Fic: Primitive Radio Gods - Adam/Tommy
Apr. 7th, 2011 08:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blue_soaringI apparently have an obsession for boys playing around being boys. OH WELL, I'LL LEARN TO LIVE WITH IT SOMEHOW. \o/
Primitive Radio Gods
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~4300 words. Slapping.
"Just 'cause I let you stick your dick in me," Tommy grunts, wiggling around again, playing dirty pool with his fingers jammed into Adam's armpits, "and just 'cause I like it, don't mean shit."
*
Primitive Radio Gods
Tommy's got his own place. He likes it, all his shit's there. It's got Mike, too, and hey, Mike's always a good time. Even when Mike's piss-drunk, moaning over his latest girl dumping his ass. Especially when Mike's piss-drunk. Man, he loves Mike.
It's two weeks since Tommy's been home. And this time, he doesn't even have a decent excuse like oh hey, world fucking tour. At least he should've gone back to get some clothes or his toothbrush or something. But he's pretty flush now, and a new pair of jeans isn't going to break the bank. As long as he doesn't shop where Adam shops, anyway.
Besides, Adam's new digs? They're pretty fucking swank.
"Oh yeah," Tommy says, and jams out a riff, letting it mellow into something bluesy and cool. The room Adam's set aside for impromptu sessions is pretty rough, acoustic panels leaning against a few walls, and cables and amps and one of Isaac's old drum sets still in a jumble in one corner. All the shit Tommy needs is right out in the middle, his Viper from the tour in his lap and a couple of his six-strings standing by for when he gets around to the music Adam scribbled out last night in a fit of pot-smoke genius. There's marker still smudged on Tommy's back where Adam started out using him to write on.
From upstairs comes the thud of Adam rolling out of bed. A glance at Tommy's phone says it's half past noon. Time for Adam to get up. He strums out a quick victory march, a chord caught and held for Adam's, "Fuck off!" to come echoing down the stairs.
"Morning, motherfucker!" Tommy shouts back.
Ten minutes later, Adam comes tromping down the stairs. His hair's wet and shiny, face scrubbed clean except for thin dark smudges of leftover eyeliner hugging his lashlines. Bare toes peek out from beneath the ragged hems of his jeans, and glistening droplets of water cling to his neck, his shoulders, the light trail of hair low on his belly. Eight months of practice is the only reason Tommy's fingers don't skip on the strings.
Adam folds his arms across his chest. Fuck, he's got nice arms. "There are nicer ways of waking me up."
"Hey, I'm doing all this for you. Helping you like, keep it real or some shit." Adam's glower doesn't waver, and neither does the grin tugging on Tommy's mouth. "Don't want you getting entitled."
Dropping into a whine, Adam says, "You kept me up all night. I get to sleep in now."
"You slept in." Tommy plucks out a few random chords. He's never appreciated chronic insomnia, but he's got to admit, sometimes it comes in handy. If he hadn't bitched about not being able to sleep, Adam wouldn't have trotted out the weed, and if Adam hadn't trotted out the weed, Tommy wouldn't have gotten Adam's dick finally jammed down his throat. Fuck, it'd so been worth it. 'Cause Adam's got a lot of dick, and Tommy's got limited space to take it, and deep-throating's been one of those things he's never gotten a handle on despite how much he's wanted it. A generous application of shit out of Amsterdam, though, and he'd done it. Like, all the way down, cutting off his airway and bringing sweet hot tears to his eyes, and absolutely blowing Adam's fucking mind. His grin gets wider. The next chord he plays is saucy as hell.
"Little shit," Adam says, laughing as he strides across the room, "fucking mouthy little shit."
"I didn't say nothing!" Tommy protests, flipping his pick over into his palm. Adam hops over a tangled cable, bearing down on Tommy with a grim smile, and Tommy quickly stands up, setting the Viper down. "I'm sorry! I won't do it again! I promise to never suck your brains out through your fucking giant cock ever again!" And he's laughing, fucking killing himself laughing, hand held up to ward Adam off as Adam swoops down, jams a shoulder into his gut and hoists him up. "Adam! Motherfucker."
Adam's warm hand settles on Tommy's ass. "You were saying?"
"Bitch," Tommy wheezes. He kicks his feet ineffectually, hanging like a sack of potatoes over Adam's shoulder. The slip of Adam's jeans catches his gaze, and he wriggles around, kicking again for some leverage to get his teeth sinking into flesh right above Adam's kidney.
"Ow!" Adam yelps, and Tommy crows, "Ha!" hooking a few fingers into Adam's back pockets to drag his jeans down over his ass. Kicking again, Tommy skids down a few inches and grabs a big handful of Adam's bare ass, biting at it viciously.
"Oh my god, you total brat!" A rough jostle knocks the last sliver of air out of Tommy's lungs. He groans and goes limp. Cautiously, Adam asks, "Gonna behave now?"
"Like hell," Tommy promises vehemently. "Put me the fuck down."
Adam laughs and gives his ass a smarmy little pat. "That's not how this works."
"Just 'cause I let you stick your dick in me," Tommy grunts, wiggling around again, playing dirty pool with his fingers jammed into Adam's armpits, "and just 'cause I like it, don't mean shit."
Adam jerks, stumble-dancing sideways. His hold on the waist of Tommy's jeans slips. "No, no, don't tickle, fuck, Tommy, I'll drop you."
"That's the fucking idea, rockstar." Tommy digs his fingers in harder.
"You are such a shit," Adam laughs, helpless and pissed, his grip going looser. Victory imminent, Tommy knees him in the chest. His legs buckle on a startled whoosh of breath and Tommy slides free, staggering as his feet hit the floor. Wheezing a curse, Adam grabs for Tommy's hair, fingers tangling in a thick fistful that jerks Tommy's head up, sharp pain shooting down Tommy's spine.
Knees stubbornly locked against the pleasure that flares in its wake, like a whole summer of Adam tugging him around by the hair hasn't given him a total Pavlovian response to it, he swings an arm up to elbow Adam off.
"Don't think so," Adam says through a smile as his forearm smacks into Adam's open palm.
Tommy bites out, "Fucker," between noises that aren't fucking giggles, they're not, and brings up the flat of his hand up, fully expecting Adam to block it. What he doesn't expect is the loud slap, the quick jerk of Adam's head to the side, the sting that radiates all through his fingers, up into his arm. He doesn't even know what the fuck, because come on, since when does he go around slapping guys? His mouth works, but nothing comes out.
Adam turns back slowly, his grip on Tommy's hair staying firm. There's an angry red flush on one cheek from where Tommy fucking slapped him. His mouth's slack, wide-eyed shock narrowing down to that look he gets sometimes, back-alley dangerous, and usually ends with Tommy flat on his back and his legs in the air. Tommy honestly doesn't think that's where it's going this time.
"I'm sorry," Tommy blurts, meaning it, still not sure what the hell's going on here. "I didn't-"
"Are you?" At Tommy's blank look, Adam says, "Are you sorry?"
"Fuck, Adam, yeah, of course I'm-" A rough shake by the hair cuts Tommy short. He grabs onto Adam's wrist, wincing. He tries, "What the fuck?" because seriously, it was an accident, Adam knows that. And if it wasn't, if he honestly slapped Adam for real, Adam wouldn't be giving him the third degree about it, Adam would be staring at him like he'd just admitted to murdering kittens for shits and giggles.
Adam's chin tilts up. "Do it again."
"What the fuck."
"Do it again," Adam repeats. "Slap me."
Heat pools low in Tommy's belly. All that jostling around must've knocked a screw loose in his head or something, because there's no way he's hearing what he thinks he's hearing. Adam's good for a little slap and tickle, yeah, sure, but not fucking literally.
Adam's hand clamps to Tommy's jaw like it does on stage sometimes, or like when they're making out and it gets really hot and heavy and Adam's so turned on he's about to nut himself. He leans down close, close enough to kiss, and says against Tommy's mouth, "You liked it."
Tommy sucks in a sharp minty breath. Sunlight's streaming in through the windows, there's a steady rumble outside like the gardener's trundling around with the mower, and his dick's a little hard, sure. No big deal. When Adam's in his radius, he's always a little hard. He licks his lips, grazing Adam's, and looks down to the side. "Maybe."
"So do it again." Letting go of Tommy's hair, Adam straightens up. He keeps his grip on Tommy's chin.
Lack of sleep apparently turns Adam into a lunatic. "Your face, man, I can't mess up your fucking face."
One of Adam's eyebrows wings up. His hold slides down to Tommy's throat, light, threatening. "Think you'll hit me that hard?"
Tommy's hand curls into a fist, palm still tingling. Maybe it's that look on Adam's face, goading. Maybe it's the way his cock jerks at the thought that brings his hand up. Fuck, he's not really sure at all why, but he lays one on Adam open-handed and mean, and Adam's head snaps to the side, his sharp intake of breath shooting straight to Tommy's dick.
"Fuck," Tommy breathes, splaying his stinging fingers over the hot flush on Adam's cheek. Adam's gaze slides sideways, pinning Tommy with this look out of the corners of his eyes, this gorgeous, savage look that makes Tommy's heartbeat stutter against his ribs. They've played around with rough before. Tommy's woken up with bruises, delicious aches; he's put his mark on Adam, bright crescents made from teeth and nails. They've done what Adam's doing now, his grip on Tommy's throat going tight, squeezing as Tommy tries to make what oxygen he can get last.
"You liked it," Adam says, facing him again.
Tommy's hand twinges as he grabs at Adam's wrist. It's still not a question, but Tommy says, "Yeah," and Adam's hold tightens a fraction more. "Yeah, fuck, I liked it. Jesus, Adam. I can't breathe."
Mouth ghosting close to Tommy's ear, Adam asks, "Do you want me to stop?"
Tommy's vision goes fuzzy, eyelashes fluttering. He's got enough air. His lungs aren't burning but his chest is tight, and he knows what it feels like to really choke. He's okay. "No."
Adam's mouth skims down his cheek, brushes over his once, again, playing at kisses. He can feel Adam's smile when his lips part. "Do you want to fuck me?"
And it's not like fucking is ever the last thing on Tommy's mind. Neither is it always the first; sometimes shit like food or sleep takes precedence. Ten seconds ago, Tommy hadn't worked his way around to really thinking about sex, or really thinking at all, his brain stumbling around like a jock on prom night. He's sure as fuck thinking about it now. His name slides over his lips on the whisper of Adam's breath. He sucks it in greedily, the dull throb of his pulse echoing in his head. "Yes, fuck," comes lurching out of his throat, "lemme go, let me fuck you."
For a second, one fast, impossible second, Tommy thinks Adam's not going to do it. Then air floods into his lungs as Adam steps back, and Tommy's on him like a fucking freak, tearing at his jeans, shoving him backwards tripping over cables until he slams into the wall. Biting at his mouth, Tommy says, "Turn around, turn the fuck around," and there's this shift in the air like Adam's thinking about telling him no, making him work for it.
Fuck that shit. Dropping down to one knee, Tommy yanks Adam's jeans straight down to the floor and nuzzles up against his naked dick, the soft scrape of morning stubble followed by the wet heat of Tommy's mouth startling a gorgeous moan out of him. One good suck distracts him long enough for Tommy to dart up, grab him by the hair and one wrist to flip him around, pin him face-first against the wall.
"You're so fucking easy," Tommy says, biting at the sharp wing of Adam's shoulder blade. He unzips his jeans one handed, letting Adam hear it. "One little pretty boy all up on your dick and you're done."
Adam laughs, and it's a happy sound because he's getting exactly what he wants, but it's dark, too, crackling all around the edges like burnt paper. "About as easy as you, Tommy Joe."
"Fuck you," Tommy says, real heat behind it, wild and hectic and crazy-good. Tommy is so fucking easy. All it takes is a wink and he's hard, a crook of a finger and he's following Adam into all kinds of stupid places; a quick blow in a Berlin bathroom, a fuck in some tiny cramped alley in Paris beneath an angel triptych, another one in Manilla outside some run-down restaurant that served the next best thing to a SoCal street-vendor burrito. Motherfucking vanilla, Tommy's ass.
Slanted smile angled over his shoulder, Adam says, "Thought you were gonna?"
Biting his tongue to stifle a moan, Tommy kicks Adam's feet as far apart as they'll go with his jeans tangled around them, and that moan Tommy's holding back comes spilling out of Adam instead. Spit's not going to do the job, but Tommy licks his fingers wet anyway, ghosting his thumb down Adam's crack. Anticipation churns white-hot in his belly, shortening his breath the same as if Adam's got a hand on his throat again, and he pushes between the cheeks of Adam's ass, finds the tight clench of Adam's hole and keeps going.
Adam sucks in another one of those sharp, hissing breaths, and Tommy smears a kiss across the peak of his spine, scraping teeth and a flick of tongue. Resting his forehead in the centre of Adam's back, Tommy watches the shallow slide of his finger, the quick clench of his belly forcing him back to his knees to get closer, bring his mouth into it. The noises that Adam starts making once he's on Tommy's tongue are fucking criminal, filthy-sweet, and all that attitude he'd been working earlier melts like sugar into tiny little restless fucks back on Tommy's face.
Aiming a bite close to Adam's rim, Tommy flattens his forearm across the base of Adam's spine, forcing him back flush to the wall. "Should've brought lube," Tommy says, "'cause now I gotta go get some."
"Don't stop," Adam snaps, five seconds too late. He follows it up with a lame, "What?" and, "oh," while biting at his lip, then, "there's some in that side pocket, on your carry case."
Standing up, Tommy fits himself all along Adam's back, cock nestled in the curve of Adam's ass, hands sliding up Adam's sides in a too-light touch that makes Adam squirm. "You saying you put Gun Oil in my in with my bass?"
"Outside!" Adam shrinks away from Tommy's fingers, but there's nowhere to go when Tommy slaps a hand to the wall on either side of him. "It's in one of those air-safe bottles, it's not going to spill."
"You are so fucking crazy," Tommy says, leaning up to lick the side of Adam's face, playful and quick. "Don't move or I'll beat your ass."
Adam's eyes glaze over like he's thinking about it, picturing it, and deciding maybe it wouldn't be so bad. They're gonna have to talk about this shit. Rough sex is rough sex, and kinky sex is kinky sex, but this kinky rough sex thing? Yeah. They should talk. Digging the lube out of the case right where Adam said it would be, Tommy flings him a quick glance, takes in the long, long line he makes up against the wall, the wide spread of his legs, the way he's resting his cheek on the back of one hand with a smug curve to his mouth.
Later. They're gonna have to fucking talk later.
Flipping the small bottle with a flick of his wrist, Tommy thumbs it open, slicks up his fingers on the way back so Adam can watch. He presses in close again, the back of his wrist snug against his cock as he gets a few fingers in Adam this time around, almost as interested in the quick, fluttering dip of Adam's eyelashes as the heat clutching at him. He loves everything about fucking Adam, all the way down to Adam's toes curling in the plush carpet, how Adam never stops wanting, never cares which one of them is doing the heavy lifting as long as there's more.
"Like a fucking dream," Tommy says, even though he didn't mean to.
Heartfelt agreement comes from Adam in a groaned curse as he shifts, stepping out of his jeans and pushing back, angling his chest lower and lifting his ass. It's as clear an invitation as Tommy's ever fucking seen. Tommy shoves his own jeans down far enough to get his cock out, smearing it slick, adding a little more to make sure this is nothing but a long slow slide. He drops the bottle, kicking it between Adam's feet, letting Adam hear the wet sound of him jacking, making Adam shiver when the head grazes his hole.
When Tommy settles into place, starts pushing, it's not so easy. He rushed it, and Adam's strung tight with waiting. But it turns out Adam's fucking game to work for it, head falling forward as his hips roll. The bottle goes skidding away as he shuffles a step back, another, sinking down the wall until he's bent at the waist, braced on the palms of his hands. He's taken about half of what Tommy's got to offer, and he's making noises like it's the whole damn thing.
A quick slap to his ass cuts off his moaning for a heartbeat, and then it's back, louder. Grinning, so caught up in the wild thrill of Adam halfway out of his mind already, Tommy fucks in deeper, fast and hard, still not all the way. Adam jerks, like he's gonna jolt up on his toes, and Tommy grabs his shoulder, holds him down. "Gonna let me fuck you now?"
Scrubbing sweat-damp hair off his cheek with one arm, Adam says, "Wish you would."
"Baby," Tommy says, the crazy, amazing buzz he's got going on leaking out into his voice, roughening it up and making it thick like he's been sucking dick all day, "all you had to do was ask." He waits, biting his lip and fingers digging into Adam's hips, for the telltale intake of Adam's breath, and drives whatever Adam meant to say straight out of his head with a short hard thrust, buried to the balls before Adam's groan fades. Some other time, he'd maybe give Adam a second to get used to it. But the phantom pressure of Adam's hand lingers on his throat, slow steady squeeze, and he doesn't even think about waiting to pull back, drive it all the way home again.
Adam lets out a startled grunt, knees buckling, locking tight. "Fuck, Tommy," he breathes, and takes one hand off the wall, aiming to jack his cock. He doesn't even get close before his palm is smacking right back where it was, needing the support.
With a vicious twist in his guts, Tommy picks up the pace, fucking Adam loose so he can really go to town. Adam takes it all, starts shoving back for more, demanding Tommy give it up exactly how he wants it. Tommy's never been good at saying no, he's fucking dismal at it when Adam's the one asking, and with how bad Tommy wants to do what Adam's asking for, it's beyond a lost cause. He's gonna cream it way before Adam's had enough.
Almost biting through his damn lip, Tommy drives in deep, stays there. With the way it makes Adam shiver from the inside out, he can't help but try to grind a little deeper, wanting to get so far up in Adam that the ache lingers for days. When he finally finds a shred of control, he slumps against Adam's back, biting and licking at freckles one by one while he waits for air to seep back into his lungs.
"No, what are you doing," Adam groans, trying to jostle Tommy back into motion. "Don't stop, fuck."
Wondering if he sounds fucking wrecked like that when Adam's playing with him, Tommy says, "Thought I'd take a breather. Enjoy the scenery."
"Breather, what?" Adam echoes, totally lost, fucked as close to stupid as he's ever been.
"Thinking maybe you should get on your knees for me." That hadn't actually been Tommy's plan--he hadn't had a fucking plan--but now that he's said it, fuck, does it sound good.
Right off the bat, Adam starts sinking down. A fresh dump of adrenaline-lust burns through Tommy's veins as he forces his hands to unclench from Adam's sides and Adam slides right off his cock. He stumbles back half a step, giving Adam the space to settle down, and then Tommy's down on both knees behind him, greedy hands urging him to spread a little wider, get down a little lower. Instead of going right back to their fuck, though, Tommy pushes the thick knot of three fingers into Adam's ass, crooks them hard to feel Adam clench.
"Maybe I should get you off like this," Tommy says, sliding a hand around to Adam's cock, give it a lazy tug. Adam groans something that sounds like no, and Tommy bites at the smooth muscle layered over his ribs, starts jerking Adam off for real. It takes him all of three seconds to find Adam's prostate, stroke it slow and easy. "You sure? Betcha it feels pretty good."
"Fuck, I'm sure," Adam blurts, sucking in a shaking breath. He manages to keep still for a second, maybe a whole three, and then he's trembling, rocking hard between Tommy's hands. "You little shit, fuck, stop, Tommy, you're gonna-"
Darting his hand down to squeeze Adam's balls, Tommy says, "What, gonna make you come? Thought you'd like that."
"Don't," Adam gasps, and Tommy hesitates, waits to see if Adam means it or if he's so far gone he's only running his mouth. The second Tommy gives him some space, he fucks back onto Tommy's hand, this sweet roll of his hips that his whole damn body's involved in, and anybody's who's seen that shit on stage honestly doesn't have a fucking clue how hot it really is. There's nothing like Adam naked on his knees moving like that, desperate to get off with a dick up his ass.
Tommy's seriously considering ignoring him. Tommy could make him come right the hell now with nothing but a few fingers and a tight grip on his cock. But fuck, Tommy wants to feel him lose it, and the sound Adam makes when Tommy fucks back into him is pure fucking gold. From there, Tommy's only got time for a few quick snaps of his hips before Adam's shooting all over his hand, clamping down hard on Tommy's cock and shaking and making such a fucking racket Tommy hopes to fuck the gardener's taken an early lunch. Gritting his teeth, sucking in air like the supply's running out, Tommy somehow manages to not blow his load. He still ends up slumped over Adam's back again, moaning his fucking head off, and he can't fucking shut up.
"C'mon," Adam's saying, hazy and distant-sounding, giving Tommy a weak shove. "Baby, c'mon, you too."
"Fuck," Tommy breathes, moving his hand to grasp the back of Adam's where it's splayed flat on the floor. He tries to push up, can't manage it, and says fuck it, goes for it right where he is curled over Adam's back. His leverage is shit, he can't get as deep as he wants, like he could crawl up inside Adam if only he fucking tried hard enough, but it's so fucking good, Adam totally loose around him one second and then clenching up tight, trying to force an orgasm out of him. And the fucking kicker is, it works. Like Adam's tapped into his fucking brain, pulling strings and pressing buttons, it works. Tommy goes down like a fucking sack of potatoes when orgasm nails him, turns him into a breathless rutting mess with his hands scrabbling for a grip on Adam's sweat-slick shoulders.
By the time it lets him go, he's completely wrung out, exhausted, fucking shot. He can't even work up a twitch when Adam murmurs his name, or a protesting groan when Adam stretches out to sink down with Tommy still plastered to his back. The best Adam gets out of him is a hissed curse when Adam shifts on his softening cock, and Adam laughs quietly, delighted.
"Yeah, laugh it up while you can," Tommy mumbles. "Gimme fifteen minutes and I'm gonna be cracking up, you'll see." Adam deliberately clenches around him again, this fucking sadistic purr echoing up through his back when Tommy groans miserably, his dick way too sensitive for this shit but his body refusing to let him budge an inch. "Ten minutes," he promises darkly, "and I'm gonna fucking wreck you."
"Yeah?" Adam says, with a gorgeous catch in his voice.
"Fuck yeah." Fitting his teeth to the curve of Adam's shoulder, Tommy bites down hard, sucks slowly, keeps it up until Adam's hand curls into a tight fist around his. The mark left behind when Tommy pulls back is fucking huge, angry deep red, and he licks it to feel its heat, gives it another quick suck. "Find the fucking lube, maybe I'll even let you show me what you got."
*
End
Primitive Radio Gods
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~4300 words. Slapping.
"Just 'cause I let you stick your dick in me," Tommy grunts, wiggling around again, playing dirty pool with his fingers jammed into Adam's armpits, "and just 'cause I like it, don't mean shit."
Primitive Radio Gods
Tommy's got his own place. He likes it, all his shit's there. It's got Mike, too, and hey, Mike's always a good time. Even when Mike's piss-drunk, moaning over his latest girl dumping his ass. Especially when Mike's piss-drunk. Man, he loves Mike.
It's two weeks since Tommy's been home. And this time, he doesn't even have a decent excuse like oh hey, world fucking tour. At least he should've gone back to get some clothes or his toothbrush or something. But he's pretty flush now, and a new pair of jeans isn't going to break the bank. As long as he doesn't shop where Adam shops, anyway.
Besides, Adam's new digs? They're pretty fucking swank.
"Oh yeah," Tommy says, and jams out a riff, letting it mellow into something bluesy and cool. The room Adam's set aside for impromptu sessions is pretty rough, acoustic panels leaning against a few walls, and cables and amps and one of Isaac's old drum sets still in a jumble in one corner. All the shit Tommy needs is right out in the middle, his Viper from the tour in his lap and a couple of his six-strings standing by for when he gets around to the music Adam scribbled out last night in a fit of pot-smoke genius. There's marker still smudged on Tommy's back where Adam started out using him to write on.
From upstairs comes the thud of Adam rolling out of bed. A glance at Tommy's phone says it's half past noon. Time for Adam to get up. He strums out a quick victory march, a chord caught and held for Adam's, "Fuck off!" to come echoing down the stairs.
"Morning, motherfucker!" Tommy shouts back.
Ten minutes later, Adam comes tromping down the stairs. His hair's wet and shiny, face scrubbed clean except for thin dark smudges of leftover eyeliner hugging his lashlines. Bare toes peek out from beneath the ragged hems of his jeans, and glistening droplets of water cling to his neck, his shoulders, the light trail of hair low on his belly. Eight months of practice is the only reason Tommy's fingers don't skip on the strings.
Adam folds his arms across his chest. Fuck, he's got nice arms. "There are nicer ways of waking me up."
"Hey, I'm doing all this for you. Helping you like, keep it real or some shit." Adam's glower doesn't waver, and neither does the grin tugging on Tommy's mouth. "Don't want you getting entitled."
Dropping into a whine, Adam says, "You kept me up all night. I get to sleep in now."
"You slept in." Tommy plucks out a few random chords. He's never appreciated chronic insomnia, but he's got to admit, sometimes it comes in handy. If he hadn't bitched about not being able to sleep, Adam wouldn't have trotted out the weed, and if Adam hadn't trotted out the weed, Tommy wouldn't have gotten Adam's dick finally jammed down his throat. Fuck, it'd so been worth it. 'Cause Adam's got a lot of dick, and Tommy's got limited space to take it, and deep-throating's been one of those things he's never gotten a handle on despite how much he's wanted it. A generous application of shit out of Amsterdam, though, and he'd done it. Like, all the way down, cutting off his airway and bringing sweet hot tears to his eyes, and absolutely blowing Adam's fucking mind. His grin gets wider. The next chord he plays is saucy as hell.
"Little shit," Adam says, laughing as he strides across the room, "fucking mouthy little shit."
"I didn't say nothing!" Tommy protests, flipping his pick over into his palm. Adam hops over a tangled cable, bearing down on Tommy with a grim smile, and Tommy quickly stands up, setting the Viper down. "I'm sorry! I won't do it again! I promise to never suck your brains out through your fucking giant cock ever again!" And he's laughing, fucking killing himself laughing, hand held up to ward Adam off as Adam swoops down, jams a shoulder into his gut and hoists him up. "Adam! Motherfucker."
Adam's warm hand settles on Tommy's ass. "You were saying?"
"Bitch," Tommy wheezes. He kicks his feet ineffectually, hanging like a sack of potatoes over Adam's shoulder. The slip of Adam's jeans catches his gaze, and he wriggles around, kicking again for some leverage to get his teeth sinking into flesh right above Adam's kidney.
"Ow!" Adam yelps, and Tommy crows, "Ha!" hooking a few fingers into Adam's back pockets to drag his jeans down over his ass. Kicking again, Tommy skids down a few inches and grabs a big handful of Adam's bare ass, biting at it viciously.
"Oh my god, you total brat!" A rough jostle knocks the last sliver of air out of Tommy's lungs. He groans and goes limp. Cautiously, Adam asks, "Gonna behave now?"
"Like hell," Tommy promises vehemently. "Put me the fuck down."
Adam laughs and gives his ass a smarmy little pat. "That's not how this works."
"Just 'cause I let you stick your dick in me," Tommy grunts, wiggling around again, playing dirty pool with his fingers jammed into Adam's armpits, "and just 'cause I like it, don't mean shit."
Adam jerks, stumble-dancing sideways. His hold on the waist of Tommy's jeans slips. "No, no, don't tickle, fuck, Tommy, I'll drop you."
"That's the fucking idea, rockstar." Tommy digs his fingers in harder.
"You are such a shit," Adam laughs, helpless and pissed, his grip going looser. Victory imminent, Tommy knees him in the chest. His legs buckle on a startled whoosh of breath and Tommy slides free, staggering as his feet hit the floor. Wheezing a curse, Adam grabs for Tommy's hair, fingers tangling in a thick fistful that jerks Tommy's head up, sharp pain shooting down Tommy's spine.
Knees stubbornly locked against the pleasure that flares in its wake, like a whole summer of Adam tugging him around by the hair hasn't given him a total Pavlovian response to it, he swings an arm up to elbow Adam off.
"Don't think so," Adam says through a smile as his forearm smacks into Adam's open palm.
Tommy bites out, "Fucker," between noises that aren't fucking giggles, they're not, and brings up the flat of his hand up, fully expecting Adam to block it. What he doesn't expect is the loud slap, the quick jerk of Adam's head to the side, the sting that radiates all through his fingers, up into his arm. He doesn't even know what the fuck, because come on, since when does he go around slapping guys? His mouth works, but nothing comes out.
Adam turns back slowly, his grip on Tommy's hair staying firm. There's an angry red flush on one cheek from where Tommy fucking slapped him. His mouth's slack, wide-eyed shock narrowing down to that look he gets sometimes, back-alley dangerous, and usually ends with Tommy flat on his back and his legs in the air. Tommy honestly doesn't think that's where it's going this time.
"I'm sorry," Tommy blurts, meaning it, still not sure what the hell's going on here. "I didn't-"
"Are you?" At Tommy's blank look, Adam says, "Are you sorry?"
"Fuck, Adam, yeah, of course I'm-" A rough shake by the hair cuts Tommy short. He grabs onto Adam's wrist, wincing. He tries, "What the fuck?" because seriously, it was an accident, Adam knows that. And if it wasn't, if he honestly slapped Adam for real, Adam wouldn't be giving him the third degree about it, Adam would be staring at him like he'd just admitted to murdering kittens for shits and giggles.
Adam's chin tilts up. "Do it again."
"What the fuck."
"Do it again," Adam repeats. "Slap me."
Heat pools low in Tommy's belly. All that jostling around must've knocked a screw loose in his head or something, because there's no way he's hearing what he thinks he's hearing. Adam's good for a little slap and tickle, yeah, sure, but not fucking literally.
Adam's hand clamps to Tommy's jaw like it does on stage sometimes, or like when they're making out and it gets really hot and heavy and Adam's so turned on he's about to nut himself. He leans down close, close enough to kiss, and says against Tommy's mouth, "You liked it."
Tommy sucks in a sharp minty breath. Sunlight's streaming in through the windows, there's a steady rumble outside like the gardener's trundling around with the mower, and his dick's a little hard, sure. No big deal. When Adam's in his radius, he's always a little hard. He licks his lips, grazing Adam's, and looks down to the side. "Maybe."
"So do it again." Letting go of Tommy's hair, Adam straightens up. He keeps his grip on Tommy's chin.
Lack of sleep apparently turns Adam into a lunatic. "Your face, man, I can't mess up your fucking face."
One of Adam's eyebrows wings up. His hold slides down to Tommy's throat, light, threatening. "Think you'll hit me that hard?"
Tommy's hand curls into a fist, palm still tingling. Maybe it's that look on Adam's face, goading. Maybe it's the way his cock jerks at the thought that brings his hand up. Fuck, he's not really sure at all why, but he lays one on Adam open-handed and mean, and Adam's head snaps to the side, his sharp intake of breath shooting straight to Tommy's dick.
"Fuck," Tommy breathes, splaying his stinging fingers over the hot flush on Adam's cheek. Adam's gaze slides sideways, pinning Tommy with this look out of the corners of his eyes, this gorgeous, savage look that makes Tommy's heartbeat stutter against his ribs. They've played around with rough before. Tommy's woken up with bruises, delicious aches; he's put his mark on Adam, bright crescents made from teeth and nails. They've done what Adam's doing now, his grip on Tommy's throat going tight, squeezing as Tommy tries to make what oxygen he can get last.
"You liked it," Adam says, facing him again.
Tommy's hand twinges as he grabs at Adam's wrist. It's still not a question, but Tommy says, "Yeah," and Adam's hold tightens a fraction more. "Yeah, fuck, I liked it. Jesus, Adam. I can't breathe."
Mouth ghosting close to Tommy's ear, Adam asks, "Do you want me to stop?"
Tommy's vision goes fuzzy, eyelashes fluttering. He's got enough air. His lungs aren't burning but his chest is tight, and he knows what it feels like to really choke. He's okay. "No."
Adam's mouth skims down his cheek, brushes over his once, again, playing at kisses. He can feel Adam's smile when his lips part. "Do you want to fuck me?"
And it's not like fucking is ever the last thing on Tommy's mind. Neither is it always the first; sometimes shit like food or sleep takes precedence. Ten seconds ago, Tommy hadn't worked his way around to really thinking about sex, or really thinking at all, his brain stumbling around like a jock on prom night. He's sure as fuck thinking about it now. His name slides over his lips on the whisper of Adam's breath. He sucks it in greedily, the dull throb of his pulse echoing in his head. "Yes, fuck," comes lurching out of his throat, "lemme go, let me fuck you."
For a second, one fast, impossible second, Tommy thinks Adam's not going to do it. Then air floods into his lungs as Adam steps back, and Tommy's on him like a fucking freak, tearing at his jeans, shoving him backwards tripping over cables until he slams into the wall. Biting at his mouth, Tommy says, "Turn around, turn the fuck around," and there's this shift in the air like Adam's thinking about telling him no, making him work for it.
Fuck that shit. Dropping down to one knee, Tommy yanks Adam's jeans straight down to the floor and nuzzles up against his naked dick, the soft scrape of morning stubble followed by the wet heat of Tommy's mouth startling a gorgeous moan out of him. One good suck distracts him long enough for Tommy to dart up, grab him by the hair and one wrist to flip him around, pin him face-first against the wall.
"You're so fucking easy," Tommy says, biting at the sharp wing of Adam's shoulder blade. He unzips his jeans one handed, letting Adam hear it. "One little pretty boy all up on your dick and you're done."
Adam laughs, and it's a happy sound because he's getting exactly what he wants, but it's dark, too, crackling all around the edges like burnt paper. "About as easy as you, Tommy Joe."
"Fuck you," Tommy says, real heat behind it, wild and hectic and crazy-good. Tommy is so fucking easy. All it takes is a wink and he's hard, a crook of a finger and he's following Adam into all kinds of stupid places; a quick blow in a Berlin bathroom, a fuck in some tiny cramped alley in Paris beneath an angel triptych, another one in Manilla outside some run-down restaurant that served the next best thing to a SoCal street-vendor burrito. Motherfucking vanilla, Tommy's ass.
Slanted smile angled over his shoulder, Adam says, "Thought you were gonna?"
Biting his tongue to stifle a moan, Tommy kicks Adam's feet as far apart as they'll go with his jeans tangled around them, and that moan Tommy's holding back comes spilling out of Adam instead. Spit's not going to do the job, but Tommy licks his fingers wet anyway, ghosting his thumb down Adam's crack. Anticipation churns white-hot in his belly, shortening his breath the same as if Adam's got a hand on his throat again, and he pushes between the cheeks of Adam's ass, finds the tight clench of Adam's hole and keeps going.
Adam sucks in another one of those sharp, hissing breaths, and Tommy smears a kiss across the peak of his spine, scraping teeth and a flick of tongue. Resting his forehead in the centre of Adam's back, Tommy watches the shallow slide of his finger, the quick clench of his belly forcing him back to his knees to get closer, bring his mouth into it. The noises that Adam starts making once he's on Tommy's tongue are fucking criminal, filthy-sweet, and all that attitude he'd been working earlier melts like sugar into tiny little restless fucks back on Tommy's face.
Aiming a bite close to Adam's rim, Tommy flattens his forearm across the base of Adam's spine, forcing him back flush to the wall. "Should've brought lube," Tommy says, "'cause now I gotta go get some."
"Don't stop," Adam snaps, five seconds too late. He follows it up with a lame, "What?" and, "oh," while biting at his lip, then, "there's some in that side pocket, on your carry case."
Standing up, Tommy fits himself all along Adam's back, cock nestled in the curve of Adam's ass, hands sliding up Adam's sides in a too-light touch that makes Adam squirm. "You saying you put Gun Oil in my in with my bass?"
"Outside!" Adam shrinks away from Tommy's fingers, but there's nowhere to go when Tommy slaps a hand to the wall on either side of him. "It's in one of those air-safe bottles, it's not going to spill."
"You are so fucking crazy," Tommy says, leaning up to lick the side of Adam's face, playful and quick. "Don't move or I'll beat your ass."
Adam's eyes glaze over like he's thinking about it, picturing it, and deciding maybe it wouldn't be so bad. They're gonna have to talk about this shit. Rough sex is rough sex, and kinky sex is kinky sex, but this kinky rough sex thing? Yeah. They should talk. Digging the lube out of the case right where Adam said it would be, Tommy flings him a quick glance, takes in the long, long line he makes up against the wall, the wide spread of his legs, the way he's resting his cheek on the back of one hand with a smug curve to his mouth.
Later. They're gonna have to fucking talk later.
Flipping the small bottle with a flick of his wrist, Tommy thumbs it open, slicks up his fingers on the way back so Adam can watch. He presses in close again, the back of his wrist snug against his cock as he gets a few fingers in Adam this time around, almost as interested in the quick, fluttering dip of Adam's eyelashes as the heat clutching at him. He loves everything about fucking Adam, all the way down to Adam's toes curling in the plush carpet, how Adam never stops wanting, never cares which one of them is doing the heavy lifting as long as there's more.
"Like a fucking dream," Tommy says, even though he didn't mean to.
Heartfelt agreement comes from Adam in a groaned curse as he shifts, stepping out of his jeans and pushing back, angling his chest lower and lifting his ass. It's as clear an invitation as Tommy's ever fucking seen. Tommy shoves his own jeans down far enough to get his cock out, smearing it slick, adding a little more to make sure this is nothing but a long slow slide. He drops the bottle, kicking it between Adam's feet, letting Adam hear the wet sound of him jacking, making Adam shiver when the head grazes his hole.
When Tommy settles into place, starts pushing, it's not so easy. He rushed it, and Adam's strung tight with waiting. But it turns out Adam's fucking game to work for it, head falling forward as his hips roll. The bottle goes skidding away as he shuffles a step back, another, sinking down the wall until he's bent at the waist, braced on the palms of his hands. He's taken about half of what Tommy's got to offer, and he's making noises like it's the whole damn thing.
A quick slap to his ass cuts off his moaning for a heartbeat, and then it's back, louder. Grinning, so caught up in the wild thrill of Adam halfway out of his mind already, Tommy fucks in deeper, fast and hard, still not all the way. Adam jerks, like he's gonna jolt up on his toes, and Tommy grabs his shoulder, holds him down. "Gonna let me fuck you now?"
Scrubbing sweat-damp hair off his cheek with one arm, Adam says, "Wish you would."
"Baby," Tommy says, the crazy, amazing buzz he's got going on leaking out into his voice, roughening it up and making it thick like he's been sucking dick all day, "all you had to do was ask." He waits, biting his lip and fingers digging into Adam's hips, for the telltale intake of Adam's breath, and drives whatever Adam meant to say straight out of his head with a short hard thrust, buried to the balls before Adam's groan fades. Some other time, he'd maybe give Adam a second to get used to it. But the phantom pressure of Adam's hand lingers on his throat, slow steady squeeze, and he doesn't even think about waiting to pull back, drive it all the way home again.
Adam lets out a startled grunt, knees buckling, locking tight. "Fuck, Tommy," he breathes, and takes one hand off the wall, aiming to jack his cock. He doesn't even get close before his palm is smacking right back where it was, needing the support.
With a vicious twist in his guts, Tommy picks up the pace, fucking Adam loose so he can really go to town. Adam takes it all, starts shoving back for more, demanding Tommy give it up exactly how he wants it. Tommy's never been good at saying no, he's fucking dismal at it when Adam's the one asking, and with how bad Tommy wants to do what Adam's asking for, it's beyond a lost cause. He's gonna cream it way before Adam's had enough.
Almost biting through his damn lip, Tommy drives in deep, stays there. With the way it makes Adam shiver from the inside out, he can't help but try to grind a little deeper, wanting to get so far up in Adam that the ache lingers for days. When he finally finds a shred of control, he slumps against Adam's back, biting and licking at freckles one by one while he waits for air to seep back into his lungs.
"No, what are you doing," Adam groans, trying to jostle Tommy back into motion. "Don't stop, fuck."
Wondering if he sounds fucking wrecked like that when Adam's playing with him, Tommy says, "Thought I'd take a breather. Enjoy the scenery."
"Breather, what?" Adam echoes, totally lost, fucked as close to stupid as he's ever been.
"Thinking maybe you should get on your knees for me." That hadn't actually been Tommy's plan--he hadn't had a fucking plan--but now that he's said it, fuck, does it sound good.
Right off the bat, Adam starts sinking down. A fresh dump of adrenaline-lust burns through Tommy's veins as he forces his hands to unclench from Adam's sides and Adam slides right off his cock. He stumbles back half a step, giving Adam the space to settle down, and then Tommy's down on both knees behind him, greedy hands urging him to spread a little wider, get down a little lower. Instead of going right back to their fuck, though, Tommy pushes the thick knot of three fingers into Adam's ass, crooks them hard to feel Adam clench.
"Maybe I should get you off like this," Tommy says, sliding a hand around to Adam's cock, give it a lazy tug. Adam groans something that sounds like no, and Tommy bites at the smooth muscle layered over his ribs, starts jerking Adam off for real. It takes him all of three seconds to find Adam's prostate, stroke it slow and easy. "You sure? Betcha it feels pretty good."
"Fuck, I'm sure," Adam blurts, sucking in a shaking breath. He manages to keep still for a second, maybe a whole three, and then he's trembling, rocking hard between Tommy's hands. "You little shit, fuck, stop, Tommy, you're gonna-"
Darting his hand down to squeeze Adam's balls, Tommy says, "What, gonna make you come? Thought you'd like that."
"Don't," Adam gasps, and Tommy hesitates, waits to see if Adam means it or if he's so far gone he's only running his mouth. The second Tommy gives him some space, he fucks back onto Tommy's hand, this sweet roll of his hips that his whole damn body's involved in, and anybody's who's seen that shit on stage honestly doesn't have a fucking clue how hot it really is. There's nothing like Adam naked on his knees moving like that, desperate to get off with a dick up his ass.
Tommy's seriously considering ignoring him. Tommy could make him come right the hell now with nothing but a few fingers and a tight grip on his cock. But fuck, Tommy wants to feel him lose it, and the sound Adam makes when Tommy fucks back into him is pure fucking gold. From there, Tommy's only got time for a few quick snaps of his hips before Adam's shooting all over his hand, clamping down hard on Tommy's cock and shaking and making such a fucking racket Tommy hopes to fuck the gardener's taken an early lunch. Gritting his teeth, sucking in air like the supply's running out, Tommy somehow manages to not blow his load. He still ends up slumped over Adam's back again, moaning his fucking head off, and he can't fucking shut up.
"C'mon," Adam's saying, hazy and distant-sounding, giving Tommy a weak shove. "Baby, c'mon, you too."
"Fuck," Tommy breathes, moving his hand to grasp the back of Adam's where it's splayed flat on the floor. He tries to push up, can't manage it, and says fuck it, goes for it right where he is curled over Adam's back. His leverage is shit, he can't get as deep as he wants, like he could crawl up inside Adam if only he fucking tried hard enough, but it's so fucking good, Adam totally loose around him one second and then clenching up tight, trying to force an orgasm out of him. And the fucking kicker is, it works. Like Adam's tapped into his fucking brain, pulling strings and pressing buttons, it works. Tommy goes down like a fucking sack of potatoes when orgasm nails him, turns him into a breathless rutting mess with his hands scrabbling for a grip on Adam's sweat-slick shoulders.
By the time it lets him go, he's completely wrung out, exhausted, fucking shot. He can't even work up a twitch when Adam murmurs his name, or a protesting groan when Adam stretches out to sink down with Tommy still plastered to his back. The best Adam gets out of him is a hissed curse when Adam shifts on his softening cock, and Adam laughs quietly, delighted.
"Yeah, laugh it up while you can," Tommy mumbles. "Gimme fifteen minutes and I'm gonna be cracking up, you'll see." Adam deliberately clenches around him again, this fucking sadistic purr echoing up through his back when Tommy groans miserably, his dick way too sensitive for this shit but his body refusing to let him budge an inch. "Ten minutes," he promises darkly, "and I'm gonna fucking wreck you."
"Yeah?" Adam says, with a gorgeous catch in his voice.
"Fuck yeah." Fitting his teeth to the curve of Adam's shoulder, Tommy bites down hard, sucks slowly, keeps it up until Adam's hand curls into a tight fist around his. The mark left behind when Tommy pulls back is fucking huge, angry deep red, and he licks it to feel its heat, gives it another quick suck. "Find the fucking lube, maybe I'll even let you show me what you got."
End
