicking Adam's skin. He noses at the jut of Adam's shoulder blade, rubs his mouth against it and licks the taste of salt off his lips. "Ready?"

"Oh fuck," Adam says, twisting slightly to rest his head against Tommy's. "I thought that was it."

Tommy can't help a laugh. "Not even close. Still want it?"

"God yes."

Briefly lacing their fingers together, Tommy gives Adam's a squeeze and pushes up. He runs his hands down Adam's sides, as much calming himself as Adam. He hasn't actually tied himself to someone before. If he were all the way human, it wouldn't be an issue, and if he were nothing but wolf, he's sure the idea wouldn't send twin shivers of filthy anticipation and terrifying vulnerability coursing down his spine. And there's plain kinky fun, which is awesome and all, but since he really didn't want to end up with a knocked-up girlfriend, he's always been careful to keep a tight hold on the urge when it struck. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out. His instincts already have him by the throat, all he's probably got to do is let it happen.

Fucking Adam is familiar, even if this time it isn't easy with Adam barely prepped. Adam tries moving with him for the first couple thrusts until Tommy's grip on his hips tightens, a soft warning growl trickling from between Tommy's teeth, and then he drops down lower, head pillowed on his folded arms. Adam is so not a passive fuck. Even when Tommy's straddling his chest, fucking his mouth, Adam's hands are on him, fingers in him, giving as good as he's getting. Seeing him spread out like this, braced to take it, makes Tommy want to go at him harder, faster, just fucking slam it into him and watch him fall apart.

"Gonna fuck you so hard later," he says, pushing at Adam's hips, hand skimming along his thigh to get him settled down on his belly, following to stretch out on top of him. "Gonna make you stay right here all slick and loose, and I'm gonna put it in you whenever I want, fill you up again."

Beneath him, Adam shudders, one hand stretched out looking for something to hold onto. A knee shoved against the back of Adam's gets his legs spread wider. Tommy ignores the urge to take Adam's hand and reaches down and around to feel where his dick's holding Adam open instead, his heartbeat tripping. He's only ever felt the need to really do this before when he's been about to come, that driving urge to let go completely like before a full shift, but deliberately giving in is shockingly easy. He's disappointed when he can't feel anything more than the same heat and pressure, and he pushes harder at Adam's hole, fingertip close to slipping inside.

Adam bucks up with a gasp. "God, stop, wait, I can't-"

Guilty, Tommy snatches his fingers away. He kisses Adam's trembling shoulder, pets at his side, his hip. "S'okay. Breathe, baby, you're okay."

"Oh, god, I'm not," Adam says, clenching tight, twisting. There's a sharp tug on Tommy's dick, pleasure hitting him like being dumped in a tub of ice cubes on a hot day, pure shocking relief. He moves on instinct, trying to fuck deeper, and it hits him again when he tries to draw back and can't, a thick knot holding him buried in Adam's body. And oh fuck, now Tommy can feel it, the crazy clutching pressure of Adam's insides, the way they flutter as he struggles to breathe around the stretch. Giving up on trying to fuck, Tommy grinds in hard and Adam gasps, clawing at the mattress trying to get away from it.

Pulse in his dick, in the knot of it, Tommy grabs at Adam's wrists and grinds in again when Adam fights, using the opening to wrench Adam's arms down, fold them on the mattress and pin them there. "Don't," Tommy says when Adam's struggles end up tugging on his dick again. "Lie still, baby. You gotta take it now."

Adam groans, squeezing his eyes shut. He shifts restlessly, tiny little twitches of his hips that make Tommy pull against his rim. Tommy tries soothing him again, getting him to turn around and take a kiss, but Adam's not listening to him, tiny scraps of sound echoing low in Adam's throat, like maybe it's too much for him, like he really needs Tommy to stop.

Tommy can't. Even if he fucking wanted to, it's way too late. And he so doesn't want to. Adam wanted this, and now they've both got no choice. Making sure he's got a good grip on Adam's arms, Tommy nuzzles kisses into his shoulders, chases after the shivers he can feel skittering under Adam's skin. Words bubble up the back of Tommy's throat, mostly a growl when he says, "Mine now," as he nips at freckles, nosing Adam's head down so he can bite at the back of Adam's neck, frame the peak of his spine between sharp teeth. He digs in hard, flirting with the idea of breaking skin, and Adam goes completely still. Groaning, Tommy's clamps his jaw tight.

All the fight bleeds out of Adam on a shudder. Some small sliver of Tommy's brain, vaguely human-sounding, shouts at him to ease up. But he's got Adam pinned, stuffed so full Adam can barely stand it, and Tommy wants. This time when he grinds in, Adam fucking squirms, and he can't help but try to fuck again, his knot pulling on Adam's rim making Adam squirm harder, shake so much his heartbeat pounds through his back into Tommy's chest. The first wave of Tommy's orgasm crashes into him, flashfire pleasure razing his nerves as his balls draw up tight. His teeth break skin, the metallic tinge of Adam's blood filling the air as he comes.

Unlike every other time Tommy's come, it doesn't leave him dizzied and breathless, wrung out. Carefully, he unclamps his jaw, licks at shallow wounds. Another few drops of red well up and he licks those away too, satisfied when the marks stay dark and angry but have stopped bleeding. Lifting up slightly, he noses at Adam's hair.

Adam breathes out slowly, turning his head sluggishly. His eyes are glassy-bright, dazed. Licking his lips, he says, "I felt it. I can feel you come."

Lust hits Tommy so hard he grunts. He's got enough control now that he thought he could give Adam a break before the urge to fuck rose up again, but it's back already, licking hot at the edges of his brain. Bracing a hand in the centre of Adam's back, he rolls his hips, imagines how much slicker Adam is inside. When he catches on Adam's rim again, making Adam suck in a hissing breath, he shoves a hand between them to rub around Adam's hole, and fuck, fuck there it is, blood-hot flesh anchoring them together, Adam's asshole straining against it, stretched so wide around it on the inside. Pulling his hand free to slap it to Adam's shoulder, shove Adam down, Tommy gives a couple shallow fucks.

Adam breathes in through his nose hard and fast, closing his eyes and biting at his lip. What starts out as a shiver becomes a tremble, his hands reaching out, nails scraping at the sheet stretched taut over the bed, tearing it off to get at the mattress beneath. Tommy hasn't got much in the way of leverage, but he doesn't need it, he's not even fucking Adam so much as he's rocking his dick inside him, reminding him that they're tied together, that he wanted this. The whole room reeks of sex, of Adam sweat-soaked and shaking, and Tommy fills his lungs with it as he hits his second peak. It lasts even longer this time, feels like it's pulling straight from Tommy's core.

When he can breathe, he slumps heavily against Adam's back. Adam twists around, nuzzling at his face, trying for kisses but it's all soft, animal licks as Adam rocks against the bed. It's so slippery inside Adam now that Tommy's almost afraid he's going to slide free, and he forces his hips down tight, desperate to not loose Adam's heat. It's not over yet. Not even fucking close to over, and Adam keeps rocking, rubbing off on the tangled sheet, dragging Tommy straight to the edge again, pushing him over it, words spilling out of Adam between nipping kisses, telling him how Adam can feel it every time, Tommy's so thick in him, feels like he's wedged wide open and leaking.

"You are," Tommy says, voice thick and ruined, "baby, so much in you now, you know it's all over me," and he wedges a hand between Adam and the bed, presses against Adam's belly. "S'not enough for you, is it? So slick inside, so fucking full of it, and you want more."

"Please, fuck, please," Adam says, pawing at the bed trying to get more friction on his dick. Tommy bites at him again, anywhere he can reach, peppering his skin with dozens of tiny marks that'll last for ages. He's so going to keep Adam here just like this for the rest of Adam's phase, days at least, keep him here and fuck him, and breed him, leave him soaked in Tommy's scent and Tommy's come, slick and hard and ready. It's so good, so fucking good, Adam writhing under him as he fucks and fucks, Adam stretched to his limit, maybe past it, and still wanting it, and every time the knot catches on Adam's hole, tugs against it, Tommy feels like he's coming.

It takes Adam gone past words, sunk into mindless animal noises, sharp whines and desperate huffs, pleading, broken whimpers, for Tommy to realise he fucking is coming. Over and over. And then Adam tenses up, clenching down so hard Tommy can feel his cock pulse inside him, and Adam comes on a muffled wail, a fucking wail like nothing Tommy's ever heard from him before. Adam goes lax a long moment later, completely boneless, not enough in him to even twitch as Tommy still fucking drives him harder into the bed, rocks him up so close to the headboard he clumsily flings an arm out to protect his head only after he's already bumped into the wood. Mouthing at the back of Adam's neck, Tommy finds the mark framing his spine, fits teeth hardly close to human anymore to it, and bites, bites so hard he'd be afraid he's actually doing permanent damage except the way Adam's crying out for him is too good, filling his head, no room left for anything even close to a thought.

When it's over, really finally fucking over, Tommy can't move. Trying pulls on the knot still buried thick in Adam, and Adam whimpers, quivering. Whispering a soothing noise, Tommy nuzzles gently at the crook of his neck. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually Tommy gets a hand down to stroke Adam's hip, urging him to stay stretched out and quiet, just breathe.

Slurred, raspy, Adam says, "Feels so heavy. So full."

"I wanna see it." Some of the pressure on Tommy's dick has let up, but not enough he's getting free any time soon. If he didn't want to see so bad what he's done to Adam, he'd be okay with staying here the rest of the afternoon, maybe straight into evening. Adam is slick and hot around him, swollen. "Gonna be a good bitch for me, let me look at you?"

Adam hisses, "Yes," on a shiver. Head tucked down, the back of his neck is bare, vulnerable, and the mark Tommy's left on it is huge, vicious. Anybody, human or were, that saw Adam now, would know he's been taken, used, owned.

It's too much, going too far, but Tommy asks, "Gonna let me fuck you?"

"Oh god," Adam says, sharp and shocked, and Tommy can't help trying to pull free, desperate to see the mess they've made. Adam whines, pawing at the bed again as he struggles to close his legs, but Tommy's wedged firmly between them, and Adam's too weak to manage more than a twitch.

"Bet you're so sore, baby. But you'd let me do it. You want me to." As soon as the words are out of Tommy's mouth, and Adam gives up a trembling groan, he knows he's right. Adam wants everything Tommy can give him. Everything. "You're so good," Tommy tells him, earning a grateful-sounding whimper, "so fucking good, and I'm gonna be so good to you, give you anything you want," all the things Adam whispers into his skin when he's so far gone he can barely breathe, things that make his chest clench achingly tight. Mate he bites into Adam's back, and mine into the meat of Adam's arm when he reaches back to tangle fingers in Tommy's hair, mate again, over and over until Adam whimpers one more time for him, soft and sweet.

Pulling Adam's hand from his hair, Tommy holds it tight. "Ease up, okay? Gonna pull it out."

Adam manages a shaky nod. Tommy's not all the way down yet, but he can't wait. He needs to see. Needs to get his fingers in there, feel Adam fucked hot and wet and loose. Getting his knees under him, Tommy edges back slowly, hands splayed on Adam's ass spreading his cheeks so Tommy can see it when the knot pulls on his hole. Adam scrunches down against the bed, breathing fast, biting at the sheet crumpled up close to his face as his body grudgingly gives way, stretching wide and wider around Tommy's dick, and then Tommy's free.

"Holy fuck," Tommy says, getting his thumbs in close to Adam's asshole, pulling him open. He's fucking wrecked. A total sloppy mess, muscle twitching fitfully when Tommy rubs at it. Pushing a few fingers into him makes come seep out all around Tommy's knuckles, and Tommy has to get deeper, get more in him, three fingers and his thumb wedging Adam wide. Adam groans, hand skidding down the headboard searching for something to grip as he lies there, fucked out and boneless, letting Tommy play with him, fingers dipping deep and stroking tender flesh.

There's no way Tommy can go again, but fuck, oh fuck, he wants to. He wants to push his whole hand into Adam, make that heat clutch at him, know what it's like to feel Adam quiver from the inside. It'd be so easy to do it. Adam so loose already, and he wouldn't say no. Wouldn't even dream of it, would just take it, wanting it as bad as Tommy wants to give it to him.

Swallowing hard, Tommy drags his hand free before he gives in. He wipes it off on Adam's ass, adding a fresh rush of the hot, thick scent of Adam's body to the air to mix with his own. Keeping more of his weight on his knees this time, he settles down over Adam, elbows bracketing Adam's head, and noses at Adam's cheek.

Adam's lashes flutter, his eyes almost opening. He croaks out a sound probably meant to be a word, but Tommy shushes him, says, "I'll get you some water in a minute. Don't move." When Adam tries to roll over anyway, Tommy presses him firmly back down. "Pulled out too soon, baby. You're gonna make a mess if you don't stay on your belly."

Adam covers his face with one hand, pushes his fingers up into his sweaty hair. It takes him a couple tries to get out more than a few random syllables. "You want to keep it in me," he says, desert-dry. "Came in me so much, and you want to keep it there."

So fucking much. But he's got Adam like this, all his, for another two days at least. Adam's going to want it again. Tommy can already smell the urge building in him, so faint it's barely there, but Adam's so deep in heat there's no way once is going to be enough. "If I thought you could stand up, I'd let you. Watch it run down your legs."

"Oh my god," Adam hisses. "Do it. Help me up."

Not sure he's got the strength, Tommy starts, "I don't-"

"No, I want it, you promised. You fucking promised." Struggling up onto his elbows, Adam manages to get his knees braced, maybe even get up if Tommy wasn't on top of him. "Please, Tommy. Help me."

Tommy breaks. He backs off, one hand braced, the other arm wrapped tight around Adam, helping him push off the bed. They go up on their knees together, Adam grasping white-knuckled at the headboard, Tommy pressed so close to Adam's back he can't see it but he can so fucking feel it when his come starts to drip down Adam's thighs. Making sure his hold on Adam is secure, he reaches down between them, drags his fingers up the inside of Adam's thigh and into the crack of his ass, two fingers pressed into him, spread apart to speed up the wet spill. Torn between wanting all of it smeared over Adam's legs, up over his ass and down past his knees, and wanting his scent sunk deep into Adam's body, Tommy pulls his fingers free, cups them tight against Adam's hole to hold the rest in. Maybe later, Adam'll be marked up enough that the crazy need to own him nested in Tommy's gut will be satisfied.

A nudge to the centre of Adam's back is more than enough to get Adam settling down again, back on his belly with his legs sprawled carelessly wide. In the warm sunlight, his skin glistens, stained with sweat, come, content to stay there covered in Tommy's mess for as long as he wants. Adam's so fucking amazing. Tommy drops down beside him to kiss him, a real kiss this time, gentle and grateful.

"I think," Adam says, breathing deeply, "I think I'm going to pass out."

"S'okay." Tommy cuddles in close to his side, holding him. "Won't clean you up yet."

"If you get hard again, you can do it," Adam says. His eyes are closed, but he smiles when Tommy's gaze snaps up. "Fuck me awake. Stay in me."

"I know you're kinda new to this, but weres are always saying you gotta wait a day to breed your bitch again." Tommy's pretty sure he's only teasing. He wants to do it, but now that his instincts aren't riding him, he knows he's got to give Adam time to recover. The way Adam's breath catches, though, his lip caught on his teeth, that's something else. And the spike in Adam's scent, Jesus. They only quit fucking maybe ten minutes ago. He lets his hand drift down low over Adam's ass, spread possessively over the crease, and Adam shivers, eyes opening to narrow, glittering slits.

"Fuck, you want it," Tommy says, awed. "Just fucking got it, but you wanna know I'm gonna do it again. It really fucking turns you on."

Adam presses his forehead to Tommy's, his fingers light on Tommy's jaw as he says, "Hold me down, fill me up."

"Fucking crazy," Tommy says, shivers rippling up his spine at the hot rush of Adam's breath on his lips. "Really are my bitch."

Adam's heart skips a beat, the next one thudding against his ribs so hard Tommy can hear it. Cupping the back of Adam's neck, palm pressed hard to the raw mark there, Tommy pulls Adam in close to tell him between soft kisses every dirty, filthy thing he's ever heard about bitches in heat, how often they can take it, how much they crave it, how he's going to make Adam scream for him tonight, fuck him raw like he'd promised, and before Adam's got a chance to tighten up, Tommy's going to breed him again, get him so full and hold him down until it's sunk so deep in him he's never going to feel that empty ache ever again.

And Adam says, "Please," on every breath, clutching at him, needing him the way he needs Adam every fucking day, "please, Tommy, please."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: This is not what you had planned - Adam/Neil/Tommy

2011-06-20T02:11:14Z

The grande finale for @RagMan_RIP. Beta, as always, by the most amazing rivers_bend, though all remaining (and inevitable) typos are mine, as her brain apparently melted. #woops

Part One: I know there's better brothers but you're the only one that's mine (Adam/Neil)
Part Two: It's a phase that I'm in (Adam/Neil)
Part Three: Man with the hex (Adam/Neil/Tommy)

This is not what you had planned
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Neil Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~7600 words. Double penetration. Sibling incest.
When Tommy goes down on him with a shallow moan and Adam says, "Fuck, baby," Neil honestly doesn't know which one of them he's talking to.

*

This is not what you had planned

Hand raised, Tommy says, "He gets my vote."

Adam beams and grabs onto one of the bars overhead as the bus takes a corner. He doesn't look drunk yet, but he's close. "See?" he says to his ragtag band of sexual misfits. "I'm absolutely the best at kissing. Tommy would know."

"I would," Tommy agrees. "That tongue is in my mouth five nights out of seven."

Pointing at Tommy with a half-empty bottle of beer, Neil says, "You are what we like to call biased."

"Not really," Tommy says. "I'm just tellin' it like it is."

"There's only one way to tell for sure," Cam says.

Grinning so hard his flushed cheeks turn white, Isaac scrambles out from underneath her to perch eagerly on the edge of the couch. Of course he's into it. He's been dying for Adam's tongue stuffed down his throat since Atlanta. "You don't mean..."

"I do," Cam says solemnly.

"No," Sasha gasps dramatically, face frozen in a parody of shock before she collapses back in a giggling heap.

"You are all insane," Neil twists over the arm of his chair to root around in the cooler for another beer. "I'm having no part of this."

"But you have to," Cam says, not skipping a beat as Neil flips her off. "Otherwise the results are skewed."

"Hey," Adam says, trying to frown through the grin plastered across his face, "hey. Shouldn't somebody check in with me to see if I'm okay with this? I'm not a whore!"

"You so are," Neil grumbles.

"Am not!"

"You're pretty easy, though," Tommy says. "And we're all pretty hot, so."

"And you did lick my neck once already," Cam points out.

Adam opens his mouth, closes it again, and frowns. He stares at Neil as if this is somehow Neil's doing, not the fault of his own oversexed libido strutting across the stage every chance it gets. "Well," he says slowly, deviously, "if Neil isn't in, there's really no point."

"I'll take his turn!" Terrence calls, slapping his hands together and cackling, tumbling back into Sasha's lap as she hoots with him.

Calmly, Tommy says, "Neil's in."

"What the fuck," Neil says.

"You did worse already," Tommy says, sly smile only partly hidden behind his beer. "Way, way worse than just macking on him."

Neil goes cold straight to the tips of his toes. "I," he croaks.

"I remember this story," Isaac says, flailing at hand at Neil, as if Neil is going to provide anything at all like details given his enthusiasm for Adam's tongue. "Your birthday last year, you-"

"Got really, really drunk," Neil cuts in. "Spectacularly drunk, a lot like I plan to do tonight, and anything you may or may not have heard from that little shit over there is to be taken with a giant grain of salt."

Tommy plasters on an innocent who, me? face.

Adam snorts, smart enough to not buy into that shit despite Tommy's current status as tour boyfriend, or whatever the hell he is--Neil doesn't actually need to know, since it seems to be working for them, so he didn't ask. He's slightly concerned that Adam's setting himself up for a heartbreak to rival the disaster that was falling out of love with his first love, but Adam's got a career to worry about now, and Tommy really doesn't strike Neil as that much of a jackass. Brad wasn't a jackass, either, but he was a hell of a lot less easy-going. Adam likes to say 'passionate'. Neil likes to say 'drama queen'.

Tommy, though. If Tommy got any more easy-going, he'd be comatose. That is exactly the sort of influence Adam needs in the glittering mystical adventure he tries to call a life.

Adam smacks his hands together. "So who's first?" Shockingly, Tommy's arm doesn't rocket into the air. Looking slightly confused about this, Adam turns to Cam, the closest on his left. "Okay, babe, how about you?"

Cam flutters her eyelashes, says, "Ooh, babe," inexplicably in a southern drawl, and tilts her face up expectantly.

"Don't make fun of me," Adam says fondly.

Of course Neil watches. Everyone else is watching, it would be ridiculous not to. Adam kisses Cam the same way he's gone after anybody Neil's ever seen him kiss, sweet and soft at first before diving in. It lasts barely a handful of seconds, one last thank-you peck to her lips before he pulls back, smiling. She grins at him and gives a thumbs-up.

Giving her a quick one-armed hug, Adam says, "Next?"

Between Terrence's and Sasha's kisses, Sutan wanders out of the back wondering what the hell they're up to, and Adam rounds on him to an explosion of applause, bending him over one arm to attempt sucking his tongue out of his mouth. Somewhere in the middle of that, Tommy flops down in Neil's chair, half on top of him, and says, "So you gonna?"

"Gonna what," Neil grunts. "God, your ass really is bony."

"Kiss him," Tommy says, taking a casual hit off his beer. "And I mean really, really kiss him."

Anything to keep from looking Tommy in the face, Neil ends up watching Sasha try to eat Adam's mouth, laughing through it as he fights her for control. This is not a conversation that needs to happen.

Tommy slings an arm around Neil's shoulders. "C'mon, man. You're not seriously gonna try that shit with me."

"What shit with you," Neil grumbles, wishing he had more than a mouthful left in his bottle. Giving it a rough shove into the box with the rest of the empties, he stretches his arm out, desperate to nab just one more with the tips of his fingers. He gets it when Tommy gives him a helpful shove. Like hell he's going to say thank you, though.

For somebody that gives off as much of a careless, carefree aura as Tommy, he's almost painfully aware of his body in much the same way Adam is, always knowing exactly how to use it to get attention when he wants it, divert it when he doesn't. Right now, he wants Neil's attention, and Neil absolutely detests that he's got it.

"You saying you wouldn't?" Tommy asks.

"Saying I wouldn't what, what are you even talking about?"

Before Tommy has a chance to answer, Adam's shadow falls over them. Tommy looks up instantly, a tension singing through his body that wasn't there seconds before, tension Neil wouldn't even notice except Tommy is right on top of him. When Adam's fingers curve beneath Tommy's chin, the hard kick of his heart echoes straight through his back into Neil's chest. "What're you doing over here?" Adam asks.

"Waiting," Tommy says, tongue sliding out to wet his lips. His fingers dig slightly into Neil's shoulder, dragging Neil into the middle of something he's not so sure he wants to be involved in again. "Thought I was gonna have to get some action on my own."

Adam's gaze briefly flickers to Neil's face. "Did you?"

"He wouldn't go for it," Tommy says with a shrug. "Guess I'm not pretty enough for him."

"Oh, baby, you are so pretty enough for him," Adam says, and Neil hisses in a breath, about to ask what the fuck Adam thinks he's doing, before he realises Adam's voice is barely above a whisper. Regardless of how closely everyone else is watching, with the thud of music in the background, the thrum of rubber on asphalt as the bus rolls on, no one's going to overhear.

Somehow, Tommy settles deeper into Neil's lap without moving so much as a single muscle. "Gonna kiss me?" Tommy asks.

He gets his answer in Adam licking his mouth open right there in Neil's lap. One of Adam's hands comes down on the back of the chair for balance as he tilts Tommy's chin up further, shadows deepening on his cheeks as he sucks at Tommy's tongue, presses in closer like he plans on climbing up to eat Tommy's face off. Not really sure how it happened, Neil ends up holding onto Tommy's waist as he goes loose and boneless, melting into Adam's touch like Neil's seen too many times on stage to count. But Neil's never felt it before. Never realised that Adam could push for so much more up there, and Tommy would probably give it to him.

"Shit," Neil hisses under his breath, cold shock chasing away the heat crawling up his spine when their kiss breaks and Adam's gaze lands dark and heavy on him. Tommy sinks back with a satisfied sound, legs sprawled carelessly wide, the inside of his thigh rubbing Adam's knee.

From somewhere very far away, Isaac says, "I know that look. Tommy's vote is still fuck yes."

"Which leaves you," Adam says to Neil like a threat.

"Can I default to yes?" Neil says, not noticing how tightly he's holding onto Tommy's side until Tommy's breath catches. "Because I can't even begin to express how deeply my desire to not have that thing you call a tongue anywhere near me runs, and I think- What the fuck, Adam, Adam, no-"

The very worst thing about all of this, the audience--even considering its collective insanity--Tommy perched in his lap in exactly the right position to notice if Neil has anything other than a completely platonic reaction, and entirely beside the fact that Adam really is an amazing kisser, is that Neil already knew. And now he knows that peer pressure does absolutely nothing to knock Adam off his game. It's a shame. Neil had been really hoping he could come out of this honestly claiming that Adam kissed like a lovesick llama.

The second Adam stops trying to reach his tonsils, Neil says, "You kiss like a lovesick llama," anyway.

"Llamas," Adam says, entirely without a single scrap of logic, "are your favourite."

"Aw," Tommy says, voice pitched loud enough for the rest of the crew to hear, "Adam reminds him of Mr. Humphries."

"What, no," Neil says, "no, no," but it's too late, Adam's already launched into the story of Neil's childhood toy, how he carried it everywhere, demanded it be allowed to eat at the table with them, and how Leila had to agree to marry them so that they would be together forever and ever and ever when Mr. Humphries' stitches started to fray.

Tommy stays in Neil's lap the entire time, only interrupting once to say, "Pretty sure it's a sign," with his leg draped across Neil's, warm heavy pressure sitting right on top of Neil's dick.

When Adam's done being an obnoxious older brother, Neil hopes he's going to come collect his barnacle for a midnight romp upstairs. But no, of course not. Instead Terrence trots out the pot and Tommy stays in Neil's lap sharing a spliff and growing steadily more mellow, so loose and pliant that when Neil shifts his bony ass Neil almost expects him to go up in a puff of smoke.

"You guys do that," Tommy says lazily, licking smoke off his lips.

"What," Neil grunts, more interested in reclaiming the joint than in whatever random weed-induced tangent Tommy's headed down this time.

"Push me around," Tommy says, grinning up at Neil, pupils blown wide open and eyes glassy. "Like fuckin' manhandling me, dude. Both of you."

Neil doesn't need to ask who. He's seen it. "I do not."

"Y'do," Tommy sighs, settling back like he's ready for a nap. "And that ain't no pot-chub pokin' me in the ass, you know it."

Neil almost drops the spliff. Adam's on the other side of the bus, sitting on the countertop above Isaac and Terrence, sunk deep in a conversation that involves Terrence laughing his ass off and Isaac attempting to drum out a beat on three empty bottles rolling across the floor, while he watches Neil and Tommy. Mostly Tommy, Neil hopes. Adam's got that look in his eyes again.

Neil jostles Tommy's arm. "I think you should, you know."

Sluggishly, Tommy drags his gaze up. His smile goes soft and lopsided. "Y'think?"

"Most definitely," Neil says, giving him another hopeful shove. "Off you go, have fun, play safe."

Out of the blue, Tommy says, "Y'know he told me."

If it weren't for the pot, Neil's blood would freeze. "Tommy, seriously-"

"No, no, c'mon," Tommy says, struggling up. "You think I like, care? Shit happens. Sometimes it's good shit, right?"

"What you're smoking is good shit," Neil says, tempted to stuff the roach into Tommy's mouth to shut him up. It ends up in one of the empties jammed between his thigh and the seat cushion instead. "Shut up and go fuck my brother."

"I did sisters once," Tommy says, his gaze on Adam's, smiling wider as Adam tilts his head in a question. "Had the best fucking time."

"I'm going to pretend I have no idea what you're talking about, and tomorrow, we're both going to pretend none of this never happened."

A shiver shoots up Neil's spine as Tommy's fingertips lazily stroke the side of his neck. "What you need," Tommy says slowly, "is an excuse. A buffer zone. Like, y'know, me." Neil clamps his hands to Tommy's hips, ready to shove him off onto the floor, but Tommy makes a quiet sound, anticipatory, like he expects to be put down on something else entirely. Head lolling back on Neil's shoulder, breath warm, Tommy murmurs, "Offer's open if you want it," and leans in the short distance to touch lips to skin briefly, there and gone again. He slides off Neil's lap and onto his feet like a puppet with its strings tugged, weaving past the couch, around Isaac, to slip between Adam's spread knees, claim a lazy kiss.

Neil swallows hard. Both Adam and Tommy have got to be baked if they're doing that out here. It isn't that they don't sometimes, not in hiding and not advertising, either, but never with so much naked want plastered all over both their faces. Even if Neil wanted to, no way is he getting tangled up in it. That's his story, and he's sticking the fuck to it.

Until Adam, with a lingering caress to Tommy's cheek, slides down from the counter, heads up the short twist of stairs to the only bedroom on the bus, and Tommy turns around, eyebrow cocked, invitation blatant in the slant of his body as leans he back against the counter's edge. Nobody else is paying any attention to them at all.

Grabbing two more beers and an unlit joint, Neil makes for the stairs.

Adam's already on the bed, shirtless, by the time he gets there. Both of Adam's eyebrows fly up, expecting Tommy, but before Neil can beat a hasty retreat, arms slip around his waist from behind, Tommy up on his toes to rest his chin on Neil's shoulder.

