Fic: A Series of Sneaks - Adam/Tommy
Jan. 4th, 2011 11:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blue_soaringInadvertently (I'm sure) inspired by the movie Killers. Blame Ashton Kutcher.
A Series of Sneaks
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~6000 words.
Tommy Joe Ratliff, International Man of Mystery. Sorta.
*
A Series of Sneaks
In Hong Kong, Tommy loses his passport. He feels bad about it--Adam's going to worry like a son of a bitch--but he's done things he's felt bad about before, and besides, it's the only way for him to separate from the group long enough to do what needs to get done.
"You suck," says the guy duct-taped to the toilet in the men's bathroom.
"Yep," Tommy says, busy riffling through the guy's carry-on. "Not as much as this is gonna suck for you in a minute, though." He pulls out a slim notebook from the front pocket, tosses it nonchalantly from hand to hand. That's two months of planing down the crapper for these assholes. "Wow, right here, huh? You really ain't so bright."
Genius snorts. "There's more than just me out here," he says. The nervous tick below his eye twitches violently. "You can't stop us all."
"Maybe, maybe not. But I'm gonna tell you one thing." Tommy braces both hands on the guy's shoulders, leans down so they're eye to eye. "Your buddies aren't gonna like how friendly me and you got up in here."
*
The second Tommy makes it through Nagoya customs, just back from LA with a shiny new passport, he holds both hands up, palms out. "I'm sorry!" he yelps, and gets a mouthful of Adam's shiny spiked hair for his trouble. "I'm really fucking sorry, and nope, never gonna happen again, I promise, ow, fuck, my ribs."
"You bet your skinny ass it's not," Adam grumps, finally letting go. He completely ignores Tommy's dramatic wheezing to grab up the backpack Tommy dropped a split-second before the attack of bone-crushing hugs. "C'mon, we're already set up in the hotel."
Flinging a helpless glance Monte's way--which gets him nothing but a smirk and a wink--Tommy sighs and follows. Adam has people to do things like pick up wayward bandmates from the airport. Sometimes, he even uses them. But not often enough. For the whole trip through the airport to the black SUV idling outside Arrivals, Tommy's head is on a fucking swivel. By the time they're all aboard and on their way, the familiar ball of nerves in Tommy's gut is threatening to spill out into the twitch of his fingers on his knee.
"I'm not mad," Adam says quietly, startling him. Monte cocks an eyebrow, and Tommy shrugs. He knows on the outside, he looks calm, mellow. He always does. But somehow, Adam's been able to see straight through him since day one.
Well. Almost straight through him.
"I was just worried," Adam goes on, rubbing his palms down his thighs, stretching out his left knee because it bothers him sometimes. It'd probably hurt him less if he quit dropping down on it like a sexy sack of potatoes every other show. One of these days, Tommy's got to teach him how to fall. "I know you haven't travelled outside the US much."
"Pft," Tommy says, and slumps deeper into the seat. "Minor setback." He folds his hands over his stomach and shrugs again, hoping that says it all.
Adam's frown cuts deeper.
"Okay, yeah, I'm kinda ticked I missed out on Bali, but what're you gonna do? Shit happens." He lists sideways in the seat to use Adam's arm as a pillow, grinning up at Adam through his eyelashes. "You can just take me on vacation somewhere else later."
"Maybe I will!" Adam declares, like it's a threat or something, and drops an arm around Tommy's shoulders.
Tommy wriggles in closer and breathes deep. From Adam's perspective, it probably seems like he needs a fucking keeper. He gets left behind at venues, gets lost when they're out on the town, has his passport stolen while they're in a fucking plane thirty-thousand feet above the ground. When he'd taken this gig--both gigs--he seriously hadn't thought he'd end up with a surrogate family out of the deal. It makes one job easier and one harder, but what the fuck ever. It's totally worth it.
*
Everything goes pretty smoothly from there, more or less. There's a minor supply hiccup in Honolulu that sets Tommy's teeth on edge--Honolulu, of all fucking places. He ends up awake before sunrise, standing out on his balcony staring up the half a dozen or so floors between him and Adam. It's been months since he's had neither eyes nor ears on Adam, and it's not sitting well in his gut at all.
While this isn't Tommy's first manic globe-trotting free-for-all, it's definitely the worst organised one he's ever been on. Travel plans are in place, yeah, but there's a lot more shit to coordinate than he's used to dealing with. And by shit, he means people. It was totally his fault Taylor had been detained back in Manila, but what the fuck, man. How the hell was he supposed to know Taylor would decide to root around in his stuff for a fucking new accessory? The strings he'd had to pull on that one are gonna come back to bite him in the ass sooner rather than later, that's for fucking sure.
Tommy rests his arms on the railing and leans out over it, head down as his stomach swoops. He seriously hates heights. It doesn't matter how much he tries, or how high up he goes, he never gets used to them. Relief floods in when his phone on the table behind him chirrups.
Saw ur awake n tweeting, Adam's text says. C'mon up. 4224.
As if he doesn't know exactly what room Adam's in, plus all seven ways to get in and out of it in a hurry. But then, Adam doesn't know he knows that. Tommy's smile falters. He's never been totally on board with that part of the plan.
Hauling on some jeans, Tommy wanders out to the bank of elevators with only his keycard and his phone, hits the call button and lets Adam know he'll be there in a sec while he waits. On the way up, the car stops at 29 to let a hot blond guy in board shorts and sunglasses on.
Tommy says, "Hey."
Surfer dude nods.
"So," Tommy drawls, "how's it hanging? Five, ten, lefty, righty?" He grins.
The guy cracks a smile, says, "Heh," and then there's a fist flying straight for Tommy's face.
When the doors open on 42, Tommy gives the hallway a quick, cautious peek before hauling the unconscious, definitely-not-here-for-the-waves guy down three doors to a maintenance closet. Trussing the guy up as best he can with what's available--which is pretty fucking good, even if he's got to say so himself since it's not like the other guy is in a position to comment--Tommy gives him a friendly pat on the head. "Somebody'll be back for you later, cupcake."
Tommy sends out a quick text for Warren to come get the douche out of the closet as he closes the door behind him, hanging a Do Not Disturb placard on the handle with a little chuckle. Then he he heads on down to Adam's room, fluffing his hair a bit before knocking quietly. "S'me, boss man."
All of two seconds go by before Adam opens the door. "What have I said about calling me that?" he says sourly.
"Only in bed," Tommy tosses back immediately, energy running a little high from the brief scuffle in the elevator.
"Mouthy fucker," Adam mutters. "I already ordered breakfast, go ahead and help yourself."
There's scrambled eggs on one plate, a neat array of diced fruit and a few other things, but Tommy zeros right in on the sweet siren call of crispy fried bacon so fresh it's practically still sizzling on the plate. "Oh, fuck yeah," he moans, eyes closed in bliss as the meat melts on his tongue. "Fucking fringe bennies, man."
Adam breaks off a miserly piece of bacon with a wry smile. "Glad you're happy."
"Delirious," Tommy says, pouring up a steaming cup of coffee. The doors to Adam's balcony are flung wide open to the warm ocean dawn. Tommy munches contentedly on some toast while he looks out over the waves. There's a problem here that needs taking care of, and for once, he's not so sure how to go about it. Things go a little differently when there's a private individual instead of a unit running the show. And it's been a long, long while since Tommy's bothered listening to the committees, anyway.
"So, uh," he starts, and rubs at the back of his neck when Adam looks at him over the rim of a coffee mug, both eyebrows winging up. "I'm just gonna like, lay this all out, okay?"
Adam puts the mug down so fast coffee sloshes over the rim. "What, Tommy, what's-"
Tommy flings up a hand. "Don't say anything! Just lemme talk, and then you can like, bombard me with questions and shit, cool?"
Looking a lot like he's about to face down a firing squad, Adam nods.
Tommy goes for it. The beginning's a little rough, and not really in anything resembling chronological order, so he goes back, fills in the blanks and keeps on going. He tells Adam absolutely fucking everything--almost--and Adam gapes at him the entire time. Somewhere around explaining that the whole chased-by-drag-queens-through-downtown-Lansing thing wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he recruited some extra help to run interference, but hey, it worked out, Adam's expression goes from skeptical to incredulous, but Tommy soldiers on, and finishes up with, "So, surfer dude won't be catching any waves any time soon. Heh."
Adam's brow crinkles up like a scrunched napkin. "How high are you right now?"
"I'm not, I'm not high!" Tommy protests.
"Hey, I'm not judging," Adam says placatingly. "I'm just saying maybe it's a little early, but whatever. I think you should have some more water, though."
This is not how this was supposed to work. Tommy's spilled his fucking guts here, and Adam's not buying it. He's got to admit it's a lot to swallow, and yeah, okay, he's done a pretty fucking good job up to now playing the adorable, slightly off-kilter genderqueer bassist (which isn't playing a role so much as finally not playing one), but come the fuck on. What the hell in their history together makes Adam think this, of all fucking things, is the story Tommy would come up with to tell on a pot-induced ramble? Chances are better he'd claim to be John fucking Wayne.
Which he has once. Whatever. Not the point.
"Look," Tommy says sternly. Adam's eyes bug out a little. Chances are also good Adam's never heard that tone of voice from him before, either. "I'm not high. And I'm not making this shit up. You've got--holy shit, geddown!"
The chick comes flying in over the balcony in a skin-tight wetsuit, and for a second, just a split second, okay, because Tommy is a fucking professional, he's distracted by the incredibly sweet curve of her ass in that thing. He mourns the fact that he's never gonna fill out spandex like that--not from behind, anyway--and then he flings a plate of scrambled eggs at her head.
"What the fuck!" Adam yells, standing up right in the middle of the room flapping his arms like a total idiot.
"I said get the fuck down!" Tommy shouts back, squishing the last of their breakfast as he rolls over the room service cart, overturning it to shove into her knees. She goes down in a flurry of pineapple and cherries.
"What the fuck!" Adam yells again. "What the fucking fuck!"
Rolling his eyes, Tommy nails the chick in the stomach while she's down. She shoots at look at Adam, then one at Tommy, kinda, What the fuck is up with that guy?, and Tommy grunts, "I know, right?" before he bashes her head into the floor, knocking her out cold. He slumps down beside her, one elbow propped up on her back, panting. "Okay. So that was kinda like, stage-perfect timing. Believe me now, rockstar?"
"What the fuck, Tommy Joe!" Adam hollers.
"Why do they keep sending all the hot ones after you, anyways?" Tommy mutters, heaving himself up. "'Kay, whatever. Grab your phone. And some like, glitter or something. We're outta here."
Adam crosses his arms and plants his feet. "I'm not fucking moving until you tell me what the fuck is going on. Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck is she!"
Tommy squints at her face. "No idea. Still hot though. And, uh, I already told you what was going on. I honestly think those godhatesfags assholes are behind it, but even I gotta admit, I'm pretty fucking biased."
"Behind what!" Adam shrills.
"Trying to sabotage your career?" When Adam just blinks dumbly at him, Tommy sighs. Seriously. "Okay, look. You are like, you're like, a great big glittery agent of massive social change," he tries, and hey, he likes the sound of that. "Things are in motion because of you. And you're not even trying! Well, I mean, you're deliberately doing shit, right, mostly what comes naturally, but you're doing it. What do you think is gonna happen when you actually figure out exactly where and how you wanna focus all that energy you're building up out there? People are already standing up and listening, man. All's left is for you to say fucking go!"
Adam's mouth works like a beached fish. Open, close. Open, close.
"Whatever," Tommy says, and can't keep a grin from spreading slowly across his face. "Just get your shit. No, forget it, I'll get your shit, you carry it."
"What," Adam says, then clears his throat. "What about, um, her?"
Tommy glances down. She is out cold. Fuck, he's good. "What about her?"
"Are you gonna, I don't even fucking know." Adam runs both hands back through his hair. "Take care of her or something? Because I don't think I can get behind that sort of thing."
"What?" Tommy blurts. "What, no. Jesus, Adam, who the fuck do you think I am? I'll fucking slap 'em around a little, but I don't kill people. Shit's not cool."
"Oh," Adam breathes, massively relieved. He stumbles over to grab a few things out of his duffle, then pauses, hoists the whole thing. "Can I just-"
"Yeah, yeah, take it all, c'mon already."
Right before Tommy closes the door, Adam glances back at sleeping beauty. "I don't wanna know what you consider slapping somebody around a lot."
*
In Stuttgart, when it's only the two of them out in a tiny cafe where Adam can get his freakin' NASA-brewed infusion of caffeine before the show that night, Adam leans close and confides, "It's exciting."
Tommy doesn't look up from his Twitter feed. "Oh yeah, a thrill a minute. What the fuck is wrong with people? No, I don't wanna see your baby burp Fever at me, yuck."
"Not Twitter, Tommy, god," Adam says. "This."
Finally looking up, Tommy takes in their surroundings. Everything is exactly the same as it had been when he'd checked it out fifteen seconds ago. The couple in the corner are even playing footsie still. "What?"
Adam grins. "We're on the lam."
"Uh."
"Not really, I know," Adam says, waving that aside as completely and totally beside the point. "But it's exciting. A beautiful foreign city, a gorgeous super-secret agent guy, an international rockstar swept up in a tide of events beyond his control..."
"Dude, you say I watch too many movies."
"Oh fuck off, Tommy Joe," Adam says, elbowing him. But that smile doesn't move an inch. "It's romantic and I like it, so shut up."
Tommy plops an elbow on the table and his chin into his hand. "Romantic, huh."
"You missed the part where I called you gorgeous. That's pretty key."
"You've got your tongue jammed down my throat pretty much every other night, think I figured out by now you think I'm hot," Tommy says. That doesn't mean there isn't a happy little thrill in his belly at hearing it, but hey, it's not like he has to tell Adam all about it.
"Infinitely fuckable," Adam clarifies. His eyelashes sweep down, then back up again, his smile turning soft, intimate.
"There are totally rules against targets seducing super-secret agent guys," Tommy lies.
Adam's smile slants a shade closer to pure evil. "Guess you haven't figured out yet that I don't really pay much attention to the rules."
Tommy's chest goes tight. It's possible that just maybe he's a little in over his head here.
*
Adam makes friends wherever Glam Nation goes. Some of them want to be more than friends, but Adam's always been a cautious about who he lets into his life, and after the whole thing in Hawaii, he burrows even tighter into the small group of good people he's surrounded himself with. Tommy's pretty happy with the situation since it makes his job easier, but mostly because it means he gets more of Adam. The potential for something scarily real between the two of them has always been there, crackling beneath the surface. So have the reasons for not letting anything happen.
But Adam's been all fucking over him ever since he came out about the whole stealth bodyguard thing. Which is pretty fucking amazing, considering how all over him Adam already was. Not that Tommy's complaining. Much. It's just, it's not so easy to keep an eye on shit when he's ten fucking seconds from creaming his jeans all the goddamn time. This is why he wasn't supposed to get invested.
And not getting invested in Adam? Fucking impossible. The guy's like a black hole or some shit, sucking Tommy straight into his orbit from the minute they met. Ever since all he's wanted to do is get all kinds of invested and involved and even more tangled up with Adam than he already is. But he's lasted this long, he can make it to the end of the tour--the end of his contract. He's not Kevin fucking Costner, Adam's not Whitney Houston (even if he can hit the same goddamn notes), Tommy can do it right. As long as Adam doesn't decide to toke up on stage and try to suck his soul out through his mouth again, anyway.
Between the last show in London and the Jingle Ball gigs, which Tommy is sort of looking forward to if for no other reason than he'll finally be able to wear a different fucking shirt on stage, Adam says, "I think I want to stay in Paris for awhile."
