Fic: Mr. Brightside - Adam/Tommy
Mar. 27th, 2011 07:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blue_soaringFor @_shell_bells, who asked for Tommy giving Adam a certain kind of wake-up call. Happy ending, naturally. :3
Mr. Brightside
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~5700 words.
Tommy is really fucking specific about his type, and that's small, cute, and female. The guy currently trying to suck Tommy's tongue out of his skull is so far from even one of those things he might as well be from another planet.
*
Mr. Brightside
"Oh wow," Isaac says, staring wide-eyed across the room. "Wow. I, uh."
Smiling, wondering who showed up wearing what to put that look on Isaac's face, Adam tosses a glance back over his shoulder. "Is it Pip? He wears the craziest stuff."
"What, no," Isaac says, busting out a really fake-sounding laugh as he claps a hand to Adam's arm, prompting him to turn back. "I forgot I was supposed to get Sophie a drink. It's a good thing she loves me, right?"
"Yeah," Adam says slowly. Isaac isn't really good at being subtle. "Unless it's Simon Cowell crashing my party, I don't think whoever it is deserves that look."
Something like a scowl creeping across his face--impossible, Isaac doesn't even know how to frown, let alone scowl--Isaac says, "That's what you say now. I'm going to go get you a drink."
"I have a drink!" Adam calls after him, but he's gone, slipping through the crowd to disappear like only the really tiny ones can. "A perfectly good drink," Adam mutters to himself, finally turning around to see what the hell turned his drummer into a crazy man.
The first thing he sees through the sea of faces is the back of Tommy's head. Smiling, he starts heading over, pausing for hugs along the way, well-wishes for his upcoming album. He doesn't think a thing about the guy with his arm draped around Tommy's shoulders, or playful kiss the guy leans down to plant on Tommy's cheek. Tommy's cuddly, and Adam's friends, his friends-of-friends, are an affectionate bunch.
When Tommy turns his face up, though, a familiar sly smile curving his lips, and the guy cups his jaw to kiss him, really kiss him in a meaningful way, Adam stops short. He blinks a couple of times, waiting for reality to reassert itself, but the guy keeps on kissing Tommy, eating at his fucking mouth like he's had a lot of practice finding out exactly where Tommy tastes best. Adam would like to know how the hell that guy got in here. He's not on Adam's fucking guest list.
"Whatever you're thinking, don't do it," Monte says, coming up beside him.
With an eye out for security, Adam says, "I'm not thinking anything."
Monte takes a calm pull off his beer. "Lisa says they're together."
"Tommy's not--" Adam says, "They're not-- What?"
Monte nods, and takes another drink.
"Bullshit." That makes no sense. Tommy has a type. Tommy is really fucking specific about his type, and that's small, cute, and female. The guy currently trying to suck Tommy's tongue out of his skull is so far from even one of those things he might as well be from another planet.
"Sorry, big guy," Monte says. He gives Adam's shoulder a comforting, brotherly pat.
"Okay," Adam says, drowning the icy cold clench of his gut with a hefty mouthful of alcohol. They're all adults here. Tommy can date whoever he wants to date. If Tommy wants, he can choose not to tell his best fucking friend that he's suddenly interested in dick.
"I'm just going to say hi," Adam says, shaking off Monte's warning grip.
And that's exactly what Adam does. He marches his ass straight up to Tommy, ambushes him with a hug and says, "Hi, Tommy Joe," close to his ear in a soft, intimate tone generally reserved for late-night cuddles on tour busses.
"Adam," Tommy says, smile faltering for a split-second before it manages to catch hold. "Dude, how drunk are you?"
Not nearly drunk enough. "First one," Adam says, and hefts his glass. Since he's the one that squished it, he helpfully fluffs up the back of Tommy's hair. "How've you been, baby?"
"Stupidly busy," Tommy moans, seeming content enough when Adam tucks him in close under one arm. "Monte's been running me fucking ragged. And hey, so." He lifts his hand, fingers still laced with the guy's beside him. "Ryan, Adam fucking Lambert. Adam, Ryan. Ryan was at our Las Vegas gig."
"Hey," Adam says, sticking his hand out. "So you're Tommy Joe's date, huh?"
Ryan laughs as he lets go of Tommy's hand to shake. It's a really nice laugh. "Tom kicked all our asses at Blackjack. I figured luck wasn't my lady that night, but here I am, so I guess she had something else in mind for me."
Grinning, Tommy says, "He's a sweet-talker," and elbows Adam's side. "Like you."
"Yeah." Adam is definitely not thinking about all the ways Ryan is very much not him. Plastering on a bright smile, he says, "Mind if I steal my boy away for a quick second?"
Shooting Tommy a startled look, Ryan says, "Sure. Your party, man."
"Wow," Tommy says as Adam's hustling him off. "You're really good at being an asshole when you put your mind to it."
"Sweetheart, you have no idea." Steering Tommy around a corner into a mostly-deserted hallway, Adam plants him very firmly against the wall and jabs a finger at him in a clear command to stay. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Tommy's forehead scrunches. "Tell you what? And I'm not kidding, you're seriously being a total prick right now."
"I know," Adam admits. He can't help it. "Why didn't you tell me you liked guys?"
"Uh, I did."
"No, you didn't. I definitely don't remember anything even remotely like, 'Hey, Adam, so dick's pretty cool,' ever coming out of your mouth."
Tommy crosses his arms, chin jutting out stubbornly. "You don't, huh."
"Trust me, I'd remember." That one night in New Orleans, under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol and a full moon, Adam had given serious consideration to the merits of sacrificing a chicken in some hoodoo ritual just to hear Tommy say those words.
"Hey, Adam," Tommy says.
Busy imagining Ryan spontaneously deciding to get lost, Adam snaps, "What?"
"So turns out, dick's pretty cool. Now would you get all up off my junk and let me get back to my fucking date?"
The mature, polite thing to do would be back down gracefully. Adam isn't feeling particularly mature, polite, or graceful. He's feeling fucking betrayed, even though he logically knows he has absolutely no right to.
"Wait, Tommy, wait," Adam says, slapping a hand to the wall to keep Tommy from slipping away. "I'm sorry. You surprised me."
Tommy hikes up an eyebrow. "I surprised you."
"Yeah, with," Adam gestures towards the front where Ryan's probably and unfortunately waiting patiently for the grabby-hands rock star to release his date for the night.
"I surprised you," Tommy repeats slowly, like he's making sure he's got it right.
"You did. And I'm sorry, but I wish you would've-"
"Okay, so, yeah," Tommy says, slumping back against the wall with his arms still crossed. "Like, how's your memory of that night we partied in Amsterdam?"
Prickling heat creeps up the back of Adam's neck. "Pretty clear."
Cocking his head to the side and crossing his ankles, Tommy says, "Pretty clear. You're sure."
Sensing some deep water about to close over his head, Adam nods.
"So you totally remember me crawling into your lap and fucking begging you to please please let me suck your dick."
"You, you were high," Adam says, tongue gone clumsy as that creeping heat bursts into flames sweeping up over his cheeks. As long as he's alive, he's never going to forget anything that happened in Amsterdam. Not the way Tommy fit in his arms, or the way Tommy kissed him, sloppy and hungry, or the way Tommy moaned please, baby, please, let me try it, wanna try it in his ear while scrabbling at his fly, desperate to get at his cock. "You were really, really high, Tommy."
"Of course I was fucking high," Tommy snaps. "Your dick is huge, it scares the fuck out of me. But that doesn't mean I don't want on it."
