blue_soaring: (adam/tommy // giggly boys)
[personal profile] blue_soaring
Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you
Glamdom. Adam/Tommy. Tour!fic. Drugs. Alcohol. Shenanigans. NC-17. ~59,000 words. For LBB. Also so very much for [livejournal.com profile] rivers_bend, with thanks to @zoodlemouse for being a total trooper, and to my wonderful artist [personal profile] qafmaniac for way too many pieces of gorgeous, gorgeous art, a most wonderful mix, and indulging me in my meddling with both. I couldn't have picked a better partner. ♥
Full art post and soundtrack here.

Some casual, no-strings affection is exactly what Adam says he needs, what Tommy thinks he wants, and tour is a great environment to get it. But for something without strings, the sex with Adam leaves Tommy feeling awfully tangled up, and eventually something has to give.


*




Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you


Adam Lambert is a fucking fantastic kisser. Caught against a wall by Adam's bulk, one hand cupping his jaw and the other braced beside a framed photo knocked crooked, Tommy's got proof of exactly how good Adam is thrumming through his veins. He's not hard yet, but if Adam doesn't ease up soon, he's sure as hell gonna get there.

Adam's taken the whole band, newly formed and juiced with the possibilities he's laid out in front of them, plus a bunch of his friends out for a celebration. A couple of Tommy's new bandmates he knows by reputation. He's fucking stoked at the chance to play with them, let alone hang out and talk shop. On his way out of the washroom, Adam had been on his way in, and Tommy hadn't really thought about it before he slammed into Adam, arms wide open, to hug the fucking shit out of the guy.

When Adam does finally ease up sucking on Tommy's tongue, it's a slow, sweet winding down, his thumb brushing the corner of Tommy's wet mouth as he draws back, licks the taste of Tommy off his smile. "Hi," he says, probably what he'd meant to say before Tommy crashed into him like a linebacker.

"Hey," Tommy says, heat prickling at his scalp.

Adam's hand slides down, fingers curved around the side of Tommy's neck like they're drawn to the blush rising there, thumb stroking Tommy's throat. "I like this hugging thing."

"Yeah, like. I didn't mean to attack you or anything, it's just." Trying for an easy laugh that comes out kinda manic he's so jazzed, Tommy shakes hair out of his face. "This shit is really fucking awesome."

Adam's grin goes solar-flare bright. "If this is your definition of attacking me, I'm putting a clause in your contract immediately that states you can do it any time you want."

Expecting Adam to let him up, Tommy laughs again when he doesn't, smiles so wide his cheeks twinge. "And the, y'know," Tommy says, gesturing vaguely at his mouth with two fingers.

"That one was all me. Call it a gut-reaction when small, pretty men throw themselves at me."

Another laugh bubbles up before Tommy can throttle it down. Since they only met about a week and a half ago, this whole accidental make-out session thing should probably be more awkward than it is. But there's good food filling Tommy's belly, expensive booze heating his blood, and Adam is so fucking amazing it almost hurts to be in the same room as him. There are a couple of people in Tommy's life that he's greedy about, and would do really crazy kinds of things to keep close. He's never seen them coming before, always sneaking up on him, like that day he turned around and bam, Mike had moved in. Looking up at Adam now, Tommy knows. Adam's totally going to be one of them.

"Okay, so," Tommy says, and gnaws on the inside of his lip. This part has the potential of going really, really badly. "Upfront and honest, I'm mostly sorta straight."

Adam blinks, surprised, and gives a quiet laugh. "Mostly, sorta."

"Like, yeah." If Tommy weren't clinging to Adam like a lemur, what he's trying to say might have more weight, but he doesn't want to let go. He's always so fucking cold all the time since he stopped trying to pump up, and Adam's big, warm, and really doesn't seem to mind. "I'm not like, hitting on you. Just, you're really fucking cool, and I'm sort of a freak about cuddling and stuff, and kissing is awesome?"

"It is," Adam says slowly.

"Totally," Tommy agrees, delighted Adam gets it. Sometimes guys don't, and it's this big whole thing. Drunk off his ass right now or not, Tommy's totally planning on keeping Adam forever.

Through a lopsided smile, Adam says, "You are a weird little guy. I love it."

"I know, right?" Hauling Adam down for another bone-crusher, Tommy gets a whiff of warm, spicy-smelling cologne. He tucks his nose into the crook of Adam's neck and soaks it up, wallowing in Adam's heat, the way he isn't afraid to squish Tommy close.

Lifting Tommy up on his toes, voice muffled in his hair, Adam says, "This is going to be amazing," like a promise it'll take the end of the world for him to break.

*


It's well past noon when Tommy finally hauls his ass out of bed the next day, and it still takes two cups of the sludge Mike calls coffee for him to clue in on what's happening here.

"And like a ton of bricks," Mike says in his obnoxious narrator voice, not even bothering to look up from the lyrics he's noodling around with at the card table they use as a dinette set, "it finally hits him."

"Aw, shit." Tommy slumps down in a chair, drops his face into one hand. "Shit."

"I was wondering how long it'd take you to realise," Mike says, snagging Tommy's mug to steal a sip. "You've been talking about him all week."

Tommy hides his face in the table, hands laced on the back of his head. "Shit. Fuck."

"All last week, too."

Keeping his head down, Tommy says, "Quit being jealous I'm not in love with you anymore."

"You're still completely in love with me," Mike says, followed by the quiet clink of his pen hitting the table. "If I were gay, we'd have moved to Canada, gotten married, and adopted two children and a brutally ugly Rottweiler by now."

Tommy groans and tries shoving his face harder into the table. This shit happens to him all the time. Dave keeps saying it's because Tommy's totally afraid of getting his heart broken, so he falls in love with people he has no chance of relationships with, like his fourth-grade teacher, women who tell him point-blank they're not looking to get involved in anything serious, and straight men.

And now, his gorgeous gay rock star boss.

"I'm not doing it," Tommy declares, sitting up so quickly his head swims.

Both of Mike's eyebrows fly up. "You're quitting the band?"

"What? Fuck no." Stealing his mug back, Tommy takes hefty gulp and makes a face at the sourness of burnt beans on his tongue. He gets up to dump it in the sink, rinses his mug, and pours up two fingers of Jack instead. It's not like he's ever actually been in love for real with Mike. Or Anderson. It's just this thing where he gets in happy, domestic relationships with guys that end up his platonic life partners. And sometimes they make out. "I'm not falling in love with him."

"Uh," Mike says, eyeballing the whiskey.

"Nope," Tommy says determinedly, and tosses back his drink. It blazes all the way down, hitting his belly and coating it in warmth. "We're gonna play fucking awesome music, live out of the back of a van, and I'm gonna love him like a motherfucking brother."

*


Rehearsals start on Monday. Adam spends the first twenty minutes outside the studio wigging out about a possible mix-up with the booking by the label while trying to look like he's not about to lose his shit. They've got the better part of a month before the AMAs, more than enough time to get it together for one song, but Tommy gets it. Adam's been on television with Idol, and on tour. This is the first time it's all him. Everyone wants it to be awesome.

Peeling away from Monte, on lead guitar, and Longineu, their kickass drummer--guys Tommy wouldn't have a fucking snowball's prayer in hell of playing with if it weren't for Adam plunking his skinny butt in the band--Tommy makes his way over to bump shoulders with Adam. "Hey."

Adam glances down with a wan smile. "I'm okay."

Tommy hugs him anyway. Adam's arms fall around his shoulders to haul him in tight, and all the air in Adam's lungs leaks free on a long sigh. "It's like, half an hour delay," he says into Adam's chest. "Shit happens. It'll be cool."

"I don't freak out about minor stuff," Adam insists, resting his chin on top of Tommy's head.

"Totally not freaking out," Tommy agrees, and rubs his nose along Adam's collarbone. "You got people to flip their shit for you. All you gotta do is get in there and sing your face off."

Adam pushes Tommy back to look at him, nose crinkled on a laugh more like a giggle. "Thanks," he says, and fluffs Tommy's hair back up. "You're like the St. Bernard of rescue hugs."

"Now I gotta drool on you."

A sharp whistle brings Adam's head up. Twisting around, Tommy catches Monte waving on his way into the studio. "Finally," Adam says, and gives Tommy another quick squeeze. "I swear I really am gonna put hug duty in your contract if you're not careful."

"So like, about that," Tommy says, holding on tighter as Adam moves to follow the rest of the crew inside. "I wanted to make sure I didn't mess shit up the other night."

"The other night meaning the twenty minutes we spent making out in a back hallway?" Adam asks, bemused.

"Jesus," Tommy mutters, hoping his face doesn't look as red as it feels. He's not a fucking teenager, or some love-struck Disney heroine. "Yeah, that."

Adam says, "Baby, you're going out of your way to make sure you're not leading me on," hauling Tommy in for another round of the hug that never ends, "so no, you didn't mess up. Some casual, no-strings, no-expectations affection is probably exactly what I need right now."

"Yeah?" Tommy says, Adam's smile infectious. He caught through conversation at dinner the other night that Adam's boyfriend called it quits. None of his business, so he didn't pry, but amicable or not, breaking up sucks. If Adam needs a buddy, Tommy's got that covered. "I can swing that shit in spades, man."

Adam's hand slides down to close around Tommy's. "Let's do it," he says, striding off with Tommy in tow, stumbling and laughing trying to keep up. Tossing a glance back, Adam picks up the pace until it's almost a run. They hit the darkness inside the studio with Tommy nearly crashing into Adam's back as Adam swerves, drops an arm around Monte's shoulders to haul him along in their extended hug thing.

Behind Adam's back, Monte gives Tommy a look, one eyebrow raised.

"Shut up." Adam shoves his sunglasses up into his hair. "You know hugs make everything better."

"I know that look," Monte says. "That's not a hug look. That's a look for something I know you didn't have time to do out there."

"Maybe he's just really easy," Adam says.

"I am," Tommy agrees, "but dude, not like, in the street," and Adam laughs so loudly it echoes off the roof, Adam's arms slung around their necks pulling them in until their heads bump.

"Crazy kids," Monte says, slapping both Adam and Tommy across the belly with one arm before he shrugs free to go talk with one of the studio mixers.

*


The next week, as Tommy's putting some finishing touches on his face for the fucking awful early-morning dress rehearsal, his phone goes off. He ignores the first ring, busily layering on extra mascara, and the second and the third rings, before it hits him that he's gainfully employed now. Cramming the tube into his mouth, he fumbles up his phone and slurs, "Hello?"

"Wow," Adam says, laughing. "I hope you're out of bed. I'm five minutes away."

"What the fuck," Tommy garbles, and spits the mascara tube out into his hand. "What the fuck, you coming to get me?"

Adam chirps, "I am," his happiness chiming across the line almost enough to make up for the fact that it's half past seven in the fucking morning. "Which number are you again?"

"Dude, I still haven't found my pants." Jabbing the applicator into the mascara and screwing it shut, Tommy sticks it back into his mouth to dig through the clothes piled on top of one of his broken amps. He comes up with a pair of dark jeans with a few scuffs that'll pass for fashion instead of age, and a comfy striped shirt with long sleeves. Hauling stuff on as he tromps his way down the hall, he grunts hello-goodbye to Mike standing blearily at the kitchen sink, stuffs the mascara in his pocket and grabs his shoes to lace them up on the steps outside. "'Kay, I'm out here, where are you?"

"Across the street," Adam says, and Tommy looks up, finds him standing beside the open driver's side door of a gleaming black car.

Tommy trots down the stairs, lips pursed in a slow whistle as he checks for traffic before sauntering across the street. Cars aren't his thing by a long shot, but it looks good, matches Adam like an extension of his wardrobe. "This is the one from Idol?"

"Yep," Adam says, sinking back into the seat. "C'mon, I brought coffee."

"Coffee," Tommy moans, shambling around the front of the car. Leaning across the seat, Adam pops the door open for him, and gives it another shove when it bounces almost shut. Tommy manages to catch it the second time around and drops into the seat. The leather moulds like butter around his ass, and he gives an appreciative wriggle. "Nice. The top go down?"

"Mmhm," Adam says, and holds up a Starbucks cup the size of Tommy's head. "Latte work for you?"

"So fucking works for me." Greedily clutching it in both hands, Tommy gulps down three sweet mouthfuls. It's the perfect temperature, and there's just enough bite to it. Whoever Adam's barista was, Tommy wants to marry them.

Eyebrows arched over his sunglasses, Adam says, "It really works for you."

Not moving the cup from his mouth, Tommy nods. "I forgive you," he mumbles around it.

Cranking the ignition and putting the car into gear, Adam asks, "I can't believe I actually understood that jumble. What are you forgiving me for?"

"Fucking ass-crack of dawn rehearsals," Tommy mutters, reluctantly disengaging from his coffee to slump back in the seat. "I thought rock stars were nocturnal."

"Starving artists and mega-millionaires are. Those of us stuck in the middle do what the AMA chair tells them to do."

Tommy slides Adam a sideways glance.

Adam laughs. "What?"

"I don't think nobody tells you what to do," Tommy says, fiddling with his cup before taking another sip. "Like, lotsa people probably try, and you smile and say yeah, yeah, that could work, and then you go do your own damn thing."

Head thrown back, Adam laughs so hard he misses the light. The guy behind them lays on the horn. Adam takes the time to check the oncoming traffic before he swings to the right, completely ignoring the asshole. "I guess I do," he says, thumb stroking the gearshift. "I got pretty sick of people telling me the way I should be a long time ago."

"Like that, right." Tommy lifts up his hand, fingers outstretched to show off his chipped black polish. "Shit looks cool. What are you gonna do about it, not wear it 'cause some jacked-up 'roid jock says it's gay? Gay's not a fucking insult."

Adam whistles quietly under his breath. He takes the next right even slower than the last.

"Sorry," Tommy says. "I didn't mean, like. Shit. It bugs me sometimes. You wanna dump me off at a bus stop?"

"No," Adam says quickly, "no, it's not that at all. I can't remember the last time somebody straight said anything like that to me. Mostly it's a no-go conversation zone."

"People afraid they're gonna stick a foot in their mouth?"

"Pretty much," Adam says, shooting a quick grin across the centre console.

"Dude, I probably end up eating my toes twice a day, but like. You know, right?"

Slowing down for a red, Adam says, "I think so. You really don't care what someone might think of you?"

Thinking about going the brazen, self-confidence route, Tommy says, "I care tons," instead. "But sometimes I do shit just 'cause I know it'll piss somebody off. People who deserve a kick in the ass, though, not like, deliberately giving somebody's ninety-three year old grandma a heart attack."

The light changes, and the car rolls forward a few lengths, turtle-slow. They don't make it to the intersection before it flicks back to red. Tommy taps out a quick rhythm on his half-empty cup. If they don't make it to the theatre soon, he's gonna talk himself out of a job.

When Adam doesn't say anything, Tommy starts gnawing on the inside of his lip. "Or like, because I want to. Like with the kissing thing."

"Now you're worried you upset me," Adam says, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"Hell yeah I am. I didn't, right?"

"No," Adam says, hitting the gas as they finally get a green. "But I think you managed to confuse me."

"Oh." Tommy heaves a relieved sigh. "Awesome. Totally on the same page."

Blowing through another intersection on a yellow, Adam flicks a glance in the rearview like he's expecting Sheriff Buford T. Justice to roll out with sirens blaring. "I don't even know what to do with you, Tommy Joe," he says, shifting in the seat so he's leaning closer. "You're adorable, gorgeous, and I think you might be crazy."

Tommy gestures at his face. "Not bad for like, half-asleep and on no caffeine, right? I figure I gotta throw some sparkle or some shit on it for the live show, though. Tart it up."

"'Cause it's rock 'n' roll?" Adam asks, teeth flashing white in a burst of sunlight as they wind through traffic.

"Fuck yeah!" Tommy crows, fist in the air. "You know that movie? You totally know that movie, man, you are like, so Brian Slade."

Adam's laugh this time around has a darker note to it. He turns his hand palm-up on the gearshift, aiming a slanted look over his sunglasses Tommy's way. "Are you going to be my Curt Wild?"

"Yes, fuck, hell yes." Tommy slaps his hand down on Adam's, the leather of Adam's glove warm and soft against his bare palm. "Let's like, fucking, do it. The way it's gotta be done, right? Rock 'n' roll in your face."

The rest of the way to the theatre, Adam holds Tommy's hand. Tommy watches the scenery crawl by, nursing the dregs of his coffee, imagining the shit they could get up to with a label completely on-board with Adam's style. If the album flies up the charts, there could be a more than a promo tour. He might actually fucking have a chance here to do what he's always wanted to do.

In the parking lot, Adam cuts the engine, but doesn't let go of Tommy's hand. "I was going to wait to tell the band after rehearsal today, something to celebrate after the rough day I know it's gonna be, but you're here, and I'm dying to tell someone."

"Shit," Tommy says. He can't even fucking imagine. His life since Adam walked into it has already been a freaking ride. "Fucking tell me already."

"We got the Alexandria for a video shoot," Adam says, excitement tightening his voice. "Only one day, but we got it."

Tommy eyes pop. He's never been, never had a reason to, but he's seen pictures. The shit that Adam's brain could do to all that old century architecture, grunge it up like its seedy history, an ocean of leather and lace and spikes and glitter, fuck, it's gonna be like Moulin Rouge got double-teamed by a Vegas titty bar and a Berlin leather dungeon.

"Exactly," Adam says, "whatever you're thinking that put that look on your face, yes."

Climbing out, Tommy's hand still tingling with the warmth of Adam's grip, Tommy asks, "When?"

"Sunday, I think. I hope." Adam bumps the door shut with his hip, juggling phone, coffee and a small folder full of papers plucked up from the back seat. "Timing's not great with the AMAs coming up, and it's short notice. But a bunch of my friends are stoked about any video I get to shoot, and I think they'll be willing to help out. I've got this underground dance club concept I really want to work with."

Tommy heads around the back of the car, sliding his glasses back down. "It's all really fucking happening."

"It is," Adam says, his smile so bright the sunglasses aren't really helping. He stops short a few dozen feet from the entrance. "Fuck. It is happening."

There's no one else around to see the pure, shell-shocked glee on Adam's face. Tommy's caught a couple of Adam's really awesome expressions--joy, mischief, that bedroom-sexy thing he does--but this one's got to be Tommy's favourite, hands fucking down. It's naked and real, and Adam looks like a regular guy, not a reality television runner-up, or the next Freddie Mercury, just some random, gorgeous guy that's been told the world is his if he wants it.

Tommy's never been so grateful to be yanked out of his warm, comfortable bed into the blazingly-bright chill of way too early in the morning.

*


"You should totally do it," Tommy says, "just like," and grunts softly, miming yanking on a fistful of his hair. "Like that."

Kicked back against a table sipping from a bottle of water, Adam shakes his head. "Sutan'll kill me if I mess you up."

"You can't mess it up." To demonstrate, Tommy ruffles his hair up like a cockatoo, then smoothes it back into place. "There's so much shit in there it'll go wherever the fuck you wanna put it. And it would be cool."

Adam bites at the corner of his lip. "Don't think I'm not into it. I am. I'd love to haul you around up there."

"Awesome," Tommy says. If they weren't doing so many crowd shots, he'd totally go with the sex-club dom thing Adam's working in the video, drop to his knees and play at Adam's feet. Mauling the pretty boy wrapped up in mesh and chains will fit just as good.

"But," Adam cuts in, "I get carried away pretty easily. It'd probably hurt."

Tommy snorts. "What the fuck ever. Do whatever you want and buy me a beer later if I get some bumps and bruises out of it."

Still doubtful, Adam says, "You're really tiny, though."

Tommy hikes up an eyebrow. "Dude, I thought you'd be all over that."

"This is the problem," Adam grumbles, slumping harder against the table. The chains dangling from his spiked shoulder pad glint in the spotlights. "I could end up flinging you halfway across the stage."

"Long as you pick me up after," Tommy says with a shrug, and cracks open another water.

"You really don't care," Adam says.

"Nope."

"Well," Adam says, straightening up, "okay," and reaches out to grab a rough fistful of Tommy's hair, yanking on it so hard Tommy goes tumbling into him. The sharp sting radiates all down Tommy's spine, into his arms, the water bottle crackling as his hand clenches tight. Boots firmly planted, Adam doesn't budge an inch.

Letting Adam take all his weight--not that Adam seems to notice--Tommy says, "Wow."

Adam winces. "Too much?"

"No," Tommy says, long and drawn out, "no, just like. Yeah." Whatever Adam's wearing, it's thinner than it looks. The heat of Adam's skin pours through it along with the steady thud of his heartbeat. Propping a hand on the table behind them, Tommy looks up, cheek pressed to soft, silken cloth that catches on his late-afternoon stubble.

"Oh," Adam says, then smiles, an slow, sinuous curve of his lips. "You liked it."

"Maybe," Tommy says, pushing up. "Don't let it go to your head. Like, either of 'em."

Adam laughs, flipping back to his regular, every-day grin. "It won't have a chance if you keep shooting me down like that."

"Just helping you keep it real." Leaning against the table beside Adam, Tommy gives him a quick hip-check. "Do that up there, it'll look fucking awesome on camera."

"Right," Adam drawls. "For the camera." Chin raised, mouth taking on an imperious slant, Adam looks down at him, makes sure all Tommy's attention is on him before his hand comes up, fitting finger by finger to Tommy's throat. There's enough time for Tommy to warn Adam off if it's making him twitchy. Adam's big hand pressed against his windpipe isn't exactly what he'd call comfortable, but it definitely isn't uncomfortable, either. Tossing hair back out of his face, he meets Adam's gaze square-on.

"Shit," Adam says, and gives a shaking laugh, his hand dropping. "I think I want to kiss you."

Darting a quick glance around to see who's watching--apparently nobody, but like hell he trusts that--Tommy shrugs again. "You can do that too, if you want."

Looking like he's aiming for light-hearted, when Adam says, "Maybe I will," it comes out rough and honest instead, like he's thinking about it, remembering what it was like to have Tommy pinned to a wall taking whatever he wanted to give. Tommy swallows hard, nerves tingling, a weird, jittery heat pooling in his belly.

"Band!" somebody calls, and Tommy jolts. Instead of breaking the mood, it cranks up another notch as he steps around Adam, turning to walk backwards so he can keep Adam's gaze for a moment longer. Whatever's in Adam's eyes, it's scary and thrilling, and kissing sure as hell isn't the only thing Adam wants to do to him.

Biting his bottom lip through a grin, Tommy flips Adam off with both hands. Adam's laugh is a low, sandpapery noise that rasps beneath Tommy's skin. It sounds like a promise.

*


"Fuck," Tommy says, bottles and brushes clattering to the floor as he grabs at the vanity, "fuck, you're like, too fucking tall, Jesus, get down here."

Adam laughs--always fucking laughing, so fucking pleased, all dark and delighted--and fits his hands to Tommy's waist, lifting him up. Tommy flails and spits another curse and swats at whatever the fuck is jabbing at his back as Adam sets him down on the table. "Is this okay?" Adam asks, stepping between Tommy's knees, a couple fingers on Tommy's chin tilting his face up.

"Fuck, yeah, it's okay, you gonna kiss me?"

"Baby," Adam breathes, bracing a hand on the mirror to get in close. "All you had to do was ask."

"I'm fuckin' asking," Tommy says, scooting to the edge to get his hands tangled in the front of Adam's shirt, not much give with the corset thing he's still wearing from the video shoot. "Fuck, fuck, c'mon."

In general, Tommy's a pretty mellow guy. He gets worked up sometimes, turned on, but he's not a total horndog without a scrap of patience. During the shoot, the director had them play for real. They had a backing track to keep the pace, but they were the ones making the music, Adam's was the voice filling the hall. The urge to move, dance, spilled out from the extras rocking out in front of the stage to the rest of the crew, lighting guys bopping their heads and the caterers joining in, the people from wardrobe and set design, everybody got in on it. It was the closest to a real show Tommy's played in months.

And fuck, had they played. Adam went for it. Totally went for it, grabbing at him, slapping his ass, yanking his head back so far he felt the strain in his throat. The entire atmosphere was charged, prickling at him, lighting him up on the inside like whole universes being born inside his chest.

Mouth inches from Tommy's, hands splayed wide on Tommy's ass, Adam says, "Tell me if there's something you don't want."

Tommy pushes closer, brushes their lips together, but holds off, waiting for Adam to go for it again. "I'm about as no-fucking-strings as you're gonna get. I'm like, fuck, I'm not gonna say no to your tongue in my mouth, 'cause you're really fucking good with it, and-"

"Good," Adam says, one hand pressed possessively to Tommy's jaw, fingernails scratching through the short hair at Tommy's nape as he licks into Tommy's mouth. It's as amazing as Tommy remembers, better without the fuzzy overlay of a good drunk. Adam doesn't waste time trying to feel out what Tommy likes, going right ahead and giving what he likes instead. Five seconds in, Tommy doesn't have a fucking clue what he used to like before Adam got all up in his face.

Adam's other hand slides over Tommy's thigh, pushing up close to his dick and stopping a few inches shy. The drag of blunt nails along his inseam sparks fresh heat in his belly. None of the guys Tommy's ever macked on really had the balls to push at him. They respected his boundaries a lot like Adam's doing now, giving him the option, and a couple of times, Tommy's been tempted. More than tempted. He's never really been in a situation where giving in to that temptation seemed like such an easy possibility--there's no big party they ducked out on, nobody's going to come barging in looking for one of them or demand they get their asses off the couch before somebody jizzes on it.

"Shit," Tommy says, slurred into Adam's mouth, "shit, fuck, fuck, okay."

Adam's hand creeps up another half-inch as he sucks on Tommy's tongue. Tommy's dick jerks, slick wet seep inside his shorts. He grabs onto Adam's wrist and shoves his hand up between his legs, breaking the kiss on a stuttering groan. Adam's hand is so fucking big it covers Tommy's junk completely. Like, the whole fucking works cupped in Adam's palm, heel pressed to the head and fingers tucked over his balls, and Tommy falls back against the mirror, eyes shock-wide staring down at his hand holding Adam's firm.

"God," Adam says, rocking once, slowly, grabbing onto Tommy's knee when it comes up, pushing it up further in a way Tommy's never really been spread out before. "Fuck, are you sure?"

Tommy sucks in a quick breath, licks his lips wet. "Is it gonna do something for you to get me off?"

Groaning, Adam squeezes his eyes shut. Shaking free of Tommy's grip, he flips his hand around, finds the shaft of Tommy's dick in the tight bunch of his pants and frames it between thumb and fingers. "Would it change your mind about letting me touch you if it does?"

"Fuck, no, I just-- Jesus." Knocking more shit out of the way, Tommy shoves up on one elbow, tries to get the leverage to fuck into Adam's grip. "Don't want you to do it if you're not getting something out of it."

Adam stares down at him, breathing hard through his mouth, then says, "Fuck," and claws at the lacings on his glove. Fumbling in to help, Tommy gets the laces undone and tries to haul the glove off over Adam's hand. It gets stuck on the heel, and Adam lifts his arm to tug it the rest of the way off with his teeth. Tommy ends up getting stuck next, gaze fixed on the freckles sprinkled on the back of Adam's hand, how big, long and thick, his fingers look.

"Second thoughts?" Adam prompts, flicking a glance at Tommy's fly.

Tommy's got a smart-ass answer for that one, but somewhere between his brain and his tongue, it goes missing. He digs at his fly, wrenching the zip down and peeling the flaps back, weirdly grateful he didn't go commando at the stylist's suggestion. Nobody was gonna get a close enough look at his pants to see a line, and he's really enjoying the way Adam's watching him reach under the band to pull his dick out. He strokes it once, a couple times more, then lets his hand fall away.

"Gorgeous," Adam says, and Tommy can't help a laugh. Adam's eyebrow wings up. In all that makeup, and the spikes, he's kinda intimidating. "You don't think so?"

"S'a dick," Tommy says, thumbing his shorts down a little more, wondering if maybe Adam wants to play with his balls too.

"But you like it." Adam drags his knuckles up the shaft, fingers fanning out at the head to curl around it good and tight. A weird noise hitches in Tommy's chest. "Or you wouldn't be so happy to show it off."

Watching Adam's hand slide down, Tommy likes it a hell of a lot. He forces air into his lungs, trying to figure out when the fuck the last time it was he got some if this is hitting him so hard. It feels like he's going to nut himself in thirty seconds. "Guess so."

"I think it's pretty," Adam says, wicked slant to his grin as he leans down again, bumps a kiss to Tommy's mouth before his gaze slips back to his hand on Tommy's cock. "And out of the two of us, I'm the one who would know a pretty dick when it's leaking all over my hand."

Tommy hisses, "Shit," like hearing Adam say what they're doing makes it more real than the fact that it's actually fucking happening. Not that he's got any fucking illusions here. He is smack in the middle of getting a handjob from Adam fucking Lambert, and he's got to grab at Adam's wrist, make him hold off a second, because he'd like for this to last more than the time it takes to jack in an amp.

"Oh my god," Adam says, rubbing his thumb over Tommy's slit, making him arch away from the mirror, "look at you. Tell me you're always like this, it's amazing."

It takes Tommy a few to parse through what Adam's saying. He hears the words, and they mostly make sense, but Adam's jacking him nice and slow, grip loose with no spit to slick the way, and Tommy's pretty sure it's the best fucking go anybody's ever had at him. "Dunno," he says through gritted teeth, trying not to watch as Adam wets his fingers. Fuck it, though, just, fuck it, he might not get another shot at this, so he shoves up, gets his mouth on Adam's hand to help.

Adam curls a thumb under Tommy's chin to slide three fingers into his mouth. Tommy startles, not expecting it, but he can work with it, go with the flow. Adam's fingers taste like salt when he sucks, and Adam makes a ragged noise like it's really getting to him, like it's something else entirely Tommy's sucking on.

Heat flares up Tommy's neck, stains his cheeks red. If he ever did get somebody's cock in his mouth, he'd probably be okay with it being Adam's. Adam would be way less of an asshole getting head than Tommy's been for most of his life, and probably way less of one giving it, too. Pulling off, Tommy sucks in a shallow breath and wipes at his mouth with the back of one wrist. He's lucky enough he's getting Adam's hand, the last thing he needs to be thinking about is what Adam's like sucking dick.

"What is it, baby?" Adam asks, wet fingertips trailing down Tommy's dick, back up to rub one by one over his slit. "You thought of something you like, it's all over your face."

This is the most fucking conversation Tommy's ever had during a quickie in his entire life. "Y'really wanna know?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," Adam says, getting his other hand around Tommy's back to support him as he goes for slow and easy again, split-slick this time, perfect. "Whatever it is, if it makes you moan like that, chances are good I'll like it."

"Thought-- Fuck." Tommy's fists clench tight. Sometimes if the sex is really good, he gets squirmy. Usually it's not an issue since whoever he's with is coming along for the ride anyway. But Adam's all the way up there, only has a fucking hand on him for fuck's sake, and Tommy has to grab at the edges of the vanity to keep from falling off it. Afraid he's going to tip something over, have somebody running in here wondering what the fuck is going on, he locks his ankles together behind Adam. "Fuck, Jesus, maybe you should fucking hold me down or something."

"Oh my god," Adam says, "Tommy, oh my fucking god," and gets his mouth all over Tommy's again, quick bite-lick before he shoves inside. The rhythm of his hand slows down to match his tongue fucking into Tommy's mouth, and that's some fucking impressive coordination when Tommy's squirming so much, trying to breathe and trying to think and trying really, really hard to not come right the hell now.

"I want to suck you," Adam says, sending lust knifing hot into Tommy's gut, "but I love your mouth, it's so gorgeous, you've got beautiful lips, I want-"

Crazily, Tommy asks, "Wanna fuck it?" Adam's breath hisses, and Tommy bites the inside of his bottom lip, holding back the weird noise bubbling up in his chest. It's not the first time he's said shit like that, definitely not going to be the last, but it might be the one where he actually fucking means it. There's not much difference in going down on a guy than a girl, anyway. It's all just skin. "Seriously, you wanna? I don't, like, it'll probably be a shitty blow, but if all you wanna do is get off," and his voice sticks, words all jammed up in his throat like he's got Adam's dick down it already.

"Shut up, god, please shut up," Adam says, "because I do, and I fucking will, I'd love to," slurring as he gets in close for more kisses, finally clams them both up. He shoves Tommy's shirt out of the way with his wrist and goes straight for the finish, Tommy's balls drawing up tight and the heat in his belly like the inside of a fucking furnace. Like Adam's thready groan is the oxygen it needs, it bursts out along his nerves in backdraft-pleasure, all the air in his lungs burnt up as he grabs at Adam, holds on with everything he's got. It's over way too fast, sharp-edged sensation scraping through his insides, making his heart jump and stomach quiver. Adam needs to stop jacking him, 'cause it's maybe starting to hurt, but he can't get the words kicking around inside his skull in any sort of order that'll make sense.

"Baby," Adam says, kissing a noise that sounds weirdly like a whine off Tommy's lips, "god, you are so, so good, look at you," and fuck, Tommy's looking, staring straight at Adam's hand shiny-wet with spit and come, the spatters glistening on Tommy's belly.

Trying to push up, Tommy skids even further down the mirror, Adam the only thing keeping him from sliding straight off the dressing table onto the floor. "D'you want," he says, reaching in the vague direction of Adam's dick.

"I'm going to die," Adam says, slippery hand skidding up Tommy's chest, rucking up his shirt. He leaves his hand splayed there while he tugs open his fly, pausing before getting his cock out to push Tommy's shirt up a little more. Slow to figure out exactly what Adam's after, Tommy finally gets with the program long enough to jerk the bunched-up mess of mesh and leather buckles out of the way so Adam's got a clear view of him from throat to balls. He figured what he's got below the belt would been more Adam's thing, but Adam bites his lip with an appreciative noise, curls a hand around Tommy's side so he can thumb at one of Tommy's nipples while he hauls his dick out with the other and starts jerking off.

Tommy's mouth floods wet. There's not a hell of a lot to see with Adam's hand in the way, and his brain's still orgasm-fried, but he gets the general impression of big, thick, and wet. In a daze, he watches Adam's hand move over his dick, precome building at the tip swept down to slick up the shaft so he can go faster, maybe a little harder. Tommy's gaze keeps flicking from Adam's junk to his face and back. He can't figure out if it's hotter looking at what Adam's doing, how he likes to twist his wrist so his palm rubs over the head, or looking up at Adam looking at him. He's so into it he doesn't really notice how close Adam is until Adam's knuckles brush his softened cock, or that Adam's totally playing with his fucking tit until a thumbnail scrapes roughly at his nipple, shocking a noise out of him.

"So fucking pretty," Adam says, right as Tommy asks, "You gonna do it, you gonna come?" and Adam groans, shoulders hunching. He shoots into his cupped hand, the back of it resting against Tommy's dick. The whole crazy, messed-up thing they're doing here finally hits Tommy like a kick to the fucking head as he watches Adam lose it, and the only thing he can pick out of the jumble is he wishes that maybe Adam wanted to come on him, but didn't have the chance to ask if he wanted that too.

Adam stays bent over the table, and Tommy, breathing hard for a handful of seconds. He gropes blindly for the box of tissues sitting perilously close to the edge.

"Wait," Tommy says, struggling halfway up, "lemme see," as he reaches for Adam's hand, uncurling his fingers to get a look at the spunk smeared over his palm. "Fuck, we like. You really fucking blew it."

Somehow, Adam's laugh manages to sound smug and hysterical all at once. He doesn't seem to know what to do with the hand Tommy's holding, or he's thinking about adding to the mess Tommy's already wearing, or maybe he's wondering what it'd look like if he'd shot in Tommy's mouth instead, if Tommy would've swallowed it all, or if it'd be all over Tommy's lips shiny like gloss.

"Shit," Tommy says, and drops back too hard, clips the back of his skull on the mirror. "Ow, fuck."

Adam gives him a sympathetic wince and bypasses the tissues, snagging a wetwipe to clean his hand. Folding it over, like he's decided Tommy wouldn't be cool with jizz-sharing, he scrubs at Tommy's belly.

"Missed a spot," Tommy says, kicking at the back of Adam's shin before he throws the wipe away.

Adam's eyes flash white all around his pupils. "You want me to clean off your dick?"

"You messed it up."

"I think you just want me to grope you again," Adam says.

"Trying to tell me you don't wanna?"

Huffing a laugh, Adam curls a hand gently around Tommy's dick, not so loose like he's afraid he'll break it or something, but careful like he knows it's kinda sensitive still. When he's done, he gives the wipe a toss into the trash. His hand stays curled heavy and warm around Tommy's cock, thumb resting close to the head. One stroke, way too soon for it, makes Tommy shiver. The corner of Adam's mouth tugs up. "I thought maybe you wanted to go again, but you're not ready, are you?"

Tommy scrapes his bottom lip dry with his teeth. Used to seeing smaller, slimmer hands on his junk, his stomach jitters every time he breathes in and Adam's big knuckles brush his belly. He breathes in deeper, longer, Adam's fingers twitching when he scoots up to sit on the edge of the table. "Just gonna," he says, hefting Adam's dick in his palm, measuring the weight of it, the shape and the feel, how it's pretty much the same thing as holding his own but really, really fucking different.

With a soft groan, Adam lists forward, his head bumping Tommy's. "If you don't want a second round, you should probably stop that."