"Oh my god," Neil says, shrugging Tommy off. Unfazed, Tommy snatches up one of the beers, cracks it open. "Tell me you at least talked about this."

"Sure we did," Tommy says, and Adam barks a short laugh. "Okay, I talked about it. He was too busy blowing his load in me to talk."

Neil's insides give a swift, hot lurch. "So this is all your idea." He gestures with the bottle he's left holding, taking in Adam on the bed, Tommy undoing his jeans one handed as he tips his beer up, takes a long pull. "All of this."

Tommy says, "Yeah, why not, whatever makes it easier for you." Hauling off his shirt, he shakes it off his arm over his beer so he doesn't have to put the bottle down, then kneels on the bed, weirdly compelling with his pretty face and stark horror tattoos. "You wanna make out some first, or just stick it in me?"

"This is really fucked up," Neil says, his feet carrying him to the foot of the bed without anything even remotely resembling his permission. "I hope you both realise that."

Shoving his beer into Neil's free hand, Tommy grabs onto Neil's jeans, wrenches open his fly. "So you want me to suck you first. Cool. I can work with that."

Bizarrely, the strangest part of Neil's entire night isn't Adam flaked out on the bed watching as Tommy reaches into his shorts, wraps a strong hand rough with calluses around his cock. It isn't glancing down to see Tommy haul it out, lick his lips like he's really looking forward to getting all over it. It's not even when Tommy says, "He kinda looks like you," to them, or, "fuckin' hot when it's cut," with his thumb rubbing the ridge, turning Neil's knees to jelly.

It might be when Tommy goes down on him with a shallow moan and Adam says, "Fuck, baby," and Neil honestly doesn't know which one of them he's talking to, Tommy for taking it or Neil for grabbing desperately at Tommy's head, beer bottle in the way of him getting a good grip on Tommy's hair.

Rolling up onto his knees, Adam reaches out and plucks the joint from between Neil's fingers. When Neil spits a curse at him, he simply grins and lights up, gives the Zippo a careless toss to brush Neil's arm aside, push his fingers into Tommy's hair and push Tommy down a little more, then a little more, until the soft flutter of his throat closes around the head of Neil's dick. It's so amazingly good Neil thinks he might die, thinks maybe he probably should be shot for letting it happen in the first place. It's even good when Tommy starts fighting the urge to choke, back heaving, breaths hot and fast on Neil's belly, long, long seconds ticking by before Adam pulls him off, lets him gulp air.

Tommy swipes at his mouth with the back of one wrist. "This is gonna be fucking awesome," he rasps, and coughs, shakes back his hair. "Been fucking dyin' to get double-teamed ever since you started talking shit about it."

"I know," Adam says, pulling him back by the hair so he's resting against Adam's chest. Eyes on Neil, he puts the spliff to Tommy's lips, hums low in his throat as Tommy takes a huge hit, holds it and holds it before opening his mouth to let smoke curl lazily free.

Neil snaps, "Give me that," and snatches the joint, takes a hit of his own. He loses it too fast, startled by somebody's hand on his wet cock, and quickly takes another, afraid to look down to see who owns those fingers rubbing precome from his slit. They don't feel anything like Tommy's, but he's hoping.

When Tommy drapes both arms around his neck, leans up to nuzzle at his mouth, Neil says, "You're touching my dick."

"Not the first time," Adam says.

"Not gonna be the last, either," Tommy says, and looks down. "You gonna haul mine out or what?"

"Would somebody take these fucking beers," Neil says, and Adam says, "Shut up, I got this," obviously meaning Tommy's dick, because yes, he's most certainly got it, one hand for each of them as Tommy makes a quietly appreciative noise, spreads his fingers out on the back of Neil's head searching for a handhold.

"You gotta grow your fucking hair out," Tommy says, and hauls him in for a kiss as Adam's hands circle around their cocks, stroke them together. Neil burbles something into Tommy's mouth that makes Tommy huff a laugh, get the other hand on his face. For the guy that's managed to stay hooked up with Adam for so long, Tommy's pretty fucking pushy.

Adam says, "Not with me, he isn't," and as if he can't go a minute longer without demonstrating, yanks Tommy back again, hand skidding up over his belly to take hold of his throat, kiss him until Tommy's hand slips from Neil's face, slides down to find Neil's dick. Fingers wrapping tight, Tommy jacks it along to the rhythm of Adam tonguefucking his mouth. Somewhere in the middle of Tommy groaning about how it feels almost exactly like jerking Adam off, Neil remembers that yes, of course, he can hold both bottles in one hand if he grips them by the neck. Now he has one hand free, though, he can't even begin to think about what to do with it.

"S'enough foreplay, right?" Tommy asks, messing up Adam's kisses. "We can fuck now?"

"Don't think I'm the one you're supposed to ask," Adam says.

Thumb pressed hard to Neil's slit, Tommy's smile takes on a cheeky slant. "Didn't think I was." He gives Adam a nudge back, rolling his eyes when Adam comes in for another kiss first but letting him take it. Neil snorts a laugh. Less than minutes in Adam's orbit, Tommy probably figured out the easiest way to get what he wanted was to wait until Adam thought he was getting what he wanted first.

As Tommy slings Neil another different sort of smile, he knows he's got it right.

"Hey," Adam says, reluctantly scooting back up towards the head of the bed, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't think he's gonna help you handle me. He's not."

"'Course not," Tommy says, finally taking the fucking beers off Neil's hands to finish one and pass the other off to Adam, who sets it in one of the cup holders beside the bed. "Wouldn't fucking dream of it."

"You would so," Adam accuses, looking like he's gearing up for a lecture about how he does what he wants, won't let anybody tell him who he's supposed to be ever again, which is noble and respectable and inspiring, and something Neil's heard one too many times already. Apparently in full agreement with him, Tommy shimmies out of his jeans, his underwear too, and gives the whole tangled works a toss into Adam's face. By the time Adam gets free, Tommy's clothes thumping to the floor, Tommy's straddling his hips, naked. Whatever else Adam had meant to say dies on a groan.

"Works every time," Tommy says happily, and settles down on Adam's thighs, twisting around to look at Neil. "Plannin' on getting naked any time soon?"

"I'm savouring the moment," Neil says. Since his dick's already hanging out of his pants, shrugging off his shirt shouldn't take as much effort as it seems to. "Something that shuts him up that fast is worthy of appreciating."

"Awesome," Tommy says, a slight hitch to his voice, his hips, that says Adam's got a hand back on him. "Get up here and appreciate it some more."

Once Neil's had a chance to sober up, he's going to regret this. The door's right there behind him. He could tuck himself away, bow out gracefully, and in a couple of months have a good laugh over a beer about that time they almost did that thing, you know, that time on the bus in Europe. But Adam's watching him as he shucks his jeans, muscles in Adam's arm flexing gently as he plays with Tommy's dick. When Neil sets a knee to the bed, he catches Adam's fingers shiny-wet curving in to the crack of Tommy's ass, pressing against him hard enough to get him rocking up, but not pushing in.

Tommy's hand slaps to Adam's chest. "No teasing just 'cause he's watching."

"I'm waiting for him to bolt," Adam says, slinging his arm around Tommy's back to pull him down closer, Tommy's knees skidding wider. To Neil he says, "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

"Fuck you," Neil says, shoving Adam's leg aside so he can kneel between them, settle a hand on Tommy's back. It's not like Neil hasn't experimented. Anything he's done with guys aside from Adam has been incidental, barely a blip on his sexual radar. The guys he's been with weren't bad exactly, but they weren't all that good, either. One thing he's never going to admit to anyone, least of all Adam, is that Neil's been comparing them to his brother. Adam's ego doesn't need any stroking from him.

Neither does Adam's dick, and yet, here he is.

Getting a hand around Tommy to fist his cock, surprised to find it thicker than he'd imagined given how slight Tommy is everywhere else, Neil says to Adam, "I'm not touching yours," just to make sure they're all on the same page here. He'll jerk Tommy off with Adam's hand right there, but he's not giving Adam the satisfaction.

"Kinda gonna have to," Tommy says, rolling his hips back, shifting forward again, and Neil has to glance down, see if he's riding Adam's fingers yet or if Adam's still teasing him like a complete jackass. In his head, the idea of Adam fingering Tommy had been nicely detached, clinical. The sight of two thick fingers pushed up inside Tommy, skin flushed pink and stretched tight, wet-looking, isn't. The first time Neil slept with a guy, the entire time he'd been telling himself a hole is a hole is a hole, there's not much difference between giving anal to a guy or a girl.

Apparently, Neil's been sleeping with all the wrong people. Tommy sounds like a porno, all breathy moans and quiets grunts as Adam pushes in harder, faster, but they're all pure honesty. He's really, really into getting done by Adam. Shivers race up and down his back, and Neil chases after them not even thinking, fascinated by how alive Tommy feels, thrumming beneath their hands.

"Get him a fucking rubber," Tommy says, dropping down onto one elbow to stretch out so his back is a long, smooth arch. Neil tries to tell himself he's still not thinking when he leans down to bite at pale skin, but he's thinking about a lot of things. Or one thing over and over, like leaving a mark on Tommy's body for Adam to later touch.

Adam flicks a condom at Neil's head. "Suit up," he says. "You're going first."

"You're both insane," Neil says, tearing into the packet. Breath hisses between his teeth as he rolls it on, catching the bottle of lube Adam lobs at his chest one-handed. He slicks up carefully, trying not to focus too much on how good his own hand feels, how much better the tight clutch of Tommy's body will. He's thought in a casual, abstract way, about how they fuck, the same way you sometimes stumble across wondering what a friend's girlfriend is like in the sack, or some random person on the street who catches your eye. Never in the kind of detail he's getting right now with Tommy's ass high in front of him and Adam's fingers buried all the way to the knuckle.

The head of Neil's cock is nestled snug against Tommy's hole, Adam's fingers spread wide around it holding him open for Neil to push in, and that's right when what he's about to do hits him. He's going to fuck Tommy Joe, and Adam's helping. Adam wants him to do it. They both do. "Fuck," Neil says, swaying forward with a hand braced high on Tommy's back. "Fuck, what're we-"

"Push," Adam hisses, groping for Neil's cock, getting a grip on it like he's going to put it in himself if Neil doesn't.

Batting Adam's hand away, Neil takes hold of his own dick, cocky, "Back off," tumbling out of him on a groan as he wedges the head in, rocks his hips to get past muscle trying to clench tight. As a soft, hurt noise spills out of Tommy, he stops short, afraid he's gone too far, but Adam says, "No, don't, keep going, you should see his face, he loves it, give him more."

"Are you-"

"Fuck, shut up and do it," Tommy says, curled down low over Adam, one of his arms wrapped behind Adam's head, Adam's grip on his hips firm, holding him still against the trembling that's taken over his legs. "Give it to me," is a breathless rasp, "bitch, show me what you got, c'mon, he fucks me so good, you gonna let him think he's got it all, come on, come on-" and then nothing but a choked gasp as Neil fucks in hard, heartbeat pounding through his skull, his hands flying to Tommy's hips to hold on, finding Adam's fingers tangling with his instead of the sharp wing of bone digging into his palms.

"Go," Adam says, and Neil listens, can't believe it when he looks down at the brush of a hand to find Tommy rubbing around his own hole, pressing a finger in close to Neil's dick on a long thrust in so his body opens up to take it. He leaves it there while Neil fucks, strange, thrilling pressure of bent knuckles on Neil's dick along with the soft heat of his insides, the shiver of pleasure when Neil hits him just right.

And when Adam says, "More, you can do it, baby, take more," Tommy does, shuddering as he tries to wedge in a second finger.

Grabbing his wrist, Neil pulls his hand away, curls their fingers together to ease the miserable noise he makes. "You do it," Neil says. "You want it, you open him up."

"Jesus," Tommy says, "yeah, c'mon, do me like that."

"Baby, you can't," Adam tries, and Tommy cuts him off by stuffing his mouth full of tongue, fumbling across the bedspread to find the lube and shove it haphazardly in Neil's direction. Caught up in the tight clench of Tommy's body, Neil doesn't even think before he grabs it up, smears Adam's fingers glistening wet. He's not expecting Adam to feel along his shaft first, shocking a gasp out of him as Adam strokes all the way down to Tommy's hole, frames Neil's cock buried inside him between two fingers before curving them slightly, pressing in slowly, Tommy already so full Neil has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from thrusting.

"Wanted your fucking dick," Tommy protests, trembling again, endlessly, but not fighting. Neil's never seen him fight with Adam about anything, not even the things he maybe should.

All the way in, Adam promises, "You'll get it, baby," and meets Neil's gaze over Tommy's shoulder, one look all it takes for Neil to know exactly what he wants. For once, Neil gives it to him, holding on tight to Tommy as he fucks in harder, harder, dizzied by Adam's fingers moving inside Tommy with him. As a third nudges in close, Neil shudders, almost stopping, and Adam says, "Don't you fucking dare, not yet. Not yet."

Neil gasps, "Fuck you," and goes for another condom, nearly losing it again when Tommy's the one who smacks it away from his hand, says, strained and shivering, "No, don't need it."

Adam's eyes flash wide, fix on Neil's. Neil waits for him to override Tommy's lapse, because Neil's seen Adam out with other guys, seen Tommy take more than one kiss from a fan, but Adam doesn't say anything, just stares up at him naked and raw, and Neil says, "Fuck, Adam." As moronic as Adam can sometimes be, he's not actually stupid. Regardless of what he and Tommy have done before, if he's going without a condom this time, it's not casual. None of this is.

"Put him in me," Tommy says, muffled against Adam's chest. "Fucking put him in me, I want," and this time it's Adam shutting him up, kissing him mute as Neil drags in a deep breath reeking of sex and sweat, finds Adam's cock thick in the open fly of his jeans and slicks it wet.

A shiver goes through Adam, jumps from him to Tommy as Neil closes his eyes again, pushes Adam's cock beside his still buried deep. He waits for the hiss of Tommy's breath as Adam's fingers slide free, pulling out along with them only halfway before pushing in again. Adam's hips rock up at the same time, both of them fucking Tommy impossibly wider, so tight and open all at once, clutching at them. He grudgingly takes it all, everything they have to give slow inch by inch, trembling and moaning so loudly Neil's sure everyone downstairs knows exactly what they're doing to him.

And then Tommy goes still, his breaths harsh and fast, shallow, so full. A sound like a sob jostles free when Adam twitches. He pushes Tommy's hair back, kisses him, and Neil's stomach clenches, burns cold.

The last thing he's expecting to hear is Tommy saying, "Kiss him."

Neil chokes on nothing. "I-"

"Fucking kiss him," Tommy rasps, "kiss him and make him fuck me, son of a bitch, fuck me."

Dropping down as Adam shoves up, Neil kisses him. Actually kisses him this time instead of not fighting hard enough to stop him, or letting him get away with it; Neil is fully committed to getting his tongue in Adam's mouth. Tommy rocks fitfully between them, his small, hurt noises filling the air, burning through Neil's blood, driving him insane. Adam's pulse is in his dick, Neil can feel it throbbing in counter-time to his own, the clench of Tommy's body forcing them so tightly together it's almost painful.

Pain isn't what razes Neil's nerves when Adam gives an experimental thrust. Tommy clutches mindlessly at Adam, moans for Neil at a soft kiss sucked to the slant of his shoulder. Concentrating on not crushing Tommy between them, Neil waits for Adam to go again, slick-rough drag against his dick as Adam starts to fuck. One minute Neil's thankful for the latex separating them, and the next he hates it, the need to yank the condom off, shove roughly into Tommy's heat and feel Adam fuck him nearly blinding.

"God," Adam breathes, head fallen back, neck stretched long. Sweat darkens his hairline, shines in the hollow of his throat. He pushes harder, one hand stretched out to skim Neil's thigh, nails digging in urging Neil to thrust with him, help him drive more of those helpless noises out of Tommy. It doesn't take much for Neil to give in. Later, he's going to claim he trusted in Adam to know how much Tommy could take, but the truth of it is, he wants. He wants to be the one Adam fucks Tommy senseless with, wants to be the one to feel Adam shake apart at the seams. He wants the fucking condom gone so that Tommy's wet with more than Adam's come when this is over, marked the same way they've both managed to mark him.

But he isn't stupid, or reckless, and it's almost easy to channel that vicious need into the harder snap of his hips, overriding Adam's slow rhythm, not fucking Tommy with Adam so much any more as he's taking Adam along for the ride. Trapped beneath Tommy's weight, as slight as it is, and Neil braced against him, adding more to it, Adam doesn't have a choice but to take it. Adam's eyes are wide, wide open, staring at the ceiling not seeing a thing, his mouth pleasure-shock slack. Tommy's gone from wordless moans to gasping pleas, pushing clumsily at Adam's arm trying to get a fist to fuck. When Adam can't manage it, and Tommy groans a miserable curse, body going loose as he gives up, becomes a weak, boneless sprawl between them, pure satisfaction heats Neil's belly. A hand between Tommy's shoulder blades pushes him even harder against Adam and he takes it, makes so much noise Neil almost can't hear the sounds that are pouring out of Adam now, broken and desperate and breathless.

Neil doesn't recognise his own voice telling Adam to do it, come already, slick Tommy up more so Neil can really give it to him, so Adam can feel it. Fingers dig into Neil's forearm, perfect shiny black nails cutting pale crescent moons into skin, as Adam tries to fuck, instinct and need overriding everything. But weighted down, pinned, all he can do is writhe, claw marks red and wild into Neil's arm, Tommy's back, and come so hard Neil can feel it in the pulse of his dick.

"No," Tommy says as Adam drops slack to the sheets, dick slipping free, "no, no, c'mon," over and over again as Neil worms a hand between his and Adam's bellies to jerk him off, and he doesn't stop until Adam gives him the rough shove of fingers alongside Neil's dick. He shies away on a sharp grunt, pushes back on a sharper one, fucks Neil's hand and rides cock and fingers so good Neil doesn't have to do a damn thing, Tommy could get him off just like this. But he wants too much to be the one who finishes this for all of them, and he grabs onto Tommy's hips again, hauls him back harder, faster, Tommy's voice rising until it shatters like glass and orgasm punches through Neil like a bullet, swift and shocking and so good it hurts.

Neil manages to catch himself on the palm of one hand before he goes down. Head hanging, he struggles to draw air into his lungs, easy enough in theory but impossible with Tommy twisting sluggishly beneath him. When Neil looks up, his gaze crashes into Adam's, Adam staring at him still wild-eyed, bright hectic craving.

"Wait," Neil croaks, palm pressed to Tommy's back to try to calm him. It doesn't work, makes Tommy's squirming worse, like Tommy's feeding off every touch, can't help himself even though it's almost too much. Neil sucks in a deep breath and pulls out, squeezing his eyes shut at the drag of his dick against Adam's knuckles, Adam's fingers still buried Tommy's body as deep as they'll go. There's no resistance in Tommy as Neil gets both arms around him to haul him up on his knees. His head drops back on Neil's shoulder, lashes fluttering as he tries to open his eyes, mouth bitten red, swollen from the scrape of his own teeth. He groans raggedly when Neil wraps a hand firmly around his dick and jacks it slowly.

"Oh fuck," Tommy says, rough and rasping, nothing like Neil's ever heard from him before, "fuck, please, yeah, so fucking good, knew it would be," his hips rocking, dick pushed into Neil's fist, ass back onto Adam's fingers, fucking himself and being fucked. He clutches weakly at Neil's arm and Adam's other hand resting on his thigh, shaking like he's falling apart when he comes. His eyes flash wide when Adam moans his name, drift lazily almost shut again to watch as Neil jerks him off onto Adam's stomach, Neil the only thing holding him up, every bone in his body gone liquid.

When Tommy's mouth tilts up, Neil has to kiss him. The most fucked up thing about it is this is the first time Neil's kissed him. He's fucked the guy, really very seriously fucked him, and this is the first time he's tasted the inside of Tommy's mouth. There have been a couple of pecks before, and that thing Tommy did once to distract him and make off with his beer. But this is real, so startlingly real, that Neil falls out of the kiss long before Tommy's ready to let it end.

Scooting up, their legs an awkward tangle, Adam leans in to take over kissing Tommy back to earth as if it's the most natural thing in the world. From there, it's worryingly easy when Adam glances at him to lean down, both of them holding Tommy steady, and lick the taste of Tommy out of Adam's mouth. Somewhere in the back of Neil's head a tiny, crazed voice is screaming wordlessly at him, shock and horror and disbelief, but there's no room for it with all booze and the drugs and the sex, Adam's amazing mouth and Tommy's quiet, sated kisses nuzzled to the side of Neil's neck.

Until Neil opens his eyes, takes in the spilt beer and pot ashes, the spunk on Adam's skin, the marks brutally clear on Tommy's, and his stomach hits the floor, keeps on going.

"Don't freak out," Adam says, quickly steadying Tommy as Neil's grip slips. "It's too late to freak out now."

Eyes glittering beneath a dark smear of makeup, mouth slanted, Tommy says, "Way too fuckin' late."

"We can't," Neil says, "we- fuck," shying away as Adam calmly reaches around Tommy to tug the rubber off Neil's dick, tie it off and dump it into an empty Starbucks takeout cup on the floor.

Tommy lifts one arm, elbow bent, to grab onto the back of Neil's head. "You dick me, you stick around to cuddle me. S'how this works."

"He's pretty adamant about that part," Adam says, a wry twist to his smile. "How about you save the freak out, if you're gonna have one, for later?"

Of course that's Adam's solution. Deal with it later. "Just put it on hold," Neil says. "Like that's something you can actually do."

"Or don't bother at all," Tommy says. "And bitch, I am fucking serious about this cuddling shit."

An x-rated dogpile is the last thing they need. Therapy is at the top of the list, followed closely by some very specific pharmaceuticals, and at the very least and as soon as possible, a serious discussion about all the things Neil very desperately wishes weren't rattling through his head like a semi with a blown tire.

"Stop it," Adam says to the look on Neil's face, grabbing up Tommy's tee shirt from somewhere and giving his stomach a cursory wipe. He takes Tommy out of Neil's arms, Neil's grip tightening reflexively for a moment to hold on, and helps him settle down. The dirty shirt gets shoved into Neil's hand. "Do this for him, and for fuck's sake hug him, and just shut up for once in your life."

"Fuck you," Neil snaps automatically, stomach clenching as Tommy huffs a laugh into Adam's chest, Tommy's legs slightly spread by Adam's hand cupping the back of his thigh. Feeling like a complete asshole, and a sick, perverted freak, Neil stares at the lube glistening wetly on the insides of Tommy's thighs.

Tommy shifts his knee up a bit higher, eyebrow lifting as he glances back over his shoulder.

"Heard you the first time," Neil grumbles, fighting to keep his hands steady as he settles down behind Tommy, gently wipes away the mess he helped make. He knows Tommy must be aching, body used and abused and pushed too far to take so much, and Neil's floundering. Tommy isn't a random kinky hookup, or a girlfriend, or anything that Neil's ever had before. And Adam's right there, hand stroking Tommy's hip, soothing and possessive and expectant.

Like it's somehow worse than everything that's already happened, it takes everything Neil's got to settle his hand over Adam's, stilling it. "You're both fucked in the head," he says, in case there are any doubts on where he stands in this.

Tommy bumps Neil's calf with one foot. "Dude, I'm getting a draft."

"Maybe if someone got a blanket," Neil says, but he scoots closer, not too sure that all this continued nudity is a good idea. Once he's pressed against Tommy's back, though, he realises the little guy is a chunk of ice, and it's slightly easier to use that as a reason to tuck an arm around him, share body heat. Tommy's a weird mix of bony angles and soft, soft skin, and already dropping off when Adam pushes hair off his face, says quietly, "Go on, baby. Sleep."

Even with Tommy's hand loosely grasping Neil's, Neil feels like an intruder.

Flicking Neil's elbow, Adam says, "Only you would could get pissed over having an orgasm."

"I'm not pissed," Neil whisper-hisses. "I am very legitimately disturbed."

"You liked it," Adam says, cheek propped up in one hand. "You always like it."

"We are not talking about this. Also, shut up, he's sleeping."

Adam's gaze flickers down. "An earthquake wouldn't wake him now."

"I don't need to know," Neil resolutely states. He wants to know if they've done this before, but he doesn't need to know. He very much doesn't need to know that he's the only one Adam would share this with, because your semi-boyfriend or committed partner or whatever the fuck Tommy is, isn't something you should share with your fucking brother.

"You know he likes you," Adam says.

Neil squeezes his eyes shut. He would fucking hope Tommy at least likes him to take what Tommy just took, and he'd hope Tommy is in stupid love with Adam and Adam with Tommy, except that makes Neil's insides squirm like a nest of snakes. "I'm not talking about this."

"Fine," Adam says pissily, dropping down and scooting around to tuck himself into the curve of Tommy's smaller body. "We'll talk about it when he wakes up."

Tommy's not going to want to talk. Tommy never wants to talk about things that might lead to even a vague suggestion of confrontation. Adam's the talker, and they've got him outnumbered. Tommy will absolutely be on Neil's side with this. It happened, they won't talk about it, they'll all get over it and move on, and the next time Tommy ends up drunk and high in Neil's lap, Neil will dump him on his flat ass without a single thought to anything they just did.

Waiting for Adam to go lax, almost asleep, Neil kicks him in the shins. "Go get a fucking blanket."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Damn You Look Good and I'm Drunk - Adam/Tommy

2011-06-15T23:16:29Z

Quickie two-hour, omg-fandom-peer-pressured-me-for-porn for @FloridaMinxie's birthday. NOT EVEN PROPERLY BETA'ED, OMG. /o\

Damn You Look Good and I'm Drunk
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~2700 words. Drugs, questionable consent.
Adam's probably daydreamed about taking him all sweet and slow the same way Tommy's dreamed about this and woken up in the middle of the night hot and sweaty and so hard it hurts.

*

Damn You Look Good and I'm Drunk

"Tommy," Adam says, grabbing clumsily for Tommy's arm, and, "Tommy," again, slightly slurred, his wide eyes glassy, but he doesn't get to the wait hovering on his lips, losing air on a startled grunt when his ass hits the couch.

"Don't even fucking try it." Tommy's as high as Adam is, maybe worse. He's thought about pulling a stunt like this so many times, played through it scene by scene, everything down to the exact way he plants a hand on Adam's shoulder to hold him down as Tommy climbs into his lap, that it feels like they've done it all before. But they haven't done a fucking thing even close to Tommy yanking open Adam's fly, rudely shoving his hand inside to finally get a grip on Adam's dick. Definitely nothing like Tommy hauling it out to get a good look at it, or spitting on his hand to slick it wet, or watching as Adam's head falls back, hands scrabbling at the couch, Tommy's thighs, grabbing on and holding tight as Tommy jacks him.

Adam says, "Tommy," again, strangled low in his throat, the only word he's managed to get out since Tommy cornered him in his dressing room five minutes after the show ended.

"You want this," Tommy tells him, and bites at his mouth, kisses it, licks into it, does all the things to Adam that Adam does to him on stage, feeling Adam's body go loose and tense up by turns beneath him. "You want this so fucking bad you don't even know how to fucking ask for it."

"Oh god, oh fuck," Adam says, blinking so fast his eyelashes, thick and long even without layers of mascara, skim Tommy's cheek as Tommy fists a hand in his hair, pulls him in for a kiss so deep and dirty it shocks Tommy how good it is, delicious and obscene, nasty like the really best fucking porn. He fucks Adam's mouth the same way he's gonna make Adam fuck him, and only stops when he's gotta tell Adam all about it, jacking his wet dick while Adam pants and twists and tries, tries and tries and fails, to get a word in edgewise.

"So fucking easy." Digging into his pocket, Tommy drags out the condom he stuffed into it before the show, the small packet of lube. He doesn't even fucking know what gave him the idea that tonight he was gonna do it. Maybe he was already high then. He thinks he must've been, pot smoke tickling his lips, his blood, his brain, making him want. The memory of Adam licking smoke off his tongue slams into him so hard it's got to be real. "Should've done this fucking months ago. Fucking shoved you down and made you give it up."

Breath hisses in through Adam's teeth. Tommy glances down, finds himself already in the middle of rolling the condom onto Adam's cock. He bites back a giggle. He's so fucking glad it fits. Buying rubbers for a guy when you've only ever felt his dick against your ass through too many fucking cockblocking layers of clothing is one of those life challenges Tommy never thought he'd face. Snatching up the packet of lube from where it fell onto the cushions, he shoves it into Adam's hand. "Slick up. I want some fingers."

"What," Adam starts, voice dying on a groan as Tommy kneels up, unzips and shoves his clothes down, pants and underwear both in one go. Tommy's so hard he's leaking, and he can't help a few quick tugs, fingers and thumb circling tight around the head to give it a slow squeeze.

"Lube," Tommy says, pushing his pants down past his knees one leg at a time and leaving them there, caught on his boots. "On your fucking fingers, and then your fingers up my ass, that's how this works." Catching the front of Adam's vest, Tommy yanks it open, hauls his own shirt up so when he shuffles closer, elbow braced on the back of the couch, he can rub his dick against Adam's bare chest, add the glisten of precome to the glitter already shining on it. Skin on skin is so fucking amazing Tommy lets go of his cock, presses in flush so he can grind. "Fingers," he hisses, "c'mon, fucking now," and he groans, muffling it in Adam's hair, when hands finally grab at his ass.

Maybe, if Tommy gave Adam a fucking chance here, Adam would go easy on him. Adam's probably daydreamed about taking him all sweet and slow the same way Tommy's dreamed about this and woken up in the middle of the night hot and sweaty and so hard it hurts. The quick swipe of lube over his hole is exactly what Tommy wants, and the rough, steady shove of Adam's fingers that follows couldn't be one fucking bit better. The harsh stretch sinks all the way to Tommy's bones, making them thrum like his nerves, ache like his dick, and his heart shudders, thudding against his ribs when Adam fucks in harder, spreads his fingers to pull against Tommy's rim on the way out, open him up fast and efficient.

The sound building up low in Tommy's chest burbles free, half a groan and half a laugh; he's so beyond delighted he's finally getting this, and he's high as a fucking kite, and it feels so god damn good it's like coming back to life. "Fuck, yeah, c'mon," spills out of him next, "gonna really fucking do it, gonna get me wet and fuck me, gonna put the whole fucking thing up inside me, sit me down on it, made me want it so fucking bad."

Adam keeps making short, sharp noises that try to be words, and if this is finally fucking living again for Tommy, then for Adam it looks like dying. Tommy imagines he's trying to say stuff like, "Fuck, Tommy, so good," because Adam's wanted this for fucking ever, and, "so tight, baby, you're really gonna feel this," because Tommy wants to feel it happen, and long after it's happened, wants to be able to make his body remember what it's like to have Adam inside it.

"S'good," Tommy says, fist thumping down on Adam's shoulder as Adam drives in again, "s'good enough, get it in me already."

Adam's vest rucks up as he slides down, legs sprawling wide and fingertips digging hard into cheeks of Tommy's ass, holding them spread. Sucking in a couple deep breaths, Tommy gets a hand back on Adam's cock, fingers stretched out to find his hole, nudge the head up against it. "You're gonna do it right," Tommy says, pulse tripping as he sinks down, the slow, slick stretch shredding his breath, making his voice shake, and his legs are trembling so bad he wonders if they're about to crap out on him, "gonna go all the way. Don't fucking stop."

There's a brief flash in Adam's eyes before they close, something Tommy's never, ever seen, even with all the ways Adam's looked at him, and Adam pushes his hand away, taking over and going by feel alone. The push of Adam's dick slows, becomes too much, not enough, and when Tommy reaches back to make him pick up the pace again, he shoves Tommy down ass flush to his thighs. Razor-edged pleasure shoots up Tommy's spine, and he chokes on a shout, hands flying forward to grab onto Adam's shoulders as his legs really do give out.

Tommy can't breathe. Can't move, can't even moan when Adam jostles him, feet planted getting ready to fuck. He's so full, so fucking full, ass and chest and throat, it's like his skin doesn't even fit anymore. Adam's inside him, thick, heavy pressure, about to fuck him for real, and he's actually fucking scared of how much he wants it, how good it's going to be.

And then Adam grinds up into him, one slow roll of Adam's hips, and starbursts explode behind Tommy's eyelids. Nothing anybody's ever lived through felt this good. Getting fucked by Adam is seriously going to kill him.

"Please," he says, not even sure that's his own voice he's hearing, "please, fuck, now."

Adam says, "Baby," against Tommy's cheek, intimate and soft, and suddenly this is real. Incredibly, vividly real, more real than the gritty drag of Adam drawing back, the burst of heat and the bone-deep ache as he fucks in. Tommy curls as tightly around Adam as he can, clinging as Adam does it again, and again, fucks him slow and hard and grinds in deep at the peak to loosen him up more. This is so not how he'd imagined it would go. He'd pictured it rough, fast and desperate, not deliberate like this, forcing him to slow down and take it, and then take more just like it, too much, so much he can't handle it. He seriously fucking can't. Adam's going to break him. He's got to come, he's got to do it right fucking now, but he can't get his fingers to release their death grip on Adam's vest, and he can't quit moaning long enough to ask Adam to get a hand on him.

Adam keeps fucking him slow and hard, easy like Adam could do this all fucking day. The heat coiled tight in Tommy's belly burns hotter, so hot it spreads out under his skin, sweat prickling at his hairline, salty on his lips when he licks them. Everything except Adam pressed against him, moving inside him, feels cold in comparison, like he's running a fucking fever, and then he's laughing, crazy little hiccuping noises, as Adam ruins him for anything else, everyone else, for fucking life.

"That's it," Adam says, startling Tommy with how close he sounds, like he's inside Tommy's head, rattling around inside his chest on the manic beat of his heart, "baby, you can do it, you wanted it just like this."

"Didn't." Tommy's strained and crackling all around the edges like he's going to fly apart. "Wanted you to fucking, fucking give it to me, pound it the fuck outta me," and he's so fucking messed up, crazy, he's gonna come on Adam's dick.

Adam says, "Let me feel it, let go, baby, give it to me, I want to feel you come so bad," and Tommy's whole body clenches tight, almost there, so fucking close. Adam keeps talking, pleading with him to come, let go, telling him to give it up and give in, and Tommy doesn't have a fucking choice. All the pressure built up inside him finally snaps under the strain, bursts free in thick, choking waves, and Adam fucks him all through it, not giving him a chance to catch his breath before forcing more pleasure through him. His throat closes over, throttling the noises clamouring to get free, shoving them straight back to pile up in his chest, fuck up his heart, a silent echo screaming through his head.

Collapsing against Adam, Tommy drags in a shuddering breath. Then one more, and another, gradually coming around enough to figure out he can't quit shaking because Adam's not done with him. When he can't swallow a whine down, he muffles it in the crook of Adam's neck. He thought it was too much before, but now it really is. He doesn't want it to ever stop. He's fucked raw and open, completely wrung out, overstimulated nerve endings dying off one by one until all he can feel is the thick, dull ache of Adam buried in him, still fucking.

"Can't," Tommy says, and Adam palms the back of his head, pushing his face back down, says, "You can, baby, you're fucking going to." All Tommy's got left in him is a hitching moan. He's so not sure he can, but he's going to, and he stops trying to move, to think, to do anything but slump down and let Adam fuck him. He blinks at the back of the couch, the pattern swimming in front of his eyes, and listens to his heart pound.

Adam hisses, "God, yes," and fucks harder, rhythm changing, Tommy's breath skipping because this is it. He forces muscle to clench tight, hoping to feel it, but there's nothing but the same slippery heat, Adam's arms locked around his back holding him down on it. The sound Adam makes way down low in his throat, sandpapery thick, burrows its way under Tommy's skin, into his brain, like some sort of disease. He finally got Adam inside him, and now he's never getting out again.

When Tommy manages to open his eyes again, he's shivering. Adam's holding him close, whispering for him to come around now, he's been out long enough, he's got to open his eyes. Tommy groans, trying to let Adam know he's awake with as little effort as possible.

"You've got to look at me, baby," Adam says, stroking his hair back. "Let me see you."

Pushing against the back of the couch, Tommy manages to lift up a couple inches. Adam's arm around his back braces him as he sways. "M'okay," Tommy says, tongue like a lead weight in his mouth. "Crashing."

"Stay with me," Adam says, giving him a small shake. "You need to make sure. You need to clean up."

Tommy nods. Makes sense, and it sounds pretty easy. He tries lifting up a bit more, Adam's cock sliding out of him a few inches, and he shudders, blinking fast, panting faster, wondering if he's seriously going to pass out.

"Tommy," Adam says, panic in his voice, and Tommy gives it his best shot, he seriously fucking does, but he loses it for maybe a couple seconds. Finally managing to blink his eyes open again, he realises he's facedown on the couch, and there's warm, soothing heat stroking up the insides of his thighs. Quickly closing his eyes again, he works to keep his breathing even.

The gentle touch of fingers at Tommy's asshole makes his heartbeat trip. As Adam pushes into him again, he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes tighter shut, or to clench up. There's nothing really sexual about the way Adam's touching him now, pressing gently against his insides, thumb smoothing around his rim, except for how if Tommy hadn't come five fucking seconds ago, he'd be getting off on it. And for how he's kinda getting off on it anyway. Pot makes him so fucking freaky sometimes.

Seemingly satisfied that Tommy's alright, Adam slides his finger free and brings the cloth up, rubbing softly. "You can open your eyes now," Adam says.

"Wasn't hiding," is the first thing out of Tommy's mouth, his eyes flying wide open. Pot loosens his tongue a hell of a lot, too, and it's not like he does a lot of censoring himself most of the time anyway. "I kinda liked it."

Adam's sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, the cloth dangling loosely from one hand. The other hand's resting heavy and warm on Tommy's ass, and Tommy zeros in on the small smile lurking at the corner of Adam's mouth when Adam says, "Did you think I'd stop if I knew you were awake?"

"Dunno." Tommy's eyes threaten to close again, the steady stroke of Adam's hand from the small of his back, over his ass to his thigh and back up again lulling him into a doze. "Didn't think about it. Kinda high."

There's a soft shuffling noise. Tommy blinks once, very, very slowly, and finds Adam moved closer, touching the side of his face. "I don't think I'm high anymore," Adam says, fingertips trailing down to sweep over Tommy's lips. "You fucked me sober."

Tommy's nose wrinkles on a giggle. "But you're still gonna kiss me."

"I don't have to be high to want to kiss you, or fuck you," Adam says, leaning in, and even though Tommy really hadn't had any doubts about where Adam stood on this ten seconds after he shoved Adam down, he takes it as permission to fuck Adam's brains out any time he gets the urge.

"As long as you let me do it sweet and soft at least one time out of three," Adam says, and Tommy grins, mouth bumping into Adam's to get that kiss.

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: You don't know what it's been like - Adam/Tommy

2011-06-13T17:03:51Z

For rivers_bend. Because. ♥

You don't know what it's been like
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~9400 words. Contains drugs, alcohol, hints of breathplay, hints of desperation play, and intimacy kink.
Adam's buried so deep in the idea that Tommy only wants him when there's alcohol and drugs involved it's gonna take a backhoe to dig him out again.

*

You don't know what it's been like

Tommy is toasted. Absolutely fucking baked out of his gourd. They're going on tour again in like, five minutes, but right now, they're crashed in Adam's awesome house, getting cosy on the fuck-off giant couch that thinks it's a bed, and there's this freckle on Adam's bottom lip that doesn't want to stay in one place. It skips from one corner to the other to the centre then jumps to his top lip, hiding beside the tiny dip beneath his nose, and Tommy reaches out with one finger, gonna pin that sucker down.

Laughing, Adam catches his wrist. Freckles explode everywhere. A dozen on Adam's lips, more scattered all over his cheeks, his throat, his arms. Tommy spreads both hands out, gets ready to catch every single last one of them before they fly away.

"Do I want to know what you're trying to do to my face, Tommy Joe?" Adam asks, sparkle of sun on the water in his eyes.

"Savin' it," Tommy says. He tries to wiggle closer in the prime position for freckle-catching. Adam is taking up way more space than physically possible, though, big long legs spread on either side of Tommy, and Tommy blinks, tilts his head back when he figures out that hey, Adam's upside down, and there are even freckles on the bottom of his fucking chin. They look delicious. Like teeny tiny flecks of shaved chocolate. "Betcha can't eat just one."

"I am not a bag of chips," Adam says, wrangling Tommy's hand around to pin it to his chest.

"All that and!" Tommy crows.

"God." Adam's other hand slaps over Tommy's mouth. It tastes salty like chips. He gnaws on it just a bit. If he eats Adam, they're out of a show headliner. "How did you get so high so fast?"

Tommy shrugs. "Talent," he says, muffled. "Be cool in like, fifteen."

Eyebrow winging up, Adam asks, "What the hell am I supposed to do with you until then?"

Tommy grins wolfishly. The effect is ruined by Adam's hand over his mouth, but whatever. He's got lots and lots of ideas about exactly what Adam can do with him every day of the week. The fact that every time he's actually gotten around to sharing these ideas he's been drunk or high or both is one of those things Tommy's decided he's not gonna think about tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next day, either. "Mack on me," he says.

Like it's seriously a good reason why not, Adam says, "You're all the way down there."

"Lazy fucker." Slapping a hand down on Adam's knee, Tommy gives a mighty, only slightly uncoordinated heave, and successfully flops a good five inches closer. He almost bashes Adam's jaw in with his skull, but hey, those are the risks Adam's taking here. "You could do some of that heavy petting shit too, that's cool."

"You're kind of a slut when you're high," Adam says, and Tommy would protest--he isn't a slut, he really, really isn't--except Adam's nuzzling the side of his face, nipping at his jaw on the way to his mouth. By the time he gets there, Tommy's squirming, half-hard. Adam's kisses are fucking monumental. The first time he popped a stiffy on stage with Adam's tongue in his mouth, it was like, shit. It was one thing for Adam to be up there waving a boner around, Tommy didn't need to be at it too. He discreetly worked his dick out of the crook of his thigh and kept on playing, and when he was still packing wood after the encore, dealt with it like a man. Last time he whacked off so fast it was over getting a hand inside his first girl's bra.

"God, stay still," Adam groans, hands clamping onto Tommy's hips.

"Not kissin' me yet," complains Tommy.

With Tommy's back to Adam's chest, the angle's kinda awkward. Dedication for the kisses to be had wins out in the end, and Tommy twists around, chin up and lips parted for the sweet, lazy slide of Adam's tongue. He shivers, stretching an arm up to hold onto the back of Adam's head while it stays easy, slowly becomes longer, deeper dips into his mouth. If Adam wanted to do him right now, it'd be fucking perfect. He'd get kisses the whole time, Adam's heartbeat thudding against his back while Adam's dick moved in his ass, and fuck, he's so turned on by the idea it's like he can actually feel himself loosen up for it, phantom ache way down low.

Adam's hand squeezing his dick comes out of fucking nowhere.

"Too much?" Adam asks, kisses paused, his hand resting there not doing a damn thing.

Tommy grunts a curse and slaps his hand down on top of Adam's, grinding into it. Adam, the total fucking fucker, laughs--not like, giggles, no, but this sexy, throaty timbre that reverberates all through Tommy's chest--and drags his hand up over Tommy's belly, shirt rucking up but still in the fucking way as he traces maddening little circles around one of Tommy's nipples. It's so totally unfair that Adam knows he likes his tits played with. Fucking stage gay shit gave him away.

Then Adam's back to kissing him, sucking on his tongue and pinching gently at his chest, rubbing with the flat of one palm to soothe, and if Adam keeps that shit up much longer, Tommy's gonna fucking bust a nut. Pleasure zips through him like jacked up little lightning bugs, manic and crazy. He really needs to get off like fucking yesterday.

Wriggling around, he manages to get one knee shoved between Adam's hip and the back of the couch, the other perched precariously on the edge of the seat, before Adam gets out more than a squeak. He starts humping away like he's a teenager again, scooting down bit by bit to find something harder than Adam's belly to rub off on, and oh fuck yeah, there it is. Adam's dick. Adam's big, beautiful dick hard as a fucking rock trapped in his jeans. A shudder ripples up Tommy's spine, spills out in a moan as he grinds against it.

Adam stares up at him in open-mouthed shock, dazed and confused like he just can't figure out how mauling the pretty boy spread out in his lap led to said pretty boy trying to get all up on his junk. He gulps down a shaking breath and stares, and stares, and stares some more. Figuring some bare skin would help him get with it, Tommy reaches for the hem of his tee. A half-naked pretty boy is obviously a lot easier to figure out than a fully-clothed one.

"Oh god, wait," Adam blurts.

Letting go of his shirt, Tommy braces both hands on Adam's shoulders, gives one more good thrust before he manages to stop. He so deserves a fucking medal. He is this fucking close to creaming his shorts. "Whafor?"

Fingers clutch and release on Tommy's hips. "You're high."

"Kinda," Tommy says. Not high enough he doesn't have a super clear idea exactly what he's doing here. He rolls his hips against Adam's in a friendly reminder that they're both into this.

Adam's eyes go heavy, then flash wide again. "I am so not high enough for this."

Leaning up over Adam, Tommy fumbles for the half-smoked spliff stuck in an ashtray. He lights it back up fast and shoves it at Adam's mouth. "So get with it," he says, blowing out the smoke from the small hit he took.

Cautiously, Adam takes the joint. He eyeballs Tommy warily as he takes the most pansy-ass hit ever, barely holding it in his lungs before letting it slip free.

"C'mon," Tommy says, "you can do me better than that."

Adam says, "Fuck," under his breath and goes back for more, gaze on Tommy the whole time. Grinning, Tommy drags back the hair fallen into his face and knee-walks up Adam's body until he can sit down on Adam's dick. Cussing again, Adam nearly drops the joint.

"Feel good?" Tommy asks.

All the strain in Adam's voice instead of his face, Adam says, "You're on my dick. Yes, it's good."

Lust punches Tommy right in the nuts. "Almost. Gotta take it out if you want me to sit on it right."

"I hate your mouth." Adam covers his eyes with the hand holding the spliff and groans. "I really, really hate your fabulous mouth."

"Stick something in it," Tommy suggests. "Shut me up."

Growling wordlessly, Adam twists around to dump the joint in the ashtray, his other hand coming up at the same time to twist in Tommy's hair, yank him down. While Tommy's never gonna complain about Adam's tongue in his mouth ever, they both know that's not what he meant. He'd really like to know what Adam's dick tastes like. Like, he figures the same way all skin tastes, bit salty with a little something extra, but he wants to know. Imagining the shape of it, the texture, how it would force his jaw wide, he sucks Adam's tongue into his mouth, starts working it like it's cock. Fifteen years of blowjobs from the other end of things under his belt, he's gotta know something about giving head.

From the noises Adam starts making, clutching at Tommy's hips rocking him down into the roll of Adam's, he knows plenty. One and a half glorious minutes later, Adam stops. Again.

"What the fuck," Tommy groans, listing against the back of the couch.

"Gonna come," Adam grits out, nails digging into Tommy's sides through his shirt. "Gotta stop, gonna come."

If it were anybody else but Adam down there, and if they hadn't done this same shit about a dozen times on tour, Tommy wouldn't get it. Coming is the fucking point. But it is, and they have, and even knowing Adam's not gonna let him get away with it, he's gotta try. He fights Adam's tightening grip to pick up right where they left off, grinding dick to dick with his mouth on Adam's. Ten seconds, fifteen max is all he manages before Adam bucks him off, twisting at the same time to put him flat on his back, take control. Last time they did this, though, there was lots of floor to work with. The couch runs out before Adam's on top and they go tumbling down, landing in a heap with Tommy on bottom dazed and wheezing from Adam crashing right down on him.

"Your own fault," Adam says, panting as he scrambles to grab Tommy's wrists, pin them above his head in one hand. As if holding him down isn't gonna make having Adam on top of him fucking hotter, Jesus. Going up on both knees, Adam hooks his legs over Tommy's in some weird ninja move that pins him pretty effectively to the floor with whole miles between him and Adam's dick. "Stay still."

"Does being a good boy get me a reward?" Tommy asks, giving up on getting close enough to bite at Adam's mouth.

"Oh my god." On a sigh, Adam briefly closes his eyes. "Yes. Stop trying to make me come in my pants and you can sleep over."

Tommy quits trying to wriggle out of Adam's grasp. Sleepovers are fucking awesome. Sleepovers are like, fuck. Fuck. "Dirty pool."

"I can call you that cab anytime," Adam warns.

"Shit, okay, fine. No more tryin' to make you jizz. You fucking suck, Lambert."

"Yes I do," Adam says, happily nipping at Tommy's throat. "Now do you want more kisses or not?"

"More kisses," grumbles Tommy.

"Awesome." Looking bizarrely ecstatic for a guy that's just cockblocked himself, Adam clambers up and hauls Tommy along. "I'll put the food away, you go put on a movie."

"I guess," Tommy says with a huff. Adam only laughs and gives him a slap on the ass to send him on his way.

The master bedroom is upstairs at the end of the hall. Inside, a lamp's already glowing, lighting Tommy's way to the big screen hung on the wall facing it. Of the discs stacked neatly on the shelf below, there're a few television series, some Hollywood blockbusters mixed in with independents, and porn. Tempted, Tommy hauls out something he recognises, one of Treasure Island Media's barebacking extravaganzas. He's kinda shocked. The two things Adam insisted always be stocked on the buses were the water fridge and the condom drawer. Tommy's never gonna get over that one. A fucking communal condom drawer.

Putting the disc back, Tommy grabs up Fringe, season one. Anna Torv is cute and badass, Josh Jackson is badass and Adam's got a leftover childhood crush on him, and neither one of them are gonna bitch if they miss scenes. Win-win.

While Tommy's brushing his teeth with a stolen toothbrush, Adam wanders into the bedroom, puttering around putting stuff away and tugging down the bedclothes. He's in bed propped up by a small nation's worth of pillows, fiddling with his phone by the time Tommy comes out. He doesn't put it down when Tommy unzips, but he's definitely not paying attention to whatever he was doing anymore, either; Tommy's still hard, and his shorts don't hide much. Kicking off his jeans and socks, Tommy leaves his tee on--even with Adam and half the blankets in the known universe, he gets cold sometimes at night--and climbs on in, tucking himself in under Adam's arm. He splays his hand on Adam's bare belly because he can, and because he likes it.

Finally putting the phone down in favour of the remote, Adam says, "Ready when you are, baby."

"Go for it," Tommy says, rubbing his leg against Adam's, slight scratch of hair still weird and fun when it's not just his own. He trails his nails through the hair on Adam's belly, too, cuddling in closer as the opening recap plays.

When Walter starts out the episode high as a kite, Tommy grins, presses it to Adam's shoulder. With a soft laugh, Adam nuzzles at his hair, fingers stroking along his jaw, down his throat, back up again, waking up Tommy's nerves one by one. About halfway through the scene, Tommy's skin buzzing in Adam's wake, Adam presses a few fingers beneath his chin to tilt his face up. His eyes slip shut, the television a bright flicker behind closed lids, as the seconds count off in his head; one, two, before Adam's breath touches his lips, another three before Adam's tongue is sliding wet and perfect against his. He sighs and opens wider for it, melting against Adam's heat, his cock a steady, throbbing ache he does his best to ignore.

He can't help turning closer into the kiss, though, his leg sliding over Adam's, settling between. Or rocking gently against Adam's hip to ease the worst of the ache. That works as well as it ever does. Adam coaxing his tongue out to lick in the hot, wet space between their mouths is as much a distraction as it is the reason he needs one. He shudders and stills when Adam's hand slips down to cup his ass through his briefs. He wants Adam's hands on him so bad. He's gone crazy thinking about what Adam's fingers could do to him, what it would be like if he could get that fucking last barrier of clothing out of the way to crawl naked over Adam, invite Adam inside his body any fucking way he wants to get up in it.

When the wet noise of their mouths finally drowns out the show, Adam gives him one last long, lingering kiss and draws away. They're both breathing heavily, they're both hard as fucking granite, and Tommy grits his teeth, turns his gaze to the flickering television. In a couple minutes, they'll both calm down. And then Adam will kiss him again, touch him, drive him closer to the edge and stop, wait for his breathing to even out before doing it all over again until his lips are sore and his chest is aching and it almost doesn't matter if Adam touches him again, he might come anyway.

By the ending credits, Tommy's exhausted. No matter how badly he wants to keep going, get as much as he can while the getting's good, his body's slowing down, dragging him under a haze of sleep. Adam's knuckles stroke over his chest as he drifts off, deftly avoiding the low-grade burn of his nipples teased hard and sore to make sure he doesn't jolt awake again, and fuck if it isn't the best sleep he gets in days, his blood soaked in pot-smoke and Adam.

*

Three weeks later, the whole troupe is out celebrating the first show of Adam's second world tour. A lot of them had been worried about the timing, prior commitments, but sometimes Adam's a superstitious motherfucker and he wrangled people and studios and week-long breaks smack in the middle of the tour to squeeze in everybody even remotely possible from the first time around. This, Tommy thinks as he downs the dregs of yet another beer, club music and laughter washing over him, through him, is why people love Adam. Why Tommy bummed around LA for months killing time until Adam made the call.

"You," Taylor says, snatching Tommy's empty up and shoving a fresh frosty one in its place, "need another beer."

"I need to take a fucking leak," Tommy groans, sinking deeper in the faux-leather chair. All the healthy living's turned him into an old man with a bladder the size of a chickpea.

Helpfully, Taylor jerks a thumb over his shoulder to where the washroom signs are glowing like a giant, teasing beacon of relief.

Trying to get up, Tommy lists sideways. Levelling a warning finger at Taylor cracking up, Tommy says, "Just 'cause you're legal now, grasshopper."

"Just 'cause he's legal what," Adam says, draped over the back of Tommy's chair. "Oh hey, beer."

Tommy snatches the bottle clumsily out of Adam's grabby hand. "My beer! Oh fuck, I'm gonna piss myself."

Adam looks delightfully unimpressed with Tommy's plight, and plucks Tommy's beer straight out of his hand again. "Bathroom's right there."

"That's what I said," Taylor says. "Right there."

"Can't move," Tommy says, listing even more dramatically sideways. "Legs are drunk. Yoga killed 'em."

"If you really had to go," Adam drawls.

Flopping back to beg for mercy, Tommy ends up grabbing his junk in panic when the jostling turns out to be a bad, bad idea. His squirming's attracting some attention he doesn't actually want, so he bolts upright with the intention of making a break for it, and nearly ends up flat on his ass again, except Adam's somehow right there holding him up, laughing in his face.

"Poor baby," Adam says, shit-eating grin ruining his sad attempt at sympathy.

"Carry me," Tommy moans.

"And risk you pissing on this shirt? No way." Adam gives Tommy's shoulder a gentle, encouraging nudge, pointing him towards the bathrooms. "Ten feet, baby, you can do it."

Tommy eyeballs the distance critically. "Might not," he says, and mimes aiming his dick. "Six feet's my record."

"Oh my god, come on," Adam says, grabbing Tommy's arm to drag him around to the stairs leading to the bathrooms, obviously not as concerned about Tommy's jeans as his shirt. Inside the bathroom, there are four fancy floor urinals, one occupied by somebody else from another VIP's party, and a single stall. Adam marches Tommy right up to the urinal furthest from the guy, plants him in front of it with his feet kicked slightly apart, and steadies him with with a hand on each hip. "Go."

Tommy never, ever wants to know where the fuck he gets it in his head to ask, "Not gonna hold it for me?"

Over the music piped in through the ceiling, Adam's breath hitches. As the other urinal flushes, Tommy can't help groaning, shifting fitfully, clamping down so hard his guts are aching. There's a rush of louder noise when the guy exits, not paying them a scrap of attention, and instead of whipping it out, Tommy squeezes his junk through his jeans.

Adam doesn't say anything as his hands slide forward, gripping Tommy's fly to peel it open. Doesn't say anything as he shoves shorts and jeans down instead of pulling Tommy's dick out through the slit, or as he grips it firmly, chin resting on Tommy's shoulder to see where he's aiming. Blood rushes south, starts thickening Tommy's dick up, and Adam whispers right in his ear, "Don't get hard."

"Tryin'," Tommy says, fingers digging into Adam's forearm. He breathes in, out, muscles relaxing, pure heady relief swimming up as the piss starts to flow. Like a dam broke, it turns into a flood, loud splash on porcelain made obscene by the way he's trembling in Adam's hold, moaning gratefully as his bladder empties. By the time it slows to a trickle, he's high on fucked-up endorphins, heart pounding in his chest, and the sensation of Adam's bare hand on his dick, his fucking naked dick, comes crashing in. He goes from semi-soft to ready to blow so fast his knees buckle.

Adam's grip on Tommy tightens to hold him up, but the fist on his dick loosens, skids up abruptly like Adam's thinking about jacking him. Tommy stares at Adam's hand on him and tries to burn the image into his brain, the exact curve of Adam's fingers, the way his thumb is angled up like he means to rub over the head, the heat and the pressure and the vicious, driving urge to fuck.

Even though he knows it's gonna happen, he fucking knows it, he's so not ready for Adam to tuck him carefully back into his shorts, zip him back up with a few fingers making sure nothing gets pinched in the tight fit. It's like nothing comes as a surprise, right down to them making out messy and dangerous while they're still in front of the urinal, Adam's cock pressed hard to his ass, riding the cleft when one of them can't help wanting it, the only miracle that nobody else has barged in here yet to see this shit going down.

"Tommy, fuck," Adam says, hips snapping harder, Tommy's balance so totally fucked he has to make a grab for the wall above the urinal or end up in it. He ends up bent halfway over it anyway, both hands skidding down shiny black tile, the smell of expensive, scented disinfectant stuck in his mouth and nose as Adam tries to fuck him through his clothes. He spreads his legs and takes it, loves it, thrilling nervous churn in his stomach at wondering what it would be like to be on Adam's dick, if Adam were actually up inside him pounding the fuck out of him right now.

"Adam," Tommy groans, drunk, high on nothing, really fucking messed up. "Please, fuck, I'm not, I want-"

"You are," Adam hisses, hauling him up, pinning him back to chest as he forces abused lungs to fill with air. "You are so drunk right now, Tommy Joe, don't lie to me."

So hard the ache in his nuts is throbbing in time with his heartbeat, Tommy sags in Adam's hold. "But I want-"

"Don't."

"But-" Tommy jolts as Adam's hand--the hand that Adam had on his dick, he can smell it, fuck--comes up to cover his mouth. He licks at Adam's palm, tries to shake it off to suck on Adam's fingers, but Adam presses down harder, only a few scraps of air getting past as his thumb and forefinger pinching Tommy's nose shut. Trembling, pretty sure he's moaning his damn head off, Tommy goes still.

Adam quickly releases his nose, letting him breathe properly. Once he's got it under control, Adam kisses him again, startling soft and gentle with the lingering ache of Adam's hands digging into his hips, the soreness on his palms from taking the brunt of almost being fucked into the wall. Smoothing Tommy's hair behind his ear, still holding onto him from behind, Adam asks, "Want another beer?"

"Yeah," Tommy croaks. He fucking needs it.

*

A couple more weeks into the tour, Tommy starts thinking Adam has a point. They've got to quit this shit. The stuff on stage is bad enough, everything else going on off of it is gonna kill him. But the fucking problem there is that they're on tour. When they're not performing, they're partying, and when they're not partying, they're sleeping. Tommy's only downing about half as much booze as the first time around, but he's still pretty buzzed most of the time.

Buzzed, and horny. Fuck, he is so fucking horny. Like Adam is an oasis in the middle of the desert and Tommy's dying of thirst, he wants to dive right in. He's sure it wasn't this bad on Glam Nation. He'd wanted to jump Adam's bones, sure, got really close lots of times, but whacking off alone in the bus's small bathroom didn't feel like a fucking death sentence.

The fourth time he does it in three days, he's willing to admit he's got a problem. The solution to his problem, obviously, is taking Adam for the ride of his life, possibly for the rest of his life. Implementing this solution is where it gets tricky. Adam's buried so deep in the idea that Tommy only wants him when there's alcohol and drugs involved it's gonna take a backhoe to dig him out again.

Tommy refuses to take all the blame for that one. Maybe he totally made it worse, but Adam was the one who started out only letting him get away with the kissing and the groping and the mock-fucking while he was high. What the fuck was Tommy supposed to do, stop? Like fuck. That shit was too good to go cold turkey on, and he's so not talking about the quality weed Adam smuggled out of Amsterdam.

"You what?" Adam asks, gaping, gripping the edge of his dressing table like it's the only thing keeping the world spinning.

"You heard me." Blocking the door, Tommy shoves his hands stubbornly into his pockets. He's not letting Adam out of here until Adam either bowls him over, or Lane beats him unconscious with the door. "You're gonna fuck me."

"You're drunk," Adam says. "Tommy, you're drunk before a show, that's not good."

For a guy that's spent the better part of three years all up in Tommy's space, he's kinda slow. Maybe Tommy miscalculated. "Are you high?" he asks.

"No!"

Tommy squints. Adam hides high pretty well, but drunk is usually plastered all over his face. He doesn't look like he hit the bottle early. "Drunk?"

"I really think you must be," Adam counters.

"Stone-cold sober, babyboy," Tommy says, a tiny frisson of excitement creeping up his spine. "And I want your dick in my ass, and definitely my dick in your mouth, and that thing you do where you like, pinch my tits and and it feels like you're, I don't even fucking know, dude, inside my fucking balls or something, that too."

Adam stares, and stares, and finally says, "You have to tell me this when we're ten minutes to stage."

"Hey, I tried the other night when you were thinking you could maybe eat me out without yanking my pants down first."

Like he's remembering, Adam's eyes go dark. Tommy thought for sure it was gonna happen. Adam was right fucking there, face in his ass, Tommy bent over the back of a couch in the venue crash room humping the fuck out of it, and nothing. Fucking nothing, except a pretty impressive bruise on one cheek.

"You," Tommy's compelled to point out, "were the one who stopped me from shoving a couple fingers up my ass."

Adam pushes away from the dressing table, as gorgeous now in his badass apocalyptic rocker getup as he was in voodoo feathers and snakeskin pants. "If I saw you do that, I was going to fuck you."

"I really, really wanted you to." Backed against the door, Adam penning him in, Tommy feels slightly smaller than he did three seconds ago. And compared to Adam, he was already kinda small, Jesus. "You got no fucking idea how ready I was to take it, fucking seriously."

Adam groans, his forehead falling against Tommy's shoulder. "You're killing me. We should've, why didn't we fucking talk?"

"I figure maybe I was scared," Tommy says, carefully petting Adam's hair near the nape of his neck where he won't mess it up too bad. "I mean like, obviously I've had stuff up my ass before. You watch porn, you try it out, sometimes you like it. But I figure getting fucked's got to be different from taking some skinny little plastic dil."

With another groan, Adam hauls himself upright. "Please stop talking."

Tommy's eyebrows fly up. "Dude, weren't you just complaining that we didn't talk enough?"

"No, I mean, not now." Adam goes to drag a hand back through his hair, catching it just in time and huffing out a breath instead. "We should talk. We will talk. Just, not right now, and for fuck's sake, please not about your ass."

"I want you to put your dick in it," Tommy repeats. "Gonna have to talk about that one."

"Oh my god, not now," Adam hisses. He makes like he's about to do that gagging thing again, with his hand across Tommy's mouth, but Tommy's wearing blood-black lipstick, and that shit gets everywhere. He settles for fitting his hand to Tommy's throat again, thumb and forefinger snugged in tight beneath the hinge of his jaw. "After the show, you can come to my room, and we'll talk."

"And fuck," Tommy says. He wants that one to be really, really clear.

"And fuck," Adam breathes, looking for all the world like he wants to say the hell with the show and screw Tommy senseless right here. "God, baby, there is so much I wanna do to you."

"Said no talking," Tommy says, and risks somebody yelling at him for getting them in a mess three seconds before they have to go on by rising up on his toes to peck Adam on the mouth. "You know what's really cool, though?"

Adam makes a miserable noise.

"All that stuff you wanna do, I'm gonna let you."

"Oh, god, I hate you," Adam says, with so much feeling Tommy almost believes it. Almost.

*

Turns out getting dragged by Adam Lambert through a hotel lobby at Mach 1 speeds attracts a hell of a lot of attention. Adam either doesn't notice or, and far more likely, doesn't give a flying fuck. He crowds Tommy into an elevator, then into a corner, ignoring Tommy's slightly alarmed peep about the cameras by stuffing his tongue as far down Tommy's throat as he can reach. Adam's had a lot of practice; it's pretty far.

"I'm going to eat you out," Adam promises, sounding kinda dangerous whispering in Tommy's ear like that, "and finger you open so slowly, baby, make sure the only thing you feel is my dick going in you."

Tommy's throat clicks on a breath. With Adam being a total fucking sweetheart all the time, he hadn't expected it to flip right over into a straight-up porno so fast. All the times he's felt up Adam's dick, practically took it for a test ride, Adam's been seriously fucking holding back on him. "Thought we were gonna like, talk?"

"We are talking," Adam says, flicking a glance at which floor they're on. "You've had somebody's tongue before, right?"

This isn't so much talking as x-rated twenty questions, but whatever. It's hot, and Tommy's game. "Nope."

Pure animal lust chases surprise across Adam's face. Like, the real deal, eager and possessive and greedy. It's kind of staggeringly amazing without all the makeup he usually wears on stage to distract. "Fingers?"

"Couple. And the dildo. Like, um." Tommy holds up his hand, thumb and fingers forming a circle slightly less an an inch around. "That."

Somehow, Adam manages to look really fucking turned on, delighted, and baffled all at once, like he can't figure out how all these presents got under the tree but oh fuck is he gonna open them good. Things way down low in Tommy's belly reflexively tighten. Open him up and play with him so fucking good.

"Shit," Tommy says, shifting his junk in his pants. Fucking crazy. "That got me hard."

Adam laughs joyously and sweeps him up for a quick kiss before the doors chime. "This is going to be so much fun."

"Glad you're excited," Tommy says, aiming for wry and mostly striking true. He is excited, and nervous, and really kind of awesomely and honestly glad in a really sappy way he's doing this with Adam. He trusts Adam's gonna do this right, make it as mind-blowingly hot in reality as it is in his head. Maybe even fucking better.

Inside Adam's room, bed already turned down and everything neat, a few lamps glowing, Adam gathers Tommy in close and goes right back to the kissing, hands sliding down Tommy's back, over his ass to pull him in a bit more, then up again, an endless caress like Adam's trying to make sure he's all here, it's not some Tommy-shaped figment of his imagination, and that leaves Tommy feeling slightly dazed. People are people, doesn't usually matter much if they're male or female, but apparently all of Tommy's girlfriends and hookups to date have been the passive type, letting him take the lead. It's weird and crazy and feels good to be with somebody who wants to call the shots for a change.

"Want to grab a shower?" Adam asks, brushing Tommy's hair back off his face again.

"Had one at the venue while you were out signing," Tommy says, getting in some exploring of his own, pretty fond of the smooth curve where Adam's back becomes his ass. "Y'know, got ready and stuff."

Looking floored, Adam echoes, "And stuff," and kisses him again, setting up a pretty good theme for the evening. He loves kissing, Adam loves kissing, there's going to be a whole lot of kissing going on along with everything else. Holy shit, Tommy's gonna get fucked.

"I was going to make you tell me what you like," Adam says, carelessly pushing Tommy's jacket off to thump to the floor, then tugging off his shirt, letting that fall with it, "but I think I want to find out on my own."

"You already know like, everything." Determined to get at some skin for once, Tommy starts tugging on Adam's clothes, getting his shirt out of the way to deal with his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping and shoving until Adam's laughing, kicking aside crumpled jeans. "But yeah, sure, why the fuck not, we could do that."

"You need to lie down," Adam says, stepping out of his shorts. "And you need to take those pants off."

Grabbing Adam by the hips, Tommy says, "Hang on, just like, wait a minute," and turns Adam towards the light to get a good, really fucking long look at his naked dick. And fuck if he doesn't like all of it, everything from the exposed ridge to the thick swell to how it curves a little to the left. He knew it was big. Hell, he's felt exactly how fucking big it is, but looking at it now, it is big.

Softly reverent, Adam says, "God, your face. You really want this."

Tommy swallows the saliva pooled in his mouth and closes his hand around Adam's cock. It jumps in his grip, hot and firm and velvety soft. He shivers, maybe moans a bit, not sure what he wants to do with it, just jack it a bit or try sticking it in his mouth or fuck, finally climb on up. Jesus, he wants it all.

"I love the way you're looking at me right now," Adam says, his hand on Tommy's elbow, holding on while Tommy gives him an experimental tug, testing out the angle before sliding up to get some precome slicking his fingers.

Flicking a glance up, Tommy says, "Yeah?" sweet, happy ache way down inside.

"So much." Breath shuddering in his chest, Adam reaches out to deal with Tommy's jeans, doing an impressively good job of not getting in the way of Tommy's playing to shove the whole works down. It's the second time Adam's hands have been on his junk, but there's an electric thrill like it's the first when Adam hefts his balls in one palm, rolls them up against his dick and lets them slip down again to cup his cock. "Even prettier than I remember," Adam says, stepping in close, hooking his thumb around his dick to snug them together, Tommy a few seconds delayed in following suit. He can barely fit one hand around both of them, and there's nothing, fucking nothing in the world like his cock pressed up against somebody else's. When Adam starts jacking them off together, Tommy's legs nearly call it quits.

"Bed," Adam suggests, catching him around the waist. "Spread out, let me look at you."

Forehead resting on Adam's shoulder, Tommy says, "Yeah," and smears a kiss to bare, freckled skin. "Yeah, okay." On unsteady legs he takes care of the rest of his clothes, then turns around to crawl up onto the bed, stretch out on his belly. Kinda feeling like he's posing for a porn mag, he drags one knee up, twisting to palm his own ass, spread the cheeks so everything, absolutely fucking everything he's got, is bare to Adam's gaze.

The longer Adam stands there saying nothing, the harder Tommy wishes he'd gotten at least small buzz on for this. He keeps his head down, hiding the flush creeping up his face, eyes closed. "Adam?"

"Sorry," Adam blurts, the bed dipping. His hands push warm up the backs of Tommy's thighs. "Honestly, I thought you'd lie down on your back."

"You said spread 'em." Less like he's on display now, it's easier for Tommy to lift his head, glance back over his shoulder to see Adam kneeling above him. "And you said you wanted to eat me out, rock star." He stretches his fingers out for a better grip, can see Adam watching the reflexive clench-release of his asshole at the pressure.

"I do," Adam groans, dropping down onto both hands to kiss the backs of Tommy's fingers, then, open-mouthed and slow, wet, his hole. Not actually a fucking virgin here, somehow Tommy's still totally unprepared how incredible Adam's mouth on him is, and his brain hasn't even had a chance to catch up when Adam starts licking, wide, flat drags of his tongue all the way from Tommy's balls up to the base of his spine.

"Holy fuck." Turning his face to the sheets, Tommy muffles another curse as Adam's tongue firms to a point tracing all around his rim, fingertip slipping up to press him open, let Adam lick deeper. "Fuck, wow. You can do that until we hit the next tour if you want."

Adam laughs, sound vibrating through flesh with his mouth pressed to Tommy's ass, alternating licks with slow, sucking kisses, and oh fuck, the sucking. Like, that is his fucking asshole Adam's sucking on, and it feels like the pressure's starting in his fucking balls and drawing straight up his spine. He's not sure when the hell he starts squirming, small fitful twitches of his legs he can't control. Adam doesn't seem to mind one bit, following when he rocks up, pressing him back down to the bed with tongue slid up his ass, fucking right up in there along with a finger or two, making honest-to-Jesus happy noises like eating Tommy out is the best fucking thing to happen to him since birth.

"Fuck," Tommy says once he's got the space to breathe, Adam sliding up to kiss his shoulder, the back of his neck, giving them both a break, "that is like, fucking," and he reaches back to fist Adam's hair, get one of those kisses landing on his mouth. Adam hesitates, maybe thinking Tommy might have a hang-up or something about where his tongue's been, but fuck, if Adam can lick his ass, Tommy can sure as fucking hell kiss him after. Adam doesn't even taste all that different, a bit heavier with the salt-sweat of Tommy's skin, the heat of his body. It's hot, really kind of stupidly hot, and Tommy opens his mouth wider, moans louder when Adam licks in deep.

And then, right in the middle of some pretty stellar making out, Adam settles down with his cock riding the slick cleft of Tommy's ass. Tommy's kisses go messy, uncoordinated, and smooth as fucking silk Adam picks up the slack, hips rocking slowly, dick rubbing hot and thick over Tommy's hole. Tommy drops flat to the bed, legs spreading further as his back arches, ass thrust up for Adam to grind against.

"You should get some stuff," Tommy says, voice like a train wreck. This whole riding thing's not quite the same as being the one doing the fucking but close enough it only takes him a couple tries to figure out how to roll his hips along with Adam's. "So you can, y'know, get that big dick of yours in me for a change."

Adam flops down half on top of him and half off, groaning through what sounds like should've been a laugh and ends up more a breathless huff. "Tommy, the stuff you just say." He bites at Tommy's shoulder. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Seriously," Tommy says, bouncing a bit, trying to get Adam moving. "Get a rubber. Fuck me until I can't walk. Jerk me off and fuck me s'more. Not being very picky here."

Rolling sideways off the bed, Adam lands lightly on his feet and heads for the suitcase laid out on the desk. Since the view is so nice, Tommy rests his chin on his folded hands and watches as Adam digs out a string of condoms and a snap-top bottle of lube. When Adam turns around, he stops short, leans back against the desk. "You're gorgeous."

"Yeah, you're pretty fucking hot too," Tommy says, kicking one of his feet up, chest full of a warm, satisfying glow, excitement nipping in all around the edges. "C'mere and stuff that thing in me already."

Laughing again, all bedroom-sexy smile and sparkling eyes, Adam comes over by the side of the bed instead of climbing on, cock in front of Tommy's face for a split second before Adam sinks down on the balls of his feet, leads Tommy in for another kiss with a few fingers curved under his chin. Rising up on hands and knees, Tommy lets that go on for a bit longer than he'd maybe planned, then drops his head down, gets a look at Adam's cock shiny with spit from rubbing all over him.

"You really need to fuck me now," Tommy says, giving his own dick a quick tug. "Or I'm just gonna like, fucking pounce on you and suck you off whether you want me to or not."

"What if I wanted to rim you more first?" Adam asks, standing up, one hand in Tommy's hair, his dick right fucking there again, fucking cockteasing fucker.

Grabbing onto Adam's thigh for balance, Tommy catches Adam's dick with his mouth, sucks on it hard and fast to get Adam's taste flooding over his tongue. Turns out knowing what a dick feels like in his hand doesn't help with predicting what it'll feel like stuffed in his face. He takes hold of it around the base to steady it as he tries sinking down further, pushing against hot, soft skin with his tongue, finding the thick vein on the underside and tracing it up to the slit. It feels slightly different on his lips than against his tongue, so he rubs it over his mouth, lets it slip inside again, back out.

Grip firm in Tommy's hair, Adam takes a shaky but decisive step out of range. "You're going to make me come," he says, sounding like he's almost there, voice a thready rasp, and yeah, yeah, Tommy likes that idea, really fucking gets off on being the one to make Adam lose it.

Licking his lips, Tommy wipes his mouth dry on the back of his wrist. "I like the way your dick tastes, in case you were like, wondering."

Very matter-of-factly, Adam says, "If I wake up tomorrow morning and you're not in my bed, I'm going to cry," and drops the condoms on the bed, knee-walks over the sheets with his hand sliding down Tommy's back. The snap of the lube opening ratchets up Tommy's spine, and he glances over his shoulder to watch Adam slick a few fingers, drop the bottle to brace a hand at the small of Tommy's back. "You're not allowed to hold any hysterical wailing against me if this turns out to be an incredibly vivid dream."

"Deal," Tommy says, trying to get his shivering under control as Adam's fingertips ghost over his asshole. This has been so long brewing, he's not sure he's gonna last through Adam putting it all the way in him, especially when two fingers pushing inside makes his legs feel like they're made of jello. He drops down to one elbow, face tucked against his arm. "Magic fucking fingers or something, Christ."

Not saying anything, Adam somehow goes in deeper, crooked fingers sparking a heavy, full ache. The second time he pushes in, a thick groan comes pushing out of Tommy's chest, and Adam asks, clear in his tone he already knows the answer, "Like that?"

All Tommy can manage is another groan, rocking back on his knees as Adam's fingers press against his insides, twist and stroke, pressure building until it's flirting with the edge of too much. Before it crosses the line, Adam draws out all the way, pushes back in with only his thumb, rubbing around Tommy's asshole with the tips of his other fingers. When Tommy breathes out, he goes in, two fingers and thumb spreading Tommy wide, holding, spreading wider as muscle tires, loosens.

"What the fuck are you even doing," Tommy grits out, fingers shoved into his hair gripping tight, forehead against his palm.

"Is that you really asking?" The mattress dips again when Adam reaches for a condom, the sound of foil tearing ringing loud in Tommy's head. "Or do you just want to know how much I like watching your tiny little hole open up for me?"

Tommy's heart starts trying to bash its way through his ribs. "Fuck, maybe that second one," he says as Adam's cockhead settles big and blunt into place. "Definitely that second one. It looks good, right? Finally getting your dick right there?"

Pure honesty, Adam says, "So good, baby. So fucking good." One small push is all it takes to get the head slipping in, Tommy so fucking loose for it already. There's no burn, only a sweet endless push until Tommy thinks he's got it all, and then it's the drag of Adam easing out, fucking back in deeper than before. Again, and that's gotta be it, there's no fucking way there's more, he's aching already, pulse throbbing in his brain, his dick. He can't help tightening up, and Adam strokes over his hip and down his thigh, starts to pull back.

"No, shit, don't." Tommy gasps as he rocks back too fast to reclaim those lost few inches, taking way more for his trouble. Fisting both hands in the sheets, he shoves back again, again when Adam's hand clamps to his side, and doesn't stop until he can feel Adam's balls heavy against his ass and his thighs are trembling, the ache in his belly spread out and up into his chest, melted-taffy thick in his lungs. Gulping air, Tommy says, "Fuck, oh fuck, Adam, you gotta fuck me, I'm gonna go crazy."

One hand on Tommy's hip, the other on his ass, Adam fucks in slow and hard, spiking the manic buzz in Tommy's blood to something steady, something fucking bearable. Adam keeps on going just like that, smooth, even rhythm, grip tightening to hold Tommy still for a heartbeat then pull him back into the next thrust, the quiet, wet slap of skin on skin, Adam fucking inside him, filling his head with the sound of it.

"Jesus," Tommy breathes, pushing up on the palms on his hands, arching back to get more exactly like that. The air in his lungs goes stale long before he realises he quit breathing, and the moment he notices he starts panting, rocking back on hands and knees, so fucking into it he's not one bit surprised to find his cock leaking when he drops his head down, precome sticking stringy to his thighs. "Shit. Fuck. Fuck."

Biting at his shoulder, hands skimming down his chest, back up to pinch lightly at his nipples, Adam hums his agreement. Curling one arm under Tommy's chest, hand hooked on his shoulder, Adam kicks it up a couple notches, driving in faster, some of the rhythm gone in favour of pure fucking, giving Tommy a really good, sweet ride.

Tommy gasps, "Wait, wait, sit me-" and loses breath on a hard thrust, grabbing onto Adam's hand trying to get his attention. "Fuck, sit me down on your dick, I wanna feel it."

Hips rolling to a shuddering stop, Adam smears a kiss and a curse across the the nape of Tommy's neck. "Hang on, baby," he says, guiding Tommy's arm up, elbow bent, to grab onto his shoulder, and slowly, so, so fucking slowly, he sits back on his heels, drags Tommy up and back with him, settled right down on his cock. Tommy thought it went fucking deep before, now it's like it's in his fucking throat, cutting off his air and making him shake, burn from the inside out.

He goes for his dick without thinking, needing the rush of familiar pleasure to take the edge off, and he definitely didn't realise how much he's gonna clench up until he's in the middle of jacking it. He's fucking glad he wasn't thinking, because then he might not have done it, and then he'd've had to wait to find out how fucking incredible it is to come with Adam's dick shoved so far up in him he can almost taste it. He's even riding it, small, sharp rolls of his hips barely working Adam's cock at all but he can feel it, fuck, can he feel it, come slick on his fingers, Adam hot, thick, so goddamn big inside him.

Adam's arm comes around his chest again, pins him for the ride down as Adam falls back onto one elbow. Trying to catch some of his weight is a lost cause; he lands fucked-out and boneless on Adam's chest, legs splayed wide as Adam's knees come up, feet planted square on the bed for leverage. Finally catching on, Tommy says, "Fuck, c'mon, do it," trying to drag his legs up, a fucked-up grateful noise jolted out of him when Adam catches him behind one knee, getting it up high enough Tommy can grab on, hold it there. Both of Adam's hands skid down his thighs to grip his ass, fingers stretched out to work his dick back in him, and then Adam goes for it, really fucking goes for it like he's gonna die if he doesn't. Tommy holds on as best he can, nerves shredded, lungs sliced to ribbons on every sharp breath, his free hand clutching at Adam's hair and his eyes squeezed shut, so far out of his mind he can't even fucking believe it.

When Adam starts to shake, drives it home once more and stays buried deep, Tommy struggles to focus, wanting to know if he maybe clenches up again, bears down, he can feel Adam coming from the inside. But his body won't listen, fucked so loose that as soon as Adam isn't doing him anymore, his softening dick slips free. Tommy drops his leg, fingers cramped all to hell, and focuses instead on the deep, heavy pulls of air into Adam's lungs, following along, trying to relearn how to breathe.

Close to Tommy's ear, Adam asks, "You okay up there?"

Not even enough energy to croak an answer, Tommy gives a whole-hearted but pretty pathetic looking thumbs-up.

Adam huffs, "Yeah," and levers up barely enough to tip Tommy off onto the bed. Tommy groans at all the needless jostling, pretty sure his head's not screwed back on yet, and thumps a weak elbow into Adam's chest. "Sorry, baby," comes with a kiss to the corner of Tommy's mouth. "I want to get a look at you."

"M'right here," Tommy slurs, apparently still not really with it since he doesn't have a sweet clue what the fuck Adam's up to sliding down to spread his legs again. It hits him right about the time Adam's gently fingering his sore, swollen hole, and he flings an arm over his eyes, grunting as the tip of one finger pushes slowly in. "You checkin' me out, or are you like, checkin' me out?"

"Both," Adam says, then, "Mostly admiring. You ended up pretty loose pretty fast."

Tommy lifts his arm a fraction, squinting down the length of his body at Adam once again between his legs. "You must've fucked me damn good, 'cause I don't even care that you're down there calling me easy."

"Easy's not a bad thing," Adam says, crawling up to plant kisses along Tommy's sternum, along his throat to his mouth. "Easy here and now means you know what you want."

"Got it, too," Tommy says, grinning ridiculously. "Didn't even make me work for it this time."

A frown tries to take over Adam's mouth, but it can't get a foothold through the smile already taken up permanent residence there. His hand keeps smoothing down Tommy's hip, over his thigh, restless like he's afraid Tommy's going to vanish in a puff of smoke if he stops. "I wish I'd had the guts to ask if you meant it before."

Honestly, Tommy had kinda expected this part to happen before the amazing fuck. "Don't do that regret shit. I see you smilin'."

"I'm not regretting," Adam huffs. "I'm briefly mourning all the really great sex we could've had."

"Yeah?" Tommy isn't gonna ask, he's not, but, "So it was really good, right? Like, bam, wow," comes tumbling out.

Adam's smile goes darker and brighter all at once, a lazy, satisfied curve to his mouth and pure joy in his eyes. Braced on hands and knees above Tommy, sweat-damp hair falling into his face, deep red marks on his shoulders from Tommy's nails that Tommy doesn't remember putting there, he's beautiful. So fucking gorgeous Tommy's chest goes tight. He shoves up to get both arms around Adam's neck, haul him down to hug the fuck out of him, all that bare skin addictive, better than a high.

"Baby," Adam says, soft in Tommy's hair.

"I wanna date you," Tommy says before he chickens out. "If you'd rather do the friends with benefits thing, maybe we could give that a whirl, but I wanna like, hold your hand in public and bitch about endless shopping trips and bring you home for Christmas and all that shit."

Adam's chest fills on a sharp breath. He pushes up, this sappy, dopey look on his face, and Tommy loves it. Absolutely fucking loves it. "You want to take the Jewish boy home for Christmas."

"Fuck yeah," Tommy says. "Santa don't give a shit."

"I was going to bitch at you for thinking I'd want friends with benefits, because I don't even know where the hell you got the idea that's something I'd do with you," Adam says, fingertips soft on Tommy's face, "but you want to take me home to meet your mom."

"Dude, you already met her. Like, three dozen times."

"As your boss and your friend," Adam says, and rolls down onto the bed to tuck Tommy in close. "Not your boyfriend. I'll have to bring her flowers."

"She's gonna love you." She'll have to, because Tommy already does. And she's not gonna be one bit surprised.

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

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

2011-06-05T04:55:36Z

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.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Kink bingo card!

2011-06-04T00:13:50Z

I'm all excited, omg. :x

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Here's where you are, there's where you wanna be - Adam/Tommy

2011-06-01T00:40:08Z

I get to start off mapetiteamore's fabulous birthday month with one of the best sort of presents. Happy birthday, darling! ♥

Here's where you are, there's where you wanna be
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~9200 words.
It's the fucking collar that does it. One stupid little gift that doesn't even mean anything.

*

Here's where you are, there's where you wanna be

Tommy stumbles off stage body still thrumming with the beat, with the screams of the crowd, with Adam's tongue fucking into his mouth. Fucking Metallica. Fucking Enter Sandman. That fucking kiss.

On some drunken ramble, he's sure he spilled the beans to Adam that his favourite make-out song from high school was Sandman. The opening chords crawl into his chest every single time, through his belly, coil up tight and hot in his dick. He's like Pavlov's fucking dog with that song. By the time Adam crooked that finger at him, he was ready to let Adam do whatever he fucking wanted in front of all those people. Tommy would've gone to his knees right then and there.

Monte's saying something, grin huge enough to be sighted from space, and Tommy says, "Yeah, totally," vaguely hoping he isn't agreeing with something whacked the fuck out like Monte going for a crowd-dive next show. Through the echo of Adam's voice in his head comes the real deal, gorgeously rough, and Tommy grabs for the wall, slumps against it panting like he ran a fucking marathon to get here.

"Birthday boy," Adam purrs in that crazy-low register, crowding him tighter to cool cement bricks. The stage, the heat of the performance, is thick in Adam's blood, pushing him so close to the lines, almost, fucking almost, over them. He's larger than life with his eyes glinting midnight dark, his smile a slow, spreading slant of his mouth. A hand planted on the wall either side cages Tommy in. "Did you like your present?"

"Fuck," Tommy rasps, barely a scrape of sound in his dry throat. He swallows a couple times trying to make his voice work right, but he gets a lungful of Adam's scent instead, makeup and hairspray and sweat, and his dick fucking jerks so hard he grunts, slick precome soaking his shorts.

"There's more, too." Grabbing onto Tommy's wrist, Adam drags him down the corridor to the dressing rooms all the way to Adam's at the end. Inside, Tommy sways on his feet when Adam lets go, heart clogging up his throat as Adam digs through the small army of boxes piled up near the mirror. Coming up with a flat, square one balanced on the palm of one hand, Adam says, "I suck at waiting to give people presents. Open it!"

Gingerly, Tommy picks up the box. He tugs loose the single black ribbon and tries to pry off the top before figuring out it's hinged on one side. With a glance flicked to Adam, he shuffles it around and flips it open.

And fucking stares.

"For my pretty kitty," Adam says, beaming as he plucks the collar out of the box, presents it for Tommy's inspection balanced on the tips of his outspread fingers. It's a plain black leather band about half an inch wide, a d-ring dangling from the centre. "It'll look awesome peeking out between those frills. Put some hardcore rocker back in your glam. Wanna try it on?"

Dumbly, Tommy says, "You got me a collar?"

Adam starts unbuckling it. "Cuffs would've been cool, but I didn't want to fuck up your playing even more hauling you around by those. And you have your gloves anyway." He holds up the collar invitingly. "C'mere."

Feet cemented to the floor, Tommy's stuck on mute and staring again. Adam wants to put a fucking collar on him. Obviously this is not some kinky impromptu commitment ceremony--as far as Tommy knows, neither one of them are into the lifestyle. This is Adam being Adam. In Adam's world, sex toys and bondage gear are fashion statements. Shit, they're not even fucking.

"Aren't you supposed to buy me dinner before you propose?" Tommy asks, but he steps into Adam's range, stomach jittering and head bowed.

Adam laughs, delighted. The leather is cool against Tommy's throat, warming quickly as Adam tightens the buckle. It shifts slightly when Tommy swallows hard, Adam's fingers on his chin to tilt his face up. "Looks good," Adam says, sliding two fingers beneath the band like he's actually testing the fit, making sure it won't rub or chafe with long-term wear. He fluffs up the ruffles on Tommy's shirt with one hand, turning Tommy's face this way and that, sizing up the whole package deal of smeared makeup, leather and lace, then sidesteps to give Tommy a clear view of the mirror, his hand settling on the back of Tommy's neck pressing leather into skin. "It looks really, really good, Tommy Joe."

And yeah, Tommy doesn't live the life--and doesn't have much desire to try it out, either--but the urge to go to his knees redoubles, almost sends him there despite what he thinks he wants. Before his legs quit on him, he leans back into Adam's solid heat, breathes in slow and tilts his mouth up for a kiss. After six months on the road with Adam, kissing him got easy and familiar, something comfortable to take him all the way around the globe.

It's not so easy this time. He pushes for more, asks for it with his fucking mouth and hands and body, but Adam backs off like always, smiles at him like it's cute or some shit. "I'm glad you like it," Adam says, with a sweet nip to Tommy's bottom lip.

"It's cool," Tommy says. He swallows again, feeling it shift. "Y'know they're all gonna cream it when they see me up there in this. Gonna really think we're doing the nasty."

Laughing, Adam hugs him tight. "Good thing you don't care what they think."

"Yeah," Tommy says, flicking the d-ring with one finger. Good fucking thing.

*

It's the fucking collar that does it. One stupid little gift that doesn't even mean anything. But that's the way these things go--the straw that breaks the camel's back, one last fuck-you from the universe. Well fuck the universe right back, Tommy's had enough.

In Melbourne, he wears the fucking thing on stage, hidden beneath the high, prim collar of his shirt. It takes until Fever for Adam to notice he's all buttoned up, a slight widening of his eyes when he comes in for his kiss, nothing more than a short, sweet touch of their lips as he tries to get a good look at Tommy's throat. The choreography demands he strut off before he finds an answer to the question clear in his eyes.

Smug, Tommy rocks out for the rest of the show, not bothered in the least when things are a little off for the whole thing, when Adam keeps his distance during the intros. The more off-balance Adam is, the more personal space he maintains. Serves him fucking right to be the one trying to find the earth under his feet for once.

Once the show's over, though, the glitz and the glam all washed off, the hurt Adam had been hiding under a performer's ease comes seeping through. Crammed in the backseat of a cab between him and Terrence on the way to some club, Tommy feels like total shit, and kinda pissed off, too. Adam fucks around with him all the time. All the fucking time. You don't see Tommy turning into some freakish moping mountain of doom and gloom when he ends up jammed in a tiny bunk all alone with his right hand.

On the sidewalk outside the club, music thumping up through the pavement, Adam catches Tommy by the elbow, holding him back as the others hop the line. Frowning, Adam tugs at the collar of Tommy's jacket, finds nothing but skin and cotton beneath.

Stuffing both hands in his pockets, Tommy cocks an eyebrow. "Lookin' for something, rock star?"

"I thought," Adam starts. "You didn't wear it for the show?"

Tommy shrugs.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Like it doesn't matter to him one way or the other, Tommy says, "Means you didn't come put it on me."

Adam's eyes flash wide. His mouth works, no sound coming out until he notices the few people in the lineup pointing cameras their way. "Inside," he says, turning Tommy around to give him a nudge towards the door.

The same as every dance club the world over, just inside the door the air becomes a thick wall of sound Tommy has to push his way through. He aims for the bar, always his first stop, but Adam snags his elbow again, hauls him to the stairs that lead down from the dance floor, circle around it to the bathrooms in the back. Bypassing those, Adam opens the door to the back alley, squinting at the mouth to make sure the coast is clear before dragging Tommy out into it.

"What do you mean, didn't put it on you?" Adam says as the door bangs shut.

Tommy sighs, sagging against the weather-scored brick. He should've kept his mouth shut. If Adam doesn't get something out of Tommy now, he'll be like a dog with a bone for weeks. "You want me to wear it?"

"I thought you liked it?"

"Didn't say I didn't like it." Flicking a glance around to make sure they're still in the clear, Tommy fishes the collar out of his back pocket, lifts it up draped open over his palm. "Asked if you wanted me to wear it."

"Well, yes," Adam says, forehead crinkled, mouth crumpled. "I wouldn't have bought it for you if-"

Tommy shoves the collar into Adam's hand. "So put it on me."

Mouth snapping shut, Adam makes a clumsy grab for the collar to make sure it doesn't end up in the dirt. He stretches it out between his hands, unsure. Fetish wear or fashion statement, it still means something. Adam likes to pick out jewellery for him, took him shopping for a decent pair of boots when his creepers put him on his ass, and Tommy's got this sinking feeling that Adam doesn't get why he likes to do those things, or why Tommy lets him.

Or worse, Adam knows, but doesn't want to admit it.

Stepping in close, Tommy shakes his jacket off his shoulders, settles both hands on Adam's hips as he bows his head to expose the back of his neck. He closes his eyes as he lets his forehead rest on Adam's shoulder. "Put it on me."

Adam jolts like somebody's taken a cattle prod to him. Almost fumbling the collar again, he fits it to Tommy's throat, fussing with the buckle like he hadn't before until it sits comfortably snug. He leaves his hand heavy on the back of Tommy's neck, thumb stroking along leather and skin, his slow, heavy breaths loud in the small alleyway.

For once, Tommy's the first to push away. He flips his jacket back up, leaving it open so the collar shows clearly above his low v-neck tee. The look in Adam's eyes says he gets it. But the look on his face says he doesn't, and when he opens the door to gesture Tommy back inside, that distance is back with a vengeance.

*

By showtime in Sydney, Adam's all wound up. Most everybody's giving him a wide berth, except Monte, who's been dealing with Adam a hell of a lot longer than the rest of them, and Tommy. The collar hasn't come off since last night and Adam acts like he knows it. Tommy caught his gaze sliding to it a dozen times during soundcheck, a dozen more in the time between then and now.

Minutes from going on, Tommy leans heavily against Adam's arm, fingers in the fringe dangling from his jacket. Adam glances down, familiar, reflexive smile fading as his gaze lands again on the collar.

The same as if it's any other night, Tommy asks, "We all goin' out tonight?"

"Sasha has plans for cake," Adam says, shifting his mic from one hand to the other. "And strip clubs, I think."

Tommy grins fast and fierce. "My kick-ass never-ending birthday."

"Listen, Tommy," Adam starts, eyes on the collar.

"You gonna kiss me tonight?" Tommy cuts in.

Caught off-guard, Adam flashes a brief smile. "Are you going to wear that dark lipstick?"

"Maybe if I do, I want you to kiss me anyway," Tommy says. Straightening up, he starts buttoning up his shirt all the way, hiding the collar. "Maybe instead of like, not minding people thinking we're fucking, I like them thinking you're giving it to me."

"Tommy," Adam says, grip gone slack on the mic.

"I get hard up there, you know that?" From the look on Adam's face, yeah, he knows it. And he's too fucking scared to do fuck-all about it. "I can't fucking wait for you to kiss me. And maybe, did you ever think that maybe I kinda like it when you get my lipstick all over your mouth, 'cause then for fucking once I've got a mark on you?"

Maybe Tommy should give the guy a minute, let that shit sink in. Maybe he should just shut the fuck up entirely before whatever Adam's afraid is gonna happen, happens. But Jesus Christ, it's almost been a year of this shit. Somebody's gotta put up and fucking put out soon, or his head's gonna explode.

"Yeah," Tommy says, stomach hitting the dirt, his heart right on its heels. Adam's okay fooling around with the straight boy, a-o-fucking-kay getting the straight boy hard, all messed up, but the follow through, fuck no. There's a line Adam's not gonna cross no matter how hard Tommy begs.

Tommy says, "I fuckin' figured," and heads up to the stage.

*

How Tommy goes from Adam trying to eat his face on stage--like Adam's got something to prove now, like he's not gonna fucking flake out the first chance he gets--to a private room in a strip joint, crammed into one of the girls' microminis and a pair of thigh boots with some guy's tongue shoved down his throat, Tommy's never gonna fucking know. What he does know is the guy's no slouch in the macking department, even if he doesn't have Adam's pizzazz, and he's not afraid to get his hand all over Tommy's ass, gripping hard to pull him closer. The stripper--Lauren, maybe?--quit her routine about five minutes ago in favour of cheering the guy on and stuffing Tommy's singles back in his pants. Skirt. What the fuck ever.

"So hot," she says, and the guy breaks away with a smile, says, with a hand on Tommy's cheek, "Everything about you as pretty as your face?"

"You're so wasted you're gonna think it is." Tommy slumps back in the tacky faux-leather bench seat. He raises a hand for the bottle Lauren's holding hostage. "Beer."

"Lap dance!" she singsongs, snatching it out of his reach.

The skirt isn't doing much to hide Tommy's boner--more like highlight it. The slip of fabric's a shiny, scaled bronze, and even he's got to admit it looks pretty good with the black boots and the sliver of his thighs caught pale between the two. Be hotter if he'd shaved, maybe, but dyed-blond or not, his body hair's pretty light. He pats his lap invitingly. "C'mon up."

"Not me, baby," she drawls, setting the bottle down half a continent away and gesturing at the guy. "Give Lauren one. He's buying."

Head lolling to the side, Tommy blinks at the guy. The guy who is apparently named Lauren, which means he doesn't have a sweet clue what the girl's name is. "Dude, you want a lap dance?"

Lauren, who was smart enough to hold onto his beer even while he was sucking on Tommy's tongue, bursts out laughing. The girl applauds, says, "Yes, do it!" and Lauren shakes his head, traces the ink bared on Tommy's arms. The tee shirt Tommy's wearing doesn't really go so well with the skirt. He's honestly kinda surprised they haven't tried to haul it off him yet.

"D'you want to?" Lauren asks, thumb light on Tommy's pulse. "I promise I'll get you your beer back."

"Fuck it." Tommy clambers up. Lauren's hot, with pretty eyes and a lush mouth, and he's right fucking here not afraid to get all up in Tommy's business. "Fair warning, though," Tommy says, leaning over to plant a hand on the back of the seat, probably giving the girl way more of a show than he's giving Lauren. "I suck at this shit."

Lips parted, breaths coming fast and shallow, Lauren doesn't look like he gives a single flying fuck. He scoots down lower in the seat, legs a careless sprawl, cock thick in his jeans. While the girl's still here, and still smoking hot, Tommy's pretty sure that tent Lauren's got pitched is all for him now.

Saddest part of all this shit--aside from the Adam-shaped elephant in the room Tommy's not thinking about--is that for all the lap dances Tommy's gotten in his life, he can't remember a fucking one. Can't even remember watching; his mind's a total blank. Fuck, it's not like he's a professional, or even a hopeful amateur, and Lauren's so turned on a bit of pressure, a quick hump or two, he'll probably nut himself anyway.

Figuring on doing it face-to-face, Tommy hits a snag in how tight the fucking miniskirt is. Laughing through a curse, he turns around to give Lauren his back, give one of those bent over from the waist, legs spread deals a whirl and gets a sharp groan for his trouble. And hell yeah, he likes that, probably almost as much as Lauren does. Hands braced on Lauren's knees, he slides backwards into Lauren's lap, all the way up until Lauren's dick is nudging him in the ass. One slow grind earns Tommy another one of those appreciative groans, Lauren's hands clutching white-knuckled at the edge of the seat, and Tommy lets his head fall back, kiss-red lip caught between his teeth before he gives it a slow lick.

"You really don't suck at this," Lauren whispers. Grinning, Tommy adds in a little thrust, outline of his dick clear through the skirt's clingy material, and Lauren's hands fly up as if to grab for his hips, haul him back down for another slow, dirty grind.

"Holy shit," comes from the other side of the room.

Glancing up, Tommy loses his balance when his gaze lands on Adam framed in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth wider. He ends up sprawled awkwardly in Lauren's lap, grabbing for the hem of the skirt because fuck, man, those are his shorts on the floor, he's got nothing on under this shit. Adam's got front row on a full monty over there, and Tommy is hard. Really fucking hard.

"Uh oh," the girls says, helping herself to Tommy's beer. "Boyfriend's here, babydoll."

Slamming the door, Adam barks, "What the fuck!"

"Hey," Lauren says, hands raised placatingly. "Calm down a minute, we-"

"I am calm," Adam says tightly, a surefire sign that he's anything but. He grabs up Tommy's jeans and boots, and his shorts too, oh fuck, and wads them in a tight ball under his arm. Very, very carefully, he digs a few bills out of his wallet and sets them onto the platform beside the girl, then a few more. "For the time and the clothes. Tommy, up."

"I'm kinda in the middle of something," Tommy says.

"Whoa, hey, no." Giving Tommy a firm shove off his lap, Lauren makes sure there's as much distance between him and Adam as possible. "I'm not getting involved in this."

"Chicken-shit," Tommy accuses, wobbling slightly on the heels before catching his balance.

"Sane, practical shit," Lauren corrects.

Like a thundercloud about to crack, Adam says, "We're going, Tommy Joe."

This isn't the kind of shit Tommy pulls. He wants to blame the booze in his blood, maybe the collar around his throat, even the months and months of Adam not coming through, but he's not so sure he can. He plants his feet as best he can in the fucking boots, not planning on budging an inch. "So you can take me somewhere and not fuck me?"

Adam rocks back like Tommy's slapped him across the face. Tommy's got all of two seconds to enjoy the naked surprise before Adam's striding across the room, grabbing him by the wrist to haul him to the door. Fighting the whole way, Tommy realises too late what sort of shit it looks like is going down here. The girl's backed all the way up, and Lauren's looking like he's about to do something really noble, really stupid, and really, really unnecessary.

"Jesus Christ," Tommy says, easing up to let Adam pull him through the door, out into the back hallway where the music's a dull, muffled thud. "Fine, what the fuck ever. You win."

"I don't know even what the hell you're talking about, and I don't think I want to," Adam hisses. "What the hell were you doing in there?"

Truth be told, Tommy's not sure. He'd been having a good time, mostly. Yanking his wrist out of Adam's grip, he grabs for the wall so he doesn't end up on his ass. "Pretty sure I was about to get laid really awesomely by that hot guy you just hauled me off of."

"You're drunk," Adam says, reaching for him again, making pissy faces when he dodges. "And you're going to hurt yourself if you're not careful, okay? Would you just let me take you back to the hotel?"

"And do what?"

Adam scowls. "And do what, what?"

"Take me back to the hotel and do what?" Tommy asks. "We both know we're not gonna fuck, so maybe you should've left me back there with somebody who would've fucking loved to get up in me."

Wonderingly, Adam says, "You really are wasted."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tommy chokes back a shout of pure frustration. Yes, he's drunk. He is very, very drunk. And horny. And his fucking arches are killing him in these boots, what the Jesus. "Tell you what I'm not," he says. "I'm not as fucking straight as you think I am. Motherfucking Kinsey scale, Adam, fucking Christ."

"You don't-" Adam says. "You're not-"

"You're so fucking blind," Tommy snaps, grabbing Adam's wrist, shoving him against the wall and his hand up the fucking skirt, Tommy's shit flying everywhere as Adam flails for something to hold onto that isn't Tommy's dick. "I am so fucking gone over you it's driving me crazy, I wish you'd just fucking fuck it outta me already."

The second before Adam snaps, Tommy sees it. Relief floods in, turns him loose and pliant as Adam surges away from the wall, grabs onto his shoulders and pins him against it instead. "Fucking finally," Tommy moans, legs already spread, hard and wet and so fucking ready for this. "C'mon, please."

"You're a selfish brat," Adam says, staring hard at him. "You know I don't do this. I told you I don't."

"We can pick out fucking curtains, I don't give a shit, just fucking-"

"What?" Adam says, mouth so close Tommy could kiss it if Adam would ease up a fraction on his shoulders. "Fuck it out of you? D'you wanna be my gay fuckbuddy, Tommy Joe?"

Tommy's head thumps back against the wall. He's really gotta learn to say what he fucking means. They both do. "You're the one who said you're not looking for anything. Dude, I'll take what I can fucking get, okay? Whatever, I don't care." Being on tour's like living in a fucking snowglobe, anyway. Everything's all fucked up, unreal. He's gonna fly apart if Adam shakes him up just once more with one of those fucking kisses.

"You want me to fuck you," Adam says, not like he believes it at all. His hand's on Tommy's ass, fingers pressing the thin material against his asshole, rubbing him through it, and Tommy can't help clenching up, strung tight he wants it so bad. He's been imagining all the filthy, amazing shit Adam could do to him for months now. He's been jacking off to it for almost as long.

But Adam's only seeing what Adam wants to see, and he takes the eager jerk of Tommy's body for a flinch instead. He hauls his hand away from Tommy's junk so fast the afterimage is burned into Tommy's retinas. Tommy makes a grab for his arm anyway, moans, "Please," aching with the thought of finally getting on Adam's dick.

Adam breathes, "God," squeezing his eyes briefly shut. "We'll talk when you're sober, okay? I promise, we'll talk."

"Yeah, like we talked last time?" Tommy says, and Adam flinches. The booze isn't helping his case any, but it's sure as fuck loosened his tongue. "Or the fucking time before that? Jesus Christ, Adam, would you just fucking tell me for once what the hell you're so fucked up over instead of putting me off, never giving me a straight answer? Quit pretending I haven't fucking asked you point blank to fuck me. Just fucking, fuck."

"I don't believe you!" Adam shouts in his face. Wincing, Adam dials it right back, staring at the hard dig of his fingers into Tommy's arms like he's trying to let up and can't. "You only think you want it."

Tommy blinks. "That is the most condescending bullshit I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

Mouth slanted in a sour smile, Adam says, "Handjobs, sure. Maybe you'll even like blowjobs, as long as I don't shoot in your mouth. But do you really want my dick in your ass?" When Tommy tries to cut in, he steamrolls right on over it with a bitter noise. "Really think about it, Tommy. Really, really think about it. Because I'd want that. I want to be inside you, and I want to hold you down, and fuck you."

Tommy's voice sticks in his throat like it's caught on the collar. He tries to say yes, tries to pull Adam in to show him how much he wants all of that, exactly like that, but the only thing that he manages is a breathless sound when Adam's hand slides around to palm his bare ass, under the skirt this time, fingers so close, right fucking there, and then they're slipping away again.

"It's worth a shot," Tommy blurts. "You're not seriously telling me it's not even worth the chance to find out."

"Baby," Adam says, voice gone soft, "you're more than worth it. But I can't handle having you just once, and losing you when you decide it's not what you want."

Tommy drags in a deep, shuddering breath. He's completely burnt out. He can't believe he even managed to get that pissed at Adam, let alone kept it up for so long. Dropping his head back, away from Adam reaching for his face, he says, "You gotta give me more credit than that. I get that you're all sparkly and magnetic and shit, but honestly, and no matter how much you don't wanna hear it, that guy back there? He was totally doing it for me."

"The girl-"

"Wasn't her lap you caught me in, was it?"

"I-"

"Fuck," Tommy spits, "just, fuck this shit," and grabs onto Adam's face, mashes their mouths together in the worst fucking kiss they've ever shared. Asking for it didn't work, throwing himself at Adam didn't work, and this talking shit is fucking worthless. If he wants to get anything at all from Adam, he's gonna have to take it.

Expecting Adam to fight him, he almost loses his footing when Adam surges in, tongue shoved into his mouth. He takes it like a champ, though, 'cause this is what he's fucking here for; he wants Adam inside him, tongue and fingers and dick, the whole nine yards. In stiletto boots, hiking his knee up so Adam's hand slides along the back of his thigh maybe isn't the smartest idea, but Adam's got a firm grip on him, and the walls is right there to hold him up, and yes, fuck, Adam's going for it this time, fingertips brushing past his balls, pushing behind them into the crack of his ass. He moans so loud he's pretty sure Lauren and the girl down the hall can hear him over the music, and he honestly doesn't give a shit.

When Adam breaks away, fingers gone too, Tommy thinks he's gonna die. But all Adam's doing is getting a better grip on him, one hand on his ass and the other sliding right back to where it was, strong, spit-slick fingers rubbing over his hole. Both arms slung around Adam's shoulders, Adam's mouth on his throat, Tommy's barely holding himself up, and barely breathing when Adam presses in with the tip of one finger.

Opening his mouth to ask for more, fucking demand it, a gasp comes out instead as Adam's finger crooks, pushes right up into him. It's a quick, hot burn, then nothing but pressure, a jolt of sensation when Adam rubs him on the inside. "God," Adam says, drawing free too fast, shocking another noise out of Tommy as he goes in again with a different finger, a bit more spit easing the way. "Oh my god, I shouldn't've-"

"Fuck that," Tommy grits out, trying to figure out how the fuck he can get Adam deeper, quick clench and release of muscle that rips a rough noise out of Adam's throat. "C'mon, put more in me."

Looking lost, real, fallen off the edge of the map kinda lost, Adam spits on his fingers again, smears it all around Tommy's hole. Even ready for it, the thick push of Adam's finger has him tensing up, pure anticipation and nothing more. Before Adam gets a chance to read that wrong, Tommy takes hold of his arm, makes him keep on going until knuckles are snug against his ass. "Feels good, right?" Tommy says, voice trembling worse than his legs as Adam does that rubbing thing again, finds all these places inside that spark bright, sharp pleasure in his belly. "Bet it's so fucking tight, gonna be so good. You thinking about me on your dick yet, all slick and wet, what that's gonna be like? 'Cause I sure as fuck am."

Sucking in a hissing breath, Adam presses another finger in beside the first, almost all the way before Adam seems to realises what the hell he's in the middle of doing. But Tommy's got it figured out now, knows how to take it, a sweet-hot ache spreading up into his dick, a slow, spreading stain on the skirt Adam would have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to miss.

"You," Adam says, throat clicking, mouth open against Tommy's sharing breath like he wants a kiss and can't quite manage it, too focused on what Tommy feels like from the inside, "god, you do, fucking amazing, Tommy, I want," and he doesn't get a chance to say what he wants, voice cutting out entirely as Tommy gets a hand on Adam's dick, gives it a rough squeeze through his jeans. Tommy's got a pretty damn good idea what Adam wants, though, and Adam needs to get his dick out to do it.

Tommy's barely able to get a hand on Adam's zipper before Adam stops him cold. "Not here," Adam says, determined light in his eyes, mouth set like he's expecting an argument. "If we're going to do this, we're doing it in a bed."

"Works for me," Tommy says. The only protest he's got is for Adam's fingers slipping out of him, and that one's half-hearted at best. If Adam thinks for one fucking second they're not following through on this, he is so fucking wrong. "But we're doing it. You're gonna spread me out on that big-ass hotel bed of yours, and you're gonna fuck me."

Despite the desire clear on his face, Adam doesn't say, If you still want me to, or We'll see when we get there. Pushing Tommy firmly back against the wall, all stay there, don't move, Adam hauls out his phone to call up a cab and starts picking up Tommy's clothes.

When Tommy had imagined finally getting with Adam, he hadn't pictured the preview as him stumbling down the back corridor of a titty bar decked out like a cheap hooker, hanging onto Adam for all he's worth. The cabbie out back doesn't blink at Adam bundling a twink in a miniskirt and thigh-high stilettos into the backseat, singing out a cheery, "Got it!" when Adam tells him the name of whichever hotel they're staying in. Somehow, Tommy ends up half on the seat, knees tucked up under him as far as the boots will allow, and half in Adam's lap, cradled by Adam's arm and the door. Adam's hand rests heavily on his dick, sorta like he's trying to hide the stain, but more like now that he's decided he's allowed to touch, he's not quitting any time soon.

"Not gonna change my mind," Tommy says, figuring if the cabbie can deal with a half-naked femmeboy twink in the backseat, he can handle some frank conversation. "You think I'm gonna, but I'm not."

Resting his forehead against Tommy's, Adam says, "We can talk at the hotel."

"Talking's not gonna change anything, either." Tommy rocks up into Adam's hand. "That feel any less interested to you?"

"No," Adam says, a sharp intake of breath. "But-"

Since it's worked pretty good so far, Tommy shuts Adam up with his mouth. That solves the problem all through the taxi ride, and once they're at the back lot of the hotel, Adam's more concerned with getting inside, to the elevator, and up to their room with as few witnesses as possible. Given Adam's reputation, Tommy's inclined to think the whole cloak and dagger thing is worse than if they'd strode through the front lobby, boots and stained skirt included, but what the fuck does he really care. He's going to get Adam naked. And then he's gonna get fucked.

Once they're inside the room, Adam rounds on him. But not with a rip-Tommy's-clothes-off kinda look. More like they're gonna talk again. "Come the fuck on," Tommy says. "Fucking seriously?"

Adam holds up both hands, palm out. "I just think-"

Growling a curse under his breath, Tommy tugs off his tee. He gropes for the skirt's zipper, smooth, shiny material slipping out of his hands.

"No, wait, fuck," Adam says, grabbing for his arms, pinning them to his sides. "Oh, fuck, leave it on."

Tommy looks down at his bare chest, the skirt and the boots, then back up, hopeful. "'Cause you like it, right? Not 'cause I got no reason to take my clothes off."

Through a strangled noise, Adam says, "Yes, fuck, I like it. And I'm not gonna ask if you're sure, I'm really, really not. I just--" Adam closes his eyes, breathes deep. When he opens them again, his heart's right there. "Tell me it's not a hookup. That you really want to give me a chance."

"You are so fucking dense," is not the right thing to say at all. Adam tries to smile through the hurt, and Tommy feels worse than shit, like total fucking scum. "That was totally shitty, I'm sorry. I'm bitchy and fucking frustrated and I'm so fucking sorry, I didn't mean it."

Adam's mouth hangs crookedly on the edge of a smile. "You kinda did."

Figuring the truth's the only thing that's gonna dig him out of this pit, Tommy says, "I did, but not like, not the way it sounded. Fuck." Pushing off the door, Tommy rocks up on his toes so he doesn't go crashing down when the heels sink into the plush carpet. "These things are fucking killing me, can we please sit the hell down?"

Adam aims for the chairs in the window, but Tommy detours toward the bed. As far as he's concerned there is only one way this night is ending, and he plans on kisses for breakfast. Adam makes like he's gonna take a chair anyway, but Tommy's got a hand firmly twisted in his sleeve. If Adam wants in one of those chairs, he's gonna have to start stripping to get there.

Flopping back on the bed, hauling on Adam's arm so Adam either crawls on up or crashes down, Tommy can't help but grin when Adam goes with option number one, hands on either side of Tommy's head, knees spread wide so there's as much space between them as possible. But Adam didn't end up in one of the chairs, so Tommy's good. "I lied about the sitting," he says. "I like you up there."

"Tommy," Adam says, mouth thin and unhappy.

"It's not a hookup. I don't really get how you don't get that, but dude, Adam, it's not a hookup." Since he's there, and Tommy can, he brushes back the hair fallen across Adam's forehead, long enough that with some product it stays tucked behind Adam's ear. "You're not like, my experimental phase, and I'm not exactly new to this, but it's close enough maybe you got some right being nervous. But c'mon, you know me. You think I'd go for you if I wasn't really seriously fucking sure? If I didn't want to start something with you?"

"I tried not to think too much about most of that," Adam admits. "It was easier."

"Was it?"

Adam huffs a sound distantly related to a laugh. "Alright, I told myself it was easier. I bought you presents and took you out and I played pretend, thinking it'd be enough."

"And since we both know how fucking well that turned out, can we be done with the talking now?"

Like it takes more guts than Adam thinks he's got, he asks, "Can I be done pretending?"

"I'd really fucking love it if you did, 'cause I haven't been pretending for a long time. And this," Tommy says, flicking the d-ring on the collar, "this was like, Jesus. Like you were putting a claim on me you weren't ever gonna fucking make good on. Pissed me right the fuck off."

Trapping Tommy's hand against the collar, Adam slots their fingers together. "But you wore it anyway."

"'Cause I'm a sappy romantic shit. And like, seriously. I really want you to kiss me. Talked so much I'm fucking parched, I deserve some fucking kisses."

When Adam smiles, really truly smiles, something in Tommy's chest clicks back into place. His whole world's been out of whack for weeks, like he's been two beats behind the rest of the universe, stuck in some sort of never-never land since Adam sung him there. That one smile is all Tommy needs to know they're gonna be okay. "Maybe I should get you some water instead."

Catching Adam by a fistful of hair before he can move, Tommy says, "Maybe you should get me out of this fucking skirt."

Adam's gaze slides down, openly appreciative instead of a quick, furtive glance. "You might've been lying about sitting down, but I wasn't lying about liking you in it. And it cost me three hundred dollars, so if it's okay with you, I'm going to get my money's worth."

Watching Adam's hands skate down over his sides, thumbs hook in the skirt's hem, Tommy says, "Now you're fucking talking," and then doesn't say anything at all, breath frozen in his lungs, when Adam pushes it up all the way so it's a thin line of shimmering bronze across his hips. He's been wanting this so fucking bad, he'd been planning on doing all sorts of shit once he finally got Adam here. And now the best he's got is a shaking moan, arching up into Adam's hands as Adam pulls his dick out from underneath the skirt, grip as sure as the fingers stroking into the crack of his ass. He grabs onto Adam's shoulders, dragging his knees up so he's spread wide, wide open, everything he's got right there for Adam to see, touch, get all fucking over.

"God," Adam says, and Tommy says, "Yeah," back at him, Tommy trying to brace his feet to thrust up and Adam catching him behind one knee, hooking his leg over a shoulder instead. Wetting his lips, Tommy says, "Yeah, okay, that works," and Adam smiles at him, this fucking gorgeous, dirty twist of a smile that sets off a flurry of razor-wing fluttering in Tommy's belly.

When Adam snags one of the pillows from near the headboard, Tommy hikes his hips up as best he can for Adam to stuff it beneath him. He's got lots of ideas about what happens next, and Adam leaning down to suck on his balls lands smack in the middle. Pleasure shoots straight for his dick on the edges of Adam's teeth pressing in, a slight scrape as Adam backs off to lick behind them, head further down.

"Oh, fuck," Tommy groans, fumbling to get his other leg up, both hands on his ass and he doesn't give a fuck what he looks like opening himself up like that. From the noises Adam's making down there, the view's appreciated, so very fucking appreciated. Between one breath and the next, Adam's tongue is wet and hot on Tommy's hole, flat pressed wide against it before Adam starts licking long and slow like he's in no hurry at all, like the tip tracing along the rim, so close to pushing inside but never getting there, isn't fucking killing Tommy.

A laugh is all Tommy gets for cursing at Adam, then two fingers sliding up to frame his asshole as Adam licks harder, playing at eating him out for real. Tommy's breaths go short, sharp, muscles starting to ache with tension, and the second, the fucking second he breaks, begs, "Please, fuck, Adam," so genuine it hurts, Adam's tongue pushes deep. There's no chance to even fucking think before Adam gets a finger in alongside it, pulling against his rim to open him up, lick him loose from the inside. This isn't the first time Tommy's gotten some serious tongue action down there, but it's the only one where he's been afraid if it gets even a fraction better, he's gonna blow it. Adam's taking the whole eating ass concept to levels Tommy's never even fucking dreamed of, teeth and tongue and lips all involved, sweet, sucking kisses and tiny, playful nips, so fucking good Tommy's already halfway to his belly, desperate to shove his ass right in Adam's face, before hands clamping to his hips stop him cold.

Mouth red, wet, Adam says, "I want to watch you."

Tommy swallows hard. "Wearin' too many fucking clothes."

Grinning, Adam brushes a kiss to Tommy's belly above the wrinkled skirt. "Easy fix," he says, sliding off the bed to shed his shirt, unbutton his jeans and shuck them too fast for Tommy to really appreciate the reveal. Careful of the killer heels on the boots, Tommy plants one foot on Adam's bare thigh to hold him off for a minute, give Tommy a second to really get a good look at what Adam's packing.

Long, long moments later, Tommy drags his gaze up to meet Adam's. "Better rim me a hell of a lot more before you try to get me on that."

Catching Tommy's ankle, Adam presses Tommy's knee up close to his chest, murmurs, "Stay right there," on another kiss before he goes to dig up lube and some condoms. The look on his face when he turns around to find Tommy exactly the way he left him is so fucking worth the effort. The way he grabs his dick at the base, squeezing like he's gotta hold off shooting, is even better.

"You gonna get over here any faster if I finger myself open or what?" Tommy asks. There's a weird, empty ache low in his belly, not wholly unfamiliar but not really welcome, either. He knows what he wants and his body is so fucking on board with the plan.

"I might want to watch that," Adam says, kneeling on the bed between Tommy's legs again, foil packets crinkling in his hand. Like it's actually gonna be a distraction, he tilts Tommy's face up for a kiss, slow and deep and shockingly similar to the way he'd been going at Tommy's ass, and okay, fine, fuck, it totally works, because Tommy missed the whole part where Adam got one of those packets open and slicked up. He clues in right as two of Adam's big fingers push up into him, making him groan through the kiss, clench up tight.

Instead of jumping to conclusions again, thank fuck, Adam asks, lips brushing Tommy's, "Too much?"

"S'good," Tommy says, craving just this, him and Adam on the same fucking page again, finally clicking like they did from day one, as much as the slippery fuck of Adam's fingers loosening him up. Things got so fucked between them it hurts thinking about it, makes him chase after a different kind of hurt to burn the other away.

"Easy, baby," Adam says, hand splayed on Tommy's chest to hold him down, Adam's eyes soft and grateful beneath the heat. "I got it. I've got you."

"Bet your fucking ass you do." Fumbling at the skirt again, Tommy finally gets it unzipped, but there's no way to get it off without getting in the way of Adam's magic hands. He goes for the boots instead, so sick and tired of having things separating them that even those are too much. The second time he flubs the zipper, hands shaking as Adam press in deep and hard, filling him with a thick, heavy ache, he groans, "Fuck, help me."

Between the two of them, they get the fucking things off. After both boots hit the floor, Adam rolls onto his back, drags Tommy along for the ride while trying to tug the skirt off at the same time. It ends up in a crumpled heap by the abandoned pillow, Tommy finally naked and straddling Adam's hips, kissing Adam like he could actually crawl inside if he tried hard enough.

Adam strokes a thumb along the collar to get Tommy's attention. "Are you going to yell at me if I want to do this slow?"

"Fuck no," Tommy says, bracing his hands, fingers splayed, on Adam's chest. "Figured you'd be the sweetest fuck I'd ever have, anyway."

"I can do dirty." With fingers trailing along Tommy's crack, sliding in, curved to pull muscle open, Tommy believes him. "I can do filthy and rough, and I'm gonna want to hold you down sometimes, make you take it."

On a steady exhale, Adam's cockhead nestled against his asshole, Tommy says, "Okay."

Adam strokes his free hand along Tommy's thigh, trembling getting worse as Tommy holds himself ready. "Sit down on it, baby," Adam murmurs, his hand following the shakes as they settle into Tommy's belly, travel down Tommy's arms to his hands curling into fists. Adam fits his fingers over Tommy's. "Show me how you like it."

Tommy's not so sure he likes it this way, his heart feeling naked and exposed in his chest as he sinks slowly down, opens up even more for Adam. Adam's jaw clenches tight with the urge to thrust, mirror-image of the urge that's got Tommy by the throat ready to jam him down on Adam's dick. Watching Adam's face makes it easier and harder to keep it slow. By the time Tommy's ass settles onto Adam's thighs, he's a shaking, panting mess, so full he can't even breathe. He's not gonna live through Adam actually fucking him.

"Gorgeous," Adam says, pulling Tommy in for a wet, open-mouthed kiss, one hand cupping Tommy's ass, fingers stretched out to hold his dick steady. "Do I get to watch you move?"

Sucking down air, Tommy gives it a shot. It's fucking amazing and unreal, slick, slow burn way down inside, smooth drag as he rocks forward, tries pushing back. Adam's eyes snap shut, mouth open on a ragged noise. "Like that?"

"So fucking much," Adam breathes, blinking his eyes open as his hand skids down to grasp Tommy's waist. Not exactly what Tommy meant, but still a really awesome answer. He gives it another go, letting the clench of Adam's fingers guide him. Both of Adam's hands end up on his ass, nails digging in as Tommy rides the steady roll of Adam's hips, thick cock rubbing all along his insides, pressing in so deep breath hitches in his chest. It's so fucking easy to get lost in the rhythm, the sounds spilling quiet and sweet from Adam's lips, the way everything narrows down to bright, sparking sensation, that when Adam's thrusts go from long and slow to short and sharp, almost there, Tommy's not ready for it. He holds on tighter, tries to dial it back down again, but Adam's already got him off-balance, tumbled against Adam's chest, and fucked so loose and pliant he's got nothing in him to resist. Face tucked into the crook of Adam's neck, he gives up and lets Adam shove him down on his dick, come in him so deep that even if Adam wasn't wearing a rubber, he's sure not a single fucking drop would leak free.

Adam recovers fast, panting hard through the kiss he presses to Tommy's forehead. With a murmured warning, he rolls them over, his cock slipping free along the way making Tommy wince. Arm flung over his eyes, Tommy waits while Adam ties off the condom and flings it into the garbage, peeking out when Adam comes back to kiss his belly, nuzzle at his dick resting hard and wet against it.

"Still with me, baby?" Adam asks, thumb running from the seam of Tommy's balls all the way down to his hole and pushing in. As open as he is, as fucked as he is, Tommy thought he wouldn't notice after Adam's fucking giant dick, but he does, and fuck him if it doesn't still feel so good. Catching him watching, Adam smiles. "You like getting fucked."

"Told you I did," Tommy says. But maybe he didn't think he'd go for it this way. He's used to the build-up, the quick spike after, not this steady, thrumming pleasure winding through his veins. If Adam had kept going, jacked him a bit, he probably could've come on Adam's cock.

"I mean you really like it," Adam says, and kisses the side of his dick. Tommy's still hard, didn't even soften up a bit while Adam did him, and the evidence is rubbed all over his belly in the wet glisten of precome. Thumb dragging free, Adam goes back in with the thick knot of three fingers arching Tommy up off the bed, riding them back down on the slow withdraw. "God, I wish I could fuck you again."

Tommy grabs for Adam's other hand, wraps it snug around his cock. "Keep doing that, if you want."

Up on his knees, Adam catches up the lube again, squeezes the last of it out straight onto Tommy. His eyes jump from his fingers working between Tommy's legs to Tommy's face and back, his tongue a quick flash wetting his lips as he looks up again. How the hell he's got the coordination to do that so fucking good while he's jacking Tommy's dick all of fifteen seconds after coming, Tommy's never gonna fucking know, but Tommy seriously appreciates it. Like, whole fucking sonnets of appreciation, ones he's gonna get around to composing as soon as he can remember what the fuck a sonnet is. He has the vague thought that this would be even better if Adam's mouth were on him instead of his hand, and then he thinks fuck no, he'd come too soon then, and he'd miss the way Adam's staring down at him like he's something unreal, some wet dream come to life instead of the guy who's been trying to get in his pants for the better part of a whole god damn year.

"Come on, sweetheart," Adam says, edging in closer to lick at his mouth, back off and watch again as his hand curls tight around the head of Tommy's dick to really work him over. "You're so gorgeous, I want to see it. Let me see you come, baby, please."

Not really thinking he's all that close, Tommy barely notices when the pleasure spikes to just another kind of intense. It hits him right before he goes off, familiar tightening in his belly, his balls, easy as falling off the edge of a cliff or stumbling onto the tracks when the train's bearing down. It wrenches a groan deep from the pit of his stomach, his hands tangled up in the sheets as he grinds into Adam's hands, everything going even slicker with his come smearing Adam's fingers. He starts to notice the difference as soon as he comes down, though, heartbeat thundering in his head, pressure roaring through his ears, strange ache radiating out from his centre as it all eases. Like he spent the last hour on the best trip of his lifetime, hitting the dirt fucking sucks.

"What the fuck," he grits out, shoving the heels of both hands into the hot burn building behind his eyes.

"Hey, hey," Adam says, gathering him in close, not caring about the mess smeared all over the sheets in getting his arms around Tommy's back, "it's okay, I'm sorry."

"What, no," Tommy says, angrily digging harder at his eyes. "I don't-- That was fucking awesome, alright, I'm not like, I'm not freaking out, shit."

"It's called stress relief," Adam says, like he's not bothered one bit at all by whatever fucked-up shit Tommy's pulling here. He tugs Tommy's hands away from his face and takes his mouth all sweet and gentle, gorgeous lush kisses that centre the ache in Tommy's chest, make him kinda want to scream. "Let it out if you want."

"I'm not--" But Jesus Christ, Tommy is. The noises burbling up the back of his throat turn to hiccuping laughs that only get worse as Adam smiles down at him, bemused. "Fucked me to fucking tears," Tommy gasps, covering his face with his hands again, shoving them back through his hair and fisting tight as he tries to calm the fuck down. "Jesus, I mean, fuck, what the fuck."

"Pure rapture," Adam says, only joking a little as he pecks Tommy on the tip of the nose. "And maybe something you wouldn't mind doing again?"

"Without the part where I'm fucking insane?" Tommy asks.

Like it really doesn't make a difference to him, Adam shrugs. "Maybe I'll drive you a different sort of crazy next time."

Tommy must already be there, because that, the whole thing where Adam's counting on a next time, and probably a next time after that, and all the stuff that comes between that they've been doing all along anyway, wandering foreign cities at midnight and watching shitty movies on shittier flights and Adam smiling at him like that, just like that, it sounds fucking awesome to him.

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: It's a phase that I'm in - Adam/Neil

2011-05-31T17:37:36Z

This fic follows I know there's better brothers but you're the only one that's mine, which is now a trilogy in four parts.

I require Neil icons.

It's a phase that I'm in
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Neil Lambert. NC-17. ~3000 words. Sibling incest, drugs a la Burning Man.
Adam's half-hard, but Neil's not thinking about that. He is winning.

*

It's a phase that I'm in

Under the bright desert sun, Adam is all freckles and frowns. There are enough drugs in Neil's system that the noises coming out of Adam's mouth only vaguely resemble words. He sounds like one of the adults on Charlie Brown. "I'm going to bury your head in the sand," Neil says. Kicking off a flipflop, he starts digging at the dirt with his toes. "Bend over."

"He promised he wouldn't," Adam moans on, oblivious, eyes brimming with deep, heart-wrenching longing as he stares off into the horizon, "but there he is. Doing it. Again."

Neil follows Adam's mournful gaze to a jumble of seven legs and eight arms on the ground. No, eight legs--if they'd picked up a one-legged companion somewhere, Neil's sure he would've noticed before now. They're all just... lying there. "What is it he's doing that he's not supposed to be doing?"

"Flirting," Adam hisses.

"No," Neil says slowly, "I'm pretty sure he's passed out."

Adam flings out a finger like a ninja star, sunlight glinting off his black nail polish. "Look at that!"

Neil looks. And looks. And, simply because he really is the very best of brothers, looks some more. "Nope. Don't see it."

"Oh my god. You're blind." Adam hits the dirt with a suitably dramatic flare of robes. Neil would honestly like to know where he found post-apocalyptic wise man robes in the middle of nowhere. Though absolutely no virtue of his own, Adam is a cool shit magnet. They need to get him a Moses stick. "You are so blind."

In a fine show of brotherly support, Neil settles down in the sand at Adam's side. He even gives Adam's bare thigh a comforting pat. "You're overthinking this. Obviously Brad decided on a nice mid-afternoon nap, and all these people came along after he flaked out. He was cuddle-bombed."

Adam lists sideways, his head thumping down on Neil's shoulder. Since it seems to be working, Neil pats his leg again. "It's not really his fault," Adam says conversationally. "He's very friendly. People misinterpret."

"And you're a possessive asshole," Neil happily agrees.

"Am not," Adam grumbles.

"Are too."

"I'm monogamous."

"So that guy with his face in Brad's crotch," Neil says, pointing. "Yeah, that one. He's not the guy you made out with last night on the trampoline?"

Adam's forehead crinkles. After a long stretch of silence, he looks up. "I thought that was you."

"I realise we're both on a fairly impressive cocktail right now, but trust me, I'd remember, and no."

Squinting suspiciously, Adam asks, "Are you sure?"

"Really very sure, yes."

"Huh," Adam says. Shrugging, he settles back down, and down, until his head's pillowed on Neil's thigh. "Weird. Kissed just like you."

"Oh hell no. No, no, and no," Neil says, jiggling his leg so hard Adam's teeth clack. "Get off me. You did not just say that shit, you did not."

"But he did," Adam wails, flailing around like a flipped turtle. "Or you did!" Heaving upright, he rolls onto his side in the sand, robes tangled around his legs. "Are you sure you're sure?"

Neil grinds his teeth together. When his molars finally give up the ghost, he's billing Adam for every last penny of his dental work. "Yes, I'm sure. No, I did not make out with you on a trampoline last night."

Chin propped up in one hand, posed like he's on the cover of a top-shelf magazine, Adam asks, "Is this your attempt at full denial again? Because you know that's not going to work."

"You can shut up now."

"I'm being serious! We made out. You got off. You really should deal with it instead of packing it down like that. You know you fester."

"I do not fester," Neil snaps. He jabs a finger in Adam's face. "You need to stop bringing it up."

"But-"

"Shut up."

"But-"

Faced with no other choice, Neil launches himself at Adam, fully intending on carrying through with the threat to bury his head in the sand. But there's no reason to stop there. He could bury all of Adam in the sand. If he asked nicely, he's sure someone could produce a sippy cup. One of those wedged beside Adam's head would ensure he didn't die of dehydration before Brad woke up to dig him out.

The thing about Adam, though, is he's actually a decent scrapper, and he's not afraid to fight dirty. For a guy that's so interested in other guys' junk, he's shockingly prone to jamming elbows into balls. Neil manages to scramble back far enough that Adam gets his thigh instead, and then Adam's scrabbling after him trying to shove his face in the sand. How he ends up flat on his back from there, Adam perched triumphantly on his chest, Neil has no idea.

"Uncle!" Adam crows.

"You moron," Neil says, dirt granules crunching between his teeth, "I'm the one who's supposed to say uncle."

"Whatever," Adam says, shrugging. "Admit that you got off on me and I'll let you up."

Neil shoves at Adam's knees. "I don't fucking think so."

"Oh, oh," Adam says, grabbing distractedly at Neil's wrist. "I changed my mind. Admit that you got off on me kissing you, then I'll let you up."

"You are insane," Neil grunts, feet planted firmly in the sand as he tries to buck Adam off. "I did not."

"You did," Adam says gleefully, finally managing to catch Neil's wrist and pin it down. Unsurprisingly, this gives Adam the perfect excuse to get far, far closer to Neil's face than necessary. "Say you-"

"Are you fucking leering at me?"

Adam's mouth snaps shut. Giving it a moment's thought, he says, "I think so."

"What the fuck is the matter with you, get the fuck off me, oh my god," Neil says, twisting and bucking and off they go again, rolling around in the sand like madmen. For Adam, this is probably a normal day-to-day occurrence. Aside from the part where Adam's plaguing him to talk about things he's fairly certain they swore a blood oath to never, ever bring up again, it's surprisingly freeing. Neil doesn't feel one bit guilty about punching Adam in the kidney.

"Fuck," Adam wheezes, "always the fucking kidney," and slams a knee into Neil's balls.

Entire planets implode inside Neil's head. "Oh fuck," he squeaks, collapsing in on the black hole of incomparable pain that's taken the place of his genitalia. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he moans, or tries to, not sure if there's any air getting in or out of his lungs. His lungs are the least of his worries. Someone could rip his lungs out through his throat right now and he wouldn't notice. The planet could explode, the universe expire, and he would not even fucking know.

"Oh shit," Adam babbles, grabbing at him randomly, "oh shit, I'm so sorry, I didn't-- Well, I did, but I didn't, and oh my fuck, Neil, Neil, say something."

Face in the sand, Neil burbles.

"Oh god, I broke you." The sun blazes brightly into Neil's eyes as Adam rolls him over, starts trying to pry his hands away from his crotch. Gurgling low in his throat, Neil clutches determinedly at his dick, silently promising certain death to Adam if he gets within three feet of him ever again. "Stop it," Adam snaps, bending Neil's fingers back so he either lets go or adds a splint to his wardrobe, "I'm trying to make sure you're alright."

"Fine," Neil rasps. "Go away."

"You are not fine, you're purple."

Neil's eyes flash wide. His entire body goes rigid with pure, primal fear. If Adam broke his dick for real, he is a dead man.

"Finally," Adam says, and shoves a hand down the front of Neil's cutoffs.

Neil screams.

"Shut up," Adam mutters, yanking open Neil's fly so he's got more space to work. He roots around in Neil's underwear like he's searching for the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box, groping along Neil's abused dick to gently cup his balls. As if it's an entirely normal occurrence for them, Adam rolls Neil's nuts in his palm, mutters something under his breath, and carefully extracts his hand to give Neil's junk a comforting pat. "You're sorta hard, so I guess you're okay."

Obviously, Neil is hallucinating all of this. At this exact moment, he's passed out in a pile of bodies with Brad. Safe, normal Brad, who is Adam's loving boyfriend, and who owes Neil all the beer in the world for shanghaiing him all the way out here to this clusterfuck.

Adam drops down halfway on top of him, thankfully many, many inches away from his crotch. "What, no squawking? No, 'oh my god, Adam, what the fuck is wrong with you, why are you on my dick?'"

"I do not talk like that," Neil grunts. "You sound like a water buffalo in heat."

"How do you know you don't sound like a water buffalo in heat when you're turned on?" Adam counters.

"I'm not turned on!"

Adam looks pointedly down.

"You-- You fondled it," Neil protests.

"Oh come on," Adam says with a snort. "You were halfway there from groping my leg."

"What the fuck, I was not feeling up-"

"You're kind of hot when you're being a total bitch."

Neil's mouth snaps shut. Adam grins, bright and wide and free, and says, "Every time. Works every single time, I love it."

"You fucking promised," Neil grits out.

"Did not." Adam slinks up to his knees, fingers sinking into the sand either side of Neil's head. "I never once said anything about not using knowledge of your kinks against you, and you know it." A pause, long enough for Adam's grin to take on an evil slant, and Adam says, "Little bitch likes it."

"Shut up," Neil says, trying to scoot back as Adam crawls up, the sand slipping and sliding beneath him worse than if he were on solid ice.

"Bitch," Adam says again, a wicked purr low in his throat that freezes Neil's blood, "so fucking bitchy all the time, like you're begging for somebody to get up in your face, call you on it. Somebody with the balls to slap you back when you slap them down."

As Adam's shadow falls across Neil's face, Neil says, "You're going to do something stupid again, aren't you."

"Dunno," Adam lies, his hand skidding south, gritty with sand on Neil's belly, "are you gonna let me?"

A slightly hysterical noise bubbles up in the back of Neil's throat. At least they're both high. Possibly not as high as they'd been twenty minutes ago, but Neil is absolutely blaming his hand stuffed up under the tangles of Adam's robe on the drugs kicking around his system. He obviously didn't plan on putting it there.

Blinking rapidly, Adam squeaks, "What?"

"Ha!" Neil crows, worming his fingers around to find the slit in Adam's shorts, shove in and fist Adam's dick. Which is half-hard, but Neil's not thinking about that. He is winning. "Not so nice, is it?"

"Actually," Adam says, sinking down on one elbow, "it's pretty good." He rocks up, grunting softly as Neil's fingers convulsively tighten. "That no so much. Loosen up a bit."

"What," Neil says, getting his hand twisted up in clingy cotton as he tries to jerk it free. Adam's cock skids along his palm, and Adam lifts up, resettles his knees so he can thrust. "What the fuck are you doing, stop it."

"You started it."

"Did not!"

"Did," Adam says, gaze darting down seconds before his hand dives into Neil's shorts, clamps tight around Neil's dick and gives it a quick tug. "C'mon, you can do better than this."

"What the fuck," Neil says again. Ticked off that he can't wrangle up something decently scathing to spit in Adam's face, he flips his hand over, grabs onto Adam's cock again, and jacks it.

Adam's elbow goes skidding through the sand. "Fuck."

"Yeah, how's that," Neil says triumphantly, concentrating on the shaft because then it's easier to pretend that wetness against the back of his hand is sweat. Shifting his grip, he tugs harder, Adam's breath hissing at the scrape of sand sticking to his palm, and even while Neil's in the middle of thinking it serves Adam fucking right, he tries scrubbing it off onto Adam's belly. If he makes Adam's dick look like it got into a fight with a cat and lost, Adam's never going to let him hear the end of it.

"God," Adam gasps, head bowed and hand still on Neil's dick, "what the hell are you giggling about?"

"I'm not giggling," Neil grunts. Adam's heavy on top of him, panting hard, tiny twitches of his hips as if he's trying to pretend he's not as into his as he so obviously is. "How's that, fucking loose enough for you?"

Adam's fist clamps tight, cutting off Neil's air as if Adam's taken hold of his throat instead. "Not bad," he says, no qualms at all about getting his sandy hand sliding up to rub a thumb around the head of Neil's cock, coax it sticky wet. "Better than last time."

"Oh fuck you," Neil says, bucking up, honestly trying to kick Adam off but that's not what happens at all, his dick slipping through the tunnel of Adam's fist, sandpaper rasp ratcheting up his spine one vertebrae at a time.

Adam says, "That's it, that's the best you can do?" and does something complicated with his wrist and fingers all at once that is not impressive, it isn't, except for how the red-hot rush of pleasure almost melts Neil's spine. "You are so fucking easy," Adam goes on, shifting around so he can stare down at Neil, like he isn't already crazy enough to be doing what he's doing, he has to up the stakes even more, watch as he jerks Neil off, "you snap and you bitch and you snarl and all you really want is somebody do shove you down and fuck you."

"Shut up," Neil says, trying to get his hand moving again, knock that smarmy, self-satisfied leer off Adam's face, "god, shut up, what is wrong with you, you can't just-"

"Oh I so can," Adam purrs, fucking purrs, and it isn't hot, not even close to anything like hot, but Neil can't move, can't even blink as Adam's other hand gets in on the action, one long, endless pull hand-over-hand that slices Neil's breath to ribbons. Right before it happens, the familiar heat in Neil's belly coiling tight, muscles seizing, disbelief razor-sharp and metallic coating the back of his throat, Adam says, "Come on, give it up, can't even get laid on your own, still need your big brother to do everything for you," and Neil bucks up, comes so hard his chest aches and his ears pop.

"Fuck you," Neil barks, sluggishly shoving Adam off, "fuck you, you self-absorbed, egotistical, narcissistic-"

"Yeah, come on," Adam says, falling back easily, grabbing at Neil's bare back as Neil clambers on top of him, jacks him so hard and fast it's got to hurt. Adam shudders like it does in the best possible way, eyes squeezing shut. Sand sticks to the come clinging to his hand, the glisten of it on Neil's arm when he grabs it.

"You are so fucking in love with yourself," Neil snarls, spitting in his hand to make the rough drag easier, and Adam moans for him, sand kicked up as he writhes in the dirt, tries to get closer. "You want yourself so bad you've got to fuck your brother to get it?"

Adam's eyes flash open. He gasps, "I'm so hotter than you," and Neil jerks back, shocked at the sudden wet spill of heat over his hand. Adam groans for him to keep going, don't chicken out now, but Neil can't move, frozen and brittle like he's turned to glass beneath the desert sun.

Panting hard, Adam surges up, hooks an arm around Neil's neck to drag him down flailing. They end up rolling through the sand again, filthy with sweat and come, and Neil can't breathe through the stink of it, the phantom sensation of Adam's dick pulsing in his hand. He collapses in a heap, somehow on top of Adam again, Adam's arm tight around his back, dirty fingers digging hard into his side.

"We are not going to talk about this ever again," Neil says, muffled in Adam's chest. He can't tell if that's his heartbeat pounding in his head or Adam's.

"Talk about what, honey?" comes Brad's wholly unwelcome voice. Fifteen minutes ago, Neil would've kissed him if he showed up to distract Adam. Now, Neil wants to kill him. Neil's going to kill them both.

"Nothing," Neil grunts at the same time Adam says, "I got him in the nuts."

Brad gasps dramatically and drops to his knees, gentle hands rubbing down Neil's back. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. He forgets how big and strong he is sometimes."

Choking on a hysterical laugh, Neil says, "Right. He's a giant."

"Hung like one," Adam says happily.

Neil grates, "Do not talk about your dick when I'm lying on it."

Giving Neil another sympathetic shoulder rub, Brad climbs back up. "I'll go get you some water. And a joint, that'll make you feel better. You stay right there and let Adam hug it out."

Maybe Neil should bury his own head in the sand. It wouldn't be as much effort as planting both Adam and his boyfriend.

"That's right," Adam drawls, pure malicious glee, "you let me hug it out."

"I'm going to murder you in your sleep."

"Honey," Adam says, "if you sneak into my bed at night, chances are pretty good you're not going to get around to killing me," and he laughs, fucking laughs, and won't let go even when Neil punches him in the kidney, twice.

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: If Blood and Love Taste So Sweet - Adam/Tommy

2011-05-24T20:40:39Z

For wynkat, who asked for deliciously delicious deliciousness. :d

If Blood and Love Taste So Sweet
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~2400 words. Blade/bloodplay.
He wants to wear Adam's mark like ink but deeper, carved into flesh the way Adam's carved into his heart.

*

If Blood and Love Taste So Sweet

For days, weeks and months after, Tommy couldn't stop touching. The first day, Adam caught him peeling the bandage away to finger the wounds, heat in Adam's eyes even as he carefully flattened the gauze back out, used fresh tape to secure it in place on Tommy's hip. Then, when they became a neat line of seven scabs rough beneath his fingertips, Adam would hold his hand and trace along with him, press in slowly to make them ache and kiss him the whole time. He got Tommy off like that twice, nothing but pressure and memories and whispered praises.

Now the wounds are neat, tidy scars, straight lines of white slightly raised like Braille on his belly, and Adam is kissing them again. The sharp smell of the antiseptic open on the bathroom counter is some sort of fucked up aphrodisiac, thick in Tommy's lungs and crawling through his insides, nesting down low. The floor's hard beneath the bundle of towels he's spread out on, Adam between his legs, shirtless, and the overhead light is bright, harsh. His moans echo off the tile as Adam sucks, drawing blood even closer to the surface beneath his scars.

"Be still for me," Adam says, a lighter, gentler kiss pressed below his bellybutton.

"Sorry." Tommy twists the old tee shirt bundled up in his hands tighter. They'd thought about cuffs for this, but those felt too scripted when Adam had started buckling them on, too much like Adam's making Tommy take this instead of the other way around. The shirt is better. Softer, more give, Adam's cologne still clinging to the cotton.

"Don't apologise," Adam says, and reaches for the antiseptic. He generously douses a cotton pad with it and scrubs his kiss from Tommy's skin, getting ready to give him a deeper, longer-lasting one. The blade they've found for this is an old straight-razor finely honed back to a gleaming edge, a square point to fit their purpose. Adam wanted something deadly-sharp and easy to control; Tommy wanted something innocuous sitting out in plain sight, never hidden away. "Just be still."

The antiseptic is chill, almost stinging after Adam's hot mouth. Tommy breathes in slowly, holds it for a count of five, releases. Adam smiles, digging out a fresh pad for his fingers and one for the razor. It gleams dangerously in unforgiving light. Adam sets the razor's edge to the first pale scar in the set of seven, drags along it once so lightly Tommy's skin barely pinks.

"Ready," Tommy says, and makes sure his hold on the shirt is solid, breathes in again and holds it.

Like the first time they did this, the pressure registers, then the hot sting, the mellow burn as blood wells to the surface in a perfect straight line obscuring the first of Tommy's scars. The air in his lungs leaks free in a quiet groan, his cock resting thick and leaking above the crook of his thigh.

"Good?" Adam asks, hand skimming close to the wound, wanting to touch while knowing better. "Another?"

No hesitation, Tommy says, "All of 'em." He wants to wear Adam's mark like ink but deeper, carved into flesh the way Adam's carved into his heart.

Expecting Adam to be the one hesitating, Tommy only has a grateful moan when he says instead, "Tell me if you need a break."

Not when, but if. Last time, Adam needed a moment to steady his hands between cuts. To make certain Tommy was alright, wanting to be sure Tommy was still there with him. Like everything Adam does--singing, stage choreography, friendship--he sticks with it until he gets it right. That's when he really starts working, making it better, making it perfect, so the next time the blade kisses Tommy's skin, it's sharp-hot-gorgeous curling Tommy's toes, his whole body clenching up for a split-second before he relaxes, breathes again.

Rubbing close to the twin wounds, Adam says, "You love this."

Biting his lip as the razor comes back for a third pass, Tommy nods carefully. Tiny little firecrackers, like the ones he set off after dark in the middle of the park when he was a little shit making trouble, burst beneath the shallow cut. He arches up on instinct, barely catching Adam's hiss as the razor's yanked away from the tender skin of his belly.

"Sorry," Tommy gasps before Adam can tell him to settle down or that's it, they're done, "sorry, s'fucking good, won't do it again."

"No you won't." Like the blade in the light, determination glints in Adam's eyes as he pushes Tommy's knees back down, swings his leg over one thigh and taps the other with the razor's handle. "Together."

Tommy groans a curse and closes his legs, groans another as Adam sits down on them. More than he ever has while cuffed and roped, he feels pinned down and weirdly, startlingly safe when Adam bringing the razor back. The cutting edge grazes along his side, his hip, a thin trail of red smeared across his belly to where four more scars wait. Dropping his hands above his head, shirt stretched taut between his fists, Tommy closes his eyes and waits.

The razor finds the next scar down. One pass, another, both without the bite of skin slashed, cranks up the anticipation swimming in Tommy's blood until it hits the low, steady whine of an electric current. The strain of keeping still, waiting for it, is killing him. His fingers ache clamped around the shirt, seams straining as he fights the urge to grab onto Adam's arm, make the razor slice into skin. He made that mistake last time. There's a tiny hitch in one of his scars because of it, barely noticeable. Adam's panicked yelp cut deeper than the razor ever could.

"So good, baby," Adam says, and finally the blade cuts in, swift and sure, then another quick swipe after it before the first has mellowed, two fresh lines of blood stark against pale skin. Only two left. Just two. The razor comes back again, ready. "Can you handle it if I go slow?"

"Oh fuck, please." Tommy wouldn't have asked. He wouldn't. Getting Adam this far had been so much already. Even with his eyes closed it feels like the room is spinning, world shifting out of time to leave them suspended here.

"Don't move," Adam warns. "Don't even breathe."

"Please," Tommy says, breath catching in his throat, lungs half-full.

Slowly, so slowly Tommy swears he can feel skin parting like the teeth on a zipper, Adam cuts into him. Before the sting fades the burn flares, making it worse, better, pure endorphins flooding his veins. It crests in waves, close to mellowing when Adam sets the razor to flesh again, cuts along the last and final scar slower still. Tommy can't move, caught in a delicate web, savouring it, and the only way he's ever going to breathe again is when Adam tells him to.

"Done," Adam says softly, and Tommy's stale breath whooshes free. He gulps down more, heady and thrilling scented with his blood, and looks down to where the seven red lines are blurred on his belly. Blinking his eyes back into focus, he misses Adam going for the antiseptic again, catching only the medical-spike of it in the air seconds before Adam's wet palm presses to his side, blood smeared beneath it.

"Holy shit," Tommy hisses, twisting against the hold Adam has on his wrist. It's not antiseptic at all but the shocking bubbly fizz of peroxide on Adam's hand. It doesn't hurt, not any more than having raw skin touched usually does, but it's fucked up and weird and when Adam rubs a little, really fucking fucked up. "Gotta fuck me now. Christ, Adam, gotta do it now."

Adam says, "Up," easing off far enough for Tommy to scramble up onto his knees, spread his legs wide. He's so focused on holding the crumpled shirt he forgets he doesn't have to anymore, he could reach back, show Adam where he's still shiny and wet from Adam fingering him out in the bedroom. "Do you need-"

"No, fuck, no, I'm loose enough, c'mon." At the snick of Adam's zip, Tommy twists around, watches him pull his cock out one-handed, adding only a bit of spit for extra slick. "Fuck, yeah, c'mon, fucking gorgeous dick. Put it in me."

"You and your fucking dirty talk," Adam says, fitting the head of his cock to Tommy's hole, pushing in a fraction to wedge him open and no more. "Drives me crazy."

Tommy gasps, "I know, fuck, I know," shaky smile clinging to the corners of his mouth. "Love it when you do me raw. Feels like you're gonna shoot in me so deep you're gonna fuck me awake the next day on it."

"Fucking porno," Adam says, the start of a laugh flipping over to a rougher noise as he forces his way inside, sweet tiny fucks of his hips getting him a little deeper, a little more. Tommy's not loose enough for it at all but he's plenty wet, and willing, so fucking willing to take Adam's dick inch by slow inch if that's the way Adam's gonna play it. It feels so fucking good getting screwed open that Tommy wants to cry. Maybe, though, that's the pain talking, Adam's fingers on the cuts on his belly and gently digging in. He's sure, so fucking sure, it's an accident until Adam says, "You like that?" nails scraping over fresh-made cuts shocking a startled noise out of Tommy's throat.

Tommy hits the floor on his elbows, moans so loud he flushes red when the noises echos back at him. "Fuck," he spits, head bowed, shuddering as Adam's hand clamps to the back of his neck holding him down, the other still on his side, stroking gently now over his opened scars. "Jerk me off, Adam, please fucking jerk me, wanna come so bad."

"Wait for it, baby," Adam tells him, all short, sharp thrusts as he fucks in, out, in again so far Tommy chokes. Tommy can't fucking believe what his body is telling him, so he turns his head, blinks at the mirror on the far side of the room until the hazy outlines resolve into him almost bent double beneath Adam's solid weight, elbows tucked to his chest and spine in an arch so sharp it should be killing him, but all he can feel is Adam's fingers on his side, Adam's dick in his ass, Adam's voice crawling under his skin on all the dirty, filthy praises in the world, telling him he's so good, so tight, squirm if he wants, all he wants, Adam's not letting him go.

Next thing Tommy knows Adam's jacking him and he's in the middle of coming so fucking hard he can't breathe. Like there's no air left in the world let alone this fucking room, and he's trying to gulp down great big mouthfuls of it anyway, gasping so hard his chest aches, whole universes imploding inside the cage of his ribs.

When he goes down, all the way down, Adam rides along, pins him to the come-soaked towel and keeps fucking him, sparking a steady humming thrum of too-much all along Tommy's nerves. He tries gasping for Adam to wait, give him a second, and all that comes out is a hitched and broken whine. He gives up trying and just takes it, teeth grit, not at all ready for when it slinks back over to not enough, he wants more. Maybe he wants it to never stop. When Adam's rhythm goes sloppy, brutal hard snap of hips, that's exactly what he starts begging Adam to do, don't stop, just a little more, never fucking stop. Grabbing onto the shirt still twisted between Tommy's hands, Adam yanks it out from under him, stretches him all the way out because he won't let go, can't. Adam is heavy on top of him, a fucking ton crushing him down, and he loves it, it feels so fucking good, amazing, he could blissfully pass out right here and now and sleep the whole fucking night away.

"Tommy," Adam says, muffled and hazy. "Fuck, Tommy."

"M'okay," Tommy mumbles, too much effort to lift his head, even open his eyes. "Oh fuck, Adam."

Gentle hands comb sweaty hair back from Tommy's face. "Roll over, baby. Let me get a look at you."

"Can't," Tommy says, and he really honestly fucking can't, but Adam's insistent hands are all over the place urging him onto his back. He flops over, half on the towels, half on the shocking-cold tile, muttering a pained complaint when Adam pries the crumpled tee from his grip. His hands are going to be aching worse than the rest of him in the morning. He's so fucking glad there's no practice or a show or fucking anything tomorrow. He'll be lucky if he can hold his toothbrush.

"Easy," Adam warns, a few seconds delayed as he wipes a warm, clean cloth over Tommy's stomach. "You okay for a minute if I clean these?"

"Peachy fucking keen." Lazily stretching out again, Tommy watches through heavy-lidded eyes as Adam kneels up to wash his hands, softening cock thick between his legs. He can't remember Adam coming but he must've; he's moving with the same slow satisfaction he always has after a really good fuck. The antiseptic is cold on Tommy's wounds, a welcome relief from the stinging burn, and the ointment Adam spreads over them afterwards quickly numbs the worst of it. As Adam smooths a fresh bandage over them, he says, "Gonna scar pretty good."

"I don't think I tore them," Adam says, not looking up as he snips off more tape. "Should be okay."

"Hey. Hey," Tommy says, nudging Adam's leg with his toes until Adam risks a glance his way. "That was fucking perfect, okay? The marks don't have to be."

Bandage taped securely down, Adam runs his fingers around it, gently over it. There's blood still caught beneath one of his nails, startling to see when they're unpainted for once. "I didn't mean to fuck you so hard."

"Glad you did." And Tommy is. So fucking glad Adam got into it so much he forgot himself, just fucking went for it. He bumps Adam's leg again. "'Cause sometimes, that's the kinda shit I like. Gonna give me a kiss?"

Smiling, Adam crawls up, gives him one soft and slow and lingering, probably trying to make up for the aches and pains Tommy's never going to complain about. Not as long as Adam's okay with lugging his exhausted ass off to bed.

Adam laughs straight into Tommy's mouth. "I guess I can do that."

"Awesome," Tommy sighs, slinging both arms lazily around Adam's shoulders, "kiss me some more."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Learn to Love Your Wood - Adam/Tommy

2011-05-23T03:04:04Z

For casey. I probably had way too much fun writing this. ♥

Learn to Love Your Wood
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~2300 words. Outdoor sex, snowballing.
"Shit, wow," Tommy says, hesitating on the edge of Adam's veranda before stepping down into the grass. "Dude, Home Depot barfed in your back garden."

*

Learn to Love Your Wood

"Shit, wow," Tommy says, hesitating on the edge of Adam's veranda before stepping down into the grass. "Dude, Home Depot barfed in your back garden."

A lone, freckled island amidst a sea of fresh clean wood, hammers and nails and screws and bolts, Adam throws up his hands. "Oh thank god. Save me."

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Tommy casually saunters into the mess, tilts his head to peer down at the how-to spread out over Adam's lap. "A rocking horse? Really?"

"I thought it would be cool," Adam says, falling back into the grass at Tommy's feet. In a tee shirt and jeans, bare feet tucked into leopard-print Birkenstocks, sun on his face, he's kinda stupidly gorgeous. And fucking adorable with his nose all scrunched up. "Riff's going to be twenty by the time I get this thing together."

"Awful lot of wood," Tommy says, glancing around. "You building him the Trojan version or what?"

Adam flings an arm over his eyes and groans dramatically. "I couldn't leave your favourite chunky baby out, and then if I make one for Bea..."

"Right," Tommy says. He nudges Adam's shoulder with his toes. "Better get to it, Glamfather. You got a cavalry to build."

Like he's about to tumble over the edge of a cliff, Adam latches onto Tommy's ankle. "You have to help me."

"Oh hell no."

"Please," Adam says, rolling over onto his belly. "Please, Tommy Joe. I can't build five rocking horses on my own."

"Shoulda thought of that before you bought up half a lumber yard."

"Please," Adam moans, grabbing onto Tommy's foot with both hands when Tommy starts to back away. With a grunt, Tommy tries to jerk his leg out of Adam's grip and almost ends up sprawled on his ass in the grass. "I'll blow you."

"Blow me anyway," Tommy grunts, planting his other foot more solidly. He tries dragging his leg free again only to end up hauling Adam a couple inches across the grass like a giant clingy sloth. "Dude, leggo."

"No. Not until you promise to help."

Giving up on getting free, Tommy crouches down balanced on the balls of his feet. "Like I know the first fucking thing about building shit."

"I've got instructions," Adam whines. "Tab A, slot B. Easy."

Tommy's pretty sure he's seen that one on the internet before. "You sure those are the right instructions?"

When Adam's pouty frown flips over to a grin, Tommy almost hits dirt for the second time. You'd think a guy would get used to that shit, but no. Like a ton of bricks every fucking time. "Positive," Adam says, crawling up to hands and knees. "It's very clear on how to properly care for your wood."

"No shit?" Tommy's not really paying attention to the whole rocking horse thing anymore. When he'd gotten Adam's text, he'd figured total booty call. They were supposed to get together tonight to hang out, cook some fancy dinner in Adam's fancier kitchen, but it wouldn't have been the first time one of them got impatient. And Adam in the bright afternoon sunlight, face clean and hair falling soft over his forehead, is a damn good reason to get impatient.

"Raw wood," Adam says, spark of mischief in his voice and his eyes, "needs to be gently oiled periodically."

"You are so making that shit up."

"Nuh uh, Tommy Joe. It's right there in that pamphlet."

Suspicious, Tommy lists sideways to get a look at the paper crumpled on the grass. Way too late he figures out Adam's game, and by then he's flat on his back with Adam looming over him grinning wider than the fucking Cheshire Cat. "Still not helpin'," he says, watching Adam slide down, down, all the way so that smile is right above Tommy's dick.

"I'll help you take care of your wood, and then you help me take care of mine," Adam says diplomatically.

"Don't got no wood."

Adam looks pointedly down to where Tommy's cock is showing an unhelpful interest. "You sure?"

"Yep, totally." When Adam nuzzles playfully at his crotch, he keeps his voice even, says, "Nope. No wood there."

"I don't think I believe you." Settling back on his haunches, Adam tugs at Tommy's belt, flicks open his jeans. The steady flow of blood in his veins pauses, starts sauntering slowly south. "Kinda looks like you've been neglecting it, if you ask me."

"Jesus," Tommy says, mostly a laugh. Adam's about to get hands all over his dick and that always makes Tommy's lungs squeeze tight, his pulse stutter. "You are so fucking corny."

Adam smiles, totally unrepentant, and palms Tommy's dick through his jeans. Like his blood cells have hit the fucking Autobahn, they crank it up to sixty, past it, car-crash lust nailing him right in the balls. He'd been doing so good, too. Made it a whole ten minutes in Adam's orbit without jumping his sexy-ass bones.

"You've got something in there," Adam drawls, thumb and forefinger fit to the curve of Tommy's dick, working it slowly out of the crook of his thigh to rest flat against his belly, still trapped in his shorts. Expecting this teasing thing to go on for awhile, Tommy's not ready for a nail to scratch lightly across his slit, come back and do it again. He bucks up into it, wanting some pressure to go with the sting, and it's so totally not his fault that his knee nearly clocks Adam in the chin.

Adam's eyebrow wings up. "You need a hand, Tommy Joe?" he asks, flattening his palm to Tommy's cock again, rubbing lazily.

"You need a diagram?" Tommy grits back, thinking maybe they should move this inside, or at least up out of the grass, before Adam swoops down, starts sucking on his cockhead through clingy cotton. Then he's just thinking a jumble of hot, wet, fuck yeah as Adam mouths down the shaft, licks and sucks and does all these fucking stupidly amazing things that get Tommy's toes cramping in his boots.

"So," Adam drawls, stopping cold, and Tommy whines, "What the fuck," not even listening as Adam goes on, "About the rocking horses."

"No talking," Tommy says, grabbing onto the back of Adam's neck to try hauling him back down. "Cocksucking."

"Promise to help?"

"Extortion!"

"Bribery," Adam corrects happily. He nuzzles at Tommy's dick again, gorgeous freckled face right in there, breaths slow and warm. "I'll suck you so good, baby. You love my mouth, love watching me take that pretty cock all the way down my throat."

Tommy grunts, "Fuck," low and rough as his cock jerks, fresh precome soaking into his shorts along with Adam's spit. Adam never does the dirty talk thing. Not deliberately. All kinds of shit comes flying out of his mouth when he's really into it, dirty filthy awesome, but by then it's always choppy and breathless, riding the edge of him coming.

"Maybe I'll let you fuck it a little," Adam says, tip of his tongue startlingly pink against Tommy's black shorts, teasing as he traces the ridge of Tommy's cock with it. "Maybe I want you to fuck me like that."

Tommy's hand fists so tight in Adam's hair knuckles crack. "Jesusfuck, okay! Fuck, you win, sadistic fucker."

Crazy electric jolts raze Tommy's nerves when Adam sucks a quick kiss to his slit. "Ask me nicely."

Begging is not cool. Begging is so not on the menu here. Tommy Joe does not fucking beg.

Coming back in for a longer, slower kiss, Adam adds a press of tongue, a happy little noise like he could do this all fucking day, like he wouldn't mind at all being out here when the sun sets with his mouth still on Tommy's cock driving him insane, like it sounds like the best time ever.

"Please put my dick in your filthy fucking amazing mouth," comes tumbling out of Tommy in a broken whine. He grasps desperately at Adam's hair, caught between a moan of relief and one of pure fucking torture when Adam keeps playing with him with his fucking shorts still in the way. "C'mon, Adam, please, I said I'd help with your fucking Tim Taylor thing, please suck me. Please--" Mid-breath, Adam tugs down Tommy's underwear, catches Tommy's cock between his lips and sucks it on in, keeps on going until it bumps the back of his throat.

Now that Tommy's running his mouth, though, he can't stop, shit like, "Oh fuck, oh fuck, yeah, come on, take it, fucking, cocksucking savant," and Adam nips him, bites his fucking dick, and somewhere between Adam's teeth and Tommy's brain it flips from ow shit to fuck more.

Choking on a laugh, and Tommy's cock jammed down his throat without warning, Adam pulls off and licks his lip. "Something you wanna share, Tommy Joe?"

"Sorry," Tommy wheezes, getting a hand on it when Adam lets go to scrub his mouth dry, trying to decide if he wants to stuff it straight back between Adam's lips or jerk off all over them, "said I could."

Going back for more of Adam's awesome mouth wins out, but Adam only gives him a teasing flick of tongue, a slow rub around the head with gorgeous, gorgeous freckled lips smearing shiny wet in the sun. "Said you maybe could."

"Gonna jerk off on your face," Tommy threatens.

Grinning, Adam ducks down, starts licking Tommy from balls to slit again, big wide, wet swipes of his tongue, slowly angling up to get in the best position to slide Tommy back in his mouth again. Right there, like right fucking there about to do it, Adam stops. "So you don't want me to suck you now?"

Tommy can't take this. He can't. He's going to die. He's never going to tease Adam again. He's going to build a fucking shrine to the guy if he'd have some motherfucking mercy.

"We could do that," Adam says, giving Tommy's aching cock a lazy lick, making sure he's paying attention. He so fucking is. Just not to what's coming out of Adam's mouth, but what isn't going in. "Wanna pretend to be my virgin sacrifice?"

Tommy nods frantically. If it gets him some action in the next five seconds, he doesn't fucking care. He seriously does not fucking care.

"You'll have to wear white," Adam cautions.

"I'll wear the fucking tutu again if you want me to, I'll go femmeboy or clubslut or whatever you fucking want," Tommy gasps out when Adam licks him again, keeps on licking, so good and he's so fucking close, "I'll build those fucking rocking horses for you, just, fuck, I wanna come in your mouth, let me come in your mouth."

When Adam opens up, Tommy totally expects another 'say please' to come out, not Adam swallowing him down in one swift go. He really, really tries to not buck up this time, but Adam's not holding him down like usual, is moaning softly like he maybe wants it, so Tommy gives in, hooks his fingers on the hinge of Adam's jaw, and fucks.

And oh Jesus Christ, is it fucking worth endless teasing. So, so fucking worth it, Adam rocking with him like Adam knows what he's going to do before he does it, sucking and swallowing and sucking some more. With all the teasing, Tommy figured he'd blow three seconds in, but somehow, almost biting through his lip and his calves seizing up from the strain, he manages to hang on. And on, and on, imagining Adam's mouth fucked red and swollen, kissing it after, tasting of sweat and come with the outdoor air smelling of sunlight and green growing things. He's pretty sure he gives Adam warning before he blows it spectacularly, fingertips going numb in crackle-snap pleasure, and Adam keeps on sucking.

Crawling up over him, Adam nudges his panting mouth with closed lips. Blinking dumbly at the blur of Adam's face, Tommy lazily licks at Adam's lips, tastes only a hint of salt. He totally doesn't get it until Adam hums kinda urgently and he spots the slick glisten at the corner of Adam's mouth.

"Oh shit," Tommy says, "oh fuck, you wanna like, you gonna feed it to me?"

Adam rubs his lips against Tommy's again, more come leaking free, smearing between them, and Tommy sucks in a sharp breath, goes for it. The moment he opens up, his own come and Adam's tongue push in. It's a fucking hell of a lot different than taking a shot in the mouth, spit and come all mixed together. He can't swallow properly while Adam's kissing him so some of it ends up spilling down over his face, cool where the breeze hits it, hot again when Adam chases after it, licking it up. Shakily, Tommy finally manages to get what's left in his mouth down.

"Hey," Adam says, coming back up for more kisses. "I wasn't done with that."

"Sorry, babyboy," Tommy says, this weird jittery feeling in his belly that wasn't there minutes ago. That probably should've been kinda gross. Maybe. Except his cock's still rocking a little chub, and he's thinking if he hadn't swallowed, if he'd given Adam the chance, would Adam have dipped his tongue inside Tommy's mouth again, licked it up like he'd licked up the mess on Tommy's face.

"You are so kinky," Adam says fondly, rubbing his thumb through the wet lingering near the corner of Tommy's mouth.

"Dude, me? You're the one who, who fucking--"

"Knew you'd totally get off on it?" Adam butts in, his smile whole nations wide. "Want to suck me off, do it to me?"

There's no arguing with the lust that smacks straight into Tommy's gut then. Totally fucking pointless to even try. A lot like his come, it's all over his face anyway.

"Thought so," Adam says, delighted like they're talking about whipping up steaks and Greek salad for dinner, not come-swapping games in the middle of his fucking backyard.

If they ever get around to making those rocking horses, Tommy's never going to be able to give them to the kids. Ever.

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Babydoll - Adam/Tommy

2011-05-17T20:53:33Z

For tuke18, who gave me an idea and a hilarious nickname for Tommy Joe, and I ran with it. Oh, how I ran with it. Hope you enjoy! :3

Babydoll
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~4700 words. Crossdressing.
Turns out it's pretty easy to find a pair of cute, girly heels in size ten, once you know where to shop.

*

Babydoll

Turns out it's pretty easy to find a pair of cute, girly heels in size ten, once you know where to shop. They're bright coral with ribbons that wind around his ankles and end in long, draping bows. He wasn't so sure about his ability to walk in the damn things, but the platform totally helps, and they're barely higher than his creepers. He doesn't fall flat on his ass on the trip from the cab to the club, anyway, so he counts that as a win.

A step inside the club proper, heat like a sauna smacks him square in the face, making him so fucking glad he skipped the little sweater thing that came with the dress. He'd tried going for something slinky and sexy, or classic and gorgeous like Raja pulls off so effortlessly, but over and over again he'd been drawn back to the lacy, frilly things, stuff he's always liked on his girls. A shrink would probably tell him that all this time, he's been wanting to date his mirror. Fuck that. He's got something way better.

So it's girly heels and a cute a-line dress with spaghetti straps leaving his arms, his legs from a few inches above the knee, and a good half of his back bare. His hair's in soft curls tumbling down one side of his face, his makeup done to match, lips glossed pink and eyes dusted in warm summer colours. He even kinda likes the way his tattoos look against it all, stark and shocking like his piercings, like his flat chest and untucked dick. He sticks out like a daisy in a rosebush.

Finding Adam through the crush takes a little more manoeuvring than he's used to. Instead of sliding out of his way like usual, people press in. Hands graze his thighs and his back, and the attention's cool, it's that kinda place, but holy shit, he didn't think there'd be so fucking many of them. By the time he spills out on the other side of the room where the tables are, he's pretty sure at least seven people out there know the only thing he's wearing under this is a scrap of cotton and lace. Spotting Adam a few tables from the bar, Tommy hightails it over there like his ass is on fire.

"Hey," he says, tapping Adam's shoulder. "Scoot back, man."

Shoving his chair back half a dozen inches, Adam's smile turns to open-mouthed shock as Tommy drops down in his lap. While he's busy gaping, Tommy fights with the hem of his dress, tugging it back down so nobody else can draw his junk from freakin' memory. Crossing his legs would probably work best, but his perch is kinda precarious while Adam's not holding on to him, so he tucks his knees together and drops his hands into his lap.

"Tommy," Adam squeaks.

"Hey," Tommy repeats, and goes in for a peck hello.

Adam's hands come up to grab his shoulders. "Oh my god, you. No, no, stand back up. Let me-- Wow, Tommy, wow."

Since he'd practiced, Tommy pulls off a little twirl, then drops straight back down into Adam's lap where it's relatively safe. How the hell was he supposed to know this crowd would go for the cute femmeboy thing as hard as they go for glamour queens? "Hang the fuck onto me," he mutters.

One of Adam's arms loops securely around Tommy's waist. He's smiling wider than the cat that got the cream and the fucking canary too when he tilts Tommy's face his way, taking in the makeup, touching the softness of Tommy's hair before his fingers trail over bare collarbones. "You're in heels, Tommy Joe."

Tommy kicks up one leg, toe pointed. "Not bad, right?"

Palm settling warm above Tommy's knee, Adam says, "You shaved."

Tommy can't help a grin as he slings his arm around Adam's shoulders to cuddle closer. He's totally all decked out for some prime cuddling. Tonight, he is so the girl. He's gonna make Adam get up and buy him drinks and everything, milk those pesky gender stereotypes for all they're worth. "Pretty good, right?"

Adam leans back again, pushing Tommy out a bit to get another good look at him. "You're fucking adorable. And hot, how did you do that? Did Sutan do your face? He did, didn't he."

"Might've given me some pointers." Something about the dress, or maybe wearing it while perched in Adam's lap, gives Tommy this weird urge to wiggle happily. He settles for kicking his feet a bit and playing with the hair soft at Adam's nape, no product weighing it down. "I was gonna do the whole glamour gal thing. Think I landed smack in 50s all-American instead."

"It's cute," Adam says, thumb stroking Tommy's thigh, inching under the hem bit by bit. "It's really, really cute. I like it."

"Yeah?" Tommy maybe had his doubts. But he liked it, felt good in it, and Adam's always going on and on about how owning an outfit instead of being owned by it is sexy as fuck. He lets his thighs part a fraction, only enough for the dress to dip slightly between, a move that's totally worked on him way too many times before. It's not much yet, but Adam tracing those tiny circles on the inside of his thigh is starting to get to him, and pretty soon, thanks to the super-thin cotton weave, anybody who looks at him twice is gonna know it. "You wanna take your girl out for a dance?"

Adam's eyes go big and wide and round, white showing all around the edges. A few hoots and hollers go up around the table, and the back of Tommy's neck heats at the reminder they've got an audience. Like, an audience that's paying macroscopic amounts of attention to exactly where Adam's fingers are wandering. Tommy's got no issues with some good ol' PDA, and hey, he came out here all dressed up to ambush Adam instead of making it a stay at home date. He figured on some staring.

"You don't dance," Adam says dumbly.

"If my man wants me to," Tommy says, shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

"Your man," Adam huffs, half a disbelieving laugh. Grabbing onto Tommy with one hand and the chair's seat with the other, Adam scoots it back in closer to the table. It's one of those chairs where the low, rounded back extends out to become armrests, and it's way, way lower than the table, made for lounging in over by the couches instead of hauled up here by the booths. Addressing the table at large, he asks, "Who loves me enough to go get my girl a drink so I can keep an eye on her?"

Pip, probably the looniest guy in the bunch--and that's saying something given Adam's crowd--raises his hand as he shuffles out of the booth, already halfway to the bar when he calls, "On it!"