"Didn't," Adam says. Proper verb tenses are possibly not what he should be latching on to here. "Unless you still do."
"Didn't," Tommy echoes in a grumble, gaze cutting to the side. "Are you gonna let me go now?"
"No," Adam says, fully aware he's being a greedy, self-centred asshole, and strangely okay with it. "I want a second chance."
Tommy snorts a laugh. "Dude, I made out with you on stage for months. You had like, one-hundred and fucking sixty-five chances. I parked my semi-naked ass in your freakin' bed and you didn't go for it."
"Fine. I'm an idiot. I want a one-hundred and fucking sixty-sixth chance."
Eyeballing him doubtfully, Tommy says, "I don't think anybody gets that many chances."
"If you were totally done with me, you would've kneed me in the balls ten minutes ago," Adam says, hoping like hell he's right. Not that he thinks Tommy would actually do that to him. There's pissed off, which Tommy has every right to be, and then there's plain old-fashioned sadism.
"Maybe I really like my job," Tommy says.
"Maybe you really like your boss?" Adam counters hopefully.
"Jesus." Tommy scrubs both hands back through his hair. "How the fuck is it you're being a total douche right now and it's still kind of adorable?"
"It's not my fault!" Adam wails pathetically. "You only ever hit on me when you were drunk or high or both. What was I supposed to do, take advantage of you?"
"Yes," Tommy says, very seriously. "We were on tour. Three months in, my blood was fucking fermented."
"Exactly," Adam says.
Tommy stares at him.
"What?"
"Are you agreeing with me, or do you think I'm agreeing with you? Because I'm not. And you're not."
"Yes you are," Adam says. "I said you were too drunk. You agreed."
"I said I was working a low-level buzz most of the time, I didn't say I was so fucked out of my head I didn't have a sweet clue what the hell I wanted. And what I wanted," Tommy says, jabbing Adam square in the chest with a bony finger, "was for you to man up and dick me."
"Ow." Hunching slightly, Adam crosses an arm protectively over his sternum.
Too late, Tommy wipes a grin off his face, replaces it with a fake scowl.
Rubbing at his chest, Adam asks, "Past tense?"
"Maybe."
"Ryan," Adam says carefully. "He's not your boyfriend?"
"He's a great guy," Tommy replies, which isn't any kind of answer at all.
"But not a great boyfriend."
"I dunno," Tommy says, shrugging. "He could be."
Adam bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. As satisfying as it sounds, now is not the time to throttle his bassist. "I know I probably deserve this, but honestly, Tommy Joe, you're killing me. Is he or isn't he?"
"No," Tommy says, "just a date," and Adam's knees go weak in relief. He sags against the wall, and consequently Tommy, and Tommy's hands fly up to steady him by the shoulders. "Whoa, hey, you okay? I thought you said you weren't drunk."
"M'not." Somewhere between the party and here, though, Adam's misplaced his drink. Taking a deep breath, he straightens up. "Okay. I have a proposal for you."
"Alright," Tommy says slowly, not letting go.
"We'll go back to the party, and you back to your date, and later," Adam says, trying to keep his voice steady, "if you want, we can talk."
Tommy's eyes narrow slightly. "I hear an 'or' in there."
"Nope, no 'or'."
Tommy's eyes narrow even more.
"Okay, shit. Don't look at me like that." Adam scratches at the back of his neck, delaying the inevitable for a few measly seconds. "I could get you a car so you can bring your date home in style," he says, bits and pieces of his confidence flaking away the closer he gets to the end of his sentence, "and you can come back to me?"
Absently, Tommy rubs at the stubble on his throat. "One hour."
"One hour, what?" Adam asks, caught up in the quiet rasp.
"Be nice to my date, because for some weird, whacked-out reason he thinks you're cool or something, and have the car ready to go in an hour. And like, you'd better not be fucking around here," Tommy says, jabbing him in the chest again. "I'm so fucking serious. If I get back here and you fly into one of your fucking 'confused straight-boy' or 'the bi-curious are the death of me' speeches, I'm gonna dropkick your ass so fast."
Adam holds up both hands, palm out. "No speeches. Promise."
Tommy gives him another long, squinty-eyed look. "Alright. Okay." He tugs down the back of his jacket, resettling it on his shoulders. "Let's go make my guy feel awesome so he doesn't hate my guts later."
*
It's more like two hours before Tommy makes it out to the car, and an hour and a half later, he's still not back. By then, the party's winding down and Adam's caught up seeing everybody out.
"He'll be back," Lisa says, up on her tip-toes to peck Adam on the cheek.
Adam works up a bright smile just for her. An hour and a half isn't so long. He doesn't even know where Ryan lives, and he didn't think to ask how long it would take to get there and back. Tommy's probably already on his way, caught in traffic or something.
There's definitely nothing going on worth getting upset about. A goodnight kiss or two wouldn't take too long, anyway. Or hey, a goodbye kiss. One of those would be alright.
"Don't look at me like that," Monte says, "I'm not the one that sent him off in a limo."
"I was being nice," Adam says, frowning.
Monte gives him a long, long look. "You know I love you, right?"
Adam's mouth softens into a smile. "Aw, Monte. I love you too."
"Damn right you do. Don't fuck it up. He's too good to lose."
Torn between indignant protest--he is not going to fuck it up (again)--and wholehearted agreement, Adam settles on hauling Monte in for a hug. "I won't."
"Right," Monte says gruffly, clapping Adam on the back. "I meant for the band. Too good for the band to lose."
"Of course," Adam says, and happily wrestles Monte in for another hug.
Once everybody's gone, though, and Adam's left with an empty house in desperate need of a platoon of housekeepers, that cold uncertainty comes crawling back. He doesn't actually think Tommy's out there giving the guy a goodbye bang in the back of a limo, or that Tommy's going to stand him up. But believing it is one thing and knowing it is another. He really wishes his stomach would knock it off with all the nervous churning. Tommy's coming back, and he wouldn't be so terrible as to show up with that just-fucked glow.
Carefully setting a few wineglasses down on the counter in the kitchen, Adam decides it's best to leave the rest of the breakables for tomorrow.
Fifteen minutes later, as Adam's gathering up a bunch of empty bottles he doesn't care about accidentally dropping, a familiar call of "Adam?" comes from the front hall.
"Oh thank fuck," Adam murmurs under his breath. "In here!" he calls back, dumping the bottles haphazardly onto the coffee table before stepping over it. "I'm right here," he says, jogging up the few steps into the foyer.
"Hey," Tommy says, in the middle of hooking his jacket on the hatstand. "Sorry I took so long."
"Whatever," Adam says. "You came back."
A lopsided smile takes over Tommy's mouth. "Dude, I told you I would."
Adam sticks his hands into his pockets. If he opens his mouth, he's going to ask exactly what took so long, and it's not going to come out in any casual, just-wondering sort of tone.
"Man, come on," Tommy says, hooking a finger in one of Adam's belt loops. "There's got to be some booze left around here somewhere."
"Kitchen," Adam supplies helpfully, even though Tommy's already dragging him in there.
Tommy digs up two clean glasses--a tumbler and a mug--and fills both with what's left of an open red. Handing the mug to Adam, he clinks the rim of his tumbler against it, and downs about half of his drink in one go. At a loss for what else to do, Adam follows suit.
"So," Tommy says, and sucks air in through his teeth. "You get pretty jealous."