"Fuck yeah, Paris," Tommy says. He does a quick mental run-through of the juggling that's going to take. It's not like people aren't going to notice if he and Adam are in Paris together for a week. The fans are really fucking resourceful. Which reminds him, there are a couple he needs Monte to have a chat with. Damage control is all well and good, but recruiting a few for some pre-op misinformation would work a hell of a lot better. They'll figure it all out eventually, yeah, but after the fact doesn't hurt anybody. "We can totally swing it."
"Thanks," Adam says, his smile big and broad and bright as the sun. Tommy blinks, dazzled. He didn't think it'd be that big a deal, but hey, whatever. He's not gonna complain about anything that gets Adam to smile at him like that. "I knew you'd get it. I promise I'll fly straight to New Jersey after and meet up with you first thing."
Arctic cold nails Tommy right in the gut. "Hey, wait, back it up. You mean by yourself?"
And there it is, that stubborn glint in Adam's eyes. "Tommy, baby-"
"Don't fucking 'Tommy, baby' me," Tommy steamrolls right over whatever the hell Adam thinks he's going to say. "No way. Not a chance. Hell no, fuck no, no fucking way."
Adam scowls. His voice is carefully measured when he speaks, that tone he gets when shit is going to go his way or else. "It's too late for whoever to do whatever it is you think they're gonna do. The tour's a success. I've got the label on board for another album. Nobody's tried anything in weeks, baby."
"Yeah, except for the guy who tried to throttle you in Manchester a couple nights ago. No, wait, that was me, because I got in his way."
That takes some of the wind out of Adam's sails. His shoulders droop a fraction. "Are you okay?"
"Of course I'm okay," Tommy snaps. "You didn't even notice." And shit, shit he hadn't meant for it to come out like that. He has no idea what the hell's going on. Adam's been putting the moves on him, yeah, and he hasn't exactly responded as such (as long as you don't count sprouting wood every fifteen minutes as responding), but he's got a job to do. He's got to stay focused. No way in hell would he be able to manage that if he's got Adam's tongue in his mouth as often as Adam seems to want to put it there. And like, other places.
But it's too late. Adam's up on his feet, arms crossed, brow furrowed. "Well, too fucking bad. I'm your boss and you relieved of duty or what the fuck ever you want to call it until December 7th, or 8th, or whenever the fucking concert is."
"Yeah, too bad I don't fucking answer to you, asshole!" Tommy shouts, and whoa, whoa, what the fuck is going on here.
"Go home, Tommy Joe," Adam says, deathly quiet, and wait a second. Just wait a motherfucking second. "I'll call you when I'm back in the States."
Tommy starts to say, "But Adam-" and the door closes in his face. He stares at it accusingly. This is exactly what he's talking about with getting distracted. How the fuck did he let Adam shove him out into the goddamn hallway without him even fucking noticing?
"Fine," Tommy bitches at the peephole. "Fine, dickwad! Just fan-fucking-tastic!" So Adam doesn't want him around. Whatever. As far as Adam'll know, he won't be.
*
Tommy does not trust this Sauli guy. Which isn't really surprising, he doesn't trust a lot of people. Comes with the territory and all. But he really doesn't like this Sauli guy. It's not jealously. He is a motherfucking professional, he doesn't get jealous over what he can't even confirm is some random stress-relief. Adam is his friend, and his boss, and his sorta-client. He is not jealous.
Shithead-Sauli leans in close to whisper something that makes Adam throw his head back and laugh so hard Tommy can count every last one of Adam's fucking teeth.
God damn it, Tommy is so fucking jealous he's about to start spitting bullets. And that would really fuck up his karma. Horror movie junkie or no, actual vicious blood-spurting violence is so not his thing. He's just seriously considering revising his life philosophy, that's all he's saying.
Besides that, it's late, it's cold, and if Adam didn't have his head stuck up his fucking ass, that could be Tommy he's got his arm flung around, holding close against the wind. Tommy hunches down deeper into his jacket, muttering about fucking European vacations as he tails them around the corner of an old cathedral. Cabo was miles above fucking Paris.
Down a cobbled side street, then another. A warning prickle at the back of Tommy's neck. Adam tends towards meandering, especially when he's got nowhere he needs to be, but they're blocks away from the hotel Adam's shacked up in and getting further with every step. Shit ain't right here. When Adam vanishes around another corner, Tommy breaks into a run.
A shrieking, heavily-accented, "Mother of god!" slices through the air. Tommy rounds the corner and launches himself at the nearest goon with grim satisfaction. There's two of them this time, and they're total amateurs. In three minutes, five tops, they're both in a moaning heap on the ground. Sauli has somehow found a statue to climb like a motherfucking baby monkey, bawling his head off. Truth be told, getting up out of reach and making a racket like that was probably a good move, but it doesn't change the fact that the guy's a total pussy.
Adam is standing a few feet off, breathing heavily but barely rumpled. One of the guys on the ground twitches and Adam jolts, stomps on his hand. Something cracks. Adam winces. "Oh, ew. Gross."
Tommy crouches down to rustle up some ID. He flicks a glance at Sauli. "Maybe you could, y'know."
"Right, yeah," Adam says, and turns to Sauli. "Baby? Baby, it's okay now. Tommy got them. It's alright, honey, Tommy's with me, that's it, c'mon down."
With him, right. Like Adam didn't just try to boot Tommy back stateside, right out of the way for his little European fling. As Adam gathers Sauli close, Tommy mutters, "What the hell did they do, anyway? Chip his manicure?"
"Hey," Adam snaps.
Tommy holds up a hand. "Sorry, sorry. Look, the cops are probably gonna be here soon. Publicity's publicity and all, but." He shrugs. There's good spin and bad, but either way, it's more trouble than it's worth.
"Yeah." Adam gives Sauli's shoulder an absent, consoling rub. "I feel like a total dick for asking, but could you, uh," and he pauses, gestures lamely.
Tommy folds his arms. No way is he letting Adam wriggle out of this one.
Adam heaves a breath. "Look, could you walk me back to the hotel?"
"Yeah," Tommy says, absolutely fucking thrilled. "Whatever."
To Tommy's surprise, though, when they get back to the hotel the first thing Adam does is get somebody to call a taxi for the delicate flower still clinging to his arm. Sauli still looks a little dazed and confused about the whole thing--being around Adam's got that effect on Tommy, too, so he can't really blame the guy (he does anyway)--but Sauli says thank you as he gets in the car, and sounds like he means it. He sounds less like he means it when he asks Adam to call him, but that's Adam's problem, not Tommy's.
"Are you gonna come up?" Adam asks, after the taxi drives away.
"You sure you want me to?" The second he says it, Tommy bites his tongue. Way to shoot yourself in the fucking foot, Ratliff.
Adam turns and makes for the elevators, leaving Tommy to make a choice. Like there's any actual choice there. Of course Tommy trails along behind him like a lost, lonely little puppy. Fuck, some days he is so pathetic he wants to kick his own ass.
They don't talk in the elevator, or as they walk down the hall, or even once they're in the room. Adam goes to the bathroom and comes out with a damp washcloth, marching right up to Tommy to pick up his hand, wiping gently at Tommy's bleeding knuckles. Tommy blinks dumbly down at the bright smears of red on the cloth. He hadn't even felt that.
"I know you didn't," Adam says. Tommy backtracks for a second, but no, he definitely did not mention that out loud. "You don't notice a lot of stuff."
"Not fair," Tommy grumbles. "I notice shit."
"Could've fooled me," Adam tosses back, scrubbing harder.
Tommy winces and shuts his goddamn mouth. There's probably something he could say that would diffuse the explosion about to go up in his face. Maybe. Better knowing his luck lately, whatever he says will just set Adam off worse.
So Tommy decides he's not going to say a word. Not a single fucking word. What he's going to do is fall into Adam (almost knocking them both off their feet), fling his arms around Adam's shoulders and hold on until whatever the hell he did to piss Adam off goes the fuck away.
Adam's arms instantly come up to hold him tight. "You need to tell me what you want," is a warm murmur half-lost in Tommy's hair.
Burrowing closer, Tommy says, "I really want your mom to not fucking kill me."
The hand stroking down Tommy's back pauses for a second. "Baby, why would my mother try to kill you?"
Scrunching up his nose, Tommy sighs. He was really hoping to not have to get around to this part on his own. He doesn't like keeping shit from Adam, though. A clean slate is the right way to go. He says in a rush, "She hired me. She's like, scary protective. She knew I'd totally be your type, and you'd want me in the band no matter what. I mean, I got an audition for a position already filled. You weren't even in the fucking market for a bass player. Moms do crazy shit, man."
"Wait a minute." Adam pushes at Tommy's hips, and fuck no, Tommy doesn't want to go, but he sighs again, lets Adam shove him back to look him in the face. "Monte-"
"Totally listens to your mom's opinions on stuff."
"But-"
"Hey," Tommy says, trying for a quirk of a smile that mostly falls flat, "it's not your fault I'm a really fucking talented musician and a hot piece of ass to boot. And I can like, beat people unconscious with your breakfast."
Adam starts doing that fish impersonation thing again. It goes on for a really long couple of seconds, then Tommy says, "So, um. Are you gonna kiss me now, or have I got some more explaining to do or something?"
"I'm going to murder my mother," Adam says suddenly, red-hot and really kinda terrifying. "I'm going to thank her from the very bottom of my heart, and then kill her."
"Uh."
"Shut up, Tommy," Adam says, not really giving Tommy a choice in the matter. Tommy really is talented, he'll give himself that much, but talking while his mouth is stuffed full of someone's tongue isn't covered in a hell of a lot of detail in the ol' training manual. Or in there at all.
And the real problem with Adam's kisses--heh, 'problem'--is that once he gets going, the last thing on Tommy's mind is putting a stop to it. He probably should at least try, especially since he needs to apologise for being a total asshole for not like, fucking Adam's brains out when he had the chance.
"Oh, fuck yeah," Tommy blurts the second Adam lets him have a little air, "we should totally do that right now."
"What," Adam mumbles, nibbling on Tommy's lip, distracted.
"Fuck ourselves stupid on that great big motherfucking bed you've got over there."
Adam says something that sounds like, "Godyes," both hands slapped to Tommy's ass to hoist him up. And since Tommy is not a total idiot, thanks very fucking much, he's so on board with this plan. He hauls his legs up to wrap them snug around Adam's waist, highly appreciative of those few extra inches Adam has on him, and oh yeah, speaking of inches, Adam's cock right fucking there. Adam's very big, very hard cock that he sincerely hopes Adam is going to fuck him into next year with.
"We could've been doing this for months," Adam groans, dropping Tommy onto the bed and shucking his jeans down past his knees. "Months!"
"I fucked up!" Tommy shouts, flailing for something to hold onto as he skids down the bed. "I didn't want to like, shit where I eat or whatever!"
"Bullshit!" Adam calls happily, "bull-fucking-shit!" Then he's not saying anything else because he's too busy sucking Tommy's brains out through his dick, and Tommy's sure as hell not saying anything because he's too busy squirming down on Adam's spit-slippery fingers like a fucking three-dollar hooker, knees up and splayed wide and mouth open on a string of garbled cusses that he's actually sorta proud of when Adam gets around to telling him all about it later.
"Gonna, gonna fucking come," Tommy grits out, tugging on Adam's hair, thumping a fist on his shoulder, anything to get him to back the fuck off for a second. "Stop, stop!"
Adam pulls off, cheeks flushed, eyes dazed. "Wha- what's wrong?"
"If you're gonna fuck me, you gotta do it now. I swear I'm gonna go off like a fucking rocket in like, ten fucking seconds," Tommy pants.
Adam just stares at him. Tommy spits, "Fuck," and rolls over at exactly the same time Adam jolts into motion. There's a mad, tumbling scramble for the condoms stashed in Adam's duffle. They both go rolling off the edge of the bed, Adam ending up on bottom and Tommy landing hard enough on top of him to knock all the air out of his lungs on an explosive, "Oof!"
"Sorry," Tommy gasps, laughing like a fucking loon and still trying to get at the bag. "Sorry, just, fucking-"
The whole world spins upside down as Adam grabs on and rolls them over. Tommy manages to kick off his boots, and his jeans, and he is so deliriously happy this is happening with Adam. If it were anybody else, he'd be fucking mortified. His balls would've probably given up on him entirely and fallen off by now.
"You are so fucking gorgeous," Adam says, snagging the handle of his duffle to drag it close. He tears through it while Tommy tries to do the same to his skinny jeans.
"Whatever, sweet-talk me later," Tommy says, and barely resists the urge to fling a fist in the air for his victory over Adam's fucking cockblocking pants.
Then there's lube, and suiting Adam up, and a whole lot of kissing while Adam's fingers are up Tommy's ass, all of which Tommy endorses one-fucking-hundred percent. The carpet is soft, tickling at Tommy's shoulder blades as Adam lines up, one big hand cupping Tommy's hip to help hold him up off the floor. Things go hazy as Adam pushes, everything narrowed down to the tight, gritty pressure of getting fucked for the first time in a long, long time, and Adam starts saying all the best, really fucking amazing shit, stuff Tommy can't hold on to seconds after he hears it but works him up even worse the more Adam talks.
If Tommy had to guess, and he's a pretty good guess most times, it's all of fifteen seconds from the moment Adam fucks up into him for real to the one where Tommy is jacking his cock and coming so fucking hard he can't even see. It's probably more like five minutes at least, maybe even a whole ten before Adam is crushing him into the floor to get at his mouth, sucking desperately on his tongue while the smooth strokes Adam blew his mind with turn to a rough, shaky mess that means Adam's about to join him in brain-fried bliss.
It's all over way too fast. Adam is fucking heavy flaked out on top of him, but somehow Tommy manages to wriggle around and fish Adam's phone out of the sagging ass of his jeans. Tommy squints at the display. "Wow."
"What," Adam grunts. "How are you even moving right now."
"We were actually going at it for like, a half hour. Seriously. I woulda said fifteen minutes, tops."
"Oh my god." Adam groans, burying his face in Tommy's neck. "You're not human. That would explain so much."
Tommy pokes Adam in the ass with his heel. "What'd you say?"
"I said," Adam says, lifting his head to look at Tommy with dark, sex-heavy eyes, which is seriously a really good look for him, he should go around looking fucked out 24/7, "I can't believe you. You're incredible. It looks cute and tiny and hot, but there's so fucking much going on in there."
Tommy stretches out, alley-cat smug. "S'why they never see it comin'."
*
End
With apologies to Mr. Sauli Koskinen. Somebody had to be the monkey.
A Series of Sneaks
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~6000 words.
Tommy Joe Ratliff, International Man of Mystery. Sorta.
A Series of Sneaks
In Hong Kong, Tommy loses his passport. He feels bad about it--Adam's going to worry like a son of a bitch--but he's done things he's felt bad about before, and besides, it's the only way for him to separate from the group long enough to do what needs to get done.
"You suck," says the guy duct-taped to the toilet in the men's bathroom.
"Yep," Tommy says, busy riffling through the guy's carry-on. "Not as much as this is gonna suck for you in a minute, though." He pulls out a slim notebook from the front pocket, tosses it nonchalantly from hand to hand. That's two months of planing down the crapper for these assholes. "Wow, right here, huh? You really ain't so bright."
Genius snorts. "There's more than just me out here," he says. The nervous tick below his eye twitches violently. "You can't stop us all."