"Maybe later?" Tommy asks, ducking out from under Adam to grin at him. "Like, if you wanted to, I'd be cool with it." Tucking Adam's dick away takes more work than it should, thanks to the tight-ass pants he's wearing and the slight tremor in Tommy's hands. It's not like he's nervous or anything. Sex is sex and cock is like, whatever. If Adam's into it, no big deal. "If you're cool with it, I mean."

"I realise I'm mostly out of the loop on this," Adam says, a few second's hesitation before he follows suit and puts Tommy's dick away for him, "so is this something straight guy friends do that I should know about? I'm really very sure it isn't, and that you're this bizarrely wonderful creature that's stumbled into my life, but, um." There are a couple wet spots on Tommy's shorts, and Adam smoothes his hand over them, leaves his palm resting on Tommy's junk like he's not ready to quit touching yet. He looks like the worst thing he can imagine right now is Tommy bursting his bubble.

"It's like, whatever," Tommy says, and wriggles off the edge of the table onto this feet. Adam makes to step back, give him room, but Tommy's legs aren't completely on board with this standing thing yet. He grabs at Adam's arm to keep close, and keep his ass from making friends with the floor like it did with that table. "You're hot, I'm into it, we both get off. D'you really gotta worry about defining shit?"

Wryly, Adam says, "I think this one comes pre-defined as friends with benefits."

Tommy shrugs. "Okay, so we're that." He pats Adam's chest. "You need a quickie, you let me know."

Adam catches Tommy up in a hug almost as good as the sex. The sex that Tommy just had with his gay boss. That right there is one of the things Tommy's not gonna think about. Adam really seems okay with it, and fuck, Tommy is so okay with it, because that shit was hot, and they're both adults here anyway.

Catching Tommy by the chin, Adam tilts his face up, warns, "I'm going to kiss you again."

"Sure," Tommy says, "whatever, if you want," with Adam's breath warm on his lips, then Adam's mouth is on his soft and sugar-sweet.

*


In the back of the cab after another dress rehearsal for the AMAs, Adam laces his fingers tight with Tommy's. "You're sure you're okay with this?" Adam asks for the fourth time since they left the theatre. "I'm not asking you to play boyfriend. If it gets weird, you can absolutely bow out, I'll make sure you get home. I just-"

"Chill," Tommy says, squeezing Adam's hand. Scooting his butt across the seat, he snuggles in close to Adam's side. Adam's like some giant reverse touchstone--if he's staring to go crazy, physical contact is the quickest, easiest way to calm him down. "He's not going to think you're trying to shove me in his face or some shit like that. You promised you'd go, you don't wanna wing it on your own. Dude, he'll get it."

"Right," Adam says, and drops an arm around Tommy's shoulders, nervously rubbing his anxiety out on Tommy's arm. "He'll get it. God, I hope he gets it. He's an amazing, talented person, I don't want to lose him entirely."

Tommy snorts a laugh. He's known Adam less than a month and has some serious doubts anybody could ever carve him out of their life completely. Get pissed at him, maybe need some time away--Adam can get pretty intense--but not cut off cold-turkey until the end of time. He gives Adam's hand a squeeze and his cheek a quick peck.

Adam's chest expands on a deep breath. "Thanks," he says, and squeezes back.

Lights are blazing bright, the opening already in full swing by the time they pull up. Tommy's by the curb so he climbs out first, holding the door while he waits for Adam. There's a couple by the entrance that don't pay him any attention until Adam's by his side, then they're boring holes into his skull the whole way to the door.

"What is it?" Adam murmurs.

Tommy puts a sliver of space back between them. "If that dude had a knife, he'd bury it in my balls."

Almost inside, Adam glances over Tommy's head and laughs sourly. "Baby, I think he'd rather use it to cut off mine. It's okay, though. He'll spend the night hoping we'll spontaneously combust, but he won't actually throw a match on us."

"You got a fucked up definition of 'okay'," Tommy mumbles. The span between his shoulder blades prickling, he drifts closer to Adam.

Adam's arm immediately goes around him. "I promise, you'll be fine."

"Booze," Tommy says, spying a server with a laden try. "Get me two of those and I'll be fucking awesome."

"Lush," Adam accuses happily. As he moves off to wrangle some bubbly, Tommy finds a seven-foot square photograph to stare at. Surrounded by a decent crowd, Tommy's not worried about somebody's stiletto jammed into the base of his skull.

"Are you a friend of Drake's?" the girl at his elbow asks. She's got bright pink hair streaked with black, some pretty awesome tats, and a surface piercing on her cheek glinting red in the light.

"Innocent bystander," Tommy says. A quick scan of the room doesn't cough up any familiar faces. Not that Tommy's sure he would recognise Adam's friends if the place was packed with them, he's met so many over the last few weeks. "You?"

"Friend of a friend." She nods at the photo in front of them. "He's pretty good."

Tommy gets music. Chords, progressions, pitch, that all makes sense to him. He's not saying this photo doesn't, but he's always figured art is like music--it's got to make you feel something. What you feel doesn't matter, as long as you do.

Adam can come back with that booze any time now.

"Oh," the girl says, one eyebrow slyly quirked. "You're with him."

"Yeah," Tommy sighs, watching as somebody else corrals Adam for a chat. "But like, no. Not like, y'know. It's not a thing."

Taking a sip of her champagne, the girl hums softly.

"Jesus." Tommy rolls his eyes. Mike gave him that exact same look when Adam swung by to pick him up for rehearsal again. They are so not together. "I'm in his band."

"Is that what he's calling it these days," she says.

"I play bass," Tommy tries. "You know, he sings and stuff? And-- Oh hey, thanks."

"You're welcome," Adam says, tucking a chunk of hair behind Tommy's ear once his hand's free. Champagne would've done the trick, but Adam found him beer. Giving a thumbs-up, Tommy chugs half of it. Adam's eyes go wide.

"Wow," the girl says. "That's some denial right there."

"Denial?" Adam echoes, glancing between them. "Do I want to know?"

"Band," Tommy croaks, beer backed up on the lump caught in his throat. "M'in it."

Slowly, Adam says, "You are," and shoots the girl a worried look.

Tommy doesn't have the first fucking clue what to say here. Outing Adam as needing the moral support to get through the night seems like an asshole thing to do. He doesn't give a shit what the girl thinks, but Adam might. Adam's the one with a PR rep and a career to manage.

"Tommy," Adam says, "oh my god, baby, breathe. It's Roxie."

"Fuck," Tommy says, relief weakening his knees. He shoves a hand back through his hair and laughs. "I thought, fuck."

"I can't believe you didn't recognise her," Adam says, resting a hand in the small of Tommy's back in case he needs the support.

"I can," Roxie says. "Last time I saw him, he was drunk off his ass."

"We were celebrating!" Tommy waves his cup vaguely in the air. "And you, shit. You are so fucking cruel."

"You saw that though, right?" she says to Adam. "How he was going to go along with whatever you said."

Adam smiles over the rim of his flute. "I did."

When Roxie looks over, all Tommy's got is a shrug. Adam's stuck in that weird place after a breakup where you're almost done with hating the person who broke your heart, and starting to remember why you loved them in the first place. It's rough. If Adam had asked him to come as a date, he would've. "Could always say I'm your rebound. We tell everybody it was a fun ride, then we get back to making music."

"Oh my god," Adam says, laughing and hauling Tommy in for a sideways hug. "I love you."

"'Cause I'm badass," Tommy says, top of his head nuzzled in under Adam's chin. "And you got me beer, so I'll let you get away with that shit." When Adam doesn't say anything, he looks up. Drake's across the room chatting with a circle of three people, watching them out of the corner of his eye. "Shit."

"Good luck telling him you're not together now," Roxie says.

Adam straightens his spine. "We'll tell him. It's up to him if he wants to believe us or not."

Tommy would almost rather jump off a cliff. Or straight up tell Drake that yeah, they screwed around, but it's no big thing, except then maybe Drake would get it in his head that he's really gotten under Adam's skin. Looking at the guy now, he seems to be stuck in the wanting to make Adam miserable phase. Which maybe he isn't, and Tommy's pulling some overprotective shit, but either way, Tommy's not letting Adam run that gauntlet by himself.

"Alright, rock star motherfucker," Tommy says, leaving his hand loose by his side instead of tucking it into his pocket like he wants, just in case Adam needs it to hold onto. "Ready when you are."

"I'm ready," Adam lies, and goes to face his ex.

*


"Really," Adam's saying, standing at Tommy's door, "thank you so, so much. God. That was." He slumps heavily against Tommy, sending them stumbling back a few steps into the wall beside the old barbecue, and laughs. "Not as bad as I thought it'd be, and so much worse than I'd hoped."

Tommy pets at Adam's spiky hair. "Wasn't that bad," he says. "Got through it without leaving your nuts bobbing in the punch bowl."

Adam giggles. Full-on giggles, drunk off his glittery ass. "You say the best random stuff," he says, groping at the back of Tommy's neck, then the wall, trying to prop himself up. Once he manages, he gazes down with the dopiest look on his face ever. "And you're a sweetheart for letting me make out with you in the bathroom."

"Oh, yeah, big fucking trial that was. Like, no, no," Tommy says, pitching his voice high, "please don't fucking blow my mind with your fucking awesome kisses," then lets it drop back to normal tone. "That would be terrible, right."

"Do I?" Adam asks, fingers curled along Tommy's jaw with his thumb flirting near the corner of his mouth. "You really like it?"

With a sharp laugh, Tommy shoulders Adam off, grabbing onto the front of his shirt to make sure he stays vertical. "Come the fuck on, you don't need me stroking your fucking ego."

"Maybe I want you stroking something else," Adam says, low and dangerous, the shiver it sends rippling under Tommy's skin barely started before Adam's eyes go wide and he slaps a hand over his fucking mouth, muffling another giggle. "Oh shit, I said that. I can't believe I said that."

"Dude, I can." Fishing in one pocket, Tommy hauls out his keys. "You wanna?"

Adam looks a the dark windows. "But, your housemates."

"Out partying," Tommy says, and shrugs. "You don't have to worry, they won't say anything. But if you're not into it, that's cool too."

"We shouldn't," Adam says, crowding Tommy against the door. "We really shouldn't. And I shouldn't tell you this, but I can't stop thinking about what you looked like when you came for me. Or the way you stared at me after, like you felt cheated I didn't let you jerk me off."

Since they're admitting stuff, Tommy says, "I kinda was. Watching was awesome. Really awesome. But you got your hands all over me, and didn't give me the same chance."

"Not all over you," Adam says, and closes his eyes, sucks in a sharp breath. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Tommy says, sliding his arms around Adam's waist under the jacket, tugging up the hem of his shirt to get at bare skin. "Yeah, we could like, I could give that blow a shot."

Hissing another curse, Adam turns partway around and signals the cab to go on without him. It peels away from the curb with an annoyed screech, but Tommy gave the guy a hefty tip and he was only down there waiting for three minutes, tops. Adam says something Tommy doesn't catch, tail end of it garbled by the kiss Adam's already in the middle of laying on him.

Tommy fumbles for the doorknob. "C'mon, we can, shit," he says, tripping over the threshold as he twists the key and the door falls open. Following close, Adam catches him with both hands, turns him around in the dark to press him against the door as it clunks shut. Groping for the lights, Tommy stops short of flicking them on, picturing going to his knees right here in the slivers of light shining in from the street, opening up Adam's jeans and getting his mouth on Adam's dick.

Adam's really, really big dick that Tommy's got cupped through his pants. A groan slips into Tommy's mouth through their kiss, soft and muffled. The angle's weird, and it's really fucking strange to think about how that's another guy's cock Tommy's feeling up, and the thrill's the same as when he's got his hands on a girl even if the shape isn't. "You're drunk enough to let me give this a go, right?" Tommy says, tugging at Adam's zipper. "And it's not gonna matter when it sucks, you're gonna come anyway?"

"Wait," Adam gasps, making a grab for him on his way down and missing by a mile, "wait, oh fuck, please, I have to see you if you're gonna do this. Is that okay?"

Tiny electric sparks zoom along Tommy's nerves. He swallows hard, says, "Yeah, yeah, okay," Adam's fucking crotch right there in front of his face when the lights blaze, the shape of his hard dick clear through denim. Both hands braced on the wall, Adam edges in another half-step, and Tommy doesn't even think about what he's doing before he presses his open mouth to the fly.

"God," Adam says, boots skidding wider on the tile as Tommy struggles to get his belt out of the way, coordination fucked to hell when Adam gives a shallow thrust, rubs against Tommy's face. Tommy can actually fucking smell him, thick, heavy heat, stomach twisting up into knots as he finally gets Adam's pants open, reaches inside.

Tommy stares at Adam's dick in his hand, says, "Holy shit," because holy fucking shit, it looks even bigger down here. Not sure how the hell he's going to manage all that, he shoves Adam's jeans down further instead, gets his balls out so the whole package is on display. And then he's got to take a minute. Make sure his lungs are still working, his heart's still beating, all that jazz.

"You're killing me," Adam says, one of his hands skidding down the wall to rest lightly on the back of Tommy's head. "You don't even fucking know what you look like, I don't know if I want to kiss you or fuck you or get you a drink."

Tommy rasps, "Whiskey might help," flushing hot as he clears his throat. "Dude, do I just like, I don't even fucking know. You'd think I never got head in my life."

"Honestly, baby, right now, you could bite me and I'd probably love it."

"That a suggestion?"

"That's please fucking do something," Adam groans. "Anything."

Figuring he might as well go for it, Tommy gets a hand back on Adam's dick, resettles his fingers around the base a couple times to make sure he's got a good grip before he aims it for his mouth. From there it's pretty easy to stick it in. He scrapes Adam with his teeth maybe once or twice while he's trying to get started, Adam's thigh quivering beneath the hand Tommy's got braced on it, but he figures out how to keep his jaw wide pretty fast, and his tongue firm, and then he sucks.

Adam's hand convulses in his hair. "Oh my fuck."

A quick upwards glance tells Tommy that was a good thing. He figured, but seriously, you never fucking know. He works on getting some movement with his hand before he tries coordinating the suck-stroke-lick deal he likes, really enjoying this whole figuring shit out thing he's got going on here. Adam's not complaining, or bitching him out about taking his time, and sometimes, that's all a guy really needs to feel appreciated. The happy, shocked noises Adam's making don't hurt, either.

Or when Adam starts trash-talking in this dazed, sweet way, "I love your mouth, you're so fucking tiny, I can't believe how fucking tiny you are but you just, god, you can really take it, open up wider for me, Tommy, fuck, please, c'mon, little more for me," and Tommy has to pull off entirely, prop his head against Adam's leg and breathe.

"S'okay," Tommy says, wiping at his mouth with the back of one hand. He's got the taste of Adam's dick in his mouth and he doesn't know what to do with it, or with how much he likes it, wants more of it, but he seriously can't breathe with his mouth stuffed full. It doesn't even make any fucking sense. He's got a fucking nose, for fuck's sake.

But Adam's still talking, whisper-rough, Tommy's name again, and please, please don't stop, if he likes it at all please keep going, Adam'll warn when he's close so Tommy doesn't have to take a shot in the mouth, and Tommy barks a laugh, shakes hair off his face to lick at Adam's balls. Adam's voice cuts out entirely, the noise of Tommy sucking wet kisses onto the side of his dick loud in the sudden silence, and Tommy moans at how filthy it sounds, how fucking crazy it is for him to be on his knees in the front hall sucking Adam off.

"It's good," Tommy mumbles between kisses, rubbing his lips over the head of Adam's cock to hear his voice break, "it's really, really good, I like it, your dick's fucking hot."

Adam's hips jerk, his cock skidding through Tommy's fist to smear his cheek wet. "Sorry," Adam says, strained and thin, and combs his fingers through Tommy's hair, holding it off his face. "I can't, I'm going to come so fast if you tell me stuff like that, I can't even fucking handle it, oh my god."

Edging Adam back so Tommy can jack it a bit, give his jaw a break, Tommy asks, "'Cause yours is the first I got all up on or something?" When Adam's breath hisses in through his teeth, his dick jerks. Fucking throbs in Tommy's hand like a heartbeat, and next thing Tommy knows, he's got it stuffed halfway down his throat, Adam's shout echoing all through the house and his head. Since he doesn't start choking on it, he figures maybe it was his idea, and he gets back to business, seriously excited about the idea of making Adam jizz. Excited in the whole turned on way, and the eager, jittery way, like when he got his hands on the brand new bass he bought for auditioning, or the first time he answered the phone knowing it was Adam calling.

If Adam sticks to his promise to warn before he blows, Tommy misses it. He's so caught up in everything else going on that when Adam fucks in, he goes with it, and keeps going with it, sinking into the rhythm. Then his mouth's filled with spunk, some of it sliding down the back of his throat, and he makes some sort of startled noise that makes Adam try to fuck in harder. Without a chance to think about it, Tommy ends up swallowing, eyes flying wide as he does. Adam's staring straight at him, mouth soft and pleasure-slack, and Tommy pulls off, wipes at his face with one hand and stares at the small smear of come on it.

"I fucking," Tommy says, throat working, "you jizzed in my mouth and I fucking swallowed it."

Adam hits the floor on his knees like somebody cut his strings, hands on Tommy's face and tongue shoved so deep into Tommy's mouth it's like he's chasing after his own come. Tommy burbles something Adam ignores, too busy yanking Tommy's jeans open. "You fucking did," Adam says, like maybe trying to suck Tommy's tongue out of his head was just him checking to make sure, and fists Tommy's dick, "and I'm not sorry, I really not sorry, that was so hot, I felt you do it, baby, saw your face. You're so fucking hard, you got off on it."

Any arguments Tommy might even be thinking about making get blasted straight out of his head when he comes. One minute he's fucking Adam's fist, the next, bam, he's done, shooting all over Adam's hand, his jeans, the fucking floor. "What the fuck," he wheezes.

Unhelpfully, Adam kisses him. Since this seems to be Adam's default mode for dealing with him, and it's fucking fun, Tommy goes with it. At least until his knees start complaining about the hard tile, and he starts shivering because he's sitting on the floor with his fucking cock out covered in jizz.

Tommy pushes at Adam's shoulder. With a disgruntled noise, Adam eases off, and Tommy says, "Gonna clean up," as he stumbles onto his feet, grabbing onto Adam's shoulder for balance. "Bathroom's this way."

"Next time we're waiting until we get to a bed," Adam grumbles, as if it isn't his fault shit went down the second they got inside. Taking the hand Tommy holds out, he clambers up, fixing his pants one-handed so he doesn't have to let go. He holds on all the way down the hall to the bathroom, right up until Tommy runs the taps to wash his hands and scrub at his sticky mouth.

"Not going to brush your teeth?" Adam asks, taking his place in front of the sink.

In the middle of taking off his shirt, using the dampness where he dried his hands on it to wipe off his belly, Tommy counters, "You objecting to my blowjob breath?"

Adam shrugs and rinses soap off the edge of the sink. "Some guys don't really like it," he says, glancing in the mirror. He freezes. "Wow. Oh my god, Tommy, wow."

About to shuck his dirty jeans, Tommy looks down. "What?"

The tap left running, Adam turns around and takes hold of Tommy's wrist, wet hands dripping all over the bathmat. He trails a fingertip along Tommy's Freddy tat, all the way up to touch Regan's face. "How did I miss these?"

Tommy shrugs. "S'cold out, don't wear short sleeves."

"They're amazing," Adam says softly, turning Tommy's arm up, stroking all the dark, thick edges, the stylised spatters of blood. "Really, really amazing."

Goosebumps prickle along Tommy's arms, making Adam grin. "And freaky and weird," Tommy jokes.

"Definitely freaky and weird," Adam says, rubbing briskly at Tommy's arm to dry up the water, warm him up. "But in a really good way. Anything you wear forever on your skin should be for yourself, the way these are."

Tommy doesn't ask how Adam knows they're all for him. Sometimes he doesn't have a clue where the fuck Adam gets his ideas, and other times--most of the time--it's like Adam's plucked them straight out of Tommy's head. Happiness bubbling up through the post-orgasm glow, Tommy rocks up on his toes to give Adam a quick, closed-mouth kiss. "Just gonna grab a pair of shorts," he says, settling down. "I'm way too wired to sleep. You can totally crash in my bed if you want."

"I'm good," Adam says, following Tommy across the hall to his bedroom. Not needing the light, Tommy nabs a pair of underwear and a clean tee off the pile of laundry by his door, hauling on the shirt first. He hesitates a second before dropping his shorts to tug the clean ones on. With Adam watching, straddling the strange line between a guy friend you don't care about seeing your naked ass, and the one you know wouldn't mind getting all up in it, there's a weird thrill buzzing along Tommy's nerves.

"That is so sexy," Adam says, catching him with one arm slung around his waist when he gets close. "You don't even care that I'm watching you."

"Already saw it all," Tommy says.

Adam's hand grazes his ass, a pretty clear hint about what he hasn't seen yet. "Are you going to be cold in that?"

"Blankets on the couch," Tommy says, bumping Adam off with his hip so he can lead the way to the living room. "Wanna watch a movie, or play some games or something?"

"I suck at video games." Hanging back while Tommy shakes out a couple blankets and bundles up in one, Adam settles down on the couch right beside him, one arm along the back so his hand drapes over Tommy's shoulder. "What's up for movies?"

"Think I got Terminator in the player," Tommy says, digging the remote out from under the cushions. The other remote is on the table, Adam grabbing it up to flick the television while Tommy takes care of the DVD. The title screen for M*A*S*H loads up. "Or like, that."

"That works," Adam says, shifting around so Tommy's leaning more on him than on the couch. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm only biding my time until you let me touch you again."

Tommy's grinning as he hits play, cranking the volume down so it's mostly background noise but still loud enough to hear if they want. "Wanna make out like teenagers?"

"Oh god," Adam says, delighted, "can we? When will your housemates be home?"

Tommy says, "Might not be home at all," Adam's hand already sliding underneath his blanket to palm his bare thigh, and he tosses the remote aside, spreads his legs so Adam can keep heading north. With a hand cupping his junk, Adam kisses him, and kisses him, soft to hard, biting at his lip and sucking away the sting. There's a rush of cooler air as Adam pushes the blanket aside, slips his other hand up under Tommy's shirt so he can rub at Tommy's nipples, and it's all really, really good, and happening really fast. When that's as far as it goes, he makes a what the fuck noise, and Adam smiles, kisses him some more.

"Like teenagers," Adam says, nosing in under Tommy's jaw. "I want to see how much you'll squirm."

"A fucking lot," Tommy grunts, but he's not really complaining. The booze or the orgasm or both are finally catching up to him. Lazy touches and lazier kisses totally work.

*


The front door sticking jolts Tommy awake. He blinks into the darkness, recognising the scratch on his bare legs as his couch, the warmth cocooning him as his blanket, and the grumbling lump beneath him as Adam.

"Fucking door," Dave mutters, keys jangling, and Mike says, "Said you were going to plane it down," while Tommy says, "Shit."

A beat of silence, then from Mike, "Tommy?"

"In here," Tommy says, trying to find the energy to crawl off of Adam. Which would be a hell of a lot easier if Adam weren't clinging to him like an octopus, holy fuck. "Fell asleep watching shit."

"You slept, for real?" Dave says, silhouetted in the hallway.

"Yeah, and like, could you not turn on the light?"

Mike says, "Sure," another silhouette appearing at Dave's shoulder. "You okay? You sound trashed."

"He is trashed," Adam says, startling everybody. "Sorry we crashed here. Do you guys want your couch back?"

There's a long, drawn out silence where Dave and Mike silently commune, and Tommy tries to butt in by staring holes through their heads. Like true housemates, they ignore him. "No, it's cool," Dave says, "you can carry on with whatever."

"Sleeping," Tommy stresses. They didn't get around to anything more before Adam conked out on him. If he's got to be fair about it, though, he was pretty close to passing out, too. Adam only went first. He pokes Adam in the ribs. "C'mon, you can take my bed."

Either Adam's completely forgotten his worries about Tommy's housemates spilling the beans on them, or he trusts Tommy's word that they're golden, because he says, "With you in it, right?" Dave wolf-whistles, and Adam laughs. "Oh come on, guys, I'm not going to kick him out of his own bed."

"Not for breakfast, anyway," Dave says, a leer in his voice. There's a thump that's probably Mike's elbow in Dave's gut, and Mike says, "G'night, see you in the morning," as he hustles Dave along.

Both of Adam's arms settle around Tommy's waist, his hands spanning the small of Tommy's back, fingertips just brushing the top of his ass. "They seem nice."

"Yeah," Tommy snorts, "nice. You want to get a cab out now so you don't have to deal with the hazing you're gonna get in the morning?"

Adam's stroking fingers hesitate. "Do you want me to leave?"

Rolling his eyes in the dark where Adam can't see it, Tommy thumps down onto Adam's chest. "S'not what I said."

"You could've been implying."

"I don't like, imply shit," Tommy says. Because he can, he rubs his cheek against Adam's chest. Not the same as cuddling a girl's tits, but Adam's got muscle definition along with some nice, comfortable give. Guy tits will totally do. "I wouldn't kick you outta bed for breakfast, either."

"That was definitely implying something," Adam says, combing back Tommy's hair again. During a blowjob, Tommy totally gets it, but it's dark now, and Tommy's not doing anything except breathing, so he's not so sure what Adam's tying to see. But it still feels good. "C'mon, baby, up. Let's go cuddle in your bed."

"Aw, shit," Tommy says, hiding his face. "They so heard you say that. Now it's gonna be baby-baby-baby all fucking week."

"I could offer to beat them up for you?"

"Dave's a pussy. Take out Mike first, he fights dirty."

"I'll tell my people," Adam says as Tommy climbs off him, then he climbs off the couch. At the bright flare of his phone, he hisses. "Shit, it's almost five." They couldn't have crashed much later than midnight, which means Tommy got close to four hours sleep already, and he feels like he could manage another five. Considering he's been living on catnaps for the last week, it's fucking awesome.

Untangling Tommy's blanket from his legs, Adam takes his hand to lead him to his bedroom, feeling his way through the dark with his feet. "You're kind of a pig," Adam says once they've made it safely to the bed.

"Busy," Tommy says, groping at the tangled sheets, "doin' stuff." He crawls in, shivering at the chill of crisp cotton after flaking out on Adam's warmth. "You comin'?"

Shoving something crinkly out of the way, Adam settles down on his knees beside the bed, chin resting on his folded arms. "I've got interviews at ten. If I go back to bed now, I'll be groggy when I get up again."

"Fuckin' Mike," Tommy mutters.

Adam trails his fingers along Tommy's forearm, tracing ink in the dark. "Do you have trouble sleeping? They seemed surprised."

Tommy says, "Sometimes," scooting closer to the edge of the bed. Adam's face is only a couple inches away. He hopes that crinkling thing Adam pushed aside wasn't a skin mag. "Means I'm destined for the rock star lifestyle. Insomniac guitarist."

"Put that on hold for tonight, okay?" The mattress dips as Adam leans up, guides Tommy into the goodnight kiss he should've gotten out front hours ago. "G'night, baby."

Tommy mumbles, "G'night," and, "G'luck tomorrow," or at least something that sounds close to it. He manages to stay awake long enough to hear the front door close, sticking again so Adam's got to yank it shut. He's pretty sure he falls asleep grinning.

*


Something nails Tommy in the gut, then hits his bed, vibrating. Shoving the pillow off his head, he gropes through the sheets for his phone, slumping back in relief when it stops.

"We got a no-fucking-on-the-couch rule," Dave says from the doorway.

Tommy sticks one hand out from underneath the blankets to flip him off.

"Your girlfriend's been texting you all fucking morning."

"Not m'girlfriend," Tommy slurs, and rolls over with a groan. Opening his eyes sounds like way too much effort to be worth it. "Didn't fuck on the couch."

"I told you he didn't," Mike says. Good ol' Mike, always got Tommy's back. "I think they did it in the hall."

"Oh, fuck you," Tommy says, rolling over to heave upright, his legs tangling in the untucked sheets. "Fuck you both."

Dave and Mike exchange another one of those looks, and Mike says, "So much for not getting involved."

"M'not involved. He had this thing his ex put off, artshow shit, and took me along as his like, wingman. And then we got drunk and watched stuff and passed out," Tommy says, finally getting his legs free. "He's a good guy." More looks. Tommy rolls his eyes. "Seriously. You can fuck off anytime now."

"It's almost noon," Mike points out.

"So?"

Dave says, "We know way too much, man. You've been a fucking corpse all morning. You got laid."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tommy says, and gropes through the mess on his floor for a pair of sweatpants to haul on. "We fucked around. It's not serious. You want a fucking play-by-play or what? 'Cause if you wanna hear all about how I sucked the fuck out of his big cut cock, you lemme know."

"You... are not actually joking," Dave says, and finally shuts his mouth with a snap and goes the fuck away.

"One of you got spunk on his boots," Mike says conversationally.

"Serves the fucker right." Tommy drags both hands back through his hair, scratching at his scalp. "Quit lookin' at me like that."

"How does having sex with him fit into the 'not going to fall in love' plan?"

"Aw, you jealous?" Tommy asks through a forced grin. "C'mere, I'll give you a lick."

"No, really," Mike says, folding his arms as he settles against the doorjamb. "I'd like to know."

Tommy sighs, shoulders drooping. Dave's easy to rile up, but Mike, Mike's fucking glacial. And he's always seen straight through Tommy's bullshit. "Fuck if I know, okay? But it's casual. He's not looking for anything 'cept something pretty to get all up in."

"You're alright with that?"

"So fucking alright with it," Tommy says. "You done grilling me now?"

After a moment's uneasy silence, Mike says, "Yeah, okay. Want a hug?"

"Oh fuck please," Tommy says, zombie shuffling through the mess of crap on his floor to get into Mike's open arms. Mike squeezes the shit out of him, and Tommy goes limp with relief, face buried in the crook of his neck. This talking about feelings crap is tough.

"You'd better not be blowing him in there!" Dave hollers.

*


Backstage after the AMAs while Adam's out giving sound bites, Tommy spends twenty minutes hunched over his phone on YouTube watching Adam try to eat his face on national television. The worst part is, he barely remembers it. Nerves had been killing him the entire time, so close to fucking up his playing, and all he really remembers is thinking oh shit when the roar of blood in his head turned to a hot rush south and his legs almost went out from under him. He watches it happen again, and again, bites back more crazy giggling.

"Britney and Madonna all over again," Monte says for the third time.

"Nobody said shit about them locking lips." Tommy's are still tingling. They hadn't planned on a kiss, but seconds before it happened, Tommy knew it was coming. Adam gets this look when he's about to dive in for some sugar. This dark, predatory, better-hold-onto-your-fucking-balls look.

Monte goes, "Hm," non-committally, and asks, "You all packed?"

"Yeah. Crap's already in the car." Tapping nervously at his knee, he checks the time. "Adam on our flight?"

Stuffing something else into a knapsack, Monte nods. "Probably have to meet us at the airport."

"Oh," Tommy says. "Yeah, 'course."

"Kid, you okay?"

"M'fine, I just." Tommy's leg jiggles. "I really fucking hate flying."

Monte makes another one of those, "Hm," noises.

"Dude, what?"

Instead of an answer, Monte says, "C'mon. Text Adam from the car, tell him we're on our way."

Feeling a little like a child, Tommy gathers up the sweater he left unpacked along with his headphones, and follows Monte out through the warren of halls backstage. He texts Adam along the way, hoping everything's going alright, and spends the ride to the airport trying not to throw up. Once he's through security, it's even worse. He should've gotten drunk.

A familiar chime from his phone frightens the shit out of him. thru security, u at the gate?

Already on his feet, Tommy texts back, y.

"That Adam?" Monte asks, hat tugged down low over his eyes.

"Yeah. He's through security. I'm gonna go meet him."

Monte grunts and settles down deeper into his seat.

As late as it is, there's still a fair-sized crowd. Tommy rounds the corner of a cart selling souvenirs, spotting Adam standing more than a head taller behind a family attempting to wrangle up three small kids. Adam dodges the one they've got on a leash, glitter sparkling at the corners of his eyes when he flashes the mom a smile. He's washed off most of the performance, his hair down and his clothes normal, everyday jeans and a tee, but he looks like a rock star still.

"Hey," Tommy says, and watches his smile flip over to relief.

Adam says, "Tommy," and wraps him up in a hug. Nestled against his chest, Tommy hugs back as hard as he can. Adam doesn't look it, but he's strung tight, thrumming with tension. "ABC cancelled."

"What?" Tommy shoves back to get a look at Adam's face. "Motherfuckers, you serious?"

"Yeah, I," Adam says, and breaks off with a snort. "I thought there would be backlash. I hoped for it, maybe. But for some homophobic corporate mogul to tell me that kissing another man makes me fucking inappropriate-"

Kissing Adam right there in the middle of the airport probably isn't the best idea ever. But Adam's pissed off, and it's making Tommy pissed off, and he knows what people are like, how they judge and hate. All throughout Tommy's life, his gut-reaction to things that tick people off for no good reason is to quietly, and very deliberately, do them.

Adam huffs a surprised noise, resisting for a split-second before he gives in, sinks into it. Compared to most of the kisses they've shared, including the one that's got ABC's panties in a twist, it's sweet, chaste. It makes Adam sigh, and a fraction of the tension holding him stiff melt away.

"I'm fucking exhausted," Adam mumbles into Tommy's hair. Keeping an arm slung around Adam's waist, Tommy leads him to the small cluster of seats they've appropriated. At Monte's light snoring, he makes a rueful face. "I'd love to do that right now."

"Should start boarding in a few," Tommy says, settling down beside Adam as close as the seats will allow. "Sleep all the way to New York if you want. Let everyone on the ground worry about the douchebags."

Once they're on the plane, after he fiddles his phone into airplane mode so he can still listen to music on it but before the steward is done with the pre-flight announcements, Adam conks out. Tommy's got the aisle seat, Adam's got the window. Monte's one row back with the others right behind him sharing a row. There's absolutely no one for Tommy to talk to as the plane starts taxiing for the runway.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath, clutching at the armrests. Flying is safer than driving. A few hundred people choke to death on food every year. He is not going to come out on the other side of this horribly mangled.

"Oh my god, baby," Adam says, grabbing at his hand, his face, "baby, are you okay, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Tommy grits out. "What're you doing awake?"

"You were starting to sound like the victim in one of your freaky horror movies." Tugging his other earbud out, Adam twists sideways in the seat, rubbing at Tommy's hand with both of his. "You didn't tell me you're afraid of flying."

"M'not afraid of flying. I just don't like it." Something in the back clunks. Tommy throttles back a whine.

"Here," Adam says, shoving up the armrest between them to tuck Tommy in close. "Does closing your eyes help?"

"Not really. I can still feel it." Adam, warm and solid against him, that's helping a bit.

Adam starts stroking his wrist beneath his sleeve, tracing over veins, the knobby bone on the side. "When's the last time you flew?"

"When I was five maybe? Long time ago. I don't really like travelling."

"Oh," Adam says, frowning.

"Not like that. I mean, I like seeing places. There are tons of cities I'd love to visit. It's just getting there sucks. Always figured if I got the chance, I'd be touring in a van."

"A bus. Any touring I do is gonna be in a bus," Adam says, shifting Tommy so he's lying half on Adam, Adam's fingers playing with his hair. His voice sounds thicker coming straight up through his chest, almost drowning out the sound of the thrumming engines. "The Idol bus was cramped, but it was way better than I thought it'd be. Kinda cosy."

"Cosy's not what I picture," Tommy says. "Cramped, totally. Dirty, smelly, full of like, guy shit."

"Just because your place stinks like guys doesn't mean my tour bus is going to."

"You like guy-stink," Tommy says, wrangling up Adam's other hand so he's got something made out of flesh and bone to cling to as the engines spike to a high-pitched whine. "It gets you hot."

"Wonder why I like you, since you smell like pink bubblegum all the time."

Tommy laughs, nose wrinkling. "Bubblegum, what the fuck?"

"You do! I don't know if it's your hairspray or what, but you smell as much like a Valley girl as you sound like one."

"Fuck off," Tommy says, and Adam launches into a spiel from Clueless, acting like he's imitating Tommy's voice with likes and totallys and dudes sprinkled all over the place. It doesn't block out the g-force as the plane takes off, but it's a distraction, Adam leaning close to his ear to tell him that like, y'know, his hair is so totally for sure pretty, and like, his eyes are really super gorgeous, y'know, like, incandescent.

"You're a dork," Tommy says, his heart giving up on trying to burst out of his chest and settling for rattling his ribcage instead. "Big fuckin' dork."

"You love me, pretty baby," Adam says, tugging their joined hands over into his lap as he slumps further into the seat. "Wake me up if you start to freak out again."

"M'not gonna freak out," Tommy grumbles, promising right then and there he's gonna let Adam sleep the entire flight away. He pops in his earbuds one-handed, cycles through his playlists to find something mellow, and resolutely closes his eyes.

Tommy makes it all the way to northern Texas, where they hit a patch of turbulence that has the fasten seatbelts sign lighting up. Almost biting through the inside of his cheek, he gently elbows Adam in the side, deciding if that doesn't wake Adam up, he can at least say he tried if Adam gets on his case later.

But Adam's eyes immediately open. Voice sleep-rough, he starts telling Tommy about singing to the stars at Burning Man and swearing they were singing back, though Brad insists it was Neil, and Neil insists it was Brad, and Adam doesn't care what they say, the universe is made of sound.

*


"S'fucking freezing," Tommy says, shivering in the gust of sub-arctic air that spills into the elevator from the lobby. He's bundled up in three shirts and a hoodie, and somehow, winter's icy fingers still manage to find skin. He crowds in close behind Adam.

"You own twenty-seven sweaters," Adam says, tugging off his scarf. "I can't believe you didn't pack any."

"I'm in so many layers I'm already waddling," Tommy grumbles, "if it weren't so fucking-- urk."

Grinning, Adam finishes looping his scarf around Tommy's neck, making sure it's all fluffed up with the ends tucked in. "If we ever make it international, we'll have to buy you a snowsuit."

"What the fuck, snowsuit," Tommy says, yanking his sleeves down over his gloves in preparation for a mad dash through the bitter chill to the waiting van. "Buy me a portable heater."

In the van, Tommy practically crawls from the back seat into Adam's lap in the front to get at the vents blasting heat. "Is there a Starbucks near the studio? It's fuckin' early, man."

"About half a block east," the driver says. "Mr. Lambert needs to be at the studio, but I can drop you off on the way."

"They've probably got coffee there, baby," Adam says, reaching up to grab onto Tommy's arm as they take a sharp corner, squeezing through before the light changes. "It's cold outside."

"Be okay long enough to get some caffeine," Tommy says, and to the driver, "Dump me off close to the door."

The driver takes him right up to the curb, blocking off a taxi trying to pick up a passenger. It's kind of an asshole move, but Tommy appreciates it as he darts through the cold into the coffee shop. The line moves almost too fast for his liking, and a couple minutes later, he's speed-walking down the pavement, ducking around to the back parking lot hoping somebody remembered to tell the burly security dudes he was coming.

"Ratliff?" says one of them in a voice like whiskey-soaked jazz. Tommy nods, and starts hoping security is this guy's day-job. If he can sing at all, it's probably fucking amazing. "Elvis said to look out for a little guy in a punk scarf."

"Get inside, popsicle," says the other guy, opening the gate.

Inside isn't much warmer than outside, at least until he finds somebody to lead him through the zig-zagging hallways to where the rest of the band is setting up for soundcheck. Adam's off to one side reading a prompter, somebody at his elbow scribbling random notes onto a clipboard.

"Thanks," Tommy says to his guide, then winds his way through people and equipment to bump Adam's elbow. He holds up the extra coffee that's been keeping his hand warm. "Latte works, right?"

"Aw, thank you!" Adam says, slinging an arm around Tommy for a sideways hug. He lingers there, blowing on his coffee before taking a sip and nodding when the guy with the clipboard starts talking. Tommy flicks a glance the band. He should be over there setting up. Monte lugged his bass in for him, but it's not Monte's job to tune it.

"I gotta," Tommy says, jerking his chin.

"Yeah," Adam says absently, then seems to catch on. "Oh, right." One more hug, a kiss pressed to the side of Tommy's head, and he lets go. "Be over in a minute."

As Tommy gets busy unpacking and jacking in, and digging through his stuff trying to find his monitor, he catches a couple of the glances Adam slings his way, and more than a few of the ones Monte slings Adam. Usually they've got that silent communication thing down pat, but they're both off today, Monte one second too late to catch Adam, or Adam one second too fast. Finally, Monte switches to catching Tommy's eye instead.

Tommy gets snagged on the second try. From behind his coffee, he asks, "What?"

"Nothing," Monte says, then, "you brought him coffee."

Tommy shrugs. "He lent me his scarf." And might have to pry it from Tommy's cold, dead fingers if he ever wants it back. Not only is it warm, it smells like Adam, spicy and mellow all at once.

"I'm not saying it's any of my business," Monte says.

"...okay."

"Talking's good," Monte goes on. "Means nobody's got any ideas they shouldn't."

"Are you like, seriously," Tommy says. "You need a banjo and a shotgun if you're gonna give me this talk."

"Not a talk," Monte says, casually kicking his pedals into place. "If we were having one, it'd be because somebody thought we needed to, and we don't."

"Gonna be honest here, you're confusing the fuck outta me."

"Don't confuse the bass player, Monte," Adam says, coffee in one hand, mic in the other. "You guys ready?"

"Oh hell yeah," Tommy says. He loves Monte. Monte is fucking kickass. But anything to shut him up right now, holy shit.

Adam says, "Awesome, let's do it," and the backing track cuts in, thankfully killing any chance Monte's got to say something else Tommy really doesn't need to hear.

Soundcheck leads straight into wardrobe and makeup for Tommy, and he ends up spending twenty minutes longer than he really needs in the chair because the girl doing his face is funny and cute and keeps wanting to put more and more eyeshadow on him. He likes the way it looks, so he lets her do what she wants. Nobody's going to be paying that much attention on him during the taping, but whatever. It's fun, and he's got this whole appearance thing to keep up now since he's Adam Lambert's bassist.

When Adam gets a load of it, and the clingy, vaguely see-through shirt Tommy nabbed for the show, his mouth goes slack, lips parted.

"C'mon, Lambert," Tommy teases, getting a total kick out of the way Adam's gaze slides down, climbs back up as he straps on his bass, "not the first time you've seen me all dolled up."

"It never gets old, is the thing." Impatiently, Adam waits for the guy hovering around him with the makeup brush to finish touching up his face. The second the guy backs off, probably to find more goop to cover up Adam's freckles, Adam heads over to rub Tommy's shirt between a couple fingers. "This looks really, really good on you."

"Kinda drafty," Tommy says, pointing out the places where the weave is so thin it's barely even there. But it looks cool, and he's only got to wear it for a bit.

Adam's hand pushes up Tommy's forearm, like he's looking for the edges of Tommy's ink to trace. "Thank you again for the coffee."

From the look on Adam's face, the timbre of his voice, coffee's not what Adam's got on his mind. With so many people milling around them, the familiar electric jitter Tommy gets in his belly when Adam's this close is pumped up a few thousand watts, making his heartbeat stutter. "Thanks for the, um, the scarf."

"I had an ulterior motive in lending it to you," Adam says, moving in closer to speak softly in Tommy's ear, his fingers brushing the shell like he's tucking the wire to Tommy's monitor more firmly behind it, but what he's really up to is stroking along Tommy's piercings, making them clink. "Now it smells like bubblegum."

Tommy laughs. "I don't smell like no pink bubblegum, c'mon."

"Sometimes you do," Adam says. His hand rests loosely on the back of Tommy's neck. "Sometimes you smell even better, warm and sexy and hard."

Tommy's throat sticks when he swallows. "Shit."

"Is it okay if I tell you that? And that I wish you were staying with me instead of going home. Your first time in New York, I should take you out, let you see the city." Adam's hand slides down, gooseflesh prickling in its wake, to settle in the crook of Tommy's elbow a gentler mirror of the death grip Tommy's got on his arm. "I never did get that chance to suck you off the other night, even though you said I could."

Tommy doesn't really remember Adam asking, but if he had, Tommy's answer would've been oh fuck and yes please. There are way, way too many people here to risk talking dirty back at him, and that guy with the makeup brush is probably honing in on Adam by radar right this very second, but Adam's gotta know how much Tommy is so a-oh-fucking-kay with the idea. If he were any more okay with it, he'd be transcendent.

"I want to know what you like," Adam goes on, apparently not one bit worried about somebody overhearing. "If you'll squirm as much with my mouth on you as you did with my hands. If you'll let me kiss you anywhere I want."

Staring at the bank of shuttered windows, imagining the crowd just the other side of it, Tommy says, "You gotta stop. Can't play if you got me all messed up."

"Think about it." Pulling back, Adam fixes a lock of Tommy's hair, smoothing black through blond. "If you'd want that. Because I'll give it to you if you do."

Voice stuck, Tommy can only nod.

And think about it. A lot.

*


Thirty seconds after the tweet goes out, Tommy's phone starts ringing. He tumbles backwards over the arm of the couch to land in a careless, sprawling heap on the cushions as he thumbs connect. "You're crazy," Adam says, his smile radiating warm across the line. "They're going to run with that for weeks."

"Babyboy," Tommy singsongs, making Adam burst into a laugh, "s'what you get for callin' me glitterbaby."

"But you are!"

"Yeah? Well, so're you."

"A glitterbaby?"

"My baby," Tommy says, not even thinking.

But Adam only laughs again, warm and pleased, as Tommy's gut clenches. There's a soft rustle from the other end, then the clink of a glass. "I really wish you'd been able to stay out here with me. I love New York, but it's not as much fun without friends around."

"You're coming back soon, right?"

"Aw, you miss me too."

"Pft," Tommy says, scooting closer to the heap of blankets on the other end of the couch. "Just makin' sure you're not gonna go all jetset diva on our asses, fly off to Dubai or something instead of coming home to do that Vevo thing. I got bills to pay."

"I'm not a diva," Adam protests, in that way where he means that maybe, sometimes, he might be, but not on purpose. "If I were a diva, I'd fire you for failing to pine in my absence."

"Dude, I'm not a tree."

"Sapling."

Tommy can't keep the stupid grin off his face as he says, "Fuck you," and wriggles around to get comfy. Sounds like this is gonna be a long, rambling chat, not one of Adam's quick check-ins.

Out of the blue, Adam asks, "Are you thinking about it?" and Tommy sucks in air so fast he chokes.

This time when Adam laughs, it's that crazy, bedroom-sexy sound, whispery like skin on skin under sheets. "About me kissing you, Tommy Joe."

"Like, I wasn't. I was just kinda thinking 'hey, it's Adam, cool', and now it's like--" Tommy doesn't know what the fuck it's like. Sure, he's thought about Adam getting all up in his business. From the day Tommy learned which way Adam swung, he wondered if he'd be Adam's type, and that when they first met, if Adam did the whole picturing him naked thing he does when he runs into a girl so cute and sweet and sexy he can't help imagining what it'd be like to touch her.

"Tell me," Adam says.

Mike's out. Dave's at his girlfriend's. There's nobody to hear him except Adam. His face is flaming like he's standing on a podium in front of a crowd of ten thousand. "Shit," he says, with a shaky laugh, "tell you like, where I'm thinking you maybe wanna kiss me?"

Adam makes a low, agreeable noise.

"I know where I want you to kiss me." Tommy can't believe this is a conversation he's in the middle of having. With his fucking boss, Jesus.

"Tell me," Adam repeats. "Please, baby."

Tommy bites his lip. If he were chatting up his girl, he'd go soft to start, talk about how much he loves kissing her mouth, when she nips at his neck. But Adam's a guy, and not really even his guy, and he gets the feeling Adam knows exactly what he's thinking right now anyway, like Adam's got a secret entrance to the base of Tommy's brain. "Thinking 'bout you kissing my dick like you said you were gonna," he says, his hand skidding up the inside of his thigh barely stopping shy of palming his junk. "And if you'd like, 'cause I like having 'em played with and all, if you'd suck on my nuts a little for me, before you really got down to it."

Mostly a groan, Adam says, "Before I get down to what?"

The hot, hectic jitter of Tommy's insides is dizzying. He squeezes his eyes shut. "You really wanna get your mouth on my ass like that?"

"God, I do," Adam says, and sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth. "So, so bad. You're gorgeous, I love your dick, I bet the rest of you is just as pretty. I want to see you."

Any second now, Tommy's going to remember how his lungs work. Seriously, any second.

"Is it too much?" Adam asks, and all Tommy can manage is a squeak. He's played with his hole before, curious enough to try some stuff out, but nothing involving tongues, and not much more than a fingertip. Flying solo, he tends to get way too caught up in his dick to really give it a shot, and when he's buried in sweet, slick heat, his ass his seriously the last thing on his mind. "Baby?"

"Yeah, no," Tommy says, wincing at how weird he sounds. "I mean, not too much, no. S'not my usual thing, y'know?"

A long second of silence, then, "Do you like it?"

"I don't know?" There's a pause so long Tommy pulls the phone away from his ear to make sure the call's still connected. "Adam?"

"Sorry," Adam immediately says, "I just," and he pauses again, breathes out slowly, laughs. "I'm so turned on right now, and it's really hard not to ask you to try it for me."

Tommy blurts, "Like, try it right the fuck now try it?"

"Yes," Adam says, and laughs again in a way that suggests he's dead fucking serious.

Tommy sits up, looking around. He doesn't have a fucking clue what the hell he's looking for. Possibly a waver in the nice solid fabric of his reality. "While you're on the phone?"

"That would be amazing, baby. I'd love it."

"Jesus," Tommy says, groping for the back of the couch as he stands. "I can't even like, fucking seriously. You wanna listen."

"I heard you move," Adam says. "Are you alone? Please tell me that's the sound of you closing your bedroom door."

"Whatever the fuck you're smoking, you gotta bring some back for me." Not that Tommy needs it, since Adam nailed it--he totally shut the door, and now he's standing three feet from his bed with a hand on his fly. "You don't have me on speaker or anything, do you?" As weird as this is, speaker would be weirder.

"No," Adam says. "Where are you?"

Jamming the phone between his ear and shoulder, Tommy unzips. "Bedroom. Taking off my clothes, 'cause apparently I'm fucking crazy."

Adam makes a noise Tommy hasn't ever heard before, rough and eager, kinda pained like it's killing him to be thousands of miles away from the shit about to go down in here. Bizarrely, it might've been easier to do this with Adam in the room. Less like a show that way.

As Tommy settles down on the bed, sheets tugged all the way down and shirt flung aside, he says, "So, um. How d'you wanna do this?" Figuring it'll probably get messy pretty soon, he nabs his crumpled towel off the bedpost and spreads it over the mattress, not really caring the towel's damp still from his shower a few hours ago.

"Play with your cock first," Adam says. "It'll be more fun if you're hard."

Tommy glances down at the thick curve of his dick resting against his belly. "Yeah, uh."

"Baby, you don't have to do this if you don't want to." There's another rustle across the airwaves, and Tommy's hit so hard with the image of Adam sprawled out on a hotel bed, jeans shoved down to his knees and dick in hand, that his chest goes tight. "It's so hot imagining you doing this for me, but I get carried away, and--"

"No," Tommy cuts in, "I mean, like, already there. You still want me to jack it?"

Adam's groan is loud in Tommy's ear. "From talking about it?"

Wondering what the fuck's wrong with him, it's not like Adam's watching, or that he'd have an issue if Adam were, Tommy palms his junk. His hips rock up off the bed, and he quickly grabs onto his dick, gives it a couple strokes avoiding the head. "I guess, yeah," he says, voice hitching, "I'm like, I'm really fucking hard."

And his cock fucking jerks, precome beading thickly at the tip, when Adam says, "Put a hand between your legs, baby. Rub around your hole for me."

Not sure if Adam means dry or not, Tommy rolls over and goes for the lube tucked between his bed and the nightstand. Staying half on his belly, he drags one knee up, the phone creaking in his grip as he reaches back to smooth it along his crack. Even if he'd done this a million times before, with Adam's breathing heavy in his ear, he's sure it'd feel like the first.

Rubbing his hole wet doesn't feel like much. Not good, not bad, so he rubs his dick against the scratchy cotton towel. That spikes the sensation up to something more like a good time he'd be maybe interested in having. Feeling pretty loose, he goes ahead with pushing in.

"Fuck," Adam says. "You did it already, didn't you?"

Chalking how Adam knows up to half a lifetime of fucking pretty boys, Tommy says, "Yeah," sliding the tip of his finger free, rubbing around his rim a bit more before going back in, waiting for it to get really good.

"Baby," Adam says, "baby, c'mon, put me on speaker. Use both hands."

Reluctant, Tommy clutches tighter at the phone. The vague burn when he pushes in isn't so great, but the slow slide back out sends ticklish relief skittering all along his nerves. Getting more of his fingers wet, he goes in deeper, Adam's breath rattling in his ear, the echo of a noise like Adam's casually jacking along with him. "Shit," Tommy says, shivering, really doing it now, fucking himself on his fingers. He drops the phone onto the pillow, clumsily thumbing speaker, and reaches down to fist his dick. "Oh, shit. It's like, fuck. I fucking like it."

"Enough to come?" Adam swallows thickly, so close and loud enough that it feels like he's right there, watching. "Tell me what you're doing. Please, I need to know."

Tommy licks his lip, scrapes it dry. "Just, kinda," and he breaks off with a shaky laugh. "Pretty much fucking 'em. Feels good when they, y'know, when they slide out?"

"God," Adam breathes. "Go deeper. Keep your fingers curled towards you dick, you're going to love it."

"Hang on," Tommy says, flopping over onto his back, knees draw up, feet planted. He's got his balls cupped in one hand, lifting them out of the way, and he's about to stuff his fingers back in his ass when he gets a good look at himself. He barks a laugh. "Fuck, I look like such a fucking slut right now, this is crazy."

"I wish I could see," Adam says, giving Tommy the split-second urge to snap a picture. But that is crazy, really fucking certifiable. He gets back to it instead, having to breathe out slow when he maybe pushes in too hard. "Easy, nice and slow and easy," Adam tells him. "I want to hear when you find it."

Knowing it's his prostate he's looking for, Tommy's got his doubts he'll be able to reach it on his own. He is so fucking game to try, though. The thick, full-up feeling he gets when he pushes in deeper than before makes his stomach clench, and he keeps going, stroking gently, trying not think about how fucked up it is to feel his own insides squeezing soft, slick and hot around his fingers.

"You ever try fucking me, you're gonna bust a fucking nut," Tommy says, forcing the words out steady as Adam moans for him. "'Cause I am like, really fucking tight, and I bet I'd feel really fucking good on your dick, all soft and-- fuck. Fuckright fucking there, holy shit.

Adam says, "Baby, god, I want to, I want to so bad, keep going," and Tommy's got no fucking problem doing that, not at all. He's barely even jerking off anymore, holding his dick firm, thumbing at the head every now and then when he thinks about it but his attention's on his ass, the strange pressure way down inside. It doesn't feel anything like the frantic need to fuck that gets him when he's playing with his cock, harsher than the sweet ache when he tugs on his balls, but so fucking good.

"Jesus," Tommy says, staring blindly at the ceiling, both hands working, slick-sounding and obscene, and Adam says, "Yes, please, c'mon, let me hear you, oh my god, I wish I were doing this to you, I want to see your face, I want to watch you come," and Tommy squeezes his eyes shut again, arched up off the bed with his fingers shoved so hard up his ass he's almost strangling his fucking dick as he shoots. By the time he drops back down, he's ready to pass out.

"Tell me it was good," Adam says, and fuck, he sounds like he's about to go off.

Sluggishly wiping his hand off on the towel, Tommy nudges the phone closer, curling around it like he could touch Adam through the miles separating them. His voice doesn't sound like his own when he says, "Fucking weird. It was really fucking weird, and so hot, and I like," he breaks off with another disbelieving laugh at the noises Adam's making, like hearing all about Tommy fooling around is really fucking doing it for him, "think I got myself in the face I came so hard. And maybe next time I want you to do it for me, make it last longer, show me what it'd be like if you fucked me--" and then Adam's coming, Tommy can fucking hear it, Tommy totally trash-talked him off.

When Adam's breathing evens out, Tommy says, "Wow."

Adam gives a self-satisfied chuckle. "That was amazing. You're incredible. I can't believe that was your first time."

"I date girls," Tommy reminds him. "They're not so interested in my ass, y'know."

"Does it bother you that I am?"

"Fuck no." Now that they're not both caught up in the moment, Tommy's reconsidering the whole bit about Adam's fucking giant cock anywhere near his ass, though. Fingers are one thing. Fingers are generally slim, and a hell of a lot more dexterous than dick. He's probably more into having his ass played with than getting it fucked. "I think maybe you're kinda delusional, 'cause there ain't much of an ass there, but if you wanna rub one out over it, sure."

"I'm going to pretend you meant that literally."

Less than five minutes ago, Tommy had one of the best orgasms he's had in weeks. This is generally the point where he flakes out, not where he considers hanging around for another go. "You wanna come on my ass?"

Adam lets out a strangled groan. "Tommy--"

"Fuck yeah, you do," Tommy says. He's so got Adam's number now. "You wanna mess me up. Bet you would've fucking loved it if you got me in the face when I blew you."

"Oh my fuck," Adam says, muffled. "You're going to kill me."

Adam's so fucking honest and open about stuff like this, acting like he thinks Tommy is the fucking sexiest piece of ass ever. It feels like Tommy can say anything, want anything, and Adam'll be right there with him loving every second. It makes Tommy want to do crazy, crazy shit. Way crazier than fingering himself while Adam's on the phone listening. "When d'you get back?" Tommy asks.

"Not soon enough. I get in late Sunday night."

That really isn't soon enough. Tommy slumps face-first into his pillow and sighs. It's getting kinda chilly naked on top of the covers. And he should clean up before Mike wanders home. "'Kay. Text me when you land so I'm not stuck wondering if you're in a pile of smoking scrap metal or something."

"You've got to get used to flying if you want me to take you around the world, you know."

"As long as I got somebody's hand to hold, I'm good." Heaving a sigh, Tommy sits up. There's come spattered on his chest, shiny-wet beside his nipple. He swipes at it, smiling ruefully. Almost reached his face, anyway. "G'night, babyboy."

Adam's laugh is warm, happy. It burrows ticklishly under Tommy's skin. "Sleep good, Tommy Joe."

When Tommy comes back from the bathroom a few minutes later, there's a text waiting from Adam, asking if he likes kielbasa. Imagining Adam's laughter, Tommy texts, u know me, put anything in my mouth.

lol ;) comes back, almost as good.

*


"Sorry," Adam says, wriggling by his best bud Danielle in the dark, big drunken grin plastered on his face as she slaps his hip. He slings an arm around Tommy, nuzzles in close. "Hi, baby."

Up on stage, Lady Gaga's having some sort of powwow with the crowd between songs. She looks fucking awesome up there. They're a lot alike, her and Adam, when they perform. Owning the stage, the audience, getting inside everybody's heads. She even does that freaky thing where it feels like she's looking straight at you from yards and yards away.

As Gaga heads back to front and centre, Adam says, "Dance with me," tugging Tommy out in front of him.

Tommy keeps a tight grip on his beer. "Don't dance."

"Yes you do. I saw you." Hands slide down to frame Tommy's hips. Adam's mouth brushes his jaw, tingly-shivery pleasure skittering down Tommy's spine. Wondering what the fuck Adam's done with his drink, Tommy sees the half-empty cup caught between his thigh and a few of Adam's fingers. "Shaking your tiny little ass."

The familiar, thudding backbeat of Lovegame kicks in, Adam starts whisper-singing in his ear, and Tommy is fucking gone from the second Adam's said, "I wanna kiss you." It takes him until Adam's singing about wanting to touch him for him to twist around, crashing into Adam's mouth with Adam already on the way down. Adam tastes like booze and fruit and waxy lipgloss, everything about him, from his kiss to his hands guiding Tommy to the rhythm, soft and giving.

Except for his fucking cock in the crack of Tommy's ass.

"Shit," Tommy says, falling out of the kiss. Gaga keeps on singing, the audience going wild, screaming along with her, as Adam hooks an arm around Tommy's waist, pinning him. Danielle's moved in close to Adam's other side, another guy from Adam's platoon of friends to Tommy's, like they're both in on Adam's plan, using the dark and the surging crowd to hide what Adam's doing. Tommy's kinda into it, but kinda not, too many people around, and then Adam's hand skidding over his belly dives down to squeeze his junk.

Adam's saying something, maybe singing again, who the fuck knows, they're fucking dry-humping in the middle of a Gaga concert. This is not the sort of shit Tommy gets up to. He can't figure out if Adam grinding against his ass is weird or good or both, and then Adam shifts, hauls Tommy back by the hand splayed over his dick, and Tommy can actually fucking feel the shape of Adam's through their clothes, how hard he is, how bad he wants it. And that is so motherfucking hot Tommy's maybe gonna die.

Giving in, Tommy slaps his free hand over Adam's and humps into Adam's palm along to the beat, quick and fast, until he figures out how to rock back into Adam too, smooth roll of his hips like he's got something to ride.

"God," Adam says, and, "Fuck, Tommy," putting them back on Gaga's rhythm like he's afraid one of them is going to cream it. His mouth brushes Tommy's cheek, almost a kiss before he leans back, and Tommy glances up, sees Adam looking down at where they're grinding against one another, eyes dark and heavy like he's imagining Tommy naked, spread out and wet, opened up on the shove of his dick. Tommy's drunk enough he's not thinking about the logistics of that anymore, or exactly what it'd feel like to have somebody else inside him; all he's got room for in his head is the way Adam looks right now, dazed and helpless one second, viciously turned on the next. His hand tangles in Tommy's hair, yanking Tommy's head back, and Tommy gets hit so hard with the image of Adam fucking him like this, just like this, halfway up on his toes and pinned, no choice but to take it, that he shudders, seriously almost drops his beer.

Lips pressed close to Tommy's ear again, Adam says, "I'd be so amazing for you. Eat you out and suck you, do it so sweet and slow you'd think you were gonna die before you got to come. I'd make you come so hard, baby. So fucking hard."

"Gonna do that right fucking now," Tommy mutters. Inside his shorts is sticky-wet, clinging to his cockhead. It's so fucked up and so fucking good. If he unzipped, maybe Adam would even get a hand in.

Before he gets a chance, the song ends. Adam collapses into Tommy's seat without warning and Tommy goes tumbling in after him, beer sloshing over his hand. He lands in a heavy, sideways sprawl, choking on laughter, then on Adam's tongue. Right as he's getting into it, Adam's fingers stroking over his chest find his nipple, circle around it in a way that's kinda hot, and then Adam fucking tweaks it, making him squeak into Adam's mouth.

"Oh my god," Adam says, trying to keep kissing him, rubbing at his stinging nipple with a thumb, "make that noise again, I love it," and the fucker fucking pinches, the shock of it arrowing through Tommy's chest straight down into his belly. Tommy squirms away, cracking up like a drunken idiot, and Adam bites his neck. Really fucking clamps on, all teeth and tongue, freezing Tommy in place.

And then Adam's pushing him to his feet again, already more than halfway through Alejandro, dancing while Monster blasts, and by the time Gaga starts singing about being so happy she could die, all Tommy can think is, Fuck, lady, me too.

*


Tommy stumbles out of the limo on Adam's heels. "Oh hey," Adam says, swooping around to catch him, smiling the same great big dopey smile that Tommy's wearing. He gets one of Tommy's arms dragged across his shoulders, one of his tight around Tommy's waist. "You are so wasted."

"Kept givin' me drinks," Tommy says. Next to Adam's boots, even wearing Creepers, Tommy's feet look way smaller than the perfectly respectable size nine-and-a-half he is. He leans harder into Adam, as if lugging his wasted ass around is payback for daring be tall. "Fuckin' giant, carry me."

The last thing Tommy's expecting is Adam to say, "Okay," and scoop him up, arm behind his knees. Considering how much Adam drank, he probably should've. Adam giggles and nuzzles at his cheek. "You squeaked again."

"Did fucking not." They're heading for the stairs. The cramped, narrow stairs, with the ninety-degree turn that Tommy sometimes has trouble navigating on his best days. "Jesus, Jesus, put me down."

"No," Adam says, jostling Tommy around as he resettles his grip. "Got you now, never letting you go."

"Dude, if you're trying to kidnap me, you gotta turn around and stuff me back in the limo."

Adam sets a foot to the stairs. "Hang on, baby."

"Oh Jesus," Tommy says, squeezing his eyes shut, both of his arms flying around Adam's neck. The warm smell of Adam's cologne and the clean sweat dampening the back of Adam's shirt fills his nose. Thanks to the booze, he forgets completely about the insanity that is Adam carrying him up to his door and focuses on the shift of Adam's muscles, the steady rhythm of Adam's breath, the sweaty hollow of Adam's throat. Hauling himself in closer, Tommy kisses the side of Adam's neck, soft and kinda weirdly chaste.

Like a total freak.

But Adam's smiling as he sets Tommy down in front of the door. "Home before the coach turns into a pumpkin."

Tommy strains to hear the sounds of people moving around inside the apartment. "Is Prince Charming comin' in or what?"

"I'd love to," Adam says, making no move to follow through. He catches Tommy's face between his hands instead, taking the time to really look at him, like he's trying to memorise the slant of Tommy's forehead or the slight upwards turn at the end of his nose, or the way Tommy's lips are already parted, licked damp, waiting. The kiss Adam gives him is sweet, gentle, like this is some Hollywood romance, Tommy the girl of his dreams he's trying so desperately to win over. Like in a lot of those movies, Adam had him at hello.

With one last little kiss, Adam lets go to head back down the stairs. "Don't forget we've got rehearsals for New Year's!" he calls from the sidewalk.

Dumbstruck, Tommy watches Adam climb in, the door slam shut, and the limo pull away from the curb. He fumbles for the knob and stumbles inside. The living room is dark, the television on but muted, Dave and Mike sprawled out on the couch in its dim glow. "Hey, Cinderella," Dave says.

"I hate you both," Tommy groans.

*


"This is fucking crazy," Tommy says, raiding Adam's minibar. New Year's Eve and he's in a fucking top-floor hotel suite, dawn creeping up on the horizon. He's buzzed out of his fucking gourd, high on music, this rock star life, on Adam pressed half-naked to his back, the hand Adam's got stroking up the inside of his thigh. He's down to his shorts and a tee. Adam's lost his shirt but still has on his crazy-ass sparkly pants. The weave is rough, scratchy against bare skin as Tommy straightens up. "Found more champagne," he says, hefting the bottle.

"Open it," Adam says, his hands wandering higher, sneaking under Tommy's shirt. "I want to lick it off you."

Tommy tears clumsily at the shiny foil. Adam cups his junk through his shorts, making his grip on the cork slip. "Dude, you gotta give me a second here, can't-- oh fuck." Giving up on getting into the booze, Tommy sags back into Adam. Adam's fingers found the slit in his shorts, and now they're on his bare cock, stroking his balls. "Fuck, take it out."

Busily mouthing kisses along Tommy's neck, Adam says, "No. I want to play with you. Open the bottle."

"You are fucking playin' with me." All fucking night, from the stage to the after party, the after-after party, on the ride from Paramount to their hotel, Adam's been all over him. Since even before that, the shit they got up to at Gaga's concert playing on endless loop in Tommy's brain. They've had time for more than the few handjobs they've traded over the last couple weeks, but Adam hasn't pushed, and Tommy's been scared shitless to try. Knowing Adam wants to fuck him is one thing. Riding his fingers is another. Taking that monster cock up his ass is a whole other universe of seriously fucking insane. That he'd probably have an amazing time barely registers through the tight clench of his chest when he thinks about it.

Only a few spatters of champagne hit the carpet when Tommy finally wrenches the cork free. He grabs for one of the glasses strewn throughout the room, not caring that it's a tumbler and Adam's probably going to have a heart attack over him pouring it full of champagne.

"Take this off," Adam says, tugging Tommy's shirt up. Fumbling the bottle onto the table, Tommy lifts his arms, shivering in the draft of cool air that follows. Adam's hands skim lightly down, ticklish near his armpits and even worse skimming down his sides, hooking in the band of his shorts. "All of it. I want to see you naked."

"Fucking pushy," Tommy says, bracing a hand on Adam's shoulder as Adam goes to his knees, Tommy's underwear tugged down to his ankles. Tommy had a hell of a lot more to say, but once he's stepped out of his shorts, his brain catches up with what's going on here, and with his hand already on Adam's face, thumb dragging over Adam's lips, Adam's mouth right fucking there three inches from his dick. "Fuck."

"Mmhm," Adam agrees, and sucks at Tommy's balls.

"Fuck, fuck," Tommy says, knees buckling. He slumps back against the open minibar, heartbeat pounding in his skull as Adam nudges his legs wider, crawls in between them to suck kisses on the insides of his thighs, lick at his dick hands-free. Chasing the precome smeared along his shaft, Adam catches the head between crazy-soft lips, goes down on him inch by lazy inch. More than the slick, sucking heat, Adam looks fucking amazing doing it, a flicker of blue eyes behind thick, dark lashes, the even darker fall of his hair. Tommy pushes his fingers back through product-sticky strands, holding it off Adam's face so he can watch. Glitter rains down to the carpet.

Adam pulls off way too soon. His mouth is wet, glistening, and Tommy can't help touching it. Wanting to fuck it. Adam's teeth snag his fingers, cheeks hollowing as Adam sucks them in to the knuckle, tongue teasing between. Letting up again before Tommy's ready, Adam climbs to his feet, gives Tommy a wicked smile and a kiss that tastes only a little like where his mouth just was. "On the bed."

"No way," Tommy says, putting a token bit of distance between them, bottle caught up in one hand and the tumbler in the other. "You lose the cockblocking shit, too. Gimme some skin."

The same as if Tommy had asked for him to pass the pepper, Adam casually unzips. Standing there in freckles and glitter, he's gorgeous. Even more gorgeous when he slides his thumbs into the waist of his pants and shimmies them down, taking whatever he's wearing underneath along for the ride. Tommy's seen his dick before. He fucking sucked it, he knows what it looks like, that Adam's big and cut and leans a little to the left when he's hard, but this is so fucking different.

Hand skimming his cock, letting Tommy keep the distance between them, Adam asks, "Okay?"

"Holy shit," Tommy says, backing towards the bed, spilling more champagne when he stumbles down onto it. "Fuck, c'mere, I wanna, I wanna rub all fucking over you, Jesus Christ."

"Scoot back, baby," Adam says, already there to take the tumbler out of Tommy's grip. Setting it on the bedside table, he dips a couple fingers in, drags them wet and cool along Tommy's collarbone. The mattress dips as Adam kneels on it, straddling Tommy's legs. "Lie down, let me look at you."

Wriggling closer to the centre of the bed, grip white-knuckled on the neck of the champagne bottle, Tommy eases down onto his back. Adam goes back for more booze, fingers dripping as he traces them along Tommy's ribs, stuttering dry when he circles a nipple. He goes back again, swooping back down past Tommy's bellybutton, angling out over his hip, back in again towards his cock. Both hands braced on the bed, gaze on Tommy's the whole way, Adam leans down, follows the path his fingers took with his tongue.

"Don't have to fucking-- shit," Tommy says, arching up as Adam's tongue dips into his bellybutton, heat flooding his dick like Adam's sucking him again. "Don't gotta warm me up, I'll fucking put out, lemme get my hands on you, Adam, fuck, c'mon."

Catching Tommy's wrist, Adam pins it to the bed, smiles down at him alley-cat smug. "D'you want to fuck me?"

Tommy's heart stops, his whole universe screeching to a halt. But Adam keeps smiling, stroking his side. It doesn't look like he's teasing. He even takes the champagne bottle out of Tommy's hand, setting it on the nightstand beside the tumbler."You mean like, fuck you, put it in you kinda fuck you? 'Cause I thought you didn't, like, you said you don't--"

"Not with random hookups, no," Adam says, then laughs. "Not with a lot of people. But you're not a lot of people, Tommy Joe. And I think," he adds, brushing a kiss across Tommy's mouth, "I think you'd be a really sweet fuck."

Tommy can't even fucking breathe. And it's not even the whole anal sex thing--been there, done that, still enjoy the fuck out of it every now and then, but when he's got a girl, warm and wet and willing, he almost always wants the slick, easy give of the usual way. Adam is the complete and total opposite of everything he thought he ever wanted.

"Oh fuck," Tommy says, so insanely grateful for the booze thick in his blood when Adam's hand closes on his cock. "Fuck, yes, I'd fucking love to. Can I, I can get you ready, right?" Grabbing onto the back of Adam's thighs, Tommy drags himself across the sheets, pushing both hands up to cup Adam's ass, really get a good feel for it while he can in case Adam's not into it. "I want to, I wanna finger you so fucking bad, let me do it?"

Adam laughs, looking delighted and relieved all at once. What the fuck he was worried about, Tommy doesn't even have a clue. Anybody with a pair of eyes would think twice before writing off the chance to have a go at Adam. "You can do whatever you want, baby," Adam says, kissing him again, "as long as you don't try to make me come before you're in me."

Tommy flings an arm across his eyes. "You gotta not say shit like that, or I'm gonna be the one losing it."

Darting in to nip at Tommy's jaw, Adam says, "Come up here," and climbs off to lie down on his side, head on the pillows. Tommy rolls up on one elbow to look at him, stroking a hand along his calf. "Here," Adam says again, giving the sheets in front of him a pat. "I want to watch you while you do it."

About to scoot in, Tommy pauses. "Where's your stuff?"

Adam twists around to pull open the drawer in the nightstand. A string of three condoms and a small bottle of lube hit the bed, the lube rolling until it hits Tommy's knees. He picks it up, eyebrow arched. "Figured I was a sure thing, huh?"

"Hoped," Adam says, reaching out to tug him down so they're lying face to face, Adam's leg sliding over Tommy's, hooking on Tommy's hip, his hand sliding down Tommy's forearm to lace their fingers together. "I love your hands."

"It's paying guitar," Tommy says, "makes 'em strong," busily focused on keeping air moving in and out of his lungs as Adam pops the top on the lube, spreads it over their fingers, then drags Tommy's hand down, pushing it between his legs, up past the soft, heavy weight of his balls into the crack of his ass. There's nothing but warm skin shaved smooth, and Tommy's head drops down, forehead resting on Adam's collarbone and gaze fixed on the hard curve of Adam's cock as Adam's touch slips away, leaves him with his fingertips pressed to Adam's asshole. Other hand pressed to Adam's chest, Tommy bites his lip and rubs the rim wet, barely pressing hard enough to feel muscle resist. "Jesus."

Adam hums quietly, the sound thrumming up through his chest sinking into Tommy's bones. "Go on, all the way."

With car-crash pile-up jamming Tommy's voice, he angles his finger to sink in, the strange, jittery clench of his insides turning to full-on shudders at slick heat clutching at him. He's going to get to feel that on his fucking dick. Adam's going to let Tommy get all up in it, really seriously fuck him. Groaning crazy-loud, Tommy bites at Adam's chest, Adam's fingers carding his hair as he starts kissing and sucking and licking anywhere he can reach as he works Adam open.

Adam sighs, rolling easily onto his back when Tommy pushes, keeping his legs spread as Tommy leans up over him, nuzzles into the thin trail of hair low on his belly. "Knew you'd be good," he says, hips rocking up as Tommy tucks a second finger in beside the first, keeps going easy and slow and careful though every part of him is screaming to get inside Adam right the fuck now.

Hand braced on Adam's hip, Tommy says, "I want to fuck you like this," and drags his fingers through the bit of slick leaked onto Adam's stomach. "I've gotta fucking see you take it."

"Anything you want, baby," Adam says, arms stretched out above his head, knees drawing up, Tommy framed between them.

Tommy gets a hand on Adam's balls, hefts them out of the way and shifts to the side so the light falls square on Adam, shows the lube glistening on his ass, Tommy's fingers pushing up into him. Edging closer, thighs tucked under Adam's, knees spread as wide as they'll go, Tommy catches Adam's dick in his other hand, jacks it with Adam watching, eyes heavy, the curve of his smile even heavier. He doesn't say a word when Tommy reaches for the condom packets, tearing one open to roll on a rubber one-handed.

"So fucking sexy," Adam says, and Tommy flings him a shaky smile, finally getting his dick in close enough to rub the head along Adam's crack. Adam tenses, then loosens up again, eyes slipping shut as Tommy pushes in. Tommy doesn't get far before his eyes are snapping open again, his mouth going slack. "God, that's so good, keep going just like that, baby."

"Tryin'," Tommy grits out, figuring Adam's the one guy he can admit to that this is really fucking getting to him, and it's taking everything he's got not shove the whole thing in him in one go. "You're so fucking tight, I just wanna--" He falls forward onto one hand, fist tangling in the sheets. It's not fucking normal how good this feels.

"Go harder if you want," Adam says, low, kinda husky, like his throat's gone tight and his tongue thick. His hand finds Tommy's through the twisted blanket, his other hand splayed wide on his belly, fingers spread out around the base of his dick. "Put it all in me, and fuck me."

"Jesus," Tommy says, "Jesusfuck," because this is crazy, so fucking crazy, it looks so good watching his dick push into Adam, feels even fucking better, and when he gives up fighting, fucks the rest of it in, Adam moans for him, a thready noise caught high in the back of his throat.

And then moans again on the slow drag out, the fuck back in. Sharp and shallow a couple times to really loosen him up so Tommy can go deeper, imagine how it must feel from the way Adam's mouth falls slack, eyes tightly shut.

When Tommy tries to get a hand on Adam's dick, make it better, Adam swats him away, pins his wrist to the bed. "Don't wanna come yet," Adam says, "just wanna feel you."

Tommy twists his hand free and grabs onto Adam's hips, goes long and slow, air molasses-thick in his lungs. He shoves in closer, trying to get at Adam's mouth, wanting to taste the quiet noises that come shivering out of him. Adam's eyes flash open, the soft start of a smile fucked loose as his arm drops around Tommy's back, nails digging in lightly.

"Fuck, get your legs up," Tommy says, jostling free a sound that started out as a laugh and ends up a ragged groan as he grabs Adam behind the knee, hooks both of Adam's legs in the crooks of his elbows to fuck in harder, short, shallow thrusts that get Adam panting for breath, groaning again when Tommy dials it back, dragging this out for as long as he can. Adam's cock is thick on his belly, slip-sliding through precome, and it's gotta be now, Tommy's got to see Adam loose it this fucking second.

Adam hisses, "Shit," when Tommy finally gets hold of his dick, jacks him hard and fast right near the head. "Wait, not yet, I--"

"Said anything I wanted, babyboy," Tommy says, backing off a bit but not letting go. "I wanna see you go off, wanna make it happen."

"Just fuck me, I promise I will, just, please, baby," Adam says, as close to wrecked as Tommy's ever fucking heard him, and what the Jesus is Tommy gonna do, say no to Adam Lambert fucking begging Tommy to dick him senseless? Sliding his hand off Adam's cock, he curls an arm beneath him instead, braces a hand on the back of his thigh to hike his ass up so Tommy can bottom out, grind into him, pull back nice and long and do it all over again. Sweat tingles at Tommy's hairline, prickling along his back in waves that heat, cool, heat again, hardly a pause for breath in the sounds pouring out of Adam sweeter than when he sings his heart out, because all of this is for Tommy, only him. Just tonight, all of Adam is his.

"Please come," Tommy rasps, the slick, wet noise of him moving inside Adam so fucking close to driving him over the edge. "Please, I gotta, let me jerk you off, I'm gonna come, I gotta come so bad."

"So close," Adam says, his hand fisted tight in Tommy's hair, using it like a leash to keep Tommy going, fucking into him so hard and fast Tommy's lungs are burning, "almost there, baby, don't stop, don't fucking stop, I love it, you're so fucking good," total mindless trash-talk as he fucking finally comes, Tommy's hand flying to his cock to feel it pulse, get the mess dripping all over his fingers and down onto Adam's belly.

When Adam's grip on Tommy's hair goes slack, Tommy chokes on a growl, shoves his legs up hard and fucks into him short and sharp and desperate. He's so fucking loose it's easy, and Tommy comes staring at the come spattered high on Adam's sweat-slicked chest, come and glitter and freckles all shining in the lamplight. He drops one of Adam's legs to grab his jaw, shoving their mouths together in a clumsy kiss before his body gives out on him, his cock slipping free as he slumps down onto Adam in a useless wheezing heap.

"That was fucking insane," Tommy mumbles long minutes later, still trying to figure out this moving thing he used to know how to do.

"Mm," Adam says absently, fingers combing through the hair damp at Tommy's nape.

"You came on my fucking cock."

Adam's laugh is a lazy, satisfied rumble echoing through his chest. "Told you I would."

"I didn't fucking think you meant just my dick, holy fuck, Adam. Just. Fuck."

A slight tug on Tommy's hair brings his head up. "You liked it?" Adam asks, thumb brushing gently beneath Tommy's eye, black makeup probably smeared over half his freaking face.

"'Like' is a pretty fucking sad word for it. I can't even fucking think of a word right now. Fucked 'em all straight outta my head." Tommy drops his head back down. Adam smells like sex. The whole room smells like sex, but Adam smells like the fucking best kind, warm and dirty and thick. "Can't even fucking move," he grunts.

"I hope you can move soon," Adam says. "I've got this room for most of tomorrow, and there's a giant tub in the bathroom I was looking forward to trying out, and there are extra blankets in the closet."

Tommy tucks his arms close to Adam's sides. It is starting to get a bit chilly. "You askin' me to sleep over?"

"Breakfast in bed tomorrow."

"Fuckin' sold," Tommy says. "Wake me when you're done pruning."

"Nuh uh, Tommy Joe," Adam says, levering up, disrupting Tommy's comfy perch. Tommy makes a grab for the condom before it spills everywhere, making even more of a mess, and ties it off, looking around for something to dump it in. The trash is too far away, but Adam'll make pissy face at him if he dumps it in the champagne left to warm in the tumbler. With a sigh, he shuffles off the edge of the bed and gives it a toss into the trash. "You fucked me, you get to cuddle me in the bath until all the ache is soaked out."

Picturing Adam lounging wet and soapy between his legs, all spread out against his chest, Tommy says, "Yeah, okay, if I gotta."

"Damn straight you gotta," Adam says, sliding off the bed a hell of a lot more smoothly than Tommy managed, and Tommy wasn't even the one who got done up the ass for half the fucking night.

It goes pretty much exactly the way Tommy thought it would, him leaning against the edge of the tub and Adam leaning against him, except it's even fucking better. Adam's all fucked out and relaxed, humming lazily as Tommy strokes soapy hands down his chest, even letting Tommy wash his dick, reach between his legs again to clean lube from around his asshole. It feels hot and swollen against Tommy's fingertips, sore, but Adam only makes a vague, contented sound, his head tipped back onto Tommy's shoulder.

"S'my favourite," Adam says, sleep-hazy, the partying and the booze and sex catching up with him all at once. "Having somebody around after the really mind-blowing sex."

"Not really the fuck-and-run type," Tommy admits, picking up the flute of champagne he salvaged from the bottle. Adam claimed he'd had enough, and yeah, Tommy's head is swimming. The booze probably isn't really going to help with that,.

"I can't wait to sleep with you," Adam says, sounding like he's already bundled under the sheets. His fingers flick absently at some bubbles. Trying to veto the bubble bath ended in total failure. Tommy doesn't like the smell of it--he'd actually much rather sleep with his nose jammed into Adam's armpit--but Adam's a hedonist, and he is the one with the sore ass. "I hate sleeping alone. It's always so much better when there's someone to hold."

"You're gonna make me the little spoon, aren't you," Tommy says, his glass clinking on the tile.

Adam's eyes open a fraction. "Is that okay?"

Tommy's very used to sleeping alone. "We can give it a shot."

Eyes closed again, Adam smiles.

They're both so done by the time they crawl out that it takes two of them to strip the bed. Tommy has slight guilt over the mess on the duvet, but water-based lube, a bit of jizz and some champagne isn't going to ruin it. A pain to wash, maybe, but this place probably has industrial machines. They can handle it. Probably not the worst thing that's ever ended up on hotel room sheets, anyway.

It turns out they don't need the extra clean blankets. Adam is a fucking furnace, and he wasn't lying about the cuddling. Lights turned out, he scoots into the centre of the bed, holding the light sheet up for Tommy to crawl in after him. The minute Tommy settles down, Adam's on him like an octopus, arm around his waist, leg tucked in between his, slotting them together from shoulder to thigh like pieces of a puzzle he's going to make fit or else.

"Wow," Tommy says, staring into the false dark. Outside, the sun's been up for awhile.

"Not good?" Adam asks.

"No, yeah, it's okay," Tommy says. "It's good. Being the little spoon's fucking weird."

"Next time, you can be the big one," Adam says, and Tommy's heart gives one hard, slow thump. He doesn't doubt Adam means it. There's going to be a next time. Tommy gets to have this--the screaming crowds, the rock star parties, the posh hotels, Adam lust-drunk and touch-dazed, hard and wanting, gratefully mellow and cuddly and happily holding Tommy close--he gets to have it all.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he breathes out long and slow, and concentrates on the sleepy rhythm of Adam's thumb stroking his belly.

*


Adam's only been gone, like, three days. They've gone way longer without seeing one another before, only a few texts and maybe a phone call or two to stay in touch, but this time, waiting for Adam to pull up the drive, Tommy feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He thinks about calling Mike, or Mia, or the fucking pizza delivery guy, anything to distract him from being surrounded by all of Adam's stuff, everything fucking smelling like Adam, without Adam actually being here. He's never fucking housesitting for the guy again.

Maybe he shouldn't have slept in Adam's bed.

Around half past three, two hours after he got the text from Adam saying the plane had landed and he wasn't dead, comes the sound of the Mustang rolling into the drive. Tommy thinks about playing it cool, casually flaked out on the couch watching movies waiting for Adam to come in, but he thinks that's kind of an asshole thing to do, and Adam might need help with his luggage or something.

Tearing open the front door and bounding down off the stoop as Adam climbs out of the car is probably not the most suave Tommy's ever been in his life. Neither is launching himself straight at Adam, nor clinging to the guy like a fucking monkey, but Adam's laughing, and hugging him, so Tommy's having a hard time caring.

"Hey, baby," Adam says, ruffling Tommy's hair.

Biting back, Never fucking go away again, because that's just crazy, borderline possessive, and probably not the best thing to say first thing, Tommy says, "I ate all your food."

"I told you to," Adam says, gently extracting himself from Tommy's grabby hands to go lift his suitcases out of the back. "It all would've spoiled anyway." Tommy goes to lift one of the suitcases out of Adam's grip, and Adam yanks it back, says, "No, no, this one," while shoving the other smaller one at him.

Lips pursed, Tommy stares at it.

"Your present is in the big one."

"Dude, you got me a present?"

"Of course I did!" The Mustang chirrups, locks engaging with a clunk, as Adam heads up to the front door. "You housesat for me, of course I brought you a present," Adam says, shaking his head as he disappears inside.

When Tommy makes it in after him, wondering what the fuck Adam's got crammed in the tiny suitcase that weighs fifty fucking pounds, Adam's already in the bedroom, his other suitcase opened and clothes slung everywhere over the bed. "Aha!" Adam calls, and turns around, blinks at finding Tommy right there behind him. "Thank you for housesitting for me," he says, presenting the crinkling bag with a flourish.

It's bright green and gold, kinda heavy, shaped like a potato chip bag. Tommy squints at the script on it. "Cod Chips?"

"You do like salty things."

"Chips made out of fish?"

"You wanted more fish in your diet."

"I'm pretty sure turning something into salty snack food totally kills all health benefits," Tommy says. He gives the bag a cautious shake. He does love chips. And fish is pretty tasty. The whole fish chip thing, though, he's not so sure about that.

Adam won't stop grinning at him.

"You're a total shit." Tommy tears open the bag. The smell of old, dried-up fish smacks him in the face. Breathing through his mouth, he tries to keep his nose from wrinkling.

Sniffing at the air, Adam says, "Wow. Maybe you should eat those outside."

"What're you talkin' about," Tommy says, "smells delicious," and, bracing himself, pops one into his mouth.

Adam's whole face scrunches up.

"Huh," Tommy says.

"I'm never going to kiss you again."

"They're good!" Demonstrating, he chows down on a few more.

"I don't think I thought you'd actually eat them. Maybe put them on your bookshelf like a Canadian trophy."

"Pussy," Tommy says, crossing the room with a small chip held out. "Try it."

Adam ducks, hands flailing. "What, no."

"Try it," Tommy says, shoving it at his face.

"They're for you!"

"And they're motherfucking delicious." Giving up on getting Adam to eat the chip, Tommy drops it back into the bag, clutching at the top to keep them from spilling all over the carpet as he grabs at Adam, wrestles him in to mash their mouths together.

Adam stumbles around making noises like a dying buffalo, hands grabbing randomly at Tommy until he remembers that he knows how to play dirty and he jabs his fingers into Tommy's armpits. Tommy holds on, and holds on, and then it's too much, his insides are squirming, his skin is crawling. He squeaks, muffled by Adam's mouth, and lets go.

"Ha!" Adam crows, licking his lips. When the taste hits him, he makes a face and scrubs off his mouth with the back of his arm. "You little shit."

"S'delicious." Tommy smacks his stinging lips together. "All salty and fishy."

Face like a thundercloud, clawed hands outstretched, Adam takes a menacing step forward.

"I stopped," Tommy says, cautiously backing out into the hall. "I won't do it again."

"Oh honey," Adam says, and Tommy's stomach pulls off a fancy somersault, landing somewhere around his feet, "it's too late now."

Tommy screams, "No!" at the top of his lungs and takes off running. "No, Adam, I'm sorry, don't--Oh fucking Jesus." Adam is right fucking behind him. God damn motherfucking giant legs. Tommy takes a hard right into the kitchen, his chances of making it to the front door fucked, but maybe if he gets the table between them, Adam'll lose interest. He skids to a stop clutching a chair. "Please don't tickle me."

Adam says, "I didn't want to eat the chip, either," voice perfectly calm, at total odds with the evil glint in his eye and his smirking face. "I think you missed your chance. You owe me."

"Blowjob?" Tommy asks hopefully.

Adam shakes his head. "Take it like a man, Tommy Joe."

"I don't like being tickled," Tommy tries.

"Liar."

Heat prickles at Tommy's face. Mike's supposed to be the only one who figured him out. All the other guys Tommy's mock-wrestled with never went for the armpits. Not manly enough or some shit. But the very first time he and Mike got into it for the remote, Mike went straight for all the vulnerable spots, and Tommy ended up a panting mess on the floor curled around the boner he hoped Mike wouldn't notice.

Of course Mike fucking noticed. And didn't care, but fuck, it's the principle of the thing.

Adam arches an eyebrow expectantly.

"Like, twenty seconds," Tommy mutters, shuffling out from behind the table, leaving the chip bag crumpled on top of it. "I didn't even get any tongue."

"Because you've got nasty salt cod breath," Adam says, backing towards the living room, coaxing Tommy along like a lamb to slaughter.

"I'm gonna breathe on you so much," Tommy threatens.

"Mmhm," Adam says, pointing imperiously at the carpeted floor.

"Put fish oil in your shampoo," Tommy says, gingerly lying down, his stomach already squirming, only getting worse as Adam straddles his thighs, pushes his shirt up so he's all half-naked and vulnerable to evil tickling fingers. He breathes heavily through his mouth, sort of trying to pre-emptively pay Adam back for what he's about to do, but mostly trying to keep his heart from beating out through his ribcage.

Taking hold of one of Tommy's wrists, Adam stretches his arm out above his head, holding it down. "This is kinda sexy," Adam says, trailing his fingertips lightly across Tommy's belly, halfway between a tickle and a caress. "You look really good down there."

"Maybe you should like, jerk off on me instead. That'll teach me."

"It's a thought," Adam says, fingertips trailing up Tommy's side, still feather-light, angling across his chest before they get too close to his underarms. Tommy ends up squirming away in anticipation anyway, and Adam's grin turns feral. "Maybe later."

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, but that makes Adam's trailing touches even worse. His nerves are so fucking messed. His insides are all twisty and his cock is thickening up, and his breathing's gone shallow already.

"So fucking sexy, baby," Adam says, and starts skittering his fingers all around Tommy's underarm, the maddening itch building and growing and snaking into Tommy's belly, making him twist and buck. Letting go of Tommy's wrist, Adam goes straight for his armpits, digging in and then ghosting fingers down Tommy's sides, digging in again, fucking torturous. Tommy can't help trying to fend him off, arms tucked close to his sides and then grabbing at Adam's hands, but Adam's always one step ahead of him, getting him in the neck, his armpits again.

"Stop!" Tommy hollers, laughing helplessly as he bats at Adam's hands, "oh fuck, stop, stop, I'm sorry, I won't do it again!"

Taking hold of both Tommy's wrists, Adam pins them above his head. "I'm not sure I believe you."

Tommy drags in a few shuddering breaths. "Gonna put fish flakes in your cereal."

"You little bitch!" Adam crows, delighted, and his fucking diabolical hands are back, fingers skittering around so fast Tommy can't keep up, doesn't even fucking know where to grab because everywhere's crawling, driving him fucking insane. He can't even fucking breathe anymore, his lungs are going to burst. And still Adam keeps tickling, and tickling, and Tommy's writhing, wheezing, sweat tingling at his hairline, the small of his back, and he's so fucking hard it almost hurts.

"Please," Tommy rasps, "s'enough, can't," barely able to lift his arms, but he can't stop struggling, pathetic and weak and helpless and probably hardly even a blip on Adam's radar anymore.

"God," Adam says, "god, Tommy," and there's a rough tug, the grate of Tommy's fly yanked open. Tommy whines when Adam tugs his dick out, whines even louder when Adam starts jerking him off fast and frantic, like Adam's the one who's fucking dying for it. "I want to fuck you so bad, baby," is a hot push against Tommy's mouth, and Tommy's nerves are still buzzing, he's still twisting, phantom-tickles sparking beneath the palm Adam fits to his side. "You're so fucking gorgeous, I want to see you move like that on my dick, see you all strung out, helpless, so fucking," and then Tommy can't hear a fucking thing through the rush of blood in his ears as he comes.

Adam wiping his hand clean on Tommy's stomach barely registers. The sound of Adam spitting, then the slick, wet slap of him jerking off manages to make it through the white noise in Tommy's head, and he struggles to open his eyes. Adam's hunched over him, head down, eyes wide fixed on Tommy's cock resting in the mess on his belly. "C'mon," Tommy says, sandpaper thin, and reaches for Adam's thigh, "c'mon, do it, fucking do it if you wanna," and Adam groans, fingers digging hard into the carpet as he shoots. Tommy sucks in a sharp breath, stomach hollowing, at the warm splatter of come, not exactly new to getting jizz on all over him but so fucking different when it's not his.

"Tommy," Adam says, spunk smearing onto Tommy's cheek as Adam cups his face, kisses his, "I couldn't, fuck, I should've asked, made sure, god, Tommy," and his hand drags down, skips over Tommy's rucked-up shirt to get at the mess glistening on Tommy's skin, rubbing it in. "You make me so fucking crazy," he says, a rueful laugh as his hand stops short of Tommy's dick, fingers twitching like he wants to see it slicked wet with his own come.

"Didn't have to fucking ask," Tommy says, dragging hair out of his face, up off his neck, to get some cool air touching overheated skin. "I got down here for it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but." Adam bites his lip and huffs a laugh. "Letting me fuck around with the tickling thing isn't the same as inviting me to maul you."

"Kinda really is." Seriously, Adam's brain ends up in some weird places sometimes, and it's not like Tommy's ever opposed to orgasms. "Welcome home, by the way."

Flushed and smiling, eyes bright, Adam laughs. "So much better than an empty house and rotten vegetables."

*


"Fucking Mexico," Tommy says, leaning heavily on the balcony railing. He's so full of tequila he can barely stand up, pot smoke swirling thick in his fuzzy brain, and it's awesome. Tomorrow they're back in smoggy LA, fucking Burbank, but tonight, he's in paradise. "Dude, you're killin' that thing."

"Shouldn't've left me with it," Adam says cheekily, plucking out another twangy string of notes. His gaze flickers down as Tommy settles back against the railing, then crawls back up again like a slow-motion pan. The night air's so warm, Tommy's in a ribbed tank and boxers. Adam's on the bed in just a pair of board shorts, the battered acoustic guitar they picked up from a street hawker for fifty bucks balanced on his knee. "Thought you were gonna show me how to play?"

For the fifth time tonight, Tommy says, "Not a very good teacher," and crosses the room, shoving at Adam's arm to get the space to wriggle into his lap. Sweat-sticky, bare skin catches. With a muffled giggle, Tommy rubs his shoulder against Adam's bare chest, imagines the scrape of sand, the sharp chemical smell of chlorine clinging to it. He buries his face in Adam's neck and tastes nothing but salt, smells only the heat of Adam's skin.

"S'okay," Adam says, "not a very good student."

"Alright." Tommy smacks his hands together, wrestling the guitar out of Adam's grip. "Let's do this thing. Put your hands on mine."

"Put your little hand in mine," Adam singsongs, nuzzling into the crook of Tommy's neck.

"Hey, c'mon," Tommy says, laughing and ducking his chin, "pay attention. Tryin' to teach you shit."

"Said I was a terrible student." But Adam obediently settles his fingers over Tommy's, thumb lightly stroking the curve of Tommy's thumb.

Tiny sparking shivers skitter along Tommy's skin. He wets his lips, thinking about Adam's thighs pressed tightly to his hips, the warm, thick heat of Adam's cock against the small of his back. He leans into Adam a little more. "So we'll start with like, chords. Chords are easy."

"Says you."

Making sure Adam's paying attention, Tommy runs through a couple, fully intending on having Adam try them out after he repeats them a few times. Halfway through his second go, Adam starts stroking his fingers, almost messing him up. By the time he gets back to the start, Adam's kissing his neck, his shoulder, saying, "I love your hands, baby, keep going," and Tommy's fingers sink into something slow and bluesy on autopilot, steady seductive beat as his head falls back, Adam's teeth scraping his throat.

"God," Adam says, his hands pushing along the insides of Tommy's thighs, spreading them wide, "I want to do everything to you. I can't get enough."

Tommy's hands fumble to a stop. "Gonna touch me?"

"Keep playing," Adam says, rubbing at Tommy's belly, his thighs again, staying way too far away from his dick. Swallowing hard, Tommy tries picking up where he left off, but it's stuttering, choppy chords again with Adam's fingers stroking over his dick, nudging cotton aside to barely brush bare skin. Trying harder, Tommy gets something close to the bar blues shuffle going, and Adam's answering laugh vibrates low and sultry through his chest, a palm finally cupping his junk, giving his dick a slow, stroking squeeze.

"Fuck, yeah, c'mon," Tommy says, concentrating like a motherfucker, fingers stumbling every now and then but keeping the shuffle going as Adam works his cock over, the head caught against his belly by the band of his shorts, precome smearing everywhere. Rocking into Adam's hand messes up his playing even more, but he's quick to get back to it as Adam eases off, the threat to stop if Tommy does coming through loud and clear.

Tommy doesn't last through one more progression before he blurts, Adam's thumb circling his slit over and over and over, filling his belly with ticklish pleasure, "You should fuck me."

Adam muffles a groan in Tommy's back. He says, "Baby, I want to," almost like he's trying to say no.

Clumsily setting the guitar aside, Tommy tries to twist around, but Adam holds him firm. "I know you fucking want to," Tommy says, grabbing at the back of Adam's hand, pushing it harder against his dick. "Wanted to for weeks, fucking months. S'fucking killing me thinking about it, always fucking wondering what the fuck it's like to get your dick up inside me, if I'm gonna like it as much as your fingers."

"You're drunk," Adam says, but he's pushing a hand into Tommy's underwear, fingers curling behind his balls, and Adam's breath catches, sticks, when a quick tilt of Tommy's hips gets him rubbing over Tommy's asshole. "You're drunk and you're high."

"I'm really fucking turned on," Tommy says, not even trying to refute the rest, "and I get off thinking about you doing me, I get off so hard, you don't even fucking know, I think about it when I'm blowing you, when you're kissing me, all the fucking time."

"Fuck," Adam breathes, and the room slants sideways, Tommy's centre of gravity completely fucked for a split-second as Adam tumbles him down on the bed. The guitar twangs as it's knocked to the floor, and something else hits the carpet after it, an empty bottle or a glass. "Roll over, baby," Adam says, putting Tommy on his belly, Tommy's heart lurching as Adam skins off his clothes, doesn't even give him a chance to try struggling out of his shirt on his own, and, "spread out for me," as Adam's already pushing at Tommy's thigh, getting his knee skidding up higher on the sheets.

Head spinning, Tommy closes his eyes, rests his forehead on his folded arms so he's got space to breathe. "Jesus," he says, Adam's hands on his ass pulling the cheeks apart, fingers stroking all along his crack, over his hole. When Adam doesn't say anything, or do anything else, Tommy twists around, finds Adam staring down at his ass, mouth slack, breathing hard.

"I love it," Adam says, and Tommy's about to say Seen it before, but Adam hasn't. Touched it, got in a few fingers while he blew Tommy once, but that's all. Never really fucking looked at Tommy like he's looking now, thumb spit-slick pressing in, pre-show to the main event. "You're so gorgeous, you're going to be so, so good."

Hiding his face in the covers, Tommy says, "Fuck." They're gonna do this. Adam's gonna stick it in him for real.

The mattress shifts, and Adam presses a kiss to the back of Tommy's thigh, one cheek, the base of his spine, meandering all the way down to kiss his hole. Tommy tenses up on reflex--that is his fucking asshole Adam's nuzzling--but it feels good, the fun kind of ticklish, and then Adam licks him and it's fucking amazing.

"I know," Adam says, smile in his voice, and Tommy doesn't think he said anything, or made a sound, but who the fuck knows. Soft, teasing licks turn to quick, sucking kisses, a tiny nip to Tommy's sac, Adam's hand still stroking down his thighs, over his ass, holding onto his hips to keep him in place when he starts to squirm. He knew it'd be good. It's Adam's mouth on him somewhere really fucking sensitive that nobody's really paid much attention to his body before, and Adam is seriously amazing at what he's doing back there, settling into a rhythm that gets Tommy rocking down into the mattress and then switching it up without warning, knocking Tommy for a total loop.

When Adam's tongue pushes in, Tommy makes a weird little hiccuping noise that turns his face hot. He's not even sure what the fuck Adam's doing, but he can tell the difference between fingers and tongue, and that's Adam fucking licking inside him. He shoves both hands back into his hair, fists it tight, and gives up a moan so loud he's pretty sure the fucking windows rattle.

"Should've done this months ago," Adam says, words humming against Tommy's hole, an entire universe of really fucked-up and incredible. "So fucking loud, Tommy Joe, you love it."

"It's your tongue," Tommy says, voice and heartbeat both hitching as more pressure gets added to the mix, deep and thick, Adam's fingers pushed in him, "in my fucking ass."

"Gorgeous little ass," Adam says, further away than he was a second ago, and Tommy makes the mistake of glancing back as Adam palms his ass wider, watching his fingers go in all the way, slide out and drive in again harder.

Unbalanced, Tommy asks, "Like it?" getting a hand on his own ass to help, trying not to think too hard about stuff, but Adam groans, says, "So fucking much, baby, you're so tiny, I can't wait to see you take it," and then it's all Tommy can imagine, his hole stretched wide around Adam's fingers, Adam's cock, Adam actually fucking inside him.

And Adam's not even fucking close to done, all, "You're going to look so good," and, "I want to touch you after, feel how loose you are," and Tommy tucks his face in the crook of his elbow as Adam hikes his hips up. He scrambles to get his knees under him while Adam gropes for the bottle of Wet left carelessly on the nightstand from when they'd traded handjobs that afternoon, sticky and hot from being out in the sun.

Dirty talk isn't anything new. But it's really fucking different when it's Adam back there talking about how tight he is, how sweet he feels clenching up on Adam's fingers and Adam can't wait for him to do that on his dick. It's almost too much to handle hearing about, his stomach all in knots, his cock aching, leaking all over the coverlet, he doesn't know how he's going to survive actually doing it.

Clinging to the edge of a cliff, Tommy figures fuck it, might as well jump, and he says, "C'mon, put it in me," an electric thrill shooting through him when Adam chokes on nothing. "Been priming me for months for this, right? Talking me into fingering myself, getting your dick in my mouth, fucking coming down my throat, jerking off on me, got me all ready to take it, quit making me wait and put your fucking dick in me already."

That said and all, Tommy's still not so sure he's ready for it when Adam's suited up, cock pushing at Tommy's hole. He tenses up again, and shakes his head when Adam strokes his back, asks, "Baby?"

"It's okay," Tommy says, forcing muscles to relax, his stomach knotting up even tighter. "I'm good, I just, I really fucking want this." Taking hold of his cock, he gives it a couple easy strokes, holds it cupped in one hand as he breathes out. "C'mon, go."

As Adam starts to push, it's all Tommy can focus on. Everything's narrowed down to slippery, thick heat opening him up. It doesn't burn much, not like he expected, but it doesn't take long for his guts to feel heavy, overfull. Struggling to keep from clenching up, Tommy tugs on his dick again, letting out a shocked noise when pure pleasure ripples through him.

Adam slows, almost stopping.

"Fuck, no," Tommy gasps, shoving back, jacking off harder as the full feeling spikes again, "move, fucking move, give it to me."

Adam fucking moves. Bottoms out in one smooth pump, grinds into him to really let him feel it, and then fucks, short and sharp and barely sliding out at all. Tommy's balls draw up tight and he tries tugging them down, tries squeezing his dick to make orgasm back off, but nothing works. He's got about two seconds to gasp out a warning and doesn't manage much more than a hiss before he's coming so hard he almost fucks himself right off Adam's cock.

Hands hooked on his hips, Adam yanks him back, fucks him all the way through it. There's so much going on he burns right through the afterglow, clutching desperately at his dick as Adam pulls out almost all the way, fucks straight in to the balls again on one stroke. That full-up feeling's back, getting heavier, thicker, starting to ache. Then aching worse, and worse, and Tommy curls in tighter around it, shifting restlessly hoping it'll swing back around to good. He can't stop moaning long enough to ask Adam to ease up, give him a minute.

"Tommy," Adam says, bending down low, sparking a fresh rush of pleasure as he mouths at Tommy's back that doesn't last long enough to make the ache better. "So fucking amazing, I love it."

"Yeah?" Tommy grits out, and he could manage asking Adam to back off now, but he doesn't want to, he's not aching that fucking bad, and Adam's whispering all kinds of dirty, gorgeous things in his ear, telling Tommy how much he's wanted this, how good Tommy is, so small and sweet, shaking and shivering and moaning for him. "Y'gonna come?"

"So good," Adam hisses, not really an answer. Feels like he's close, though, that smooth, rolling rhythm gone, and Tommy's wound up so fucking tight waiting for it, hoping it's soon, that he's making the churning in his guts even worse. Trying to breathe through it kinda works, and Adam's fingers tangling with his are so very fucking welcome, giving him something real to clutch at, something made of flesh and bone. When Adam grinds in so deep it feels like Tommy's gonna choke on it, he knows that's it, Adam's coming inside him, and it doesn't matter one fucking bit that there's a condom separating them.

As Adam's full weight bears down, Tommy grunts, "Fuck," and tries to crawl off Adam's dick. Adam levers up to slip free, and Tommy curls tight around the thick ache in his belly finally easing. Everything feels sore and swollen and weird.

Adam stays on hands and knees above him, stroking his side, waiting.

"M'good," Tommy says, "m'good, just, fucking intense."

"You already came," Adam says, managing to sound disappointed and delighted all at once. "Baby, I was going to suck you."

Tommy wheezes a laugh. Now that Adam's not fucking up his insides, he's feeling okay. Weirdly hollow, and he wishes like fuck his hole would quit fucking twitching, 'cause it fucking stings when it clenches up, but not so bad.

"Sore?" Adam asks, hand light on his ass, thankfully not trying to spread him open again to take a look. "Let me run you a bath?"

"Yeah." Warm water'll probably help. "But no fuckin' ylang ylang shit."

"No bubble bath," Adam agrees, a smile in his voice and the kiss he presses to Tommy's shoulder.

The mattress dips as Adam climbs off, and Tommy waits until he hears the splash of water before he cautiously reaches back to touch his hole. Breath hisses in through his teeth. It feels slippery and hot and puffy, stinging and then aching too when he pushes at it. This is nothing at all like getting fingered. He's going to be feeling this for days.

"Let me see," Adam says, but not like he's all gung-ho to admire his handiwork.

Shoving his face even harder into the pillows, Tommy spreads his thighs slightly, jumping when Adam's hands gently cup his ass to open him up. Even gentler fingers skim over his asshole, barely pressing in like he did. "You look okay," Adam says, kinda worried sounding. "Does it hurt?"

Rolling over slightly to make sure Adam's not wearing that oh-my-god-disaster face, Tommy says, "Feels like it got fucked."

"I meant inside, baby," Adam says, resting his hand on Tommy's hip. "Let me check?"

"Jesus," Tommy says, wetting his lips. It's seriously not that bad. "If you wanna."

With a murmured warning, Adam slides a finger in. It takes everything Tommy's got to not clench up. He can feel Adam pressing against his insides, and it's kinda clinical at the same time it's kinda hot in a really fucked up way. It's not turning him on or anything, but it's not, like, horrible.

"Okay?" Adam asks, watching his face. "No 'oh my god get it out'?"

"S'okay," Tommy says. There's a bit of burn, some ache, but like a shallow paper cut or an old bruise. "Didn't break me with your fucking giant dick."

Adam smiles, relieved. "C'mon," he says, carefully tugging Tommy up. "Bath's almost ready."

Wincing as he stands, Tommy lets Adam gather him in close, practically carry him into the bathroom. "Gonna clean me up n' cuddle me?"

"Cuddle you so much, baby," Adam says, his hold on Tommy tight, possessive.

Settling down into the water's a relief until it hits his ass, and then it's that sharp, raw sting. He grits his teeth and waits for Adam to climb in after him, and then Adam's hands are on him, rubbing goosebumps of his arms and pulling him back to rest on Adam's chest. There's silence for a minute, a couple water drops falling from the spout to drip into the bath, and Tommy can't help asking. "So, it was good, right? Like, you got off pretty hard."

"Oh my god," Adam says, a breathless rush. "Is that what's been bothering you? Baby, it was incredible. You were amazing. I can't believe you came the first time like that."

Tommy bites at his lip. "Like what, on your dick?"

"Yes, god." Adam's arms tighten in a hug. "I had all these ideas, grand plans, you know me," he says, a soft laugh echoing off the tile. "Wine and candlelight and seduction, but whiskey and pot and Mexico is probably more your style. I don't even care, as long as it was amazing for you."

"Well, y'know," Tommy says, "I got off, so it wasn't all bad."

Shocked silence descends. Twisting around, Tommy grins up at Adam's guppy face.

Adam's mouth works, and then he gives a shaky laugh. "God, you are such a mouthy brat," he says, rubbing his cheek against Tommy's wet hair. "I'm so glad you wanted to be in my band."

"And learned bass for you."

"That too."

"In a week."

"Oh my god, shut up," Adam says, and hugs him so tight he can't breathe.

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