"Not usually." Monogamy is Adam's thing, but not the straight-laced militant kind. He's never minded some harmless flirting. Or a few kisses here and there. He flashes back on the possessive hand Ryan laid in the small of Tommy's back as they headed out to the car and frowns. "Okay, yes."
"Gonna tell me why?"
Adam swirls his wine, taps his nail against the ceramic. "Jealousy's one of those clear-cut emotions, I don't think it needs much explaining."
"Sure it does," Tommy says. "Especially since you've never gone all caveman on my ass before."
Sighing, Adam slides his mug onto the island countertop and leans back against the edge of granite. "You're not going to like it."
"So like, just so we're both on the same page here," Tommy says, taking a half step forward, braced like he's gearing up for a fight, "I just took my fucking date home and left him on his front step with some lame promise about catching him again at a show sometime to come back here and listen to you say whatever it is you gotta say, so I'm kinda not interested in what you think I'm going to like or not like. Spit it out already."
"It's because he's a fucking guy!" Adam shouts. "And if you're out dating guys then it means I was wrong about you all the times I thought you were just fucking around with me!"
"Well you fucking were!" Tommy yells right back, knocking Adam back and getting up in his face. "And I was a total chicken shit about it anyway! Maybe I shoulda just fucking jumped your dumb ass!"
"Maybe you fucking should've!"
"Fine," Tommy snarls, and fists a hand in the front of Adam's shirt, yanks him down to shove their mouths together.
Adam makes a garbled noise, flailing stupidly for something to hold on to before his hands find their way to Tommy's face. He takes over because Tommy lets him, lips parted to invite the push of his tongue between, and then they're kissing for real, hot and deep and wet. Tension sings through every part of Tommy's body, so much he's quivering with it, and Adam moans, kisses him harder, tries to make it all melt away so he's sweet and pliant like he is on stage, willing to go wherever Adam wants to put him.
"Fuck you," Tommy says as he falls back against the opposite counter. "Fuck you and your fucking awesome mouth."
"Fuck you and your fucking dirty one," Adam slings back, following him across the space between them, kicking Tommy's feet apart so he can get a thigh pressed snug between Tommy's, feel the trapped heat of Tommy's dick. He bites at Tommy's lips, imagining them red and puffy, wanting to see it. "God, I want to get my hands all over you."
Already shoving both hands under Adam's shirt, Tommy grunts, "Ask me fucking nicely."
"Please, I'm so fucking sorry," Adam says, sucking in a sharp breath when Tommy yanks at his belt, leaves it hanging open to attack his fly. "I didn't want to be your test run. I was afraid of having you and then losing you when you changed your mind."
"Motherfucking test run," Tommy growls, lifting his arms when Adam tugs at his shirt. His necklaces clatter back down, stark black against pale skin. "Fine. Okay. We were both scared shitless." Shaking his hair off his face, he slings an arm around Adam's neck, grinds hard and filthy up against Adam's hip. "That feel like I'm gonna change my mind to you?"
Grabbing onto Tommy's hips, trying to haul him in closer, Adam says, "No, fuck, you feel so good. I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry." Burying his face in Tommy's neck, Adam bites down to taste him, mark him. "You even smell fucking amazing."
"Ow, Jesus," Tommy says, head falling back, throat working as he swallows. "Your fucking teeth."
"Sorry," Adam says again, but this time he's not one bit sorry at all. There's a deep red mark left behind on Tommy's neck when he draws away, and he darts back in, licks it. He ends up sucking on it a little while he's there, making it flush even darker, and Tommy's fingers dig into his back, short stubby guitarist nails sharp through his shirt.
"You got a bed around here somewhere, right?" Tommy asks through shallow, panting breaths.
"Somewhere," Adam says, too busy biting his way up Tommy's jaw to his mouth to really think that one through. It hits him right around when Tommy's really getting into sucking on his tongue. He grabs onto the counter behind Tommy, knuckles mottling white. "Wait, wait, hang on."
Face flushed and eyes glassy, Tommy blinks up at him. "What?"
"Are you," Adam tries, but that doesn't sound right, so he switches to, "do you want me to," and that doesn't sound right, either. "Damn it."
"Whatever it is you're asking, answer's yes," Tommy says.
"Oh god." Bracing both hands on the counter, Adam breathes in and out a few times, very deliberately and very, very slow. "I'm such a creep for finding that so hot."
"What, that I like, saved myself for you?" Tommy says, grinning wide and bright and beautiful when Adam groans. "Almost missed your chance at my gay cherry."
Hauling Tommy away from the cabinets, Adam says, "You need to stop talking."
"'Cause it gets you hot?" Tommy's grin turns impish as he bites at the corner of his lip. "It get you hard, thinking about being the first guy to give it to me? Bet you wanna be the only dick I ever get up on." Laughing as Adam lunges for him, he back-pedals out of reach, heading for the stairs. "Thought you were totally over getting first-time blows from inexperienced little twinks?"
"Your fucking mouth," Adam says, grabbing for the banister as he almost misses a step.
Tommy laughs again, the absolute shit, and thumbs open his jeans right in front of Adam's face. "Come and get it, hot stuff."
"Oh my god," Adam says, running up the last few steps to grab Tommy around the waist, heft him straight up off his feet and lug him into the bedroom. "You are such a cocky little bitch."
"Playing it shy and virginal wasn't working for you," Tommy wheezes, and grunts softly as Adam dumps him flat on his back on the bed. He leaves his legs spread slutty-wide as he pushes up onto his elbows, a sweet dark flush on his chest and throat. "Though, uh, I kinda am, so go easy on me, huh?"
Somehow--Adam is never going to be quite sure how, but somehow--Adam's head doesn't explode. He sways on his feet and grabs at the bedpost, seriously wondering if he just creamed his shorts for the first time since his voice finally quit cracking. He swallows hard. "We can slow down."
"Fuck slowing down," Tommy says, scooting back on the bed and pushing at his jeans when they slip down over his hips. "We already did like, dinner and a movie and goodnight kisses and all that shit. You took me around the fucking world. You are so giving me some right the hell now."
"That's good logic," Adam agrees, and grabs onto the bunch of Tommy's jeans around his knees, hauling the damn things right off and tossing them aside.
Then he has to stop, and breathe, and look, and maybe try to breathe some more because Tommy is naked. Naked, in his bed, and very, very hard. Gorgeously hard, with a smooth, shallow curve, precome glistening at the tip, smearing onto his belly when he inhales long and slow. He's shaved bare except for the trail that starts low beneath his belly button and fans out into a flattering dark patch of hair framing his cock.
"Like it?" Tommy says, sounding like he's aiming for smug but like he's honestly asking, too.
"Baby, so much," Adam says, going to his knees. He hooks his arms under Tommy's thighs and drags him to the edge of the bed, nuzzles at the softness of his balls and breathes in the smell of him, thick and wanting. "I want to suck you. Let me suck you, please?"
"I'm in your fucking bed," Tommy grits out, fisting a hand in the duvet. "Do whatever the fuck you want to me."
"Baby," Adam says again, quiet and reverent, and sucks at the delicate skin of Tommy's sac, slowly making his way up as Tommy twists and fidgets and tries to stay still, waiting with breath held for Adam's mouth to reach his dick. Adam licks him instead, a big wide swipe from root to slit.
Tommy's hips jerk as Adam wraps a hand around his cock to steady it. "Oh shit, please, come on," he says, dragging one knee up, foot planted squarely on the bed to get some leverage to thrust. "You look so fucking hot, wanna see it."
"This?" Adam says, the word a hot puff against the tip of Tommy's dick, making him jerk again, and Adam closes his lips around the head, starts sucking soft and easy on his way down. He braces a hand on the bed, lifting up slightly to get a better angle when Tommy bumps against the back of his throat, and Tommy groans a ragged curse, shuddering as he bucks up, fucks into it. Wild-eyed and gasping, he brushes Adam's cheek with his fingertips, tracing the sharp hollow down to where Adam's jaw is stretched wide. He jolts when Adam sucks a sharp breath in through his nose, another one of those deep groans dragging up from the pit of Tommy's stomach as Adam pulls off, tongues a kiss to his shiny wet slit.
"Fuck," Tommy says, darting a quick glance to the head of the bed. He flails vaguely at the pillows, managing to nab one between the tips of his fingers and haul it down, shoving it randomly at Adam. "Prop me up. Go to fucking town on me, okay? Like fucking seriously, anything you want."
Swallowing down the hard thud of his heart, Adam says, "Anything?"
"Yes," Tommy hisses, snagging another pillow to cram under his head. He hikes his hips up for Adam to push the first one under him, keeping his knees bent and spread wide, shameless in the bright spill of overhead light. "Finger me some though?"
"As if that's a chore, fuck, Tommy." Spreading Tommy open with both hands, Adam shifts sideways out of the light, killing all the shadows so he can see. Tommy squirms a bit, used to having his cock on display, blatantly sized up, but maybe not his asshole, then squirms a little more when Adam's thumb brushes close to his rim. "I'd love to get my fingers in you."
"Anytime you wanna," Tommy says, a brighter splash of red on his face.
Still holding Tommy open, Adam dips down to kiss him, open-mouthed and slow and right on his tiny little hole. Muscle twitches against Adam's lips as Tommy gasps, and Adam thinks later, later, he's going to rim Tommy until he's begging to come, but right now Tommy wants fingers and that's exactly what Adam's going to give him.
"Adam, what," Tommy says when Adam moves away, and Adam says, "Easy, baby, gonna make this so good for you," as he digs some lube out of the nightstand. He slicks up, rubs some along Tommy's crack with one knuckle, letting him get used to the feel of somebody else's fingers just in case, and Tommy groans miserably like it's the worst sort of tease.
"Loosen up for me, baby," Adam says as he presses a fingertip to Tommy's asshole, nearly biting through his damn lip at how tight and hot and tiny Tommy is, "gotta breathe out for me, let me in," and Tommy moans a curse at him, body slowly giving way.
"Oh fuck, yeah," Tommy says, tugging on his cock once and then letting go entirely, gripping his thigh instead. "All the way, c'mon, give it to me."
"You got it all," Adam says, dragging slowly free to slide deep again. Pushing up off the floor, he sets one knee to the bed, leans down to lick at Tommy's open mouth. "Want more?"
"Yeah," Tommy says, chasing after Adam's tongue, licking at it with his own. "Lots more. A fucking lot more, all of 'em."
Gripping a handful of Tommy's hair, Adam holds him down, makes him look straight at Adam as a second finger flirts at his hole. Tommy's eyes go heavy, darken with anticipation, narrow down to narrow little slits as Adam pushes, lust throbbing hot in his blood as Tommy grudgingly opens up to take it. A sharp, hissing breath echoes between them when Adam goes too far too fast, caught up in his own eagerness to see what Tommy looks like when there are a few fingers pressed snug against his prostate.
"S'okay," Tommy says, rocking his hips, loosening up a little more as he rides them. "Feels good, feels really fucking crazy."
"God, baby," Adam says, glancing down to find Tommy's cock as thick as when they started, leaking all over his belly without a hand on it. "Do you like it that much, can I get you off on my fingers?"
"Fuck, maybe," Tommy says, not joking even a bit as he grinds down onto Adam's hand. "Gimme more?"
Fumbling for the lube and really fucking thankful he didn't leave it on the floor, Adam adds more to his fingers, catches Tommy's open mouth in a kiss before pressing the tight bunch of three into him. Tommy groans brokenly, arching away from the pressure for a split-second before he bears back down. He grabs onto Adam's upper arm, squeezing hard, panting harder, twisting and squirming and crying out beautifully choked and soft when Adam doesn't ease off, makes him take it.
"Fuck, fuck, kiss me," Tommy says, grabbing up a shockingly strong fistful of Adam's hair and yanking him down, "fucking jerk me off, gotta come, I gotta fucking come."
"You're gonna," Adam promises, kissing away Tommy's pained whine when he drags free again, goes back with just two fingers to find Tommy's prostate, stroking it slowly, short, strong presses that make Tommy arch up off the bed, fucking empty air desperate for something to rub his dick off on. "Just like that, sweetheart, let me see how pretty you are. Show me how good you look coming all over yourself for me."
"Son of a bitch," Tommy grates, "I'm not fucking, shit," and he's done, staring up at Adam in wide-eyed open-mouthed shock seconds before orgasm slams into him and he's spilling hot and wet all over his own belly, streaks of it hitting him low on the chest, making him jump and gasp through the ragged noises he can't hold back. He's still quivering with it, come beaded thickly at the head of his cock, when he peels his eyes open and smears a shaking hand through the mess like he honestly can't believe it. Adam crooks his fingers one last time, stroking Tommy gently from the inside all the way out as he comes down, his gaze skipping to Adam's again right before his eyes slip shut, all the air in his lungs leaking free in a long sigh.
Resting his hand on the inside of Tommy's thigh, Adam nudges at Tommy's chin with his nose, lays a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Good?"
"Fucking insane," Tommy says on a breathless, unsteady laugh. "Fuck, just. Fuck."
"Maybe worth waiting for?" Adam asks, smoothing sweat-damp hair off Tommy's forehead. "Worth forgiving me for?"
Tommy rolls his eyes. "I wasn't, like. I wasn't mad at you. I wanted you to get it."
"I got it," Adam says. "I really, really got it."
"Hell yeah you did." Smiling lazily, satisfied to his bones, Tommy plucks at the front of Adam's jeans. "You want that blow now?"
Wryly, Adam says, "Maybe when you wake up? You look like you're about to conk out on me."
"Dude, I totally am. That was really fucking intense." Tommy shuffles over onto his side, tugging Adam down and scooting back and being really damn fidgety until he's tucked securely against Adam's chest, Adam's arm slung around his waist. "Sorry 'bout the mess."
"Worth it," Adam says, rubbing his cheek against the velvety soft stubble on the side of Tommy's head.
Eyes closed, Tommy's smile widens to a grin. He bumps Adam's foot with his heel. "Sorry 'bout blue-balling you, too."
"Make it up to me later?"
"No problem," Tommy says through a yawn. "Be a good boyfriend, get me a blankie."
"Oh, I see," Adam says, lowering his voice. He fully expects Tommy to start snoring between one word and the next. "That's the way it is."
"Yep. Totally like, dating you for real now," Tommy mumbles. "Perez is gonna shit his pink jumpsuit."
Ignoring the hard, happy pound of his heart, Adam says, "Your version of pillowtalk is really sexy, Tommy Joe."
"I know." Tommy gives Adam's hand a saucy pat. "You love it."
"I really kinda do," Adam says, snuggling Tommy in closer to breathe in the familiar scent of his hair overlaid with the thick smell of sex, different and thrilling. "I really kinda do."
*
End
Mr. Brightside
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~5700 words.
Tommy is really fucking specific about his type, and that's small, cute, and female. The guy currently trying to suck Tommy's tongue out of his skull is so far from even one of those things he might as well be from another planet.
Mr. Brightside
"Oh wow," Isaac says, staring wide-eyed across the room. "Wow. I, uh."
Smiling, wondering who showed up wearing what to put that look on Isaac's face, Adam tosses a glance back over his shoulder. "Is it Pip? He wears the craziest stuff."
"What, no," Isaac says, busting out a really fake-sounding laugh as he claps a hand to Adam's arm, prompting him to turn back. "I forgot I was supposed to get Sophie a drink. It's a good thing she loves me, right?"
"Yeah," Adam says slowly. Isaac isn't really good at being subtle. "Unless it's Simon Cowell crashing my party, I don't think whoever it is deserves that look."
Something like a scowl creeping across his face--impossible, Isaac doesn't even know how to frown, let alone scowl--Isaac says, "That's what you say now. I'm going to go get you a drink."
"I have a drink!" Adam calls after him, but he's gone, slipping through the crowd to disappear like only the really tiny ones can. "A perfectly good drink," Adam mutters to himself, finally turning around to see what the hell turned his drummer into a crazy man.
The first thing he sees through the sea of faces is the back of Tommy's head. Smiling, he starts heading over, pausing for hugs along the way, well-wishes for his upcoming album. He doesn't think a thing about the guy with his arm draped around Tommy's shoulders, or playful kiss the guy leans down to plant on Tommy's cheek. Tommy's cuddly, and Adam's friends, his friends-of-friends, are an affectionate bunch.
When Tommy turns his face up, though, a familiar sly smile curving his lips, and the guy cups his jaw to kiss him, really kiss him in a meaningful way, Adam stops short. He blinks a couple of times, waiting for reality to reassert itself, but the guy keeps on kissing Tommy, eating at his fucking mouth like he's had a lot of practice finding out exactly where Tommy tastes best. Adam would like to know how the hell that guy got in here. He's not on Adam's fucking guest list.
"Whatever you're thinking, don't do it," Monte says, coming up beside him.
With an eye out for security, Adam says, "I'm not thinking anything."
Monte takes a calm pull off his beer. "Lisa says they're together."
"Tommy's not--" Adam says, "They're not-- What?"
Monte nods, and takes another drink.
"Bullshit." That makes no sense. Tommy has a type. Tommy is really fucking specific about his type, and that's small, cute, and female. The guy currently trying to suck Tommy's tongue out of his skull is so far from even one of those things he might as well be from another planet.
"Sorry, big guy," Monte says. He gives Adam's shoulder a comforting, brotherly pat.
"Okay," Adam says, drowning the icy cold clench of his gut with a hefty mouthful of alcohol. They're all adults here. Tommy can date whoever he wants to date. If Tommy wants, he can choose not to tell his best fucking friend that he's suddenly interested in dick.
"I'm just going to say hi," Adam says, shaking off Monte's warning grip.
And that's exactly what Adam does. He marches his ass straight up to Tommy, ambushes him with a hug and says, "Hi, Tommy Joe," close to his ear in a soft, intimate tone generally reserved for late-night cuddles on tour busses.
"Adam," Tommy says, smile faltering for a split-second before it manages to catch hold. "Dude, how drunk are you?"
Not nearly drunk enough. "First one," Adam says, and hefts his glass. Since he's the one that squished it, he helpfully fluffs up the back of Tommy's hair. "How've you been, baby?"
"Stupidly busy," Tommy moans, seeming content enough when Adam tucks him in close under one arm. "Monte's been running me fucking ragged. And hey, so." He lifts his hand, fingers still laced with the guy's beside him. "Ryan, Adam fucking Lambert. Adam, Ryan. Ryan was at our Las Vegas gig."
"Hey," Adam says, sticking his hand out. "So you're Tommy Joe's date, huh?"
Ryan laughs as he lets go of Tommy's hand to shake. It's a really nice laugh. "Tom kicked all our asses at Blackjack. I figured luck wasn't my lady that night, but here I am, so I guess she had something else in mind for me."
Grinning, Tommy says, "He's a sweet-talker," and elbows Adam's side. "Like you."
"Yeah." Adam is definitely not thinking about all the ways Ryan is very much not him. Plastering on a bright smile, he says, "Mind if I steal my boy away for a quick second?"
Shooting Tommy a startled look, Ryan says, "Sure. Your party, man."
"Wow," Tommy says as Adam's hustling him off. "You're really good at being an asshole when you put your mind to it."
"Sweetheart, you have no idea." Steering Tommy around a corner into a mostly-deserted hallway, Adam plants him very firmly against the wall and jabs a finger at him in a clear command to stay. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Tommy's forehead scrunches. "Tell you what? And I'm not kidding, you're seriously being a total prick right now."
"I know," Adam admits. He can't help it. "Why didn't you tell me you liked guys?"
"Uh, I did."
"No, you didn't. I definitely don't remember anything even remotely like, 'Hey, Adam, so dick's pretty cool,' ever coming out of your mouth."
Tommy crosses his arms, chin jutting out stubbornly. "You don't, huh."
"Trust me, I'd remember." That one night in New Orleans, under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol and a full moon, Adam had given serious consideration to the merits of sacrificing a chicken in some hoodoo ritual just to hear Tommy say those words.
"Hey, Adam," Tommy says.
Busy imagining Ryan spontaneously deciding to get lost, Adam snaps, "What?"
"So turns out, dick's pretty cool. Now would you get all up off my junk and let me get back to my fucking date?"
The mature, polite thing to do would be back down gracefully. Adam isn't feeling particularly mature, polite, or graceful. He's feeling fucking betrayed, even though he logically knows he has absolutely no right to.
"Wait, Tommy, wait," Adam says, slapping a hand to the wall to keep Tommy from slipping away. "I'm sorry. You surprised me."
Tommy hikes up an eyebrow. "I surprised you."
"Yeah, with," Adam gestures towards the front where Ryan's probably and unfortunately waiting patiently for the grabby-hands rock star to release his date for the night.
"I surprised you," Tommy repeats slowly, like he's making sure he's got it right.
"You did. And I'm sorry, but I wish you would've-"
"Okay, so, yeah," Tommy says, slumping back against the wall with his arms still crossed. "Like, how's your memory of that night we partied in Amsterdam?"
Prickling heat creeps up the back of Adam's neck. "Pretty clear."
Cocking his head to the side and crossing his ankles, Tommy says, "Pretty clear. You're sure."
Sensing some deep water about to close over his head, Adam nods.
"So you totally remember me crawling into your lap and fucking begging you to please please let me suck your dick."
"You, you were high," Adam says, tongue gone clumsy as that creeping heat bursts into flames sweeping up over his cheeks. As long as he's alive, he's never going to forget anything that happened in Amsterdam. Not the way Tommy fit in his arms, or the way Tommy kissed him, sloppy and hungry, or the way Tommy moaned please, baby, please, let me try it, wanna try it in his ear while scrabbling at his fly, desperate to get at his cock. "You were really, really high, Tommy."
"Of course I was fucking high," Tommy snaps. "Your dick is huge, it scares the fuck out of me. But that doesn't mean I don't want on it."
"Didn't," Adam says. Proper verb tenses are possibly not what he should be latching on to here. "Unless you still do."
"Didn't," Tommy echoes in a grumble, gaze cutting to the side. "Are you gonna let me go now?"
"No," Adam says, fully aware he's being a greedy, self-centred asshole, and strangely okay with it. "I want a second chance."
Tommy snorts a laugh. "Dude, I made out with you on stage for months. You had like, one-hundred and fucking sixty-five chances. I parked my semi-naked ass in your freakin' bed and you didn't go for it."
"Fine. I'm an idiot. I want a one-hundred and fucking sixty-sixth chance."
Eyeballing him doubtfully, Tommy says, "I don't think anybody gets that many chances."
"If you were totally done with me, you would've kneed me in the balls ten minutes ago," Adam says, hoping like hell he's right. Not that he thinks Tommy would actually do that to him. There's pissed off, which Tommy has every right to be, and then there's plain old-fashioned sadism.
"Maybe I really like my job," Tommy says.
"Maybe you really like your boss?" Adam counters hopefully.
"Jesus." Tommy scrubs both hands back through his hair. "How the fuck is it you're being a total douche right now and it's still kind of adorable?"
"It's not my fault!" Adam wails pathetically. "You only ever hit on me when you were drunk or high or both. What was I supposed to do, take advantage of you?"
"Yes," Tommy says, very seriously. "We were on tour. Three months in, my blood was fucking fermented."
"Exactly," Adam says.
Tommy stares at him.
"What?"
"Are you agreeing with me, or do you think I'm agreeing with you? Because I'm not. And you're not."
"Yes you are," Adam says. "I said you were too drunk. You agreed."
"I said I was working a low-level buzz most of the time, I didn't say I was so fucked out of my head I didn't have a sweet clue what the hell I wanted. And what I wanted," Tommy says, jabbing Adam square in the chest with a bony finger, "was for you to man up and dick me."
"Ow." Hunching slightly, Adam crosses an arm protectively over his sternum.
Too late, Tommy wipes a grin off his face, replaces it with a fake scowl.
Rubbing at his chest, Adam asks, "Past tense?"
"Maybe."
"Ryan," Adam says carefully. "He's not your boyfriend?"
"He's a great guy," Tommy replies, which isn't any kind of answer at all.
"But not a great boyfriend."
"I dunno," Tommy says, shrugging. "He could be."
Adam bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. As satisfying as it sounds, now is not the time to throttle his bassist. "I know I probably deserve this, but honestly, Tommy Joe, you're killing me. Is he or isn't he?"
"No," Tommy says, "just a date," and Adam's knees go weak in relief. He sags against the wall, and consequently Tommy, and Tommy's hands fly up to steady him by the shoulders. "Whoa, hey, you okay? I thought you said you weren't drunk."
"M'not." Somewhere between the party and here, though, Adam's misplaced his drink. Taking a deep breath, he straightens up. "Okay. I have a proposal for you."
"Alright," Tommy says slowly, not letting go.
"We'll go back to the party, and you back to your date, and later," Adam says, trying to keep his voice steady, "if you want, we can talk."
Tommy's eyes narrow slightly. "I hear an 'or' in there."
"Nope, no 'or'."
Tommy's eyes narrow even more.
"Okay, shit. Don't look at me like that." Adam scratches at the back of his neck, delaying the inevitable for a few measly seconds. "I could get you a car so you can bring your date home in style," he says, bits and pieces of his confidence flaking away the closer he gets to the end of his sentence, "and you can come back to me?"
Absently, Tommy rubs at the stubble on his throat. "One hour."
"One hour, what?" Adam asks, caught up in the quiet rasp.
"Be nice to my date, because for some weird, whacked-out reason he thinks you're cool or something, and have the car ready to go in an hour. And like, you'd better not be fucking around here," Tommy says, jabbing him in the chest again. "I'm so fucking serious. If I get back here and you fly into one of your fucking 'confused straight-boy' or 'the bi-curious are the death of me' speeches, I'm gonna dropkick your ass so fast."
Adam holds up both hands, palm out. "No speeches. Promise."
Tommy gives him another long, squinty-eyed look. "Alright. Okay." He tugs down the back of his jacket, resettling it on his shoulders. "Let's go make my guy feel awesome so he doesn't hate my guts later."
It's more like two hours before Tommy makes it out to the car, and an hour and a half later, he's still not back. By then, the party's winding down and Adam's caught up seeing everybody out.
"He'll be back," Lisa says, up on her tip-toes to peck Adam on the cheek.
Adam works up a bright smile just for her. An hour and a half isn't so long. He doesn't even know where Ryan lives, and he didn't think to ask how long it would take to get there and back. Tommy's probably already on his way, caught in traffic or something.
There's definitely nothing going on worth getting upset about. A goodnight kiss or two wouldn't take too long, anyway. Or hey, a goodbye kiss. One of those would be alright.
"Don't look at me like that," Monte says, "I'm not the one that sent him off in a limo."
"I was being nice," Adam says, frowning.
Monte gives him a long, long look. "You know I love you, right?"
Adam's mouth softens into a smile. "Aw, Monte. I love you too."
"Damn right you do. Don't fuck it up. He's too good to lose."
Torn between indignant protest--he is not going to fuck it up (again)--and wholehearted agreement, Adam settles on hauling Monte in for a hug. "I won't."
"Right," Monte says gruffly, clapping Adam on the back. "I meant for the band. Too good for the band to lose."
"Of course," Adam says, and happily wrestles Monte in for another hug.
Once everybody's gone, though, and Adam's left with an empty house in desperate need of a platoon of housekeepers, that cold uncertainty comes crawling back. He doesn't actually think Tommy's out there giving the guy a goodbye bang in the back of a limo, or that Tommy's going to stand him up. But believing it is one thing and knowing it is another. He really wishes his stomach would knock it off with all the nervous churning. Tommy's coming back, and he wouldn't be so terrible as to show up with that just-fucked glow.
Carefully setting a few wineglasses down on the counter in the kitchen, Adam decides it's best to leave the rest of the breakables for tomorrow.
Fifteen minutes later, as Adam's gathering up a bunch of empty bottles he doesn't care about accidentally dropping, a familiar call of "Adam?" comes from the front hall.
"Oh thank fuck," Adam murmurs under his breath. "In here!" he calls back, dumping the bottles haphazardly onto the coffee table before stepping over it. "I'm right here," he says, jogging up the few steps into the foyer.
"Hey," Tommy says, in the middle of hooking his jacket on the hatstand. "Sorry I took so long."
"Whatever," Adam says. "You came back."
A lopsided smile takes over Tommy's mouth. "Dude, I told you I would."
Adam sticks his hands into his pockets. If he opens his mouth, he's going to ask exactly what took so long, and it's not going to come out in any casual, just-wondering sort of tone.
"Man, come on," Tommy says, hooking a finger in one of Adam's belt loops. "There's got to be some booze left around here somewhere."
"Kitchen," Adam supplies helpfully, even though Tommy's already dragging him in there.
Tommy digs up two clean glasses--a tumbler and a mug--and fills both with what's left of an open red. Handing the mug to Adam, he clinks the rim of his tumbler against it, and downs about half of his drink in one go. At a loss for what else to do, Adam follows suit.
"So," Tommy says, and sucks air in through his teeth. "You get pretty jealous."
"Not usually." Monogamy is Adam's thing, but not the straight-laced militant kind. He's never minded some harmless flirting. Or a few kisses here and there. He flashes back on the possessive hand Ryan laid in the small of Tommy's back as they headed out to the car and frowns. "Okay, yes."
"Gonna tell me why?"
Adam swirls his wine, taps his nail against the ceramic. "Jealousy's one of those clear-cut emotions, I don't think it needs much explaining."
"Sure it does," Tommy says. "Especially since you've never gone all caveman on my ass before."
Sighing, Adam slides his mug onto the island countertop and leans back against the edge of granite. "You're not going to like it."
"So like, just so we're both on the same page here," Tommy says, taking a half step forward, braced like he's gearing up for a fight, "I just took my fucking date home and left him on his front step with some lame promise about catching him again at a show sometime to come back here and listen to you say whatever it is you gotta say, so I'm kinda not interested in what you think I'm going to like or not like. Spit it out already."
"It's because he's a fucking guy!" Adam shouts. "And if you're out dating guys then it means I was wrong about you all the times I thought you were just fucking around with me!"
"Well you fucking were!" Tommy yells right back, knocking Adam back and getting up in his face. "And I was a total chicken shit about it anyway! Maybe I shoulda just fucking jumped your dumb ass!"
"Maybe you fucking should've!"
"Fine," Tommy snarls, and fists a hand in the front of Adam's shirt, yanks him down to shove their mouths together.
Adam makes a garbled noise, flailing stupidly for something to hold on to before his hands find their way to Tommy's face. He takes over because Tommy lets him, lips parted to invite the push of his tongue between, and then they're kissing for real, hot and deep and wet. Tension sings through every part of Tommy's body, so much he's quivering with it, and Adam moans, kisses him harder, tries to make it all melt away so he's sweet and pliant like he is on stage, willing to go wherever Adam wants to put him.
"Fuck you," Tommy says as he falls back against the opposite counter. "Fuck you and your fucking awesome mouth."
"Fuck you and your fucking dirty one," Adam slings back, following him across the space between them, kicking Tommy's feet apart so he can get a thigh pressed snug between Tommy's, feel the trapped heat of Tommy's dick. He bites at Tommy's lips, imagining them red and puffy, wanting to see it. "God, I want to get my hands all over you."
Already shoving both hands under Adam's shirt, Tommy grunts, "Ask me fucking nicely."
"Please, I'm so fucking sorry," Adam says, sucking in a sharp breath when Tommy yanks at his belt, leaves it hanging open to attack his fly. "I didn't want to be your test run. I was afraid of having you and then losing you when you changed your mind."
"Motherfucking test run," Tommy growls, lifting his arms when Adam tugs at his shirt. His necklaces clatter back down, stark black against pale skin. "Fine. Okay. We were both scared shitless." Shaking his hair off his face, he slings an arm around Adam's neck, grinds hard and filthy up against Adam's hip. "That feel like I'm gonna change my mind to you?"
Grabbing onto Tommy's hips, trying to haul him in closer, Adam says, "No, fuck, you feel so good. I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry." Burying his face in Tommy's neck, Adam bites down to taste him, mark him. "You even smell fucking amazing."
"Ow, Jesus," Tommy says, head falling back, throat working as he swallows. "Your fucking teeth."
"Sorry," Adam says again, but this time he's not one bit sorry at all. There's a deep red mark left behind on Tommy's neck when he draws away, and he darts back in, licks it. He ends up sucking on it a little while he's there, making it flush even darker, and Tommy's fingers dig into his back, short stubby guitarist nails sharp through his shirt.
"You got a bed around here somewhere, right?" Tommy asks through shallow, panting breaths.
"Somewhere," Adam says, too busy biting his way up Tommy's jaw to his mouth to really think that one through. It hits him right around when Tommy's really getting into sucking on his tongue. He grabs onto the counter behind Tommy, knuckles mottling white. "Wait, wait, hang on."
Face flushed and eyes glassy, Tommy blinks up at him. "What?"
"Are you," Adam tries, but that doesn't sound right, so he switches to, "do you want me to," and that doesn't sound right, either. "Damn it."
"Whatever it is you're asking, answer's yes," Tommy says.
"Oh god." Bracing both hands on the counter, Adam breathes in and out a few times, very deliberately and very, very slow. "I'm such a creep for finding that so hot."
"What, that I like, saved myself for you?" Tommy says, grinning wide and bright and beautiful when Adam groans. "Almost missed your chance at my gay cherry."
Hauling Tommy away from the cabinets, Adam says, "You need to stop talking."
"'Cause it gets you hot?" Tommy's grin turns impish as he bites at the corner of his lip. "It get you hard, thinking about being the first guy to give it to me? Bet you wanna be the only dick I ever get up on." Laughing as Adam lunges for him, he back-pedals out of reach, heading for the stairs. "Thought you were totally over getting first-time blows from inexperienced little twinks?"
"Your fucking mouth," Adam says, grabbing for the banister as he almost misses a step.
Tommy laughs again, the absolute shit, and thumbs open his jeans right in front of Adam's face. "Come and get it, hot stuff."
"Oh my god," Adam says, running up the last few steps to grab Tommy around the waist, heft him straight up off his feet and lug him into the bedroom. "You are such a cocky little bitch."
"Playing it shy and virginal wasn't working for you," Tommy wheezes, and grunts softly as Adam dumps him flat on his back on the bed. He leaves his legs spread slutty-wide as he pushes up onto his elbows, a sweet dark flush on his chest and throat. "Though, uh, I kinda am, so go easy on me, huh?"
Somehow--Adam is never going to be quite sure how, but somehow--Adam's head doesn't explode. He sways on his feet and grabs at the bedpost, seriously wondering if he just creamed his shorts for the first time since his voice finally quit cracking. He swallows hard. "We can slow down."
"Fuck slowing down," Tommy says, scooting back on the bed and pushing at his jeans when they slip down over his hips. "We already did like, dinner and a movie and goodnight kisses and all that shit. You took me around the fucking world. You are so giving me some right the hell now."
"That's good logic," Adam agrees, and grabs onto the bunch of Tommy's jeans around his knees, hauling the damn things right off and tossing them aside.
Then he has to stop, and breathe, and look, and maybe try to breathe some more because Tommy is naked. Naked, in his bed, and very, very hard. Gorgeously hard, with a smooth, shallow curve, precome glistening at the tip, smearing onto his belly when he inhales long and slow. He's shaved bare except for the trail that starts low beneath his belly button and fans out into a flattering dark patch of hair framing his cock.
"Like it?" Tommy says, sounding like he's aiming for smug but like he's honestly asking, too.
"Baby, so much," Adam says, going to his knees. He hooks his arms under Tommy's thighs and drags him to the edge of the bed, nuzzles at the softness of his balls and breathes in the smell of him, thick and wanting. "I want to suck you. Let me suck you, please?"
"I'm in your fucking bed," Tommy grits out, fisting a hand in the duvet. "Do whatever the fuck you want to me."
"Baby," Adam says again, quiet and reverent, and sucks at the delicate skin of Tommy's sac, slowly making his way up as Tommy twists and fidgets and tries to stay still, waiting with breath held for Adam's mouth to reach his dick. Adam licks him instead, a big wide swipe from root to slit.
Tommy's hips jerk as Adam wraps a hand around his cock to steady it. "Oh shit, please, come on," he says, dragging one knee up, foot planted squarely on the bed to get some leverage to thrust. "You look so fucking hot, wanna see it."
"This?" Adam says, the word a hot puff against the tip of Tommy's dick, making him jerk again, and Adam closes his lips around the head, starts sucking soft and easy on his way down. He braces a hand on the bed, lifting up slightly to get a better angle when Tommy bumps against the back of his throat, and Tommy groans a ragged curse, shuddering as he bucks up, fucks into it. Wild-eyed and gasping, he brushes Adam's cheek with his fingertips, tracing the sharp hollow down to where Adam's jaw is stretched wide. He jolts when Adam sucks a sharp breath in through his nose, another one of those deep groans dragging up from the pit of Tommy's stomach as Adam pulls off, tongues a kiss to his shiny wet slit.
"Fuck," Tommy says, darting a quick glance to the head of the bed. He flails vaguely at the pillows, managing to nab one between the tips of his fingers and haul it down, shoving it randomly at Adam. "Prop me up. Go to fucking town on me, okay? Like fucking seriously, anything you want."
Swallowing down the hard thud of his heart, Adam says, "Anything?"
"Yes," Tommy hisses, snagging another pillow to cram under his head. He hikes his hips up for Adam to push the first one under him, keeping his knees bent and spread wide, shameless in the bright spill of overhead light. "Finger me some though?"
"As if that's a chore, fuck, Tommy." Spreading Tommy open with both hands, Adam shifts sideways out of the light, killing all the shadows so he can see. Tommy squirms a bit, used to having his cock on display, blatantly sized up, but maybe not his asshole, then squirms a little more when Adam's thumb brushes close to his rim. "I'd love to get my fingers in you."
"Anytime you wanna," Tommy says, a brighter splash of red on his face.
Still holding Tommy open, Adam dips down to kiss him, open-mouthed and slow and right on his tiny little hole. Muscle twitches against Adam's lips as Tommy gasps, and Adam thinks later, later, he's going to rim Tommy until he's begging to come, but right now Tommy wants fingers and that's exactly what Adam's going to give him.
"Adam, what," Tommy says when Adam moves away, and Adam says, "Easy, baby, gonna make this so good for you," as he digs some lube out of the nightstand. He slicks up, rubs some along Tommy's crack with one knuckle, letting him get used to the feel of somebody else's fingers just in case, and Tommy groans miserably like it's the worst sort of tease.
"Loosen up for me, baby," Adam says as he presses a fingertip to Tommy's asshole, nearly biting through his damn lip at how tight and hot and tiny Tommy is, "gotta breathe out for me, let me in," and Tommy moans a curse at him, body slowly giving way.
"Oh fuck, yeah," Tommy says, tugging on his cock once and then letting go entirely, gripping his thigh instead. "All the way, c'mon, give it to me."
"You got it all," Adam says, dragging slowly free to slide deep again. Pushing up off the floor, he sets one knee to the bed, leans down to lick at Tommy's open mouth. "Want more?"
"Yeah," Tommy says, chasing after Adam's tongue, licking at it with his own. "Lots more. A fucking lot more, all of 'em."
Gripping a handful of Tommy's hair, Adam holds him down, makes him look straight at Adam as a second finger flirts at his hole. Tommy's eyes go heavy, darken with anticipation, narrow down to narrow little slits as Adam pushes, lust throbbing hot in his blood as Tommy grudgingly opens up to take it. A sharp, hissing breath echoes between them when Adam goes too far too fast, caught up in his own eagerness to see what Tommy looks like when there are a few fingers pressed snug against his prostate.
"S'okay," Tommy says, rocking his hips, loosening up a little more as he rides them. "Feels good, feels really fucking crazy."
"God, baby," Adam says, glancing down to find Tommy's cock as thick as when they started, leaking all over his belly without a hand on it. "Do you like it that much, can I get you off on my fingers?"
"Fuck, maybe," Tommy says, not joking even a bit as he grinds down onto Adam's hand. "Gimme more?"
Fumbling for the lube and really fucking thankful he didn't leave it on the floor, Adam adds more to his fingers, catches Tommy's open mouth in a kiss before pressing the tight bunch of three into him. Tommy groans brokenly, arching away from the pressure for a split-second before he bears back down. He grabs onto Adam's upper arm, squeezing hard, panting harder, twisting and squirming and crying out beautifully choked and soft when Adam doesn't ease off, makes him take it.
"Fuck, fuck, kiss me," Tommy says, grabbing up a shockingly strong fistful of Adam's hair and yanking him down, "fucking jerk me off, gotta come, I gotta fucking come."
"You're gonna," Adam promises, kissing away Tommy's pained whine when he drags free again, goes back with just two fingers to find Tommy's prostate, stroking it slowly, short, strong presses that make Tommy arch up off the bed, fucking empty air desperate for something to rub his dick off on. "Just like that, sweetheart, let me see how pretty you are. Show me how good you look coming all over yourself for me."
"Son of a bitch," Tommy grates, "I'm not fucking, shit," and he's done, staring up at Adam in wide-eyed open-mouthed shock seconds before orgasm slams into him and he's spilling hot and wet all over his own belly, streaks of it hitting him low on the chest, making him jump and gasp through the ragged noises he can't hold back. He's still quivering with it, come beaded thickly at the head of his cock, when he peels his eyes open and smears a shaking hand through the mess like he honestly can't believe it. Adam crooks his fingers one last time, stroking Tommy gently from the inside all the way out as he comes down, his gaze skipping to Adam's again right before his eyes slip shut, all the air in his lungs leaking free in a long sigh.
Resting his hand on the inside of Tommy's thigh, Adam nudges at Tommy's chin with his nose, lays a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Good?"
"Fucking insane," Tommy says on a breathless, unsteady laugh. "Fuck, just. Fuck."
"Maybe worth waiting for?" Adam asks, smoothing sweat-damp hair off Tommy's forehead. "Worth forgiving me for?"
Tommy rolls his eyes. "I wasn't, like. I wasn't mad at you. I wanted you to get it."
"I got it," Adam says. "I really, really got it."
"Hell yeah you did." Smiling lazily, satisfied to his bones, Tommy plucks at the front of Adam's jeans. "You want that blow now?"
Wryly, Adam says, "Maybe when you wake up? You look like you're about to conk out on me."
"Dude, I totally am. That was really fucking intense." Tommy shuffles over onto his side, tugging Adam down and scooting back and being really damn fidgety until he's tucked securely against Adam's chest, Adam's arm slung around his waist. "Sorry 'bout the mess."
"Worth it," Adam says, rubbing his cheek against the velvety soft stubble on the side of Tommy's head.
Eyes closed, Tommy's smile widens to a grin. He bumps Adam's foot with his heel. "Sorry 'bout blue-balling you, too."
"Make it up to me later?"
"No problem," Tommy says through a yawn. "Be a good boyfriend, get me a blankie."
"Oh, I see," Adam says, lowering his voice. He fully expects Tommy to start snoring between one word and the next. "That's the way it is."
"Yep. Totally like, dating you for real now," Tommy mumbles. "Perez is gonna shit his pink jumpsuit."
Ignoring the hard, happy pound of his heart, Adam says, "Your version of pillowtalk is really sexy, Tommy Joe."
"I know." Tommy gives Adam's hand a saucy pat. "You love it."
"I really kinda do," Adam says, snuggling Tommy in closer to breathe in the familiar scent of his hair overlaid with the thick smell of sex, different and thrilling. "I really kinda do."
End
no subject
Date: 2011-03-28 07:14 pm (UTC)Somehow--Adam is never going to be quite sure how, but somehow--Adam's head doesn't explode. He sways on his feet and grabs at the bedpost, seriously wondering if he just creamed his shorts for the first time since his voice finally quit cracking. He swallows hard. "We can slow down."
Goddammit, this is incredible. And by "this," I mean every single word.