Tommy purses his lips in a low whistle. "Awesome. Also, dude." He backhands Adam's shoulder. "What the fuck, keep an eye on me." Like he's gonna fucking wander off in this getup.

"Pretty little thing like you, all alone?" Adam says, smile going lopsided as his hand creeps a little further up Tommy's thigh, rucked-up hem hidden beneath the table. "I'm staking my claim right here and now, sweetheart."

Tommy absolutely has no complaints about any staking Adam wants to do. Progressive, self-confident superstar or not, Adam's got this territorial streak a mile fucking wide. Family, friends, friends of friends, they all fall within it, ex-boyfriends and even fans sometimes, like the time some Westboro douche got all up in some girl's face and she stood there, shell-shocked, getting yelled at while her friends tried to step in. Adam was on his way over there to hustle the guy along himself before Neil cut in, sent some security to handle it. Adam's got total white-knight syndrome, and it's so fucking sweet. Really dumb sometimes, but sweet.

Sinking down lower, Tommy rests his head on Adam's shoulder. "You do what you gotta do," he says, and parts his thighs a bit more, invites the sweep of Adam's fingers closer to his junk.

A split-second of surprise registers on Adam's face, then Pip's back, setting something giant and fruity-looking on a napkin in front of them. "For the prettiest girl at the table," he says with a flourish.

"Dude, I'm the only girl," Tommy says, staring at the pretty-in-pink concoction. "What the hell is it?"

"Fucking delicious, that's what." Pip plops his elbows on the table and leans forward eagerly. "Try it."

Kinda doubtful, Tommy wrangles the straw around and takes a cautious sip. Pure tropical heaven explodes in his mouth, heavy and hazy like noon on the beach. There's alcohol in there and lots of it, warmly mellow, and he sucks harder, cheeks hollowing.

Pip moans, "Oh yeah, baby, there it is."

Almost snorting booze, Tommy pulls off and flips him the finger. "Fuck you, man."

Stretching a hand out across the table, chin propped up in the other one, Pip says dreamily, "Was it good for you? That was so good for me."

"Hey," Tommy says to Adam, tucking his drink against his chest and taking another quick sip. It's not a respectable drink at all, but fuck, is it tasty. "You gonna let him get away with that shit?"

Adam has that dazed look on his face he gets sometimes when he's watching the words coming out of Tommy's mouth instead of actually listening to them. Hiking up both eyebrows, Tommy closes his lips primly around the straw again, and waits. And drinks some more since it's right there and all.

"Technically," Adam eventually says, once the silence around the table has gone from interested to completely rapt, "he did buy you the drink, so I guess he can watch you all he wants."

"I am totally not that kind of girl," Tommy says, spreading his legs even wider, biting at the inside of his cheek when Adam's chest fills sharply. "No fifty-cent peep show here."

"No, no," Adam says quickly, fingertips grazing Tommy's balls, his eyes getting that heavy look again when he finds the edge of lace. "Definitely not that kind of girl at all."

Taking a quick glance around the table, at the two guys at the other end semi-involved in a conversation while watching him and Adam at the same time, Tommy knows they're not fooling anybody. But unless one of them hunkers down to see Adam's hand up his skirt, it's easy enough to pretend. And hey, it's not like he's slapped his junk down on the table or anything. It's a little friendly petting. No big deal.

Something one of the guys says catches Adam's attention, and he launches into this big spiel about sustainable fashion and Oscar Wilde and, Tommy is pretty sure, North Africa. He's not sure what those three things have in common, and bad, socially-unconscious move or not, he doesn't exactly care at the moment. Adam keeps tracing the edge of his panties with one thumb over and over and fucking over again, so close to his dick but not close enough. And panties, no matter how cute they are, are not meant to hold in a guy sprouting what's shaping up to be a pretty epic boner. He scoots down further, trying to get Adam to commit to more than a tease, but Adam moves his hand down, keeps on talking with this smug quirk at the corner of his mouth.

A couple minutes later, Tommy's drink down to the dregs, Adam asks, "You doing okay there, pretty baby? Want another?"

I want your hand on my dick flits through Tommy's mind. He tongues his straw instead, like he's thinking about it, then sets the glass down to sling his other arm around Adam's neck. It turns his body partway in to face Adam's, and the hand Adam hasn't got up his skirt slides down automatically to palm his ass. While Adam watches, bemused, Tommy uses a couple fingers on Adam's chin to tilt him exactly the way Tommy wants for a lazy kiss and almost ruins it with a grin as he makes a sweetly surprised noise at Tommy not letting him take over. Bracing a hand on the chair's arm to lift up, get some extra height, Tommy pushes his tongue into Adam's mouth. He completely forgets about the skirt and brings his leg up, twisting to get closer, and right as Adam shoves the chair back to give him the room to crawl on up, finally getting with the program to suck on his tongue in that fucking awesome way, Pip says, "Holy shit," really, really loudly.

Too late, Tommy tugs his dress back down. "Aw, fuck."

Adam, the fucker, cracks up. "Baby, did you flash the table?"

"Shut up," Tommy grumbles. He levels a threatening finger at Pip. "And you, fuck off and get me another drink."

Pip catapults out of the booth. "Anything that gets me another look at that pretty package."

"Ain't gonna happen!" Tommy shouts after him, and Pip waves it off, bouncing through the crowd like he's totally jacked.

"It is awfully pretty," Adam says, smoothing Tommy's skirt down so it's snug against his dick, showing it off. Tommy's no slouch in the size department, not even compared to what Adam's toting around, but holy fuck, the skirt makes it look like he's seriously packing. Really seriously packing. And Adam's rubbing his thigh again, right below the hemline, and it's making wet cotton rub deliciously against the head of his dick, so it's totally not his fault he makes to grab himself through the skirt. 'Cause the thing is, right, jokes about his legs in the air and all that shit aside, he is not a girl. He's a pretty guy rocking a pretty dress, and he wants to stuff his dick in Adam's cockteasing mouth.

"C'mon," Tommy says, shoving at Adam until the chair scoots back far enough that he can clamber up. "We're gonna go powder my fucking nose."

Busy staring at Tommy's crotch, Adam doesn't move.

Tommy grabs Adam by the front of the shirt and hauls him up. "Now, big guy."

"Oh my god," Adam says, stumbling along beside him, fumbling to get their fingers laced together.

"Yeah? You like that shit?" Ducking around somebody's flailing elbow, Tommy turns around to walk backwards in front of Adam, trusting Adam's hand flying to his hip to keep him from breaking his neck. He palms his cock through the skirt, dirty and kinda fucked up. "How 'bout that, you like that?"

"Oh my god," Adam says again, reverently, and next thing Tommy's knows, he's up against a wall with Adam plastered to his front trying to kiss him, groping at his thigh again, hiking it up to press in between Tommy's legs. "I love it. I love that your cock is right there, baby, so easy for me to get my hands all over it."

Tommy barks a laugh, tail end of it sliced off as Adam bites at his neck. "Not out here, you're fucking not."

"Please," Adam says, promises, "Just a little," with his hand already sneaking in to inch up Tommy's skirt. "Nobody'll see."

Adam's got fucking magic hands, so maybe, maybe, Tommy's tempted. But he's got plans. Really fucking awesome plans. "Nope," he says, catching Adam's wrist. "You're comin' with me."

With an adorable whine, Adam stumps along grumpily, at least until he figures out where Tommy's dragging him. "This isn't dancing," he says as Tommy shoves open the bathroom door.

"Fuck no, it ain't." Quickly checking under the two stalls to make sure the place is empty, Tommy jerks his chin at the door Adam's sagging against, staring at Tommy's ass. "Lock that thing."

"Appropriating bathrooms is egotistical," Adam says, flicking the lock. "You're gonna get me such bad press." He really doesn't sound like he's complaining.

"Gonna be totally worth it." Figuring they've got ten minutes, fifteen max before somebody gets pissed off over the superstar diva taking over the bathroom for a quickie, Tommy wads up two handfuls of the dress's skirt, hauls the whole thing up and off over his head. Left in skimpy black panties not doing a damn thing to cover his cock and balls anymore, and a pair of ribbony heels, Tommy leans back against the sink.

Adam makes some sort of high-pitched moaning noise Tommy's honestly never heard before, and in half a second flat, Adam's kissing him again, hands fucking everywhere at once, stroking down Tommy's back and over his ass and up the insides of his legs, nudging them wider so Adam can reach between, rub behind Tommy's balls and up over his hole.

"Not gonna," Tommy says, locking his knees, "fucking heels, gonna fall flat on my ass if you keep doing that."

Biting at Tommy's collarbone where the dress won't hide it, Adam grabs Tommy by the backs of both thighs and hefts him up onto the countertop by the sinks, perched right on the edge. Tommy's stomach pulls off one of those excited three-point flips it always trots out when Adam starts manhandling him, and this time around he's the one spreading his knees wide as Adam braces a hand on the counter, bends down to lick his cock where the lace isn't covering it.

"Fucking finally," Tommy groans, sinking back so he's got the best view in the house. He hadn't been totally on board with the panties, but Sutan had given him this look that said honey, please, and whatever, it's not like he gave a shit. With Adam down there mouthing his dick through them, tucking the lacy top under his balls so his junk's laid out on a silver platter, he's gotta admit, Sutan knows his stuff.

"So fucking gorgeous," Adam says, catching Tommy's cock to rub it over his mouth, lick at it and give it a sweet little suck, so fucking good Tommy tries to bring one foot up to brace on the counter, rock into it. He misses by a mile, heel banging against the edge instead, and curses when Adam laughs at him, catches his leg behind the knee to keep it up. "Oh hey, no," he says, pushing Tommy's hand away when Tommy goes to jack his own dick. "That's mine."

"Better fucking do something with it quick, 'cause in about three minutes I'm going off without you."

"Pushy," Adam accuses, and grabs Tommy's cock at the base, angles it straight up and sinks right down on it easy as breathing, a shocking rush of hot and wet and so fucking good when he starts sucking. And keeps on sucking, no fucking playing around, just pressure and more pressure until it's like he's dragged all the air out of Tommy's lungs. Usually he likes to lick, likes to nibble a bit, get Tommy arching up desperately, likes to enjoy the whole package deal. Tommy clutches at Adam's shoulders, squeezing hard and harder, expecting a break, hoping for one because it's almost too much. But Adam doesn't let up, shoves him straight over that razor-thin line into sensation so sharp it actually hurts, and he's twisting away from it, trying to push into it, gone from doing a pretty good job at calling the shots to totally and completely useless.

Then when Adam finally does fucking stop, Tommy gasps out, "No, fuck, what're you-"

"You're really loud, Tommy Joe," Adam says, smirking as he comes in for a kiss, soft and wet, then another, one more with Tommy's bottom lip caught in his teeth. Fingers creep in under the ruined bit of cotton Tommy's still somehow wearing, rub into the crack of his ass, thick and strong pushing at his hole. "Makes me want to fuck you."

They so don't have time. They're in a public washroom, for fuck's sake. But Adam's giving him that look, sweet and happy and really fucking dirty as Adam licks a few fingers wet, slides them right back where they were and pushes one slow and easy up inside Tommy's ass. Any second now somebody's gonna bang on that door, cuss them out and go get the management. Any second, and Tommy's gonna point that out, he really, really is, as soon as Adam stops sucking on his tongue and fingering him fucking perfectly, deep, rocking push against his insides, full-up ache making his cock throb.

"See, that makes me think you want me to fuck you," Adam says, kissing his shoulder, his throat when his head falls back. "When you take two fingers like that, and all you can do is moan for me."

"Jesus," Tommy says, clenching up on reflex. There's no way that's two already. They fuck around a lot, sure, but there's just no fucking way. Not as easy as that on just a scrap of spit.

Reaching for his back pocket, Adam hauls out his wallet, tosses it on the counter beside Tommy's hand. "Wet's in there."

Like somebody else is driving, Tommy fumbles through the billfold to find the small packet. There's a condom too, a couple actually, but he pretends he doesn't see those, tearing open the lube and pushing it into Adam's free hand. Adam knows, though. He knows, and he grins like he likes it, likes it a whole fucking lot.

The bathroom's got mood lighting, which is kinda cracked, but makes the glisten on Adam's fingers hotter, makes the slick push and curve of them past muscle somehow even better. Crammed on the countertop, Tommy's barely got any leverage to ride Adam's fingers. He doesn't even get the chance to really try, Adam quickly fucking into him a few times before drawing off to wet his dick, line it up and push.

"Fuck," Tommy grits out, hand scrabbling across the counter for something to hold onto, knocking over the fancy-ass soap dispenser. He's not ready at all, hardly loose enough to take the head wedging him wide, and he grabs onto the tap, groans as Adam pulls him even further off the edge, right onto Adam's dick, slow enough that there's no sharp burn, only stretch and ache and fuck, Adam's not stopping, not letting him breathe.

"Come on, baby," Adam says, low, filthy purr as his fingers tug at the scrap of Tommy's underwear to snap the band and toss them to the floor. "You can take it, loosen up for me."

"Oh fuck you," Tommy groans, shoving sweat-damp hair off his forehead, letting his legs drop, hooked over Adam's arms. It is really fucking messed up catching the bright splash of ribbons trailing from his ankles, weird remembering those are his legs shaved smooth, long and slim in platform heels and so pale next to Adam's freckled skin. It's fucking hot is what it is, and he doesn't miss Adam's gaze jumping from his hole stretching open to slide down his legs and back again. "Jesusfuck, why's your dick gotta be so fucking huge?"

"Why's your ass gotta be so fucking tiny?" Adam counters, screwing in again, making Tommy's body give it up. He braces a hand by the sink again, gives a couple short, sharp fucks to really wedge Tommy open before he goes for it, almost all the way out and back in again. "Tiny and gorgeous, oh my god, I love it."

"Bet you do," Tommy says, and, "Yeah, fuck, fuck, Adam," because Adam's got him stretched out enough now to really take it, long and slow and deep, all the way inside so the ache peaks, mellows out with the drag of bare skin, peaks again as Adam fucks in harder. Fucking without a rubber is Tommy's favourite, he can feel it when the ridge of Adam's dick catches on his rim, slight tug before the smooth slide back in. Flinging a hand above his head to brace on the mirror, he tries pushing down for more, says, "C'mon, fuck, give it to me if you're gonna, gonna have to carry me outta here anyway, c'mon already," and Adam makes a happy, ruined sort of noise and gives in, fucks rough and fast and mouths at Tommy's ink, his shoulder, anywhere Adam can reach.

When Adam comes, it's like a train wreck, seriously fucking straight off the rails pounding into him, thick slap of his wet dick in Tommy's ass as he goes for it a couple more times then slams in hard. Tommy worms a hand down between them before he gets it together enough to pull out, feeling around his stretched hole, dragging some of the lube up over his balls to slick his cock and get himself off while Adam's still in him so deep. Adam groans like it hurts but he stays where he is, heavy panting breaths warm on Tommy's chest. It's kinda fucked up and amazing when he comes; Adam's usually got this thing where he has to suck Tommy off after, like he's gonna die if Tommy doesn't jizz in his mouth, and he's really fucking good at it so it's not like Tommy's gonna complain about going off that way. But yeah, not so much with Adam inside him, and it's messed up and kinda trippy and he wants to do it again, right fucking now.

Groaning something that sounds like Tommy's name, Adam finally pulls out. Instead of going to get some paper towels or something, 'cause they've really got to get the fuck out of here, Adam keeps Tommy's legs wide, gets both hands between them to spread the cheeks of his ass, checking him out like Adam wants to make sure he did a damn good job fucking the hell out of him.

"Look good?" Tommy asks, joking mostly, but also wondering if maybe next time they fuck, he could get Adam to wait a little while between shooting in his ass and getting him off. Finger him a bit first. Or maybe a whole lot.

"So good," Adam says, kissing the inside of his thigh, then sliding up to help himself to Tommy's mouth. While he's there, he says, "I'm going to take you home and eat you out, and then I think I'm gonna fuck you again."

"Fuck," Tommy says, whole-hearted agreement. He struggles to sit up, almost falling off the edge of the counter before Adam catches him, helps get him back on his feet. Things were precarious with the heels already; he tries walking out of here on his own, it'll be a fucking disaster. He leans on the counter while Adam cleans up with a few towels, and braces a hand on Adam's shoulder when Adam comes back with a few to wipe between his legs. Considering the mess he's in, it probably doesn't help much. "Let's go already."

Scooping up Tommy's dress, Adam shakes it out, rolls up the skirt a bit and drapes it over Tommy's head when he raises his arms. It skims down and settles into place only slightly worse for wear. The panties, though, those things are toast.

"I don't know how I'm going to keep my hands off you," Adam says conversationally, trapping Tommy against the counter again, an arm on either side, "knowing you're wet under there." He smiles as Tommy huffs a laugh, and a hand sneaks around behind Tommy again, beneath the skirt to stroke his ass. "Can I finger you in the cab?"

The image of him straddling Adam's lap, Adam's fingers working in him lazily with the skirt pooled around his legs, hiding it all, hits Tommy harder than the thrum of noise as Adam pulls open the door. Hoping Adam'll blame it on the heels, Tommy grabs for his arm.

Ducking down close to Tommy's ear, Adam says, "I'm going to take that as a yes."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3

Fic: Down on the floor with a radio star - Adam/Tommy

2011-05-11T17:57:11Z

For sweetmusic_27, who asked for something kinky. I hope you enjoy!

rivers_bend is a total sweetheart who periodically drowns under insane amounts of beta work and loves me anyway.

Randomly, when I go in to edit journal posts, even though I've never put anything in the Reason for Age Restriction box ever on my own, it's always filled with 'autoschediastic'. I see what you're telling me there, DW. I do.

Down on the floor with a radio star
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~2400 words. Mild D/s. Armbinding.
Adam sees sequinned zebra-print pants and has to try them on, Tommy sees hardcore bondage porn and has to try it out. Whatever.

*

Down on the floor with a radio star

Tommy wiggles his fingers to feel how much the stiff leather doesn't give. "This is pretty fucking cool."

Tugging the second glove into place, Adam presses a kiss to his shoulder before straightening up. They're custom-made, covering Tommy's arms up to about an inch below his armpits. Dozens and dozens of clinking metal rings track the full length of each one. No way is Adam going to lace him up all the way the first time out, but the possibility is there. "And you look really, really good in them."

Flexing his hands again, Tommy grins. He's on his knees on the bedroom floor, Adam in front of him, a thick quilt folded up beneath him to cushion the beating his knees are about to get. The gloves are the only thing he's wearing. With Adam fully dressed all the way down to the kick-ass wedge boots, looming above him, Tommy already feels small and vulnerable in the best possible fucking way. After the first few times he went off before they were both ready, Adam's been more careful about using his size like this. Tonight, it's totally the point.

"Let me see again how close you can get them," Adam says, his hand soft on Tommy's jaw urging him to bend forward.

Spreading his knees further apart for balance, Tommy tucks his arms behind his back, metal hoops chiming. They've been practicing for this. Not with the gloves, but with him on his knees while Adam fucks him, dragging his arms back and pinning them. It goes against what Tommy would've figured, but Adam says he's looser, more relaxed, when he's got a dick up his ass. Getting his elbows touching on his own is easy.

"Beautiful," Adam says, stroking his cheek. Tommy nuzzles into his palm, happily. He's as addicted to being touched by Adam as Adam is to touching him. There weren't many boundaries between them before the start of all this, and now it's hard to think of even one. Tommy always thought they could tell one another anything. By the time that became true, they could do anything, too.

The really kinky shit, though, that's usually all Tommy's idea. Adam sees sequinned zebra-print pants and has to try them on, Tommy sees hardcore bondage porn and has to try it out. Whatever. It works.

The tips of Adam's fingers trail up to touch the liner dark around Tommy's eyes. Tommy went all out with feminine soft tonight. His hair's falling all around his face, tousled and spike-free, his lips are quiet pink, his cheeks lightly blushed. The makeup's more for him than Adam. It feels good, stark against the harsh black leather on his arms, the way his cock's already curved up hard and thick. Big money says Adam likes it, though.

"One day I would love to crawl inside your head," Adam says, smiling. The plain black cord for the binder is snaked around his arm, dangling lazily from his wrist. "Find out exactly what you're thinking when you're looking at me like that."

"Could always ask."

Quietly, the touch on Tommy's face sliding down to become a hand pressed to his throat, Adam asks, "What're you thinking, Tommy Joe?"

"I love your dick," Tommy says, no hesitation at all. "I really fucking love your dick, and I want you to let me suck it, let me try to cram it straight down my throat."

Adam huffs a startled laugh. He should totally be used to shit like that flying out of Tommy's mouth by now. Somehow, he isn't. "I so asked for that."

"You totally did," Tommy says, and leans harder into Adam's hold. His shoulders are starting to ache from the effort of keeping his arms back by himself. "Gonna lace me up, give me what I want?"

Adam says, "Yeah," voice thick. He uncoils the cord, lets it whisper through his fingers, drape against Tommy's upper back. "Bend over for me, baby."

A shiver skittering down Tommy's spine, he rests a hand on Adam's thigh, settles between the spread of Adam's legs with his shoulders butted right up against them. Once he's sure he's got his balance, he tucks his arms behind his back again, lifting them as much as he can for Adam to start lacing the cord through the hoops.

They could've done this first, had it ready. The cord's long enough. But every time Adam drags it through a loop, it's a slithering kiss on his ass, trailing up his back, and that is so fucking totally worth the effort of keeping still, his head bowed between Adam's legs. Adam's boots smell sharply of leather and mink oil, and he breathes in deep, even.

"That's it, baby," Adam says, running a hand down his arm, up again. Tommy lets his shoulders relax, heart kicking when the binding holds. They're not tight yet, not even close, but he doesn't have to work to keep his arms back anymore. "Good?"

"So good." Unlacing his fingers, Tommy flexes his hands, listens to leather creak. The sound travels down his spine straight into his balls. "Jesus, this is crazy. I'm like really fucking hard. I might lose it before you get your dick in my mouth."

Adam laughs, bedroom-sexy and delighted. "Let me worry about how close you are. Gonna tighten it now."

Tommy's okay comes in him locking his fingers back together.

There's hardly any pressure at first. Nothing compared to when Adam's pinning him, anyway. It comes in slow, creeping stages, gentle tugs that bring his arms closer together bit by bit until he can feel the muscles bunched up tight between his shoulder blades, the ache of it spreading out and down into his chest. When that teasing, floaty feeling starts rising up, he makes the mistake of grabbing at it. He groans miserably as it slips away slick as an eel.

"Don't work for it," Adam reminds him, digging blunt nails briefly through the cords into Tommy's back. That's another one of those things Adam says Tommy responds to wonderfully that he has his doubts about. But maybe Pavlov wasn't totally cracked, because the second the pain spikes, he quits reaching for what he wants, lets Adam bring it to him. The soft, affectionate praise Adam murmurs in its wake doesn't hurt, either. He is such a sucker for Adam's voice.

By the time Adam nudges him back up on his knees, the ache in his arms has turned into a low-grade burn. For a long, long minute, Adam doesn't do anything else, just watches Tommy's face as the burn flares hotter, drowns under an endorphin flood and begins to build again, smouldering under skin. It's that rhythm, waves of bite and release, that finally start to drag Tommy down.

The loud snick of Adam unzipping brings Tommy's gaze dragging up. He doesn't try to focus. Trusting in Adam's hand on his jaw to guide him, he opens his mouth, his chest rising slow and easy as Adam's cockhead slides over his tongue. Ignoring the urge to lick up all the thick taste of Adam's precome, he opens up wider, invites Adam to do whatever he wants, tease them both with it, keep fucking against Tommy's tongue like that, anything, as long as he doesn't stop.

When Adam's fingers dig into his aching shoulder, he groans, ends up sucking eagerly anyway. Adam lets him get away with it, too. He takes Adam's cock as deep as he can manage without his hands to help guide it, brushfire heat breaking out all along his skin as it bumps the back of his throat, sticks there. His cock jerks, a sticky string of precome snapping and slapping back against his belly, hot wet cling. Seconds count off in his head in sluggish heartbeats. Right before Adam moves, Tommy knows he's going to, but he's expecting to be hauled off Adam's dick, not driven down further on it. As Adam's cock wedges into his throat, the urge to choke rises up fast, dies off even faster.

He can't breathe. He can't actually fucking breathe, can't get away with his arms bound, with Adam's grip twisted tight in his hair, and oh fuck, he's gonna come.

"Not yet," Adam hisses. He does choke then, fighting the need to cough until Adam's dick is pressed wet and hot against his cheek. Fingers take its place, hooking over his teeth to keep mouth open as he struggles to breathe. When his tongue grazes the pads, it's like he can feel every dip, every whorl of Adam's fingerprints. He sucks the salt from Adam's skin, nuzzles his face against the rough, scratchy weave of Adam's pants. The scent of leather rises up again and he sinks down, knees spread as wide as they'll go, to lick at Adam's boots. Seams rough against his tongue, he wonders what the hell made him want to do that, why the sharp bite of oil in his mouth isn't disgusting, why he can't stop, not even when Adam tells him to.

"Oh, god, baby," Adam says, "stay there for me. Don't move. Please don't move."

Swallowing a breath as Adam moves away, Tommy realises the soft scratch against his forehead is carpet fibres. He groans, miserable at the loss of Adam's heat, and again, shockingly honest, when the dull thud of Adam hitting the floor behind him registers. Two seconds delayed, he feels Adam's hands on his bare ass, fingers pushing slick into the crack, up inside him. It doesn't even seem real. It hurts and then it doesn't and then it does again, endless feedback loop. He wants Adam to touch his dick. He wants Adam to stay far, far away from it, because the second Adam's hand is on it, he's going to come so hard. So fucking hard he can already taste it.

Hot through thick leather, Adam's hand curls into his. He can't ride Adam's fingers like this, no leverage, his body not listening to him when he tries to make it move, but Adam's fucking him anyway, sweet and slow and amazing. He holds onto Adam's hand as hard as he can, pressing the shape of Adam's fingers, knuckle and bone and flesh, into his palms. The taste ofAdam's cock is still thick in his mouth, the feel of it, so hard and soft all at once, branded into the burn of his throat.

"Please," he hears his own voice rasp, though it doesn't feel like him talking at all, "please, I want it. Adam. Please."

Through the haze in his head, he catches Adam telling him it's okay. But it's not. It's fucking not okay. He wants Adam's cock in his mouth, Adam's come on his face, and he's not getting it, and he fucking wants. Adam tells him easy, breathe, but how the fuck is he supposed to do that when Adam's not fucking listening to him.

There's a loud scuff of leather on carpet, Adam's boots sliding past Tommy's face, and Adam saying, "Baby, baby, c'mon," as he stretches out on his side, curled around Tommy's body, his leg beneath Tommy's head to give him something to rest on so he can catch his balance. Tommy strains for Adam's cock, catching the head between his lips and sucking the whole thing hard into his mouth. The sharp hiss of air between Adam's teeth makes him fight to take more, struggle for it, scalp tingling from Adam's grip holding him off. He whines and sucks harder, as hard as he fucking can, and gets a rough knot of three fingers in him up to the last knuckle instead of more dick down his throat. Sensation peaks, shining sparking incredible, so much he can't tell one thing from the other anymore, doesn't even try. It's forever and no time at all before Adam drives in hard, stills and floods Tommy's mouth full. Sometimes swallowing is a bitch and sometimes, like now, Tommy does it without thinking, not even a drop leaking free even though when he pictured this moment in his head, he had Adam's come all over his face.

"Got you," Adam says, smoothing back his hair, "just breathe, I've got you," Adam's heartbeat suddenly loud beneath his ear, a firm, steady rhythm for him to match. He thinks he maybe whimpers as the cord binding his arms releases, not sure if it's disappointment or not. The manic buzz of deadened nerves coming back to life isn't much of a relief, and he tries to squirm away as Adam massages his shoulders, his arms, making it so much worse.

One of Adam's arms locks tight around his back. "Don't fight me, Tommy Joe."

Tommy sucks in air. It didn't hurt before. Now it's fucking killing him.

Adam keeps saying breathe slow, it'll pass, and for a few tortured minutes, Tommy doesn't actually believe him. Then the horrible buzzing starts to ease bit by bit, mellowing out enough for him to feel the ache of muscles used, abused, beneath it. Blinking his eyes open, he finds himself staring straight at the slant of Adam's collarbone.

"There you are," Adam says when he glances up. "Don't worry about moving yet."

Closing his eyes again, Tommy burrows sluggishly closer. He's mostly on top of Adam, the quilt that had been on the floor draped over them both. Moving is a hell of a lot of effort. Talking's almost as much. "How long was I under?"

"Half an hour since you came," Adam says, combing his fingers through the hair at Tommy's nape. "You still look like you're pretty far in."

"Feels it." Oh hell, does it feel like it. Grounded so firmly, floating so far. There are times Tommy wishes he could bottle this feeling to save for later, take tiny, tiny sips when he needs it most. Usually when he does, Adam's right here. But sometimes, life happens.

"I'm not going anywhere," Adam promises. "Not tonight, not tomorrow, not the whole weekend. I'm all yours, baby, as long as you need me."

"Good," Tommy says, already planning on taking a nap right here, shored up by Adam inside and out. In a few minutes, Adam's going to haul him into bed to get a proper night's sleep while he can. Despite him being perfectly willing to, Adam's never let him crash for long on the floor. "Keep that schedule clear," he mumbles. "Gonna need you a long time yet."

*
End

Originally posted at Dreamwidth here. Please comment there using OpenID or ask me for an invite code. :3