Fic: The Big Picture - Adam/Tommy
Mar. 21st, 2011 12:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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quinn222, who requested a fic that picks up where the usual get-together trope leaves off. I hope you enjoy! <3
Written while hopped up on cold meds. Oops.
The Big Picture
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~5000 words.
Staring at pictures of them doing the nasty in a back alley is one of those things that should be awkward.
*
The Big Picture
"Shit." Tommy clicks another link. It's worse than the last. "Shit." Another click, and his fucking cock is visible in this one. "Fuck."
"I don't want to see, do I," Adam says from across the bright, sunshiny kitchen where he's making coffee.
"Maybe," Tommy says. "They're kinda hot. But uh, yeah." He slumps onto the table, chin in hand. There are claw marks low on Adam's naked back. Ones he put there. "Pretty obvious you got your dick in me."
Barefoot, Adam pads back to the table and sets both coffees down. He hooks a chair over with his toes, sitting close enough his thigh presses along the whole length of Tommy's. Angling the laptop his way, he says, "I see what you mean."
Staring at pictures of them doing the nasty in a back alley is one of those things that should be awkward. The rest of the world has no business seeing the look on his face that pretty clearly says he's a little bitch and he likes it, but mostly, he's relieved. Last night is a booze-soaked smear in his memory. He remembers confessions, hurried kisses, a wild, hectic stumble and not wanting to wait, then the blunt shock of Adam fucking up inside him. After that all he's got are vague impressions of Adam's stupidly happy smile, more kisses, tumbling into Adam's bed together. Though having pictures out there on the internet isn't any kind of awesome, it's not so bad, either. Pictures make it real.
Tommy glances up to find Adam regarding him steadily. "What?"
"You don't look upset," Adam says, reaching out to stroke a thumb along his jaw. "I thought you would be."
"Well, I'm not like, exactly delirious with joy," Tommy says. Except for how he sort of is. Worried, sure. Embarrassed, definitely--his mom's probably heard all about it by now. TMZ has a video clip of Adam bundling him half-naked into the back of an SUV. They're kissing the whole time, wet and messy and incredibly drunk. "But I'm not sorry."
Adam's gaze hops to the screen. On it, Tommy's hands are buried in Adam's hair, a rain of glitter sparkling on the black of Adam's leather jacket, and Tommy's got one leg hitched up, hooked around Adam's to drag him in close. They're in the middle of kissing in this picture, too. Apparently they spent a lot of last night making out.
"Lane called," Adam says, looking back to Tommy.
"Yeah?"
"She needs to know what we want to do."
Tommy flicks a glance at his phone. It's been on silent all morning. "Do we know what we wanna do?"
"I've got some hopes," Adam admits, a shy smile creeping in at the corners of his lips. Tommy hasn't seen a lot of that smile. He woke up to it this morning, though, his head pounding and his mouth tasting like crap and Adam beside him wearing it and not much else.
Tommy doesn't even have to think about it. "I'm in," he says, scooting over to tuck himself beneath Adam's arm. "Gonna be a lot of shit, and some people are gonna be pretty pissed, but fuck 'em. I meant what I said."
Leaning back, Adam lets his hand slide down Tommy's arm past the sleeve of his tee, fingertips lightly stroking ink. "You said a lot of stuff, Tommy Joe."
"Okay, that part where I said I'd marry you for your dick was sleazy. Still kinda meant it." Since Adam started it, Tommy figures it's cool if he runs his hand over Adam's bare chest, short hairs soft and prickly against his palm. He's not sure if he's remembering the scratch of them against his back, or imagining it. Cheek resting on Adam's shoulder, he tucks his fingertips beneath the waistband of Adam's sweats. "Wanna be my steady?"
Adam laughs, bright and happy, and kisses the top of his head. "Is everything going to be this easy with you?"
If Tommy had to put money down, he'd put it on them. They're both kind of dumb sometimes, hung up on truths that aren't, but they've gotten through worse than a half dozen compromising photographs posted on the web. "Dunno," he says, sneaking his fingers further down Adam's belly, looking for the heat of his cock. "You gonna let me get a look at your dick now that you're not busy fucking me with it?"
Adam laughs again, but it's rougher this time, edged with a sultry purr Tommy definitely remembers pressed to his throat between kisses last night. "Dealbreaker if I don't, huh?" he says, his legs falling wider, inviting Tommy's hand to wrap around his cock, tug it free.
Whatever snarky comeback Tommy had planned for that dies on the tip of his tongue. Size is the first thing that hits him, but whatever, he knew Adam was packing some pretty sweet heat already. He knew that Adam's cut, too, but not that he's a shower and a grower, because half-hard Adam's thick, really thick, and he totally leaks when Tommy gives him a good, hard tug straight from root to tip. Tommy's mouth goes wet. "Wow."
Fingers curl beneath Tommy's chin, tilt his face up. Sunlight glinting in his eyes, Adam says, "Wow?"
"Yeah, wow, fucking egoist," Tommy says, shaking free of Adam's hold with a playful snap of teeth. "You seriously fucked me with this? How the hell did I even walk down the goddamn stairs?"
Adam grins, so fucking pleased, as if he actually deserves credit for the happy gene accident that led to him being born with Godzilla's dick. "You were pretty drunk by the time it got that far. Plus I rimmed you in the bathroom first."
"You what?" Tommy squawks, sitting bolt upright. "Fuck, for real?"
"Oh, baby," Adam says, caught between laughing his ass off and genuine disappointment. "You really don't remember?"
Frowning, Tommy gives Adam's dick a rough squeeze, like that's any kind of proper reprimand for fucking sticking his tongue up Tommy's ass without the decency to make sure he damn well remembers it in the morning. Wracking his sluggish, before-noon brain gets him nothing.
"Fine," Tommy declares, shoving his chair back with a grate of wood on tile. "Since you remember it so well, we're gonna go do everything all over again. Did I blow you?"
"Uh, no," Adam says, sounding dazed as Tommy starts stripping off last night's clothes, leaving the whole works in a heap on the floor by the kitchen table.
"Cool," Tommy says, grabbing Adam by the hand to haul his useless ass up. "We'll like, add improvements as we go along." He yanks Adam's sweats down, fully intending on marching Adam straight into the bedroom for round two. His gaze gets caught on the thick curve of Adam's cock, though, and he drops forward onto one knee, hands cupping the backs of Adam's thighs. "Did we use a rubber?"
"Yeah, you," Adam says, and swallows hard. "You said you were clean, though."
"You too?" Tommy says, watching Adam's face as he nuzzles into the crook of Adam's thigh. "Condom's just less messy, right?"
Adam croaks out a sound Tommy decides means yes, takes hold of Adam's cock in one hand and waits a beat in case it didn't. When all Adam offers up by way of explanation is a strangled groan, Tommy says, "Fuck it," and sticks Adam's dick in his mouth, sucking hard right from the get-go. Adam's hips snap forward, giving him more than he can handle--and seriously making him doubt he'll ever be able to handle it all, holy fuck, Adam's got a lot of dick--and he chokes a bit, eases off while Adam's babbling apologies about not expecting Tommy to just go and do that.
"First rule of boyfriends," Tommy says, spying a freckle on Adam's balls, Adam's balls, okay, that he has to lick. "Cocksucking is a constant possibility." There's another freckle, a big one half-hidden by Adam's neatly-trimmed pubes, and Tommy angles down, intent on tasting that one, too. A hand in his hair stops him before he's even halfway there. "Hey," he grunts.
Very, very calmly, Adam unclenches his teeth to say, "I need to call Lane."
Tommy sizes up Adam's cock. "Five minutes. She can wait another five minutes."
A tremor goes through Adam's legs. For a second it looks like Tommy's won, then his mouth thins down to a firm line and he resolutely hauls Tommy up by the armpits. "There's going to be a press conference. Interviews. People poking through your past more than they already do."
"Trying to scare me off isn't really cool," Tommy says, scowling.
"I don't want, that's not what I'm trying to do," Adam says, way too seriously for a guy that just got laid at least twice. And he nixed a good morning hummer, who the fuck does that? "We've got history. They're going to dig everything they can out of it."
Tommy would honestly like to know who this sinister lurking 'they' are. Those pictures aren't surprising anybody. Whoever 'they' are, they're probably sitting around sharing a congratulatory drink on calling all that straight bullshit of Adam's.
"Look," Tommy says, feeling kind of ridiculous having this conversation while they're both buck fucking naked in the middle of the kitchen letting two perfectly good boners to go waste. "Obviously I'm not going to say I don't care, because I fucking hate interviews and all that shit and you know it, but if I've got to parrot a couple of Lane's really carefully worded lines seven hundred times, whatever. Like, seriously, what the fuck ever, already wasted enough time. Can we go upstairs and bang now?"
Already in the middle of saying no, Adam abruptly switches to a hissed, "Yes," when Tommy grabs hold of his cock again, gives it a couple slow-rough jerks.
"Atta boy," Tommy says, backing up a step, another, his grip on Adam's cock firm.
"You're not really going to lead me upstairs by my dick," Adam says doubtfully, hand caught on Tommy's elbow as he shuffles forward.
"One way or another, baby," Tommy promises, thumbing at Adam's slit, smearing the dampness there against his own belly. "Call Lane after you come in my ass."
"Oh, fuck you," Adam crows, the world tilting sideways as he swoops down, scoops Tommy up over his shoulder. Tommy grunts a curse, not really interested in gaining his feet again as long as his dick's rubbing against Adam's chest like that, edgy ticklish pleasure racing along his nerves.
"Guest bedroom's closer," Tommy wheezes, wiggling a little as Adam's fingertips stroke along the cleft of his ass. He tries to aim a slap to Adam's ass in response, but Adam bites at his hip and rubs at his balls, totally knocking him off his game. He goes limp instead. "Yeah, okay, I guess you can keep doing that for awhile."
"Wait until it's my tongue," Adam says, and Tommy groans his wholehearted agreement.
*
That night, as they're curled up in bed watching ET run a segment on them, Tommy thinks about how this isn't really different from most nights they've flaked out together. For sure there's a lot less clothes, and Tommy is maybe a little fixated on the trail of hair low on Adam's belly, tracing it with his fingers over and over, and there's that whole thing where he can still taste Adam's cock in his mouth, but aside from all that, it's pretty much the same. He's warm and comfortable, Adam's heartbeat is steady beneath his ear, and there's nowhere else he wants to be.
"We're really dumb," Tommy says, watching a montage of kisses from the first tour play out on the screen. "We've been in love for like, months. Why didn't anybody tell us?"
"I think they tried," Adam says. He combs a bit of hair back from Tommy's face, tucks it behind one ear. His thumb lingers on the line of piercings there, making metal clink. "Are you?"
"What, in love with you?"
When Adam only makes a small noise of agreement, Tommy sighs and shuffles around to meet his gaze. "Like, what even," Tommy says. "I totally thought you were cool as shit when we met, and then you turned out to be cooler than shit, and fucking adorable and seriously really talented, and you're my best friend. And you're a hot fuck. And like, Jesus."
"So that's a yes," Adam ventures, smiling that shy, happy smile of his again. "Even though I'm not actually Jesus."
"Yes that's a yes," Tommy says, hefting the blankets to clamber over Adam's leg, settle down between his thighs Tommy's back to his chest. "Cuddle me. And oh shit," he says, grabbing at the remote, cranking the volume. "It's that dude. They actually put that dude on the clip, fuck."
Adam waits patiently until Tommy's done getting comfy to drape both arms around him. "The religious guy?"
"Yeah, the religious guy," Tommy says. "Of course they had to put in the one part of the conference where I'm a total dick."
Adam nuzzles at his cheek. "You weren't a dick."
"You're my boyfriend. That's what you're supposed to say."
On television, a guy in a boring grey suit waves his press credentials--which Tommy would bet fifty bucks are fake--and stands up, booms, "Mr. Ratliff, do you blame Adam Lambert?"
Stupidly, Tommy's image on screen says, "Blame him for what?"
"For converting you to homosexuality," the guys calls over the sudden rise of the general hubbub. "For addicting you, quite possibly against your will, to-"
"Dude, what the fuck." Laughing nervously, his grip on Adam's hand obviously tightening, Tommy says, "I'm not gonna tell you which parts I'm addicted to. Next?"
The camera zooms in on Adam's wide smile as he wraps his other hand around their clasped fingers just before he turns away to field the question somebody's trying to shout through the roar of laughter.
Beside Tommy on the bed, Adam leans down to peck his cheek. "See? Not a dick at all."
"I was totally calling him a bible-thumping fuckwad douchebag in my head," Tommy says, turning partway around so Adam's mouth catches on the corner of his.
"But that was your inside voice," Adam murmurs, licking at Tommy's lip. His hand tightens on Tommy's arm, fingers splayed out wide over ink. "God, you still taste like me."
Tommy grins. "Want me to go brush my teeth?"
"No," Adam growls, forestalling any other stupid ideas by shoving his tongue into Tommy's mouth. Tommy opens up for it, slightly weirded out by how the recording playing out on television of Adam calmly stating that he and Tommy were not in hiding for months while on tour, they simply weren't together, doesn't weird him out.
Messing up Adam's kiss, Tommy says, "We kinda were. Together, I mean."
"In that way where neither of us admitted it, sure," Adam says, his hand on Tommy's jaw guiding him in for another kiss, picking right up where he left off. "Or even knew it."
"Love's fucked in the head anyway," Tommy says, and turns all the way around to climb into Adam's lap, way more interested in some quality making out and maybe another blowjob or two than in the media circus playing out on television.
*
"Twitter sucks," Tommy declares two days later over steaks, salad, a really awesome red wine, and the quiet lapping of the pool in Adam's backyard.
"Mm," Adam says from behind him, non-committally. Though the sun's long since set, he still has his sunglasses on, rock star gorgeous in the twilight with a glass of wine in one hand, the other on Tommy's thigh.
"Like, seriously," Tommy says, jabbing vengefully at his phone. "'I'm glad you're together finally!'" he says, high-pitched and vapid. "'It hurt so much to see you breaking Adam's heart!' Did I break your fucking heart? I don't think so."
Instead of jumping in with a hell no, Adam picks up a bit of chopped carrot and pops it in his mouth. The crunch is loud in the stillness.
A heavy weight in his gut, Tommy twists around. "I didn't break your heart," he repeats, a lot less certain this time.
Pushing up his sunglasses, tiny red prints left on his nose, Adam shrugs and says, "Sometimes."
"Dude!" Tommy pitches his phone onto the table and flails like an idiot, scooting his butt back on the lounger so he can face Adam head on. One of his legs ends up slung over Adam's, the other tucked beneath him. "Are you serious? Of course you're fucking serious. Shit."
"I daydreamed a little," Adam says, rescuing his wine from the deck where he laid it when Tommy started kicking around. "It was my own fault. You never promised me anything."
"But you never said." Scowling, Tommy folds his arms. "And like, neither did I, but I wasn't like, crying into my whiskey over it."
Adam's eyebrow wings up.
"Don't give me that," Tommy says, grabbing for Adam's wine and downing it in one gulp. Shit. Shit. Adam's totally a crier. He made Adam Lambert cry.
"Baby," Adam says, cupping Tommy's jaw, and Tommy tries to bat him away with the empty wineglass. Adam's having none of it. Ignoring the scowl Tommy's working, he frames Tommy's face in both hands, forcing Tommy to meet his steady gaze. Adam does that a lot. "You didn't do anything but be yourself."
"Yeah, a total asshole that made you fucking cry," Tommy mutters.
Adam's grip goes tight, fingertips digging in behind the hinge of Tommy's jaw. "I want you to listen to me, because the last thing either of us needs is this festering in your head. You didn't lead me on. You definitely didn't try to hurt me, or rip my heart out, or anything like that."
Wincing, Tommy says, "Be a little more graphic why don't you."
"I'm going to write you a love song," Adam declares.
Tommy's stomach lurches. Sleepwalker starts blaring in his head. "Wait, what?"
"It's going to be amazing," Adam says, one of his hands sliding back into Tommy's hair. "All about things right in front of your face and being brave enough to ask for them even though you don't think it's going to do any good."
"I would've," Tommy says, plucking at the frayed hem of Adam's late 80s jean shorts. "If you asked." Fuck it, where the hell were his balls, still waiting to drop? He should've been the one to ask months and months ago. He'd thought about it often enough.
"And," Adam goes on, "how it's not the end of the world if it takes you a little longer than you think it should, as long as you do it in the end."
"You're such a sap," Tommy says, stomping down on the urge to sniffle.
"You love me anyway," Adam says, joking, sure, but asking, too.
Fiddling with the empty wineglass, Tommy says, "You really gonna write me a song?"
Adam nods. "I'm going to make you play it, too, and sing it to you on stage. And probably remix it into a dance anthem. I know how much you love a good raver mix."
"Asshole," Tommy mutters, cuddling in so Adam's arms will come around him, cradle him close. "I'm sorry it took us so long."
"I'm not," Adam says. Tommy squints up at him doubtfully. "I'm really not. We got here, that's all that matters."
"I guess," Tommy says, still not entirely convinced. "I still feel like a dick. We should go fuck."
Adam laughs, holding on tighter. "You don't need to give me make-up sex."
"But-"
"I'll take just-because sex, though," Adam says, finally getting the wineglass out of Tommy's hands. He puts it on the table beside the remains of their dinner, and while Tommy's got a hand free, he nabs a bite of steak for a quick shot of protein. Sex with Adam takes a lot of energy.
Finding Tommy in the middle of chewing, unavailable for a kiss, Adam gives him that eyebrow again. With a helpful smile, Tommy pokes one of his fingers into Adam's mouth. "Got steak sauce all over 'em," he says after he swallows.
"Mmhm," Adam says, ridiculous with Tommy's finger hanging out of his mouth, still somehow smoking hot with that imperious slant to his eyebrow. Grasping Tommy's wrist, he starts licking, sucking a little, adding a scrape of teeth as he cleans off Tommy's fingers one by one, even the ones that don't have any sauce on them.
"I fucking love your tongue," Tommy says, pulling his hand away to lick at his own fingers, searching for any stickiness Adam missed.
"Going to let me kiss you now?" Adam asks.
"Oh fuck yeah." When Adam leans in, though, Tommy's already squirming around, swinging his leg over the side of the lounger to give Adam his back. Grabbing at the thick cushion, he wrestles it into a little bundle and stuffs it under his chest, something to hold onto for when Adam really gets going.
Wryly, Adam says, "I meant your mouth."
"Didn't say that," Tommy says, figuring out too late he really should've taken care of his shorts first, and starts shoving at them. "You're totally kissing my ass first."
"If I have to," Adam says, taking over as soon as Tommy gets a knee up on the lounger, skinning his shorts down all the way and off his other foot. "We have a perfectly good bed upstairs."
"Fuck the bed," Tommy says, shivering when Adam's big warm hands cup his ass, thumbs sliding in between the cheeks to spread him. There's a rush of cooler night air, then Adam's hot breath, and Tommy moans a little on a slow exhale. "I wanted to do this in Cabo."
"Cabo," Adam echoes, like he's honestly surprised. He nuzzles a kiss into the meat of Tommy's ass, taking his sweet time getting to the good stuff. "Really?"
"Yes, really. Fuck, you don't need to warm me up, would you just stick it in already?"
"Maybe I want to hear more about what else you wanted to do in Cabo," Adam says, giving him a teasing lick, then a longer, slower one, almost enough pressure.
The hairs on Tommy's arms stand up like the atmosphere is charged with a thunderstorm. He rocks back, chasing after that slick heat, grunting a curse when Adam refuses him with a laugh. "I wanted to fucking come on your face," he grates, not a total lie, but probably not the first thing he would've 'fessed up to if Adam would fucking rim him already.
"I would've let you," Adam says, shocking the hell right out of him. When Tommy starts to twist around, he takes a playful bite out of Tommy's ass. "Stay there."
"Come on, really?" Tommy says, but he settles back down. "You gotta tell me this shit now?"
"You were hot, and genuine," Adam says, rubbing spit-slick fingers along Tommy's crack, making his breath catch. "And tiny, Tommy Joe, so fucking cute and tiny, and I would've done a hell of a lot more than let you jerk off on my face if it meant fucking you."
Tommy swallows down the frantic leap of his heart into his throat. If anything had happened in Cabo between them, it wouldn't have been a casual fuck. It seems like a lot of wasted time between there and here, but maybe not. Tommy's not so sure he would've been able to handle all of this back then. With Adam's mouth on his ass, tongue sweeping softly over his hole making him moan, he's not so sure he can handle it now.
When Adam asks, "Want to see if I can get you off like this?" Tommy ends up pretty fucking convinced he's not going to be able to handle it, but he wants everything anyway.
Getting a better grip on the lounger, Tommy says, "Yeah, c'mon, give it your best shot."
Adam goes right for it, a slick dirty wiggle of his tongue pushing up into Tommy, shocking him tight and then slowly licking him loose, long and lazy and so, so good. Adam gets his fingers in there too, stroking a bit at first, getting Tommy into the rhythm before the tips move in close, tug him open. Then Adam's tongue is back, big wide licks that make Tommy's stomach jitter.
"I love how much you love it," Adam says between another lick and a slow, dirty kiss tongued right into Tommy's hole. "I could play with your ass all fucking day."
"Okay," Tommy says, because what the fuck is he gonna do, say no? He's got one hand on his cock, not jacking or anything, just giving it a squeeze or two when Adam's fingers push at him, slide up and in and start stroking him on the inside. He gulps in a breath that smells like sex and fresh-cut grass soaked in summer heat. It's fucking crazy, but if Adam keeps this up, he's totally going to come.
"I know you are, baby," Adam says, angling to press against Tommy's prostate, making him jump on a sharp noise and precome leak thickly from his slit. "You're so fucking easy, and I love it. I love it, Tommy, you're gonna make a gorgeous mess for me, aren't you?"
Tommy wheezes, "No fucking problem," squeezing his cock near the base, trying to hold on a little longer. He's used to the need to come running roughshod over him, grabbing him by the throat and not letting go until he gives in. This isn't like that at all, a slow, powerful tide rising up, ebbing, rising again with the rhythm of Adam moving inside him, tongue and fingers both. He's rocking back into it, forward into the tight tunnel of his fist, the dry drag of his hand the only thing that's keeping him teetering on the edge. Then Adam's slick fingers go and tangle with his, not even long enough to really jerk him off, but it's all he needs. He comes into Adam's cupped palm, shuddering as Adam hums his approval between soft, slow licks, gradually easing off to tiny kisses as Tommy goes lax.
Dazed, Tommy says, "That was really good."
"You bet it was," Adam says, the lounger creaking as he settles back. "Don't move."
Licking his lips, Tommy glances back over his shoulder. Adam's got his fly open and his junk out, Tommy's come briefly glistening in his hand before he smears it over his cock, starts jerking off with it. "Gonna come on me?" Tommy asks, sliding his knee out from under him, going belly down on the lounger to give Adam a really good shot at getting it all over his ass. He tilts his hips up, makes sure Adam can see the soft crush of his balls along with the wet shine on his hole.
"Fuck," Adam says, rocking the lounger as he scoots forward, gets his knees tucked up under Tommy's, spreading Tommy nice and wide with one hand. His cockhead bumps against Tommy's balls, smoothly rides the slick up to Tommy's asshole, and Tommy sucks in a harsh breath, wondering if he's going to go for it.
"So fucking hot," Adam's saying, rich voice gone to a gravel-grate, "baby, you don't even know how sweet you are, that you don't even think twice about what you'll let me do to you," and maybe Tommy doesn't really get that, because letting Adam come on his ass doesn't seem like a big deal. Letting Adam spit-fuck him bare is something else, yeah, but Adam's got him pretty loose and wet, and it's not like he figures Adam's going to just jam it in and pound the fuck out of him.
Before Tommy has a chance to fill Adam in on all that, Adam's grip on his ass goes tight. Adam makes that rough, hurt noise that means it's really, really good as he loses it, warm, wet streaks of come painted right over Tommy's hole, some of it smeared up inside him on the pad of Adam's thumb. Not expecting that last part, Tommy takes a shallow breath, eases up on the reflexive clench of his body.
"That's it, baby," Adam says, his dick hot against Tommy's ass as he brings a couple fingers into the mix, sinks in all the way to his knuckles. The sturdy lounger creaks again as he bends low, mouths a kiss to Tommy's spine. "You were going to let me fuck you."
Tongue going thick as Adam pulls free, Tommy says, "Yeah. Yeah, I. You would've made it good."
"So good, baby," Adam says, urging Tommy back by the hips, then up by one elbow until he's lying back against Adam's chest, Adam's legs up on the lounger, knees bent to ward off the chill settling in now that Tommy's out here with no clothes on not getting sexed up.
"Dude," Tommy says, laughing, "we just had sex by your fucking pool, how Hollywood is that shit?"
Adam makes a considering noise. "Pretty Hollywood, but it's not really Hollywood until you let me carry you upstairs and ravish you."
Wiggling free, Tommy sticks his arms up for Adam to get to it. "Let's go, big guy."
*
End
quinn222, who requested a fic that picks up where the usual get-together trope leaves off. I hope you enjoy! <3Written while hopped up on cold meds. Oops.
The Big Picture
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~5000 words.
Staring at pictures of them doing the nasty in a back alley is one of those things that should be awkward.
The Big Picture
"Shit." Tommy clicks another link. It's worse than the last. "Shit." Another click, and his fucking cock is visible in this one. "Fuck."
"I don't want to see, do I," Adam says from across the bright, sunshiny kitchen where he's making coffee.
"Maybe," Tommy says. "They're kinda hot. But uh, yeah." He slumps onto the table, chin in hand. There are claw marks low on Adam's naked back. Ones he put there. "Pretty obvious you got your dick in me."
Barefoot, Adam pads back to the table and sets both coffees down. He hooks a chair over with his toes, sitting close enough his thigh presses along the whole length of Tommy's. Angling the laptop his way, he says, "I see what you mean."
Staring at pictures of them doing the nasty in a back alley is one of those things that should be awkward. The rest of the world has no business seeing the look on his face that pretty clearly says he's a little bitch and he likes it, but mostly, he's relieved. Last night is a booze-soaked smear in his memory. He remembers confessions, hurried kisses, a wild, hectic stumble and not wanting to wait, then the blunt shock of Adam fucking up inside him. After that all he's got are vague impressions of Adam's stupidly happy smile, more kisses, tumbling into Adam's bed together. Though having pictures out there on the internet isn't any kind of awesome, it's not so bad, either. Pictures make it real.
Tommy glances up to find Adam regarding him steadily. "What?"
"You don't look upset," Adam says, reaching out to stroke a thumb along his jaw. "I thought you would be."
"Well, I'm not like, exactly delirious with joy," Tommy says. Except for how he sort of is. Worried, sure. Embarrassed, definitely--his mom's probably heard all about it by now. TMZ has a video clip of Adam bundling him half-naked into the back of an SUV. They're kissing the whole time, wet and messy and incredibly drunk. "But I'm not sorry."
Adam's gaze hops to the screen. On it, Tommy's hands are buried in Adam's hair, a rain of glitter sparkling on the black of Adam's leather jacket, and Tommy's got one leg hitched up, hooked around Adam's to drag him in close. They're in the middle of kissing in this picture, too. Apparently they spent a lot of last night making out.
"Lane called," Adam says, looking back to Tommy.
"Yeah?"
"She needs to know what we want to do."
Tommy flicks a glance at his phone. It's been on silent all morning. "Do we know what we wanna do?"
"I've got some hopes," Adam admits, a shy smile creeping in at the corners of his lips. Tommy hasn't seen a lot of that smile. He woke up to it this morning, though, his head pounding and his mouth tasting like crap and Adam beside him wearing it and not much else.
Tommy doesn't even have to think about it. "I'm in," he says, scooting over to tuck himself beneath Adam's arm. "Gonna be a lot of shit, and some people are gonna be pretty pissed, but fuck 'em. I meant what I said."
Leaning back, Adam lets his hand slide down Tommy's arm past the sleeve of his tee, fingertips lightly stroking ink. "You said a lot of stuff, Tommy Joe."
"Okay, that part where I said I'd marry you for your dick was sleazy. Still kinda meant it." Since Adam started it, Tommy figures it's cool if he runs his hand over Adam's bare chest, short hairs soft and prickly against his palm. He's not sure if he's remembering the scratch of them against his back, or imagining it. Cheek resting on Adam's shoulder, he tucks his fingertips beneath the waistband of Adam's sweats. "Wanna be my steady?"
Adam laughs, bright and happy, and kisses the top of his head. "Is everything going to be this easy with you?"
If Tommy had to put money down, he'd put it on them. They're both kind of dumb sometimes, hung up on truths that aren't, but they've gotten through worse than a half dozen compromising photographs posted on the web. "Dunno," he says, sneaking his fingers further down Adam's belly, looking for the heat of his cock. "You gonna let me get a look at your dick now that you're not busy fucking me with it?"
Adam laughs again, but it's rougher this time, edged with a sultry purr Tommy definitely remembers pressed to his throat between kisses last night. "Dealbreaker if I don't, huh?" he says, his legs falling wider, inviting Tommy's hand to wrap around his cock, tug it free.
Whatever snarky comeback Tommy had planned for that dies on the tip of his tongue. Size is the first thing that hits him, but whatever, he knew Adam was packing some pretty sweet heat already. He knew that Adam's cut, too, but not that he's a shower and a grower, because half-hard Adam's thick, really thick, and he totally leaks when Tommy gives him a good, hard tug straight from root to tip. Tommy's mouth goes wet. "Wow."
Fingers curl beneath Tommy's chin, tilt his face up. Sunlight glinting in his eyes, Adam says, "Wow?"
"Yeah, wow, fucking egoist," Tommy says, shaking free of Adam's hold with a playful snap of teeth. "You seriously fucked me with this? How the hell did I even walk down the goddamn stairs?"
Adam grins, so fucking pleased, as if he actually deserves credit for the happy gene accident that led to him being born with Godzilla's dick. "You were pretty drunk by the time it got that far. Plus I rimmed you in the bathroom first."
"You what?" Tommy squawks, sitting bolt upright. "Fuck, for real?"
"Oh, baby," Adam says, caught between laughing his ass off and genuine disappointment. "You really don't remember?"
Frowning, Tommy gives Adam's dick a rough squeeze, like that's any kind of proper reprimand for fucking sticking his tongue up Tommy's ass without the decency to make sure he damn well remembers it in the morning. Wracking his sluggish, before-noon brain gets him nothing.
"Fine," Tommy declares, shoving his chair back with a grate of wood on tile. "Since you remember it so well, we're gonna go do everything all over again. Did I blow you?"
"Uh, no," Adam says, sounding dazed as Tommy starts stripping off last night's clothes, leaving the whole works in a heap on the floor by the kitchen table.
"Cool," Tommy says, grabbing Adam by the hand to haul his useless ass up. "We'll like, add improvements as we go along." He yanks Adam's sweats down, fully intending on marching Adam straight into the bedroom for round two. His gaze gets caught on the thick curve of Adam's cock, though, and he drops forward onto one knee, hands cupping the backs of Adam's thighs. "Did we use a rubber?"
"Yeah, you," Adam says, and swallows hard. "You said you were clean, though."
"You too?" Tommy says, watching Adam's face as he nuzzles into the crook of Adam's thigh. "Condom's just less messy, right?"
Adam croaks out a sound Tommy decides means yes, takes hold of Adam's cock in one hand and waits a beat in case it didn't. When all Adam offers up by way of explanation is a strangled groan, Tommy says, "Fuck it," and sticks Adam's dick in his mouth, sucking hard right from the get-go. Adam's hips snap forward, giving him more than he can handle--and seriously making him doubt he'll ever be able to handle it all, holy fuck, Adam's got a lot of dick--and he chokes a bit, eases off while Adam's babbling apologies about not expecting Tommy to just go and do that.
"First rule of boyfriends," Tommy says, spying a freckle on Adam's balls, Adam's balls, okay, that he has to lick. "Cocksucking is a constant possibility." There's another freckle, a big one half-hidden by Adam's neatly-trimmed pubes, and Tommy angles down, intent on tasting that one, too. A hand in his hair stops him before he's even halfway there. "Hey," he grunts.
Very, very calmly, Adam unclenches his teeth to say, "I need to call Lane."
Tommy sizes up Adam's cock. "Five minutes. She can wait another five minutes."
A tremor goes through Adam's legs. For a second it looks like Tommy's won, then his mouth thins down to a firm line and he resolutely hauls Tommy up by the armpits. "There's going to be a press conference. Interviews. People poking through your past more than they already do."
"Trying to scare me off isn't really cool," Tommy says, scowling.
"I don't want, that's not what I'm trying to do," Adam says, way too seriously for a guy that just got laid at least twice. And he nixed a good morning hummer, who the fuck does that? "We've got history. They're going to dig everything they can out of it."
Tommy would honestly like to know who this sinister lurking 'they' are. Those pictures aren't surprising anybody. Whoever 'they' are, they're probably sitting around sharing a congratulatory drink on calling all that straight bullshit of Adam's.
"Look," Tommy says, feeling kind of ridiculous having this conversation while they're both buck fucking naked in the middle of the kitchen letting two perfectly good boners to go waste. "Obviously I'm not going to say I don't care, because I fucking hate interviews and all that shit and you know it, but if I've got to parrot a couple of Lane's really carefully worded lines seven hundred times, whatever. Like, seriously, what the fuck ever, already wasted enough time. Can we go upstairs and bang now?"
Already in the middle of saying no, Adam abruptly switches to a hissed, "Yes," when Tommy grabs hold of his cock again, gives it a couple slow-rough jerks.
"Atta boy," Tommy says, backing up a step, another, his grip on Adam's cock firm.
"You're not really going to lead me upstairs by my dick," Adam says doubtfully, hand caught on Tommy's elbow as he shuffles forward.
"One way or another, baby," Tommy promises, thumbing at Adam's slit, smearing the dampness there against his own belly. "Call Lane after you come in my ass."
"Oh, fuck you," Adam crows, the world tilting sideways as he swoops down, scoops Tommy up over his shoulder. Tommy grunts a curse, not really interested in gaining his feet again as long as his dick's rubbing against Adam's chest like that, edgy ticklish pleasure racing along his nerves.
"Guest bedroom's closer," Tommy wheezes, wiggling a little as Adam's fingertips stroke along the cleft of his ass. He tries to aim a slap to Adam's ass in response, but Adam bites at his hip and rubs at his balls, totally knocking him off his game. He goes limp instead. "Yeah, okay, I guess you can keep doing that for awhile."
"Wait until it's my tongue," Adam says, and Tommy groans his wholehearted agreement.
That night, as they're curled up in bed watching ET run a segment on them, Tommy thinks about how this isn't really different from most nights they've flaked out together. For sure there's a lot less clothes, and Tommy is maybe a little fixated on the trail of hair low on Adam's belly, tracing it with his fingers over and over, and there's that whole thing where he can still taste Adam's cock in his mouth, but aside from all that, it's pretty much the same. He's warm and comfortable, Adam's heartbeat is steady beneath his ear, and there's nowhere else he wants to be.
"We're really dumb," Tommy says, watching a montage of kisses from the first tour play out on the screen. "We've been in love for like, months. Why didn't anybody tell us?"
"I think they tried," Adam says. He combs a bit of hair back from Tommy's face, tucks it behind one ear. His thumb lingers on the line of piercings there, making metal clink. "Are you?"
"What, in love with you?"
When Adam only makes a small noise of agreement, Tommy sighs and shuffles around to meet his gaze. "Like, what even," Tommy says. "I totally thought you were cool as shit when we met, and then you turned out to be cooler than shit, and fucking adorable and seriously really talented, and you're my best friend. And you're a hot fuck. And like, Jesus."
"So that's a yes," Adam ventures, smiling that shy, happy smile of his again. "Even though I'm not actually Jesus."
"Yes that's a yes," Tommy says, hefting the blankets to clamber over Adam's leg, settle down between his thighs Tommy's back to his chest. "Cuddle me. And oh shit," he says, grabbing at the remote, cranking the volume. "It's that dude. They actually put that dude on the clip, fuck."
Adam waits patiently until Tommy's done getting comfy to drape both arms around him. "The religious guy?"
"Yeah, the religious guy," Tommy says. "Of course they had to put in the one part of the conference where I'm a total dick."
Adam nuzzles at his cheek. "You weren't a dick."
"You're my boyfriend. That's what you're supposed to say."
On television, a guy in a boring grey suit waves his press credentials--which Tommy would bet fifty bucks are fake--and stands up, booms, "Mr. Ratliff, do you blame Adam Lambert?"
Stupidly, Tommy's image on screen says, "Blame him for what?"
"For converting you to homosexuality," the guys calls over the sudden rise of the general hubbub. "For addicting you, quite possibly against your will, to-"
"Dude, what the fuck." Laughing nervously, his grip on Adam's hand obviously tightening, Tommy says, "I'm not gonna tell you which parts I'm addicted to. Next?"
The camera zooms in on Adam's wide smile as he wraps his other hand around their clasped fingers just before he turns away to field the question somebody's trying to shout through the roar of laughter.
Beside Tommy on the bed, Adam leans down to peck his cheek. "See? Not a dick at all."
"I was totally calling him a bible-thumping fuckwad douchebag in my head," Tommy says, turning partway around so Adam's mouth catches on the corner of his.
"But that was your inside voice," Adam murmurs, licking at Tommy's lip. His hand tightens on Tommy's arm, fingers splayed out wide over ink. "God, you still taste like me."
Tommy grins. "Want me to go brush my teeth?"
"No," Adam growls, forestalling any other stupid ideas by shoving his tongue into Tommy's mouth. Tommy opens up for it, slightly weirded out by how the recording playing out on television of Adam calmly stating that he and Tommy were not in hiding for months while on tour, they simply weren't together, doesn't weird him out.
Messing up Adam's kiss, Tommy says, "We kinda were. Together, I mean."
"In that way where neither of us admitted it, sure," Adam says, his hand on Tommy's jaw guiding him in for another kiss, picking right up where he left off. "Or even knew it."
"Love's fucked in the head anyway," Tommy says, and turns all the way around to climb into Adam's lap, way more interested in some quality making out and maybe another blowjob or two than in the media circus playing out on television.
"Twitter sucks," Tommy declares two days later over steaks, salad, a really awesome red wine, and the quiet lapping of the pool in Adam's backyard.
"Mm," Adam says from behind him, non-committally. Though the sun's long since set, he still has his sunglasses on, rock star gorgeous in the twilight with a glass of wine in one hand, the other on Tommy's thigh.
"Like, seriously," Tommy says, jabbing vengefully at his phone. "'I'm glad you're together finally!'" he says, high-pitched and vapid. "'It hurt so much to see you breaking Adam's heart!' Did I break your fucking heart? I don't think so."
Instead of jumping in with a hell no, Adam picks up a bit of chopped carrot and pops it in his mouth. The crunch is loud in the stillness.
A heavy weight in his gut, Tommy twists around. "I didn't break your heart," he repeats, a lot less certain this time.
Pushing up his sunglasses, tiny red prints left on his nose, Adam shrugs and says, "Sometimes."
"Dude!" Tommy pitches his phone onto the table and flails like an idiot, scooting his butt back on the lounger so he can face Adam head on. One of his legs ends up slung over Adam's, the other tucked beneath him. "Are you serious? Of course you're fucking serious. Shit."
"I daydreamed a little," Adam says, rescuing his wine from the deck where he laid it when Tommy started kicking around. "It was my own fault. You never promised me anything."
"But you never said." Scowling, Tommy folds his arms. "And like, neither did I, but I wasn't like, crying into my whiskey over it."
Adam's eyebrow wings up.
"Don't give me that," Tommy says, grabbing for Adam's wine and downing it in one gulp. Shit. Shit. Adam's totally a crier. He made Adam Lambert cry.
"Baby," Adam says, cupping Tommy's jaw, and Tommy tries to bat him away with the empty wineglass. Adam's having none of it. Ignoring the scowl Tommy's working, he frames Tommy's face in both hands, forcing Tommy to meet his steady gaze. Adam does that a lot. "You didn't do anything but be yourself."
"Yeah, a total asshole that made you fucking cry," Tommy mutters.
Adam's grip goes tight, fingertips digging in behind the hinge of Tommy's jaw. "I want you to listen to me, because the last thing either of us needs is this festering in your head. You didn't lead me on. You definitely didn't try to hurt me, or rip my heart out, or anything like that."
Wincing, Tommy says, "Be a little more graphic why don't you."
"I'm going to write you a love song," Adam declares.
Tommy's stomach lurches. Sleepwalker starts blaring in his head. "Wait, what?"
"It's going to be amazing," Adam says, one of his hands sliding back into Tommy's hair. "All about things right in front of your face and being brave enough to ask for them even though you don't think it's going to do any good."
"I would've," Tommy says, plucking at the frayed hem of Adam's late 80s jean shorts. "If you asked." Fuck it, where the hell were his balls, still waiting to drop? He should've been the one to ask months and months ago. He'd thought about it often enough.
"And," Adam goes on, "how it's not the end of the world if it takes you a little longer than you think it should, as long as you do it in the end."
"You're such a sap," Tommy says, stomping down on the urge to sniffle.
"You love me anyway," Adam says, joking, sure, but asking, too.
Fiddling with the empty wineglass, Tommy says, "You really gonna write me a song?"
Adam nods. "I'm going to make you play it, too, and sing it to you on stage. And probably remix it into a dance anthem. I know how much you love a good raver mix."
"Asshole," Tommy mutters, cuddling in so Adam's arms will come around him, cradle him close. "I'm sorry it took us so long."
"I'm not," Adam says. Tommy squints up at him doubtfully. "I'm really not. We got here, that's all that matters."
"I guess," Tommy says, still not entirely convinced. "I still feel like a dick. We should go fuck."
Adam laughs, holding on tighter. "You don't need to give me make-up sex."
"But-"
"I'll take just-because sex, though," Adam says, finally getting the wineglass out of Tommy's hands. He puts it on the table beside the remains of their dinner, and while Tommy's got a hand free, he nabs a bite of steak for a quick shot of protein. Sex with Adam takes a lot of energy.
Finding Tommy in the middle of chewing, unavailable for a kiss, Adam gives him that eyebrow again. With a helpful smile, Tommy pokes one of his fingers into Adam's mouth. "Got steak sauce all over 'em," he says after he swallows.
"Mmhm," Adam says, ridiculous with Tommy's finger hanging out of his mouth, still somehow smoking hot with that imperious slant to his eyebrow. Grasping Tommy's wrist, he starts licking, sucking a little, adding a scrape of teeth as he cleans off Tommy's fingers one by one, even the ones that don't have any sauce on them.
"I fucking love your tongue," Tommy says, pulling his hand away to lick at his own fingers, searching for any stickiness Adam missed.
"Going to let me kiss you now?" Adam asks.
"Oh fuck yeah." When Adam leans in, though, Tommy's already squirming around, swinging his leg over the side of the lounger to give Adam his back. Grabbing at the thick cushion, he wrestles it into a little bundle and stuffs it under his chest, something to hold onto for when Adam really gets going.
Wryly, Adam says, "I meant your mouth."
"Didn't say that," Tommy says, figuring out too late he really should've taken care of his shorts first, and starts shoving at them. "You're totally kissing my ass first."
"If I have to," Adam says, taking over as soon as Tommy gets a knee up on the lounger, skinning his shorts down all the way and off his other foot. "We have a perfectly good bed upstairs."
"Fuck the bed," Tommy says, shivering when Adam's big warm hands cup his ass, thumbs sliding in between the cheeks to spread him. There's a rush of cooler night air, then Adam's hot breath, and Tommy moans a little on a slow exhale. "I wanted to do this in Cabo."
"Cabo," Adam echoes, like he's honestly surprised. He nuzzles a kiss into the meat of Tommy's ass, taking his sweet time getting to the good stuff. "Really?"
"Yes, really. Fuck, you don't need to warm me up, would you just stick it in already?"
"Maybe I want to hear more about what else you wanted to do in Cabo," Adam says, giving him a teasing lick, then a longer, slower one, almost enough pressure.
The hairs on Tommy's arms stand up like the atmosphere is charged with a thunderstorm. He rocks back, chasing after that slick heat, grunting a curse when Adam refuses him with a laugh. "I wanted to fucking come on your face," he grates, not a total lie, but probably not the first thing he would've 'fessed up to if Adam would fucking rim him already.
"I would've let you," Adam says, shocking the hell right out of him. When Tommy starts to twist around, he takes a playful bite out of Tommy's ass. "Stay there."
"Come on, really?" Tommy says, but he settles back down. "You gotta tell me this shit now?"
"You were hot, and genuine," Adam says, rubbing spit-slick fingers along Tommy's crack, making his breath catch. "And tiny, Tommy Joe, so fucking cute and tiny, and I would've done a hell of a lot more than let you jerk off on my face if it meant fucking you."
Tommy swallows down the frantic leap of his heart into his throat. If anything had happened in Cabo between them, it wouldn't have been a casual fuck. It seems like a lot of wasted time between there and here, but maybe not. Tommy's not so sure he would've been able to handle all of this back then. With Adam's mouth on his ass, tongue sweeping softly over his hole making him moan, he's not so sure he can handle it now.
When Adam asks, "Want to see if I can get you off like this?" Tommy ends up pretty fucking convinced he's not going to be able to handle it, but he wants everything anyway.
Getting a better grip on the lounger, Tommy says, "Yeah, c'mon, give it your best shot."
Adam goes right for it, a slick dirty wiggle of his tongue pushing up into Tommy, shocking him tight and then slowly licking him loose, long and lazy and so, so good. Adam gets his fingers in there too, stroking a bit at first, getting Tommy into the rhythm before the tips move in close, tug him open. Then Adam's tongue is back, big wide licks that make Tommy's stomach jitter.
"I love how much you love it," Adam says between another lick and a slow, dirty kiss tongued right into Tommy's hole. "I could play with your ass all fucking day."
"Okay," Tommy says, because what the fuck is he gonna do, say no? He's got one hand on his cock, not jacking or anything, just giving it a squeeze or two when Adam's fingers push at him, slide up and in and start stroking him on the inside. He gulps in a breath that smells like sex and fresh-cut grass soaked in summer heat. It's fucking crazy, but if Adam keeps this up, he's totally going to come.
"I know you are, baby," Adam says, angling to press against Tommy's prostate, making him jump on a sharp noise and precome leak thickly from his slit. "You're so fucking easy, and I love it. I love it, Tommy, you're gonna make a gorgeous mess for me, aren't you?"
Tommy wheezes, "No fucking problem," squeezing his cock near the base, trying to hold on a little longer. He's used to the need to come running roughshod over him, grabbing him by the throat and not letting go until he gives in. This isn't like that at all, a slow, powerful tide rising up, ebbing, rising again with the rhythm of Adam moving inside him, tongue and fingers both. He's rocking back into it, forward into the tight tunnel of his fist, the dry drag of his hand the only thing that's keeping him teetering on the edge. Then Adam's slick fingers go and tangle with his, not even long enough to really jerk him off, but it's all he needs. He comes into Adam's cupped palm, shuddering as Adam hums his approval between soft, slow licks, gradually easing off to tiny kisses as Tommy goes lax.
Dazed, Tommy says, "That was really good."
"You bet it was," Adam says, the lounger creaking as he settles back. "Don't move."
Licking his lips, Tommy glances back over his shoulder. Adam's got his fly open and his junk out, Tommy's come briefly glistening in his hand before he smears it over his cock, starts jerking off with it. "Gonna come on me?" Tommy asks, sliding his knee out from under him, going belly down on the lounger to give Adam a really good shot at getting it all over his ass. He tilts his hips up, makes sure Adam can see the soft crush of his balls along with the wet shine on his hole.
"Fuck," Adam says, rocking the lounger as he scoots forward, gets his knees tucked up under Tommy's, spreading Tommy nice and wide with one hand. His cockhead bumps against Tommy's balls, smoothly rides the slick up to Tommy's asshole, and Tommy sucks in a harsh breath, wondering if he's going to go for it.
"So fucking hot," Adam's saying, rich voice gone to a gravel-grate, "baby, you don't even know how sweet you are, that you don't even think twice about what you'll let me do to you," and maybe Tommy doesn't really get that, because letting Adam come on his ass doesn't seem like a big deal. Letting Adam spit-fuck him bare is something else, yeah, but Adam's got him pretty loose and wet, and it's not like he figures Adam's going to just jam it in and pound the fuck out of him.
Before Tommy has a chance to fill Adam in on all that, Adam's grip on his ass goes tight. Adam makes that rough, hurt noise that means it's really, really good as he loses it, warm, wet streaks of come painted right over Tommy's hole, some of it smeared up inside him on the pad of Adam's thumb. Not expecting that last part, Tommy takes a shallow breath, eases up on the reflexive clench of his body.
"That's it, baby," Adam says, his dick hot against Tommy's ass as he brings a couple fingers into the mix, sinks in all the way to his knuckles. The sturdy lounger creaks again as he bends low, mouths a kiss to Tommy's spine. "You were going to let me fuck you."
Tongue going thick as Adam pulls free, Tommy says, "Yeah. Yeah, I. You would've made it good."
"So good, baby," Adam says, urging Tommy back by the hips, then up by one elbow until he's lying back against Adam's chest, Adam's legs up on the lounger, knees bent to ward off the chill settling in now that Tommy's out here with no clothes on not getting sexed up.
"Dude," Tommy says, laughing, "we just had sex by your fucking pool, how Hollywood is that shit?"
Adam makes a considering noise. "Pretty Hollywood, but it's not really Hollywood until you let me carry you upstairs and ravish you."
Wiggling free, Tommy sticks his arms up for Adam to get to it. "Let's go, big guy."
End