"Maybe, maybe not. But I'm gonna tell you one thing." Tommy braces both hands on the guy's shoulders, leans down so they're eye to eye. "Your buddies aren't gonna like how friendly me and you got up in here."
The second Tommy makes it through Nagoya customs, just back from LA with a shiny new passport, he holds both hands up, palms out. "I'm sorry!" he yelps, and gets a mouthful of Adam's shiny spiked hair for his trouble. "I'm really fucking sorry, and nope, never gonna happen again, I promise, ow, fuck, my ribs."
"You bet your skinny ass it's not," Adam grumps, finally letting go. He completely ignores Tommy's dramatic wheezing to grab up the backpack Tommy dropped a split-second before the attack of bone-crushing hugs. "C'mon, we're already set up in the hotel."
Flinging a helpless glance Monte's way--which gets him nothing but a smirk and a wink--Tommy sighs and follows. Adam has people to do things like pick up wayward bandmates from the airport. Sometimes, he even uses them. But not often enough. For the whole trip through the airport to the black SUV idling outside Arrivals, Tommy's head is on a fucking swivel. By the time they're all aboard and on their way, the familiar ball of nerves in Tommy's gut is threatening to spill out into the twitch of his fingers on his knee.
"I'm not mad," Adam says quietly, startling him. Monte cocks an eyebrow, and Tommy shrugs. He knows on the outside, he looks calm, mellow. He always does. But somehow, Adam's been able to see straight through him since day one.
Well. Almost straight through him.
"I was just worried," Adam goes on, rubbing his palms down his thighs, stretching out his left knee because it bothers him sometimes. It'd probably hurt him less if he quit dropping down on it like a sexy sack of potatoes every other show. One of these days, Tommy's got to teach him how to fall. "I know you haven't travelled outside the US much."
"Pft," Tommy says, and slumps deeper into the seat. "Minor setback." He folds his hands over his stomach and shrugs again, hoping that says it all.
Adam's frown cuts deeper.
"Okay, yeah, I'm kinda ticked I missed out on Bali, but what're you gonna do? Shit happens." He lists sideways in the seat to use Adam's arm as a pillow, grinning up at Adam through his eyelashes. "You can just take me on vacation somewhere else later."
"Maybe I will!" Adam declares, like it's a threat or something, and drops an arm around Tommy's shoulders.
Tommy wriggles in closer and breathes deep. From Adam's perspective, it probably seems like he needs a fucking keeper. He gets left behind at venues, gets lost when they're out on the town, has his passport stolen while they're in a fucking plane thirty-thousand feet above the ground. When he'd taken this gig--both gigs--he seriously hadn't thought he'd end up with a surrogate family out of the deal. It makes one job easier and one harder, but what the fuck ever. It's totally worth it.
Everything goes pretty smoothly from there, more or less. There's a minor supply hiccup in Honolulu that sets Tommy's teeth on edge--Honolulu, of all fucking places. He ends up awake before sunrise, standing out on his balcony staring up the half a dozen or so floors between him and Adam. It's been months since he's had neither eyes nor ears on Adam, and it's not sitting well in his gut at all.
While this isn't Tommy's first manic globe-trotting free-for-all, it's definitely the worst organised one he's ever been on. Travel plans are in place, yeah, but there's a lot more shit to coordinate than he's used to dealing with. And by shit, he means people. It was totally his fault Taylor had been detained back in Manila, but what the fuck, man. How the hell was he supposed to know Taylor would decide to root around in his stuff for a fucking new accessory? The strings he'd had to pull on that one are gonna come back to bite him in the ass sooner rather than later, that's for fucking sure.
Tommy rests his arms on the railing and leans out over it, head down as his stomach swoops. He seriously hates heights. It doesn't matter how much he tries, or how high up he goes, he never gets used to them. Relief floods in when his phone on the table behind him chirrups.
Saw ur awake n tweeting, Adam's text says. C'mon up. 4224.
As if he doesn't know exactly what room Adam's in, plus all seven ways to get in and out of it in a hurry. But then, Adam doesn't know he knows that. Tommy's smile falters. He's never been totally on board with that part of the plan.
Hauling on some jeans, Tommy wanders out to the bank of elevators with only his keycard and his phone, hits the call button and lets Adam know he'll be there in a sec while he waits. On the way up, the car stops at 29 to let a hot blond guy in board shorts and sunglasses on.
Tommy says, "Hey."
Surfer dude nods.
"So," Tommy drawls, "how's it hanging? Five, ten, lefty, righty?" He grins.
The guy cracks a smile, says, "Heh," and then there's a fist flying straight for Tommy's face.
When the doors open on 42, Tommy gives the hallway a quick, cautious peek before hauling the unconscious, definitely-not-here-for-the-waves guy down three doors to a maintenance closet. Trussing the guy up as best he can with what's available--which is pretty fucking good, even if he's got to say so himself since it's not like the other guy is in a position to comment--Tommy gives him a friendly pat on the head. "Somebody'll be back for you later, cupcake."
Tommy sends out a quick text for Warren to come get the douche out of the closet as he closes the door behind him, hanging a Do Not Disturb placard on the handle with a little chuckle. Then he he heads on down to Adam's room, fluffing his hair a bit before knocking quietly. "S'me, boss man."
All of two seconds go by before Adam opens the door. "What have I said about calling me that?" he says sourly.
"Only in bed," Tommy tosses back immediately, energy running a little high from the brief scuffle in the elevator.
"Mouthy fucker," Adam mutters. "I already ordered breakfast, go ahead and help yourself."
There's scrambled eggs on one plate, a neat array of diced fruit and a few other things, but Tommy zeros right in on the sweet siren call of crispy fried bacon so fresh it's practically still sizzling on the plate. "Oh, fuck yeah," he moans, eyes closed in bliss as the meat melts on his tongue. "Fucking fringe bennies, man."
Adam breaks off a miserly piece of bacon with a wry smile. "Glad you're happy."
"Delirious," Tommy says, pouring up a steaming cup of coffee. The doors to Adam's balcony are flung wide open to the warm ocean dawn. Tommy munches contentedly on some toast while he looks out over the waves. There's a problem here that needs taking care of, and for once, he's not so sure how to go about it. Things go a little differently when there's a private individual instead of a unit running the show. And it's been a long, long while since Tommy's bothered listening to the committees, anyway.
"So, uh," he starts, and rubs at the back of his neck when Adam looks at him over the rim of a coffee mug, both eyebrows winging up. "I'm just gonna like, lay this all out, okay?"
Adam puts the mug down so fast coffee sloshes over the rim. "What, Tommy, what's-"
Tommy flings up a hand. "Don't say anything! Just lemme talk, and then you can like, bombard me with questions and shit, cool?"
Looking a lot like he's about to face down a firing squad, Adam nods.
Tommy goes for it. The beginning's a little rough, and not really in anything resembling chronological order, so he goes back, fills in the blanks and keeps on going. He tells Adam absolutely fucking everything--almost--and Adam gapes at him the entire time. Somewhere around explaining that the whole chased-by-drag-queens-through-downtown-Lansing thing wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he recruited some extra help to run interference, but hey, it worked out, Adam's expression goes from skeptical to incredulous, but Tommy soldiers on, and finishes up with, "So, surfer dude won't be catching any waves any time soon. Heh."
Adam's brow crinkles up like a scrunched napkin. "How high are you right now?"
"I'm not, I'm not high!" Tommy protests.
"Hey, I'm not judging," Adam says placatingly. "I'm just saying maybe it's a little early, but whatever. I think you should have some more water, though."
This is not how this was supposed to work. Tommy's spilled his fucking guts here, and Adam's not buying it. He's got to admit it's a lot to swallow, and yeah, okay, he's done a pretty fucking good job up to now playing the adorable, slightly off-kilter genderqueer bassist (which isn't playing a role so much as finally not playing one), but come the fuck on. What the hell in their history together makes Adam think this, of all fucking things, is the story Tommy would come up with to tell on a pot-induced ramble? Chances are better he'd claim to be John fucking Wayne.
Which he has once. Whatever. Not the point.
"Look," Tommy says sternly. Adam's eyes bug out a little. Chances are also good Adam's never heard that tone of voice from him before, either. "I'm not high. And I'm not making this shit up. You've got--holy shit, geddown!"
The chick comes flying in over the balcony in a skin-tight wetsuit, and for a second, just a split second, okay, because Tommy is a fucking professional, he's distracted by the incredibly sweet curve of her ass in that thing. He mourns the fact that he's never gonna fill out spandex like that--not from behind, anyway--and then he flings a plate of scrambled eggs at her head.
"What the fuck!" Adam yells, standing up right in the middle of the room flapping his arms like a total idiot.
"I said get the fuck down!" Tommy shouts back, squishing the last of their breakfast as he rolls over the room service cart, overturning it to shove into her knees. She goes down in a flurry of pineapple and cherries.
"What the fuck!" Adam yells again. "What the fucking fuck!"
Rolling his eyes, Tommy nails the chick in the stomach while she's down. She shoots at look at Adam, then one at Tommy, kinda, What the fuck is up with that guy?, and Tommy grunts, "I know, right?" before he bashes her head into the floor, knocking her out cold. He slumps down beside her, one elbow propped up on her back, panting. "Okay. So that was kinda like, stage-perfect timing. Believe me now, rockstar?"
"What the fuck, Tommy Joe!" Adam hollers.
"Why do they keep sending all the hot ones after you, anyways?" Tommy mutters, heaving himself up. "'Kay, whatever. Grab your phone. And some like, glitter or something. We're outta here."
Adam crosses his arms and plants his feet. "I'm not fucking moving until you tell me what the fuck is going on. Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck is she!"
Tommy squints at her face. "No idea. Still hot though. And, uh, I already told you what was going on. I honestly think those godhatesfags assholes are behind it, but even I gotta admit, I'm pretty fucking biased."
"Behind what!" Adam shrills.
"Trying to sabotage your career?" When Adam just blinks dumbly at him, Tommy sighs. Seriously. "Okay, look. You are like, you're like, a great big glittery agent of massive social change," he tries, and hey, he likes the sound of that. "Things are in motion because of you. And you're not even trying! Well, I mean, you're deliberately doing shit, right, mostly what comes naturally, but you're doing it. What do you think is gonna happen when you actually figure out exactly where and how you wanna focus all that energy you're building up out there? People are already standing up and listening, man. All's left is for you to say fucking go!"
Adam's mouth works like a beached fish. Open, close. Open, close.
"Whatever," Tommy says, and can't keep a grin from spreading slowly across his face. "Just get your shit. No, forget it, I'll get your shit, you carry it."
"What," Adam says, then clears his throat. "What about, um, her?"
Tommy glances down. She is out cold. Fuck, he's good. "What about her?"
"Are you gonna, I don't even fucking know." Adam runs both hands back through his hair. "Take care of her or something? Because I don't think I can get behind that sort of thing."
"What?" Tommy blurts. "What, no. Jesus, Adam, who the fuck do you think I am? I'll fucking slap 'em around a little, but I don't kill people. Shit's not cool."
"Oh," Adam breathes, massively relieved. He stumbles over to grab a few things out of his duffle, then pauses, hoists the whole thing. "Can I just-"
"Yeah, yeah, take it all, c'mon already."
Right before Tommy closes the door, Adam glances back at sleeping beauty. "I don't wanna know what you consider slapping somebody around a lot."
In Stuttgart, when it's only the two of them out in a tiny cafe where Adam can get his freakin' NASA-brewed infusion of caffeine before the show that night, Adam leans close and confides, "It's exciting."
Tommy doesn't look up from his Twitter feed. "Oh yeah, a thrill a minute. What the fuck is wrong with people? No, I don't wanna see your baby burp Fever at me, yuck."
"Not Twitter, Tommy, god," Adam says. "This."
Finally looking up, Tommy takes in their surroundings. Everything is exactly the same as it had been when he'd checked it out fifteen seconds ago. The couple in the corner are even playing footsie still. "What?"
Adam grins. "We're on the lam."
"Uh."
"Not really, I know," Adam says, waving that aside as completely and totally beside the point. "But it's exciting. A beautiful foreign city, a gorgeous super-secret agent guy, an international rockstar swept up in a tide of events beyond his control..."
"Dude, you say I watch too many movies."
"Oh fuck off, Tommy Joe," Adam says, elbowing him. But that smile doesn't move an inch. "It's romantic and I like it, so shut up."
Tommy plops an elbow on the table and his chin into his hand. "Romantic, huh."
"You missed the part where I called you gorgeous. That's pretty key."
"You've got your tongue jammed down my throat pretty much every other night, think I figured out by now you think I'm hot," Tommy says. That doesn't mean there isn't a happy little thrill in his belly at hearing it, but hey, it's not like he has to tell Adam all about it.
"Infinitely fuckable," Adam clarifies. His eyelashes sweep down, then back up again, his smile turning soft, intimate.
"There are totally rules against targets seducing super-secret agent guys," Tommy lies.
Adam's smile slants a shade closer to pure evil. "Guess you haven't figured out yet that I don't really pay much attention to the rules."
Tommy's chest goes tight. It's possible that just maybe he's a little in over his head here.
Adam makes friends wherever Glam Nation goes. Some of them want to be more than friends, but Adam's always been a cautious about who he lets into his life, and after the whole thing in Hawaii, he burrows even tighter into the small group of good people he's surrounded himself with. Tommy's pretty happy with the situation since it makes his job easier, but mostly because it means he gets more of Adam. The potential for something scarily real between the two of them has always been there, crackling beneath the surface. So have the reasons for not letting anything happen.
But Adam's been all fucking over him ever since he came out about the whole stealth bodyguard thing. Which is pretty fucking amazing, considering how all over him Adam already was. Not that Tommy's complaining. Much. It's just, it's not so easy to keep an eye on shit when he's ten fucking seconds from creaming his jeans all the goddamn time. This is why he wasn't supposed to get invested.
And not getting invested in Adam? Fucking impossible. The guy's like a black hole or some shit, sucking Tommy straight into his orbit from the minute they met. Ever since all he's wanted to do is get all kinds of invested and involved and even more tangled up with Adam than he already is. But he's lasted this long, he can make it to the end of the tour--the end of his contract. He's not Kevin fucking Costner, Adam's not Whitney Houston (even if he can hit the same goddamn notes), Tommy can do it right. As long as Adam doesn't decide to toke up on stage and try to suck his soul out through his mouth again, anyway.
Between the last show in London and the Jingle Ball gigs, which Tommy is sort of looking forward to if for no other reason than he'll finally be able to wear a different fucking shirt on stage, Adam says, "I think I want to stay in Paris for awhile."
"Fuck yeah, Paris," Tommy says. He does a quick mental run-through of the juggling that's going to take. It's not like people aren't going to notice if he and Adam are in Paris together for a week. The fans are really fucking resourceful. Which reminds him, there are a couple he needs Monte to have a chat with. Damage control is all well and good, but recruiting a few for some pre-op misinformation would work a hell of a lot better. They'll figure it all out eventually, yeah, but after the fact doesn't hurt anybody. "We can totally swing it."
"Thanks," Adam says, his smile big and broad and bright as the sun. Tommy blinks, dazzled. He didn't think it'd be that big a deal, but hey, whatever. He's not gonna complain about anything that gets Adam to smile at him like that. "I knew you'd get it. I promise I'll fly straight to New Jersey after and meet up with you first thing."
Arctic cold nails Tommy right in the gut. "Hey, wait, back it up. You mean by yourself?"
And there it is, that stubborn glint in Adam's eyes. "Tommy, baby-"
"Don't fucking 'Tommy, baby' me," Tommy steamrolls right over whatever the hell Adam thinks he's going to say. "No way. Not a chance. Hell no, fuck no, no fucking way."
Adam scowls. His voice is carefully measured when he speaks, that tone he gets when shit is going to go his way or else. "It's too late for whoever to do whatever it is you think they're gonna do. The tour's a success. I've got the label on board for another album. Nobody's tried anything in weeks, baby."
"Yeah, except for the guy who tried to throttle you in Manchester a couple nights ago. No, wait, that was me, because I got in his way."
That takes some of the wind out of Adam's sails. His shoulders droop a fraction. "Are you okay?"
"Of course I'm okay," Tommy snaps. "You didn't even notice." And shit, shit he hadn't meant for it to come out like that. He has no idea what the hell's going on. Adam's been putting the moves on him, yeah, and he hasn't exactly responded as such (as long as you don't count sprouting wood every fifteen minutes as responding), but he's got a job to do. He's got to stay focused. No way in hell would he be able to manage that if he's got Adam's tongue in his mouth as often as Adam seems to want to put it there. And like, other places.
But it's too late. Adam's up on his feet, arms crossed, brow furrowed. "Well, too fucking bad. I'm your boss and you relieved of duty or what the fuck ever you want to call it until December 7th, or 8th, or whenever the fucking concert is."
"Yeah, too bad I don't fucking answer to you, asshole!" Tommy shouts, and whoa, whoa, what the fuck is going on here.
"Go home, Tommy Joe," Adam says, deathly quiet, and wait a second. Just wait a motherfucking second. "I'll call you when I'm back in the States."
Tommy starts to say, "But Adam-" and the door closes in his face. He stares at it accusingly. This is exactly what he's talking about with getting distracted. How the fuck did he let Adam shove him out into the goddamn hallway without him even fucking noticing?
"Fine," Tommy bitches at the peephole. "Fine, dickwad! Just fan-fucking-tastic!" So Adam doesn't want him around. Whatever. As far as Adam'll know, he won't be.
Tommy does not trust this Sauli guy. Which isn't really surprising, he doesn't trust a lot of people. Comes with the territory and all. But he really doesn't like this Sauli guy. It's not jealously. He is a motherfucking professional, he doesn't get jealous over what he can't even confirm is some random stress-relief. Adam is his friend, and his boss, and his sorta-client. He is not jealous.
Shithead-Sauli leans in close to whisper something that makes Adam throw his head back and laugh so hard Tommy can count every last one of Adam's fucking teeth.
God damn it, Tommy is so fucking jealous he's about to start spitting bullets. And that would really fuck up his karma. Horror movie junkie or no, actual vicious blood-spurting violence is so not his thing. He's just seriously considering revising his life philosophy, that's all he's saying.
Besides that, it's late, it's cold, and if Adam didn't have his head stuck up his fucking ass, that could be Tommy he's got his arm flung around, holding close against the wind. Tommy hunches down deeper into his jacket, muttering about fucking European vacations as he tails them around the corner of an old cathedral. Cabo was miles above fucking Paris.
Down a cobbled side street, then another. A warning prickle at the back of Tommy's neck. Adam tends towards meandering, especially when he's got nowhere he needs to be, but they're blocks away from the hotel Adam's shacked up in and getting further with every step. Shit ain't right here. When Adam vanishes around another corner, Tommy breaks into a run.
A shrieking, heavily-accented, "Mother of god!" slices through the air. Tommy rounds the corner and launches himself at the nearest goon with grim satisfaction. There's two of them this time, and they're total amateurs. In three minutes, five tops, they're both in a moaning heap on the ground. Sauli has somehow found a statue to climb like a motherfucking baby monkey, bawling his head off. Truth be told, getting up out of reach and making a racket like that was probably a good move, but it doesn't change the fact that the guy's a total pussy.
Adam is standing a few feet off, breathing heavily but barely rumpled. One of the guys on the ground twitches and Adam jolts, stomps on his hand. Something cracks. Adam winces. "Oh, ew. Gross."
Tommy crouches down to rustle up some ID. He flicks a glance at Sauli. "Maybe you could, y'know."
"Right, yeah," Adam says, and turns to Sauli. "Baby? Baby, it's okay now. Tommy got them. It's alright, honey, Tommy's with me, that's it, c'mon down."
With him, right. Like Adam didn't just try to boot Tommy back stateside, right out of the way for his little European fling. As Adam gathers Sauli close, Tommy mutters, "What the hell did they do, anyway? Chip his manicure?"
"Hey," Adam snaps.
Tommy holds up a hand. "Sorry, sorry. Look, the cops are probably gonna be here soon. Publicity's publicity and all, but." He shrugs. There's good spin and bad, but either way, it's more trouble than it's worth.
"Yeah." Adam gives Sauli's shoulder an absent, consoling rub. "I feel like a total dick for asking, but could you, uh," and he pauses, gestures lamely.
Tommy folds his arms. No way is he letting Adam wriggle out of this one.
Adam heaves a breath. "Look, could you walk me back to the hotel?"
"Yeah," Tommy says, absolutely fucking thrilled. "Whatever."
To Tommy's surprise, though, when they get back to the hotel the first thing Adam does is get somebody to call a taxi for the delicate flower still clinging to his arm. Sauli still looks a little dazed and confused about the whole thing--being around Adam's got that effect on Tommy, too, so he can't really blame the guy (he does anyway)--but Sauli says thank you as he gets in the car, and sounds like he means it. He sounds less like he means it when he asks Adam to call him, but that's Adam's problem, not Tommy's.
"Are you gonna come up?" Adam asks, after the taxi drives away.
"You sure you want me to?" The second he says it, Tommy bites his tongue. Way to shoot yourself in the fucking foot, Ratliff.
Adam turns and makes for the elevators, leaving Tommy to make a choice. Like there's any actual choice there. Of course Tommy trails along behind him like a lost, lonely little puppy. Fuck, some days he is so pathetic he wants to kick his own ass.
They don't talk in the elevator, or as they walk down the hall, or even once they're in the room. Adam goes to the bathroom and comes out with a damp washcloth, marching right up to Tommy to pick up his hand, wiping gently at Tommy's bleeding knuckles. Tommy blinks dumbly down at the bright smears of red on the cloth. He hadn't even felt that.
"I know you didn't," Adam says. Tommy backtracks for a second, but no, he definitely did not mention that out loud. "You don't notice a lot of stuff."
"Not fair," Tommy grumbles. "I notice shit."
"Could've fooled me," Adam tosses back, scrubbing harder.
Tommy winces and shuts his goddamn mouth. There's probably something he could say that would diffuse the explosion about to go up in his face. Maybe. Better knowing his luck lately, whatever he says will just set Adam off worse.
So Tommy decides he's not going to say a word. Not a single fucking word. What he's going to do is fall into Adam (almost knocking them both off their feet), fling his arms around Adam's shoulders and hold on until whatever the hell he did to piss Adam off goes the fuck away.
Adam's arms instantly come up to hold him tight. "You need to tell me what you want," is a warm murmur half-lost in Tommy's hair.
Burrowing closer, Tommy says, "I really want your mom to not fucking kill me."
The hand stroking down Tommy's back pauses for a second. "Baby, why would my mother try to kill you?"
Scrunching up his nose, Tommy sighs. He was really hoping to not have to get around to this part on his own. He doesn't like keeping shit from Adam, though. A clean slate is the right way to go. He says in a rush, "She hired me. She's like, scary protective. She knew I'd totally be your type, and you'd want me in the band no matter what. I mean, I got an audition for a position already filled. You weren't even in the fucking market for a bass player. Moms do crazy shit, man."
"Wait a minute." Adam pushes at Tommy's hips, and fuck no, Tommy doesn't want to go, but he sighs again, lets Adam shove him back to look him in the face. "Monte-"
"Totally listens to your mom's opinions on stuff."
"But-"
"Hey," Tommy says, trying for a quirk of a smile that mostly falls flat, "it's not your fault I'm a really fucking talented musician and a hot piece of ass to boot. And I can like, beat people unconscious with your breakfast."
Adam starts doing that fish impersonation thing again. It goes on for a really long couple of seconds, then Tommy says, "So, um. Are you gonna kiss me now, or have I got some more explaining to do or something?"
"I'm going to murder my mother," Adam says suddenly, red-hot and really kinda terrifying. "I'm going to thank her from the very bottom of my heart, and then kill her."
"Uh."
"Shut up, Tommy," Adam says, not really giving Tommy a choice in the matter. Tommy really is talented, he'll give himself that much, but talking while his mouth is stuffed full of someone's tongue isn't covered in a hell of a lot of detail in the ol' training manual. Or in there at all.
And the real problem with Adam's kisses--heh, 'problem'--is that once he gets going, the last thing on Tommy's mind is putting a stop to it. He probably should at least try, especially since he needs to apologise for being a total asshole for not like, fucking Adam's brains out when he had the chance.
"Oh, fuck yeah," Tommy blurts the second Adam lets him have a little air, "we should totally do that right now."
"What," Adam mumbles, nibbling on Tommy's lip, distracted.
"Fuck ourselves stupid on that great big motherfucking bed you've got over there."
Adam says something that sounds like, "Godyes," both hands slapped to Tommy's ass to hoist him up. And since Tommy is not a total idiot, thanks very fucking much, he's so on board with this plan. He hauls his legs up to wrap them snug around Adam's waist, highly appreciative of those few extra inches Adam has on him, and oh yeah, speaking of inches, Adam's cock right fucking there. Adam's very big, very hard cock that he sincerely hopes Adam is going to fuck him into next year with.
"We could've been doing this for months," Adam groans, dropping Tommy onto the bed and shucking his jeans down past his knees. "Months!"
"I fucked up!" Tommy shouts, flailing for something to hold onto as he skids down the bed. "I didn't want to like, shit where I eat or whatever!"
"Bullshit!" Adam calls happily, "bull-fucking-shit!" Then he's not saying anything else because he's too busy sucking Tommy's brains out through his dick, and Tommy's sure as hell not saying anything because he's too busy squirming down on Adam's spit-slippery fingers like a fucking three-dollar hooker, knees up and splayed wide and mouth open on a string of garbled cusses that he's actually sorta proud of when Adam gets around to telling him all about it later.
"Gonna, gonna fucking come," Tommy grits out, tugging on Adam's hair, thumping a fist on his shoulder, anything to get him to back the fuck off for a second. "Stop, stop!"
Adam pulls off, cheeks flushed, eyes dazed. "Wha- what's wrong?"
"If you're gonna fuck me, you gotta do it now. I swear I'm gonna go off like a fucking rocket in like, ten fucking seconds," Tommy pants.
Adam just stares at him. Tommy spits, "Fuck," and rolls over at exactly the same time Adam jolts into motion. There's a mad, tumbling scramble for the condoms stashed in Adam's duffle. They both go rolling off the edge of the bed, Adam ending up on bottom and Tommy landing hard enough on top of him to knock all the air out of his lungs on an explosive, "Oof!"
"Sorry," Tommy gasps, laughing like a fucking loon and still trying to get at the bag. "Sorry, just, fucking-"
The whole world spins upside down as Adam grabs on and rolls them over. Tommy manages to kick off his boots, and his jeans, and he is so deliriously happy this is happening with Adam. If it were anybody else, he'd be fucking mortified. His balls would've probably given up on him entirely and fallen off by now.
"You are so fucking gorgeous," Adam says, snagging the handle of his duffle to drag it close. He tears through it while Tommy tries to do the same to his skinny jeans.
"Whatever, sweet-talk me later," Tommy says, and barely resists the urge to fling a fist in the air for his victory over Adam's fucking cockblocking pants.
Then there's lube, and suiting Adam up, and a whole lot of kissing while Adam's fingers are up Tommy's ass, all of which Tommy endorses one-fucking-hundred percent. The carpet is soft, tickling at Tommy's shoulder blades as Adam lines up, one big hand cupping Tommy's hip to help hold him up off the floor. Things go hazy as Adam pushes, everything narrowed down to the tight, gritty pressure of getting fucked for the first time in a long, long time, and Adam starts saying all the best, really fucking amazing shit, stuff Tommy can't hold on to seconds after he hears it but works him up even worse the more Adam talks.
If Tommy had to guess, and he's a pretty good guess most times, it's all of fifteen seconds from the moment Adam fucks up into him for real to the one where Tommy is jacking his cock and coming so fucking hard he can't even see. It's probably more like five minutes at least, maybe even a whole ten before Adam is crushing him into the floor to get at his mouth, sucking desperately on his tongue while the smooth strokes Adam blew his mind with turn to a rough, shaky mess that means Adam's about to join him in brain-fried bliss.
It's all over way too fast. Adam is fucking heavy flaked out on top of him, but somehow Tommy manages to wriggle around and fish Adam's phone out of the sagging ass of his jeans. Tommy squints at the display. "Wow."
"What," Adam grunts. "How are you even moving right now."
"We were actually going at it for like, a half hour. Seriously. I woulda said fifteen minutes, tops."
"Oh my god." Adam groans, burying his face in Tommy's neck. "You're not human. That would explain so much."
Tommy pokes Adam in the ass with his heel. "What'd you say?"
"I said," Adam says, lifting his head to look at Tommy with dark, sex-heavy eyes, which is seriously a really good look for him, he should go around looking fucked out 24/7, "I can't believe you. You're incredible. It looks cute and tiny and hot, but there's so fucking much going on in there."
Tommy stretches out, alley-cat smug. "S'why they never see it comin'."
End
With apologies to Mr. Sauli Koskinen. Somebody had to be the monkey.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2011-01-04 08:05 pm (UTC)[sorchasilver @ LJ/Twitter]
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Date: 2011-01-04 08:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-04 09:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-04 09:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-04 09:12 pm (UTC)Hilariously funny ("It'd probably hurt him less if he quit dropping down on it like a sexy sack of potatoes every other show" and "I can like, beat people unconscious with your breakfast.")
And blazingly hot (the whole last part of the story is my evidence for THAT one!)
Love, love, loved it!
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Date: 2011-01-04 09:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-04 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-04 09:33 pm (UTC)Hot as hell and cool as shit!
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Date: 2011-01-05 12:22 am (UTC)hahaha I loved this. Silly Tommy and Adam.
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Date: 2011-01-05 12:26 am (UTC)How the hell do you get that to be GOOD? !!!
Love your Tommy in this ; )
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Date: 2011-01-05 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 03:40 am (UTC)She shoots at look at Adam, then one at Tommy, kinda, What the fuck is up with that guy?, and Tommy grunts, "I know, right?" before he bashes her head into the floor, knocking her out cold. He slumps down beside her, one elbow propped up on her back, panting. "Okay. So that was kinda like, stage-perfect timing. Believe me now, rockstar?"
I love the way you write Tommy's thoughts, his disgruntlement over getting too invested, and how he gives into it, because you know, no one can resist a great big glittery agent of massive social change, hee. And having it turn out to be Leila who hired him? Perfect. Lots of fun, this one :D
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Date: 2011-01-05 04:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 04:43 am (UTC)Lyn
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Date: 2011-01-05 06:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 12:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 01:53 pm (UTC)Genius!
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Date: 2011-01-05 04:45 pm (UTC)Funny, fresh, hot, innovative and an great way to start a Wensday (so close yet so far from weekend...). And I have no idea why, but I can't get over the idea of ninja!Tommy. It makes me smile every single time.
Yeah, sorry Sauli. You seem like a nice guy and all, but hey, your sacrifice helped the cause
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Date: 2011-01-05 05:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 06:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-08 07:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-23 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-08 08:40 pm (UTC)