Fic: Bulletproof Cupid - Adam/Tommy
Apr. 12th, 2011 10:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blue_soaringBlah blah blah don't bash noncon where I can hear you, because then you make me do this. WARNING FOR TRIGGERY STUFF, OKAY.
Bulletproof Cupid
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~5300 words. Consensual rape fantasy. Drugs.
Tommy gets it, though, what's unsaid--Adam got a taste, and then he wanted more, everything he could have.
*
Bulletproof Cupid
Evening is settling in close as Tommy climbs from the cab out into the cramped, cobbled alley. Louisiana air rests heavy in his lungs as he digs through his pocket for the key, seeping into his blood like a drug. He's been waiting for this for a long, long time. The door to his place for the night is tucked into a tiny alcove invisible from the street, and it takes him three tries to fit the key into the lock.
Inside is a tiny, empty mudroom, dusky, thick with the smell of incense. There's a single narrow staircase of only half a dozen steps that opens into the flat, and at the top Tommy drops his bag onto one of the chairs in the breakfast nook for two. The whole place is straight out of True Blood, bare hardwood floors covered by a riot of woven carpets, the dozens upon dozens of shelves filling up the walls laden with statuettes he doesn't recognise, bits and pieces of marketplace kitsch, plants overflowing from their pots to creep up between the pictures taking up the rest of the wallspace, climb to the ceiling.
Off the tiny kitchenette is a bedroom separated from the main living space by a heavy beaded curtain. Tommy brings his bag in through there, pausing for a long moment to take in the mounds of mismatched pillows on the bed, the standing mirror and the vanity beside it, the wash basin with chipped white enamel. Checking his face out in the mirror, all black-lined eyes and softly-glossed lips, he figures he's as ready as he's ever going to be. He scrubs his palms dry on his jeans and heads back to the kitchenette, the bottle of red wine left uncorked on the counter to breathe, the single long-stemmed goblet beside it. Taking both to the deep wicker chair in the corner, he sinks back into the cushions after pouring up a generous glass, closing his eyes with it left untasted.
He digs out his phone. Adam's last text reads, Be there by eight.
Despite the muggy heat, a shiver skitters down Tommy's spine. They're really going to do this. Lifting his glass, he downs half of it in one long go. Expensive wine barely skims his tongue before he swallows, and he takes a steadying breath, another hasty mouthful, then another, until his glass is empty. Before his hands start to shake for real, he sets it down beside the bottle. It's only half past seven.
Through the open window slinks the scent of night-blooming cereus. There's a quiet smattering of sound, half-heard voices, someone's television a blank, wordless drone. The wine pools warm in Tommy's belly, slowing his breaths, weighing him down. When he opens his eyes, the shadows have crept half an inch across the floor, and a nervous trill shoots through his laziness. That's not right. He's had one glass of wine, not three.
Shoving to his feet, he stumbles, the world spinning. He lurches for the counter and hangs on as the room keeps going, colours melting to chaos and straightening out again only if he holds very, very still. The glare of his phone hurts his eyes when he brings it out. Ten minutes to eight. Adam'll be here soon. He needs to go lie down.
His feet won't listen to him. They carry him to the small window instead, the fresh air cooling overheated skin, easing the flush on his face. Outside would be better. He can sit out there and wait for Adam.
The stairs are easy, but he's forgotten the key on the breakfast table so he can't lock the door behind him. It doesn't matter; he's not going to be gone long. Only to the mouth of the alley where it's cool. But when he gets there, the air is still, thick. He leans a hand on the wall, skimming his hair up off his neck with his head bowed, hoping for a breeze.
"Hey," some guy says. Tommy glances up. The guy's features are a shadowed blur. "You okay, man?"
"Yeah," Tommy says, startled when his voice comes out as a rasp. "Yeah," and a nervous laugh. "Too much to drink."
"Already?" The guy's eyes widen in surprise, Tommy thinks--he's not sure. "Party hard if you're gonna do it at all," the guy says, and he moves on, grinning.
Tommy sags back against rough brick. Stumbling around out here isn't doing him any good. It's not exactly the safest part of the quarter, either. Not dangerous, but he's alone. They didn't tell anybody where they were going. It's getting harder and harder to hide stuff from people, and there are some things he and Adam want to keep for themselves.
"Adam," Tommy hears himself say, distant and hazy. A shuffle of footsteps behind him brings his head up and around, but no one's there. His heart gives a hard thump. Pushing upright, he keeps one hand on the wall to steady his way back down the alley. Another shuffle and he moves faster, giddy fear welling up into his throat, squeezing it tight. It's fucking ridiculous. Nobody's gonna jump him.
He stumbles to a halt as the alleyway ends in a fork. Too far. Or not far enough. He can't remember.
This time, the clear sound of boots on stone rings through the alley. Tommy whips around on a gasp, an angry shout for whoever the fuck is back there rooting around dying on his tongue. There's nothing, nobody, not even a fucking cat.
"Shit." Putting his back to the wall again, Tommy glances down both forks. Left. The cab dropped him off at one side of the alley, and when he'd come out to get some air, he'd gone to the other by mistake. All he has to do is get inside, and Adam'll be there.
Feeling stupid, he takes off at a quick jog.
Somebody else takes off after him.
"Fuck," Tommy hisses. This is crazy. Nobody's chasing him down a fucking alley in New Orleans. But when he chances a glance over his shoulder, his heart shudders in his chest. Gulping air, he breaks into a run. He's not some defenceless little shit or anything, but he's not an idiot either. He's so fucked in the head right now a kitten could take him. Whoever the fuck that is behind him ain't no kitten.
Darting out onto the sidewalk, Tommy dives through the crowd, the sudden burst of noise buffeting him on all sides. A few feet past a street vendor calling after his pretty eyes he ducks into a second alleyway, breath lodging in his throat when his toe catches on an uneven cobble.
Behind him, somebody yells as Tommy's shoulder slams into a wall. Tommy scrabbles for a handhold, fingertips catching a rough corner of brick. He props his forearm against the wall, panting hard, straining for the sound of pursuit. The back of his neck prickles.
"Don't," somebody warns as he jerks around. His back hits a solid wall of muscle, a fresh dump of adrenaline-fear flooding his system as he's crowded forward, face-first against the brick. "Tommy, it's me. Calm down."
Relief turns Tommy's bones to water. He sags back into Adam's safe warmth, too much with the smoulder still lurking beneath his skin, but Adam's arm around his waist is the only thing holding him up. He lets his head loll back on Adam's shoulder, his gaze catching on the light dancing across the rings on Adam's hand, the splay of his fingers on the brick.
"You weren't supposed to leave the room," Adam says, his voice tight with anger, breath hot on Tommy's ear.
"Sorry." Swallowing hard, Tommy tries to take some of his own weight. "I had to get some air. I drank the wine, and, and-" He trails off, swallowing again. He drank the wine that Adam laid out for him, and then he could barely move. "What'd you put in it?"
"Nothing you haven't had before."
Tommy's stomach swoops south. "What?"
"God," Adam says, like he's not really listening to Tommy at all. "You're trembling. I've never seen you like this." Teeth scrape the back of Tommy's neck, sharp and sudden, and Tommy jerks away, ends up crushed to the wall again as Adam surges after him. "Stay still. You want this."
Slick black fear crawls up the back of Tommy's throat. He sucks in one breath, another, trying to focus as Adam's hand slides down over his hip, knuckles skimming his cock, shocking as the words Adam murmurs. The brick's sun-warm and rough beneath his hands, scratchy and real, and he clings to it. Nothing Adam's saying makes any sense. Not even the way he's saying it, slinking whispers, dark-edged promises that he's going to make this so good, he's going to blow Tommy's mind.
"The wine," Tommy blurts, and Adam says, "Yeah," backing off for only a second to scoop Tommy up into his arms.
"What the fuck," Tommy barks, but it comes out weird, shaky. He clutches at Adam's shoulders, the whole world turned upside down again, swimming. "Jesus, put me down."
"You can barely stand up." Instead of aiming for the street, Adam heads back up through the alley, cutting around a corner Tommy almost recognises. "You shouldn't have left. You said you were going to wait for me."
"I was waiting." Fuck, it's hard to think. Tommy's head is a total jumble, and his shoulder is a dull, persistent ache, and it's so much fucking work to keep his eyes open. He closes them for a second, only a second, and when he opens them again, he's upside down over Adam's shoulder, watching Adam's boots on the stairs. He staggers back as Adam sets him down at the top, caught by the elbow before he can go down.
"Did you eat anything?" Adam asks, so far out of left field for a long minute, all Tommy does is stare.
"Yeah, I ate," Tommy finally gets out, "I got a thing on the taxi ride over, and I," and he loses his trail of through again, gaze landing on the wine bottle by the chair, the glass beside it. "Maybe I didn't eat enough. It hit me pretty hard."
One corner of Adam's mouth lifts. "It's supposed to," he says, tucking Tommy's hair back behind his ear, the backs of his knuckles trailing down over Tommy's jaw. There's dark heat in his eyes, lowlight shadows that Tommy's only seen hints of before, always put on for a show, never real. "How out of it are you?"
Tommy ducks his chin as Adam's hand slides further down. When strong fingers settle around his throat, no pressure at all, his heart kicks so hard his knees buckle. Adam's other arm comes around him again, holding him close, and Tommy sucks in a quick breath. "Not that out of it. Quit fucking around, leggo."
"You look pretty out of it," Adam says, his lips on Tommy's jaw sparking a jolt of pleasure that doesn't belong. "I could do anything to you."
"Not fucking funny," Tommy snaps, and then Adam's mouth is on his. Kissing Adam is as familiar as breathing, and if he doesn't kiss back this time, lips slack with surprise, Adam doesn't care. The wide press of Adam's hand to his ass pulling him so he can feel Adam's cock thickening against his brings a twisting thrill to his stomach. Tommy shoves back, mumbles something about the wine, needing more of it.
"No you don't," Adam says, catching him as he tries to back up a step. "Not this time. No more teasing."
"Teasing," Tommy echoes. He tries to laugh it off, takes one look at Adam's face and it all falls flat. "Adam, shit, come on. A couple blowjobs are just a couple blowjobs."
The backs of Tommy's knees hit one of the chairs in the nook. He stumbles again, and Adam keeps coming, pushing him further until the edge of the small table is right under his ass. He grabs for the edge, steadying himself, figures it's no big deal. He's okay with the manhandling shit. It kinda gets him off. Adam's just gotta slow down, that's all. Ease up a little.
"You don't even know what you do to me," Adam says, and whoa, okay, holy shit. Tommy's heard Adam turned on before, close to desperate, but not like this. The razor edge of it slices beneath Tommy's skin, brings a rush of blood down south and a shot of panic to trip his heart. "Months of you crawling into my fucking lap, my bed, putting your hands all over me, and every time I get you on your belly, you pussy out."
Tommy shoves at Adam's chest, because that's maybe dancing a little too close to the truth for his comfort. He's not some three-beer queer, he knows what he wants, he's not clinging to a false label about who he is, and fuck that shit anyway, he doesn't have to prove anything. Adam knows him. "Just 'cause I don't want you to stick it in me doesn't mean I'm not serious about this shit."
Adam's hand comes up to cup his cock, heel at the head, rocking slowly. The anger brewing in Tommy's gut fizzles out like a wet firecracker, sizzle-pop nothing. Adam's way too good with his hands, and when he pops the button on Tommy's jeans, slides inside, the best Tommy's got is a ragged moan and a hand gripping hard at the back of Adam's neck.
"You like that," Adam says, stroking from base to tip, sweet slow drag. "You've got to trust me, Tommy Joe. I'll make you feel so fucking good."
Tommy can't get a word past the pile-up in his throat. Not until Adam's hand skids lower, shoves roughly between his legs, his balls pressed snug to Adam's wrist and Adam's fucking fingers in the crack of his ass. "Wait," Tommy blurts, rising up on his toes. "Give me a second."
Barely hesitating, Adam's fingers crook, press warm and strong against his hole. Maybe it feels kinda good, sends dirty excitement coiling through Tommy's veins, but fuck if that doesn't flip over to full-on shaky panic as Adam pushes a dry fingertip up inside him. "Fucker," Tommy gasps at the sudden burn, rocking away from it, "I said wait."
"I heard you." Dragging his hand free, Adam comes in for a kiss, takes it even when Tommy's not so sure he wants to give it. Fingers hover at the corners of their lips, edge in to take the place of Adam's tongue pushing into his mouth. The taste of Tommy's own sweat explodes salt-sharp on his tongue.
"Suck," Adam says, nosing at the hinge of his jaw, his throat. Adam's hand at the small of Tommy's back slides down as a thigh nudges between his legs, snugs up firmly against his cock. He groans at the pressure, his mouth slack, surprise as much as a quick rush of pleasure making him slow to close his lips, slide his tongue along Adam's fingers. "That's it, baby. You've had my fingers before. You like what I do to you."
Tommy shakes his head, goes to pull back, but Adam's fingers hook over his teeth, wedge his mouth open. The warning's clear, and Tommy flicks his tongue at Adam's fingers again, thinks about how much he likes the way Adam's dick jerks when he sucks, breath stuttering. He likes the way Adam's eyes go dark, heavy-lidded, that all he has to do to bring that groan rumbling in Adam's chest out into the open is suck harder, nuzzle spit-slick fingers like they're Adam's cock when they slide free of his mouth. He loves that Adam's so easy for him. He likes the power, the control, but he doesn't have that now.
When Adam starts tugging on Tommy's jeans, whispers, "Spread your legs for me," soft and sinuous against his throat, he thinks about saying no. There's this weird, unsettled feeling twisting through his stomach, steady warning trill that he shoves away. Something's got Adam worked up, that's all. It happens sometimes. Tommy grips Adam's shoulder, thinks about how they'll fuck around, blow off some steam, and then Adam's fingers are back, slip-sliding over his hole, pressing into him again. He rocks forward onto his toes as Adam pushes harder, sucks in a hissing breath as that burn comes rushing back, too much stretch too fast.
"Shit," he bites out, then, "Fuck," as Adam goes all the way to the knuckle, doesn't pause before pulling free, fucking back in again. It's too rough, overwhelming gritty drag not slick and sweet the way he likes it. He can't catch his breath through the discordant jumble in his head, the realisation that he can't get any air in his lungs because Adam's fucking it out of him, harsh and fast. His hand curls into a fist he thumps down on Adam's shoulder. "Adam, fuck, stop. Stop."
Adam stops, his fingers still buried deep. A small twitch makes Tommy jerk, gasp out, "Fuck, I said stop!"
Tommy's whole universe explodes when Adam jerks free to grab onto his jaw and say, "No."
Dimly, Tommy's aware he sways back, almost falls onto the table. It takes him a second to figure out what's going on when the room turns sideways, Adam picking him up again, and he lets his body go to dead weight. It doesn't even slow Adam down. "Hold on or fall," Adam warns, his shoulder digging hard into Tommy's gut and a fingers hooked in Tommy's waistband, yanking his jeans down to get at his bare ass. The beaded curtain slides over Tommy's back, clinking merrily, and Tommy bites back a choked noise, struggling to get his legs to work, to kick out of Adam's arms.
Tommy's stomach lurches up into his throat as Adam dumps him on the bed. He grabs at the edges of the mattress, willing it back down. His heart's banging around inside his chest so hard his ribs ache.
"How much wine did you drink?" Adam asks, a gentle hand on his cheek turning his attention back from the mirror beside the bed where he can see how fucked out of his mind he really is, how Adam's perched above him, this look on his face that doesn't match the light touch of his fingers. "Tommy, how much wine?"
"A full glass," Tommy manages, gaze already sliding back to the mirror. He didn't have a chance before to notice Adam's wearing the black shirt he loves, the one that's slick and gorgeous clinging to Adam's shoulders, the strong muscles in his back. Or those weird, not-leather pants, the ones that stretch fucking perfectly across Adam's ass, with the industrial zipper on the front bunched up tight over the thick heat of Adam's dick. Adam's gorgeous, always is, but there's something hard in his eyes, determined. "My full," he adds, wetting his lips, "not your full."
"I figured," Adam says, tracing the wet curve of Tommy's mouth with one finger. "Wino."
"You're gonna fuck me," Tommy blurts. "You fucking roofied the wine."
There's no guilt in Adam's eyes like Tommy expects, no shock at the accusation, only the smug spread of a satisfied smile. He grasps the hem of Tommy's shirt, yanking it up and off over Tommy's head so fast seams tear. "Say no to me now," he says, and takes hold of Tommy's open jeans, roughly shoving him over onto his belly to skin the rest of his clothes while he's still dazed.
"Fuck," Tommy hisses, scrambling up onto his knees, barely getting one under him before Adam's dragging him back, pinning him down. "Don't, fuck, stop it. Son of a bitch, get off me!"
A cruel hand clamps over Tommy's mouth, fingers digging roughly into the hinge of his jaw to keep him from biting. "Don't fight me," Adam says, calm and even, dangerous, and it brings a frisson of dread so cold it scalds Tommy's insides. He freezes, breathing fast through his nose as Adam shoves a hand under him, rudely squeezes his dick. His eyes clamp shut as Adam says, genuine wonder in his tone, "Fuck, you're still hard. Jesus, Tommy, be more of a slut for me, I dare you."
Heat flares up the back of Tommy's neck. He shakes free, pants, "Fuck off," while he waits for the room to stop spinning.
"You really want this," Adam says in that same voice, another rough, warning squeeze to Tommy's dick more than enough to keep Tommy trapped right there as his other hand comes up, fingers pushing into Tommy's crack, stroking his hole. "You want me to fuck you so bad right now you're fucking leaking."
Muffled into the bed, Tommy says, "I'm not, fuck you," ruining it with sharp moan when Adam starts jacking him, fingers skidding through the slick wet at his slit. He jerks away with a curse when Adam smears it over his face, into his mouth. He's had Adam's come all over him before, caught sticky in his eyelashes, but this isn't anything like that. He doesn't even know what the fuck this is.
Adam's hand splays out in the centre of Tommy's naked back as the mattress shifts. Tommy tries to squirm away, body too sluggish with the drugs pumping through his system to manage it. All he gets for his trouble is the flare of the ache in his shoulder and his vision blacking out at the corners. He quickly ducks his head, forcing his racing heart to slow before he blacks out.
Two spit-slick fingers shoved into his ass shreds his breath to nothing. He expects muscle to snap taut against the invasion, for his body to rebel, but nothing happens. He stays loose, pliant beneath Adam's hands, the rough fuck of Adam's fingers opening him up. A shudder roils through him, bubbles up in a miserable sound. Adam's gonna fucking use him to get off, and Tommy's dick jumps, the obscene wet smack of Adam's knuckles striking flesh sending a fresh rush of heat up over his cheeks.
"Baby, god," Adam says, kisses brushed across Tommy's nape, along the sharp curve of his spine as he arches up, his body not his own anymore with Adam's fingertips stroking his insides, making him shudder and moan and leak watery precome all over his belly. "You're so loose, so ready. I could've fucked you out there in the alley."
Tommy groans, "Fuck you," but he's not really even trying anymore, his limbs too heavy. Adam's voice in his ear, Adam's thumbs spreading him open, the cool air licking at his stretched hole, all of it's too much. He barely twitches when Adam pushes his knee up higher on the bed, making space to settle between his legs. Pressing his face into the blankets, hands gripping the knotted mess he's made of them, he waits for the cold slap of lube on his ass, waits and waits and jolts up off the bed when Adam spits on him instead.
"No, no, you can't," tumbles out of Tommy, and he's struggling again, kicking out and getting nowhere when all it takes is Adam's hand on the back of his neck, shoving his head back down, to control him. He manages to get one knee under him, Adam's rough groan cluing him in about the picture he makes, chest down ass up like he's fucking asking for it. "Wait, oh fuck, don't. Not dry, don't fuck me dry."
Adam breathes out a quiet shush, the tail end of it trailing off into a hiss as his dick rides the crack of Tommy's ass. His hands skid down Tommy's sides, curling tight around his hips to hold him down. "You can take it, baby."
The blunt shove of Adam's naked dick tears a real scream out of him, pure guttural shock. There's nowhere to go with Adam's weight pinning him down, nothing to do but take it, one long terrible thrust that buries Adam deep, his balls snugged up heavy and hot against Tommy's ass. Rasping, choked-off pleas come spilling out of Tommy, fuck and please and stop, oh fuck, stop, but Adam ignores them all, fucks in harder.
Then Adam moans his name, sharp as a blade, and says, "Feels so fucking good, you're so good, baby, so sweet trying to fight me, don't stop."
Everything else clamouring to get out of Tommy's throat snags on a sound too close to a sob as Adam's dick drags free, all rough harsh friction as he shoves in again, and again, harder. Even harder, like he's trying to pound the words trapped in Tommy's chest free, but all that comes tumbling out are sharp nonsense syllables. Tommy's fingers cramp where they're tangled in the blankets, and it's too fast, Adam's fucking him too hard, searing heat building and building until it bursts free on a razor-sharp cry, slicing up his throat so the next one is thick and ragged, ruined. Then he can't fucking shut up, clawing at the bed, tearing up the sheets until he gets to the bare mattress beneath.
"Fuck," Adam gasps, "fuck, Tommy," as he collapses forward, all his weight bearing Tommy down. He stays there for a long minute, breathing hard, and then he levers up, pulls Tommy with him. "C'mon, baby, c'mon," he's saying, nails raking over Tommy's chest, up his thighs, sitting Tommy down on his dick, shoving it so fucking deep Tommy chokes. "You look amazing, so fucking beautiful, look."
Shaking his head, teeth grit, it takes Adam's grabbing his chin, forcing his head up to make him look in the mirror. He looks wrecked, fucking destroyed, angry red scratches all over him, his own blood-speckled clawmarks on his forearms. With his thighs spread and Adam cruelly holding his head still, he watches Adam's dick slipping out of him shiny slick, pushing back in again so easily. Over and over as Adam kisses the side of his neck, lazy and lingering, and then Adam lifts him carefully off, his reflection’s eyes going wide as the full length slides out of him, smacks hot and wet against the inside of his thigh.
Licking his lips wet, Tommy scrubs them dry again on the back of his wrist. Adam's still thick, and he can't tell if that's spit or come slicking his insides. He reaches down, gingerly touches his tender hole, wonders if it's over.
Adam's grip on his hip goes brutally tight. "You are such a fucking slut," he rasps, and tugs Tommy around, catching him when he unbalances and almost falls flat on his face. Adam leans back against the pillows, stretching out and dragging Tommy on top of him, Tommy's legs splayed wide. Strong arms wrap around him, crushing him close as Adam fucks back in.
"Oh," Tommy says, and hates it, short broken noises he can't stop, "oh, oh," again, and, "oh, shit," because it fucking hurts, he can feel how sore he is already, how it only gets worse as Adam goes to fucking town on him. The whole room reeks of sex and sweat, all Tommy can hear are his own hurt noises, the slick slap of flesh, and he aches everywhere and he feels so good, so fucking crazy-good. He doesn't have to think anymore, doesn't have to try to stick the role he's chosen to play. He buries his face in the crook of Adam's neck and holds on as best he can, lets Adam take everything he wants.
He doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on when Adam groans and shoves him up, and then he's staring at Adam's hand on his cock, stripping him hard and fast as he comes. Like a track out of time the pleasure is a few seconds delayed, and then it slams into Tommy, squeezing his lungs tight. It's fucking endless, and when Adam's hips roll, dick grinding into him, he topples down again, wrung dry and completely fucking trashed. He's barely with it by the time Adam's orgasm hits, and he kisses Adam all through it, anywhere he can reach, shoulder and neck and the curve of his ear, everywhere.
Before Adam comes down, Tommy's babbling, "I'm okay, baby, I'm fucking awesome," and, "fuck, I'm gonna pass out," and, "tell me you're okay, too, yeah, you're okay?"
Adam's answer is barely more than a rasp, but it's a yes, and Tommy's so fucking glad, because he's so ready to pass out for real.
*
When Tommy wakes to a strange dark room and holes in his memory, he's not worried. Adam's a big warm presence at his back, and it hurts like hell to move, but whatever. He rolls over to cuddle into Adam's chest, stroking a hand down Adam's bare back and wondering when the clothes came off. He needs a glass of water, and something for the vicious headache brewing behind his eyes, but that can wait.
Adam shuffles closer and tucks Tommy's head beneath his chin. "I'm okay."
Even though Tommy can't see anything through the pitch black, he glances up anyway. "Yeah?"
"You woke me up twice to ask me already," Adam says, voice rough, content. "And when I cleaned you up. I'm okay." After a short pause, "More than okay."
Tommy bites his lip. Slivers of memory are all he has for now, but he's got Adam, and the camera in the corner all packed up, tucked safely away. He has the echoes of emotion, muted but vicious, the aches in his body, and it's exactly right. He rubs his cheek against Adam's chest. "Sorry I left."
"We couldn't anticipate everything," Adam says, cotton whispering as he tucks his knee under Tommy's leg, eliminating every last scrap of distance between them bit by bit. "How do you feel?"
Blowing out a short breath, Tommy says, "Sore," his grin hidden by the dark but loud in his voice. "Like maybe I'm not gonna take one step outta this bed tomorrow. But good. Satisfied, I guess. I really fucking wanna see that tape. Bet it's so hot."
"God, you were, I couldn't fucking believe it, but you were gorgeous. All I wanted was to make you scream for me, and when you finally did," and Adam trails off, no words left. Tommy gets it, though, what's unsaid--Adam got a taste, and then he wanted more, everything he could have. Gentle fingers push through Tommy's hair, soft and familiar again. "I wasn't sure you'd still want it."
"It wasn't like I thought it'd be. Fuck, it was like, not real, I know it wasn't real, but." Either the dark's making it easier to talk, or the drugs are still kicking around in Tommy somewhere, because he honestly thought this would be the worst part, the talk after the come-down. "Don't get pissed at me or anything, 'cause I'm really sorta stupidly in love with you right now and that would suck, but I didn't think you'd be able to hurt me. And fuck, Adam, you hurt me, you really fucking hurt me, and it was so fucking amazing."
Adam laughs quietly and brushes a kiss across his forehead. "It'd be silly to get pissed at you, since I was thinking the same thing. But you wanted it so bad." Dragging in a shuddering breath, Adam rolls onto his back, silent until Tommy follows, laid out halfway on top of him. His gaze is like something tangible on Tommy's skin, pure awe and wonder. "Even when you were begging me to stop, you kept kissing me. You couldn't stop. You loved it." Another soft noise, disbelief, but not. "You made me love it."
Tired again, a perfect bone-deep laziness, Tommy says, "I'm good like that," with his smile pressed to the centre of Adam's chest.
*
End
Bulletproof Cupid
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~5300 words. Consensual rape fantasy. Drugs.
Tommy gets it, though, what's unsaid--Adam got a taste, and then he wanted more, everything he could have.
Bulletproof Cupid
Evening is settling in close as Tommy climbs from the cab out into the cramped, cobbled alley. Louisiana air rests heavy in his lungs as he digs through his pocket for the key, seeping into his blood like a drug. He's been waiting for this for a long, long time. The door to his place for the night is tucked into a tiny alcove invisible from the street, and it takes him three tries to fit the key into the lock.
Inside is a tiny, empty mudroom, dusky, thick with the smell of incense. There's a single narrow staircase of only half a dozen steps that opens into the flat, and at the top Tommy drops his bag onto one of the chairs in the breakfast nook for two. The whole place is straight out of True Blood, bare hardwood floors covered by a riot of woven carpets, the dozens upon dozens of shelves filling up the walls laden with statuettes he doesn't recognise, bits and pieces of marketplace kitsch, plants overflowing from their pots to creep up between the pictures taking up the rest of the wallspace, climb to the ceiling.
Off the tiny kitchenette is a bedroom separated from the main living space by a heavy beaded curtain. Tommy brings his bag in through there, pausing for a long moment to take in the mounds of mismatched pillows on the bed, the standing mirror and the vanity beside it, the wash basin with chipped white enamel. Checking his face out in the mirror, all black-lined eyes and softly-glossed lips, he figures he's as ready as he's ever going to be. He scrubs his palms dry on his jeans and heads back to the kitchenette, the bottle of red wine left uncorked on the counter to breathe, the single long-stemmed goblet beside it. Taking both to the deep wicker chair in the corner, he sinks back into the cushions after pouring up a generous glass, closing his eyes with it left untasted.
He digs out his phone. Adam's last text reads, Be there by eight.
Despite the muggy heat, a shiver skitters down Tommy's spine. They're really going to do this. Lifting his glass, he downs half of it in one long go. Expensive wine barely skims his tongue before he swallows, and he takes a steadying breath, another hasty mouthful, then another, until his glass is empty. Before his hands start to shake for real, he sets it down beside the bottle. It's only half past seven.
Through the open window slinks the scent of night-blooming cereus. There's a quiet smattering of sound, half-heard voices, someone's television a blank, wordless drone. The wine pools warm in Tommy's belly, slowing his breaths, weighing him down. When he opens his eyes, the shadows have crept half an inch across the floor, and a nervous trill shoots through his laziness. That's not right. He's had one glass of wine, not three.
Shoving to his feet, he stumbles, the world spinning. He lurches for the counter and hangs on as the room keeps going, colours melting to chaos and straightening out again only if he holds very, very still. The glare of his phone hurts his eyes when he brings it out. Ten minutes to eight. Adam'll be here soon. He needs to go lie down.
His feet won't listen to him. They carry him to the small window instead, the fresh air cooling overheated skin, easing the flush on his face. Outside would be better. He can sit out there and wait for Adam.
The stairs are easy, but he's forgotten the key on the breakfast table so he can't lock the door behind him. It doesn't matter; he's not going to be gone long. Only to the mouth of the alley where it's cool. But when he gets there, the air is still, thick. He leans a hand on the wall, skimming his hair up off his neck with his head bowed, hoping for a breeze.
"Hey," some guy says. Tommy glances up. The guy's features are a shadowed blur. "You okay, man?"
"Yeah," Tommy says, startled when his voice comes out as a rasp. "Yeah," and a nervous laugh. "Too much to drink."
"Already?" The guy's eyes widen in surprise, Tommy thinks--he's not sure. "Party hard if you're gonna do it at all," the guy says, and he moves on, grinning.
Tommy sags back against rough brick. Stumbling around out here isn't doing him any good. It's not exactly the safest part of the quarter, either. Not dangerous, but he's alone. They didn't tell anybody where they were going. It's getting harder and harder to hide stuff from people, and there are some things he and Adam want to keep for themselves.
"Adam," Tommy hears himself say, distant and hazy. A shuffle of footsteps behind him brings his head up and around, but no one's there. His heart gives a hard thump. Pushing upright, he keeps one hand on the wall to steady his way back down the alley. Another shuffle and he moves faster, giddy fear welling up into his throat, squeezing it tight. It's fucking ridiculous. Nobody's gonna jump him.
He stumbles to a halt as the alleyway ends in a fork. Too far. Or not far enough. He can't remember.
This time, the clear sound of boots on stone rings through the alley. Tommy whips around on a gasp, an angry shout for whoever the fuck is back there rooting around dying on his tongue. There's nothing, nobody, not even a fucking cat.
"Shit." Putting his back to the wall again, Tommy glances down both forks. Left. The cab dropped him off at one side of the alley, and when he'd come out to get some air, he'd gone to the other by mistake. All he has to do is get inside, and Adam'll be there.
Feeling stupid, he takes off at a quick jog.
Somebody else takes off after him.
"Fuck," Tommy hisses. This is crazy. Nobody's chasing him down a fucking alley in New Orleans. But when he chances a glance over his shoulder, his heart shudders in his chest. Gulping air, he breaks into a run. He's not some defenceless little shit or anything, but he's not an idiot either. He's so fucked in the head right now a kitten could take him. Whoever the fuck that is behind him ain't no kitten.
Darting out onto the sidewalk, Tommy dives through the crowd, the sudden burst of noise buffeting him on all sides. A few feet past a street vendor calling after his pretty eyes he ducks into a second alleyway, breath lodging in his throat when his toe catches on an uneven cobble.
Behind him, somebody yells as Tommy's shoulder slams into a wall. Tommy scrabbles for a handhold, fingertips catching a rough corner of brick. He props his forearm against the wall, panting hard, straining for the sound of pursuit. The back of his neck prickles.
"Don't," somebody warns as he jerks around. His back hits a solid wall of muscle, a fresh dump of adrenaline-fear flooding his system as he's crowded forward, face-first against the brick. "Tommy, it's me. Calm down."
Relief turns Tommy's bones to water. He sags back into Adam's safe warmth, too much with the smoulder still lurking beneath his skin, but Adam's arm around his waist is the only thing holding him up. He lets his head loll back on Adam's shoulder, his gaze catching on the light dancing across the rings on Adam's hand, the splay of his fingers on the brick.
"You weren't supposed to leave the room," Adam says, his voice tight with anger, breath hot on Tommy's ear.
"Sorry." Swallowing hard, Tommy tries to take some of his own weight. "I had to get some air. I drank the wine, and, and-" He trails off, swallowing again. He drank the wine that Adam laid out for him, and then he could barely move. "What'd you put in it?"
"Nothing you haven't had before."
Tommy's stomach swoops south. "What?"
"God," Adam says, like he's not really listening to Tommy at all. "You're trembling. I've never seen you like this." Teeth scrape the back of Tommy's neck, sharp and sudden, and Tommy jerks away, ends up crushed to the wall again as Adam surges after him. "Stay still. You want this."
Slick black fear crawls up the back of Tommy's throat. He sucks in one breath, another, trying to focus as Adam's hand slides down over his hip, knuckles skimming his cock, shocking as the words Adam murmurs. The brick's sun-warm and rough beneath his hands, scratchy and real, and he clings to it. Nothing Adam's saying makes any sense. Not even the way he's saying it, slinking whispers, dark-edged promises that he's going to make this so good, he's going to blow Tommy's mind.
"The wine," Tommy blurts, and Adam says, "Yeah," backing off for only a second to scoop Tommy up into his arms.
"What the fuck," Tommy barks, but it comes out weird, shaky. He clutches at Adam's shoulders, the whole world turned upside down again, swimming. "Jesus, put me down."
"You can barely stand up." Instead of aiming for the street, Adam heads back up through the alley, cutting around a corner Tommy almost recognises. "You shouldn't have left. You said you were going to wait for me."
"I was waiting." Fuck, it's hard to think. Tommy's head is a total jumble, and his shoulder is a dull, persistent ache, and it's so much fucking work to keep his eyes open. He closes them for a second, only a second, and when he opens them again, he's upside down over Adam's shoulder, watching Adam's boots on the stairs. He staggers back as Adam sets him down at the top, caught by the elbow before he can go down.
"Did you eat anything?" Adam asks, so far out of left field for a long minute, all Tommy does is stare.
"Yeah, I ate," Tommy finally gets out, "I got a thing on the taxi ride over, and I," and he loses his trail of through again, gaze landing on the wine bottle by the chair, the glass beside it. "Maybe I didn't eat enough. It hit me pretty hard."
One corner of Adam's mouth lifts. "It's supposed to," he says, tucking Tommy's hair back behind his ear, the backs of his knuckles trailing down over Tommy's jaw. There's dark heat in his eyes, lowlight shadows that Tommy's only seen hints of before, always put on for a show, never real. "How out of it are you?"
Tommy ducks his chin as Adam's hand slides further down. When strong fingers settle around his throat, no pressure at all, his heart kicks so hard his knees buckle. Adam's other arm comes around him again, holding him close, and Tommy sucks in a quick breath. "Not that out of it. Quit fucking around, leggo."
"You look pretty out of it," Adam says, his lips on Tommy's jaw sparking a jolt of pleasure that doesn't belong. "I could do anything to you."
"Not fucking funny," Tommy snaps, and then Adam's mouth is on his. Kissing Adam is as familiar as breathing, and if he doesn't kiss back this time, lips slack with surprise, Adam doesn't care. The wide press of Adam's hand to his ass pulling him so he can feel Adam's cock thickening against his brings a twisting thrill to his stomach. Tommy shoves back, mumbles something about the wine, needing more of it.
"No you don't," Adam says, catching him as he tries to back up a step. "Not this time. No more teasing."
"Teasing," Tommy echoes. He tries to laugh it off, takes one look at Adam's face and it all falls flat. "Adam, shit, come on. A couple blowjobs are just a couple blowjobs."
The backs of Tommy's knees hit one of the chairs in the nook. He stumbles again, and Adam keeps coming, pushing him further until the edge of the small table is right under his ass. He grabs for the edge, steadying himself, figures it's no big deal. He's okay with the manhandling shit. It kinda gets him off. Adam's just gotta slow down, that's all. Ease up a little.
"You don't even know what you do to me," Adam says, and whoa, okay, holy shit. Tommy's heard Adam turned on before, close to desperate, but not like this. The razor edge of it slices beneath Tommy's skin, brings a rush of blood down south and a shot of panic to trip his heart. "Months of you crawling into my fucking lap, my bed, putting your hands all over me, and every time I get you on your belly, you pussy out."
Tommy shoves at Adam's chest, because that's maybe dancing a little too close to the truth for his comfort. He's not some three-beer queer, he knows what he wants, he's not clinging to a false label about who he is, and fuck that shit anyway, he doesn't have to prove anything. Adam knows him. "Just 'cause I don't want you to stick it in me doesn't mean I'm not serious about this shit."
Adam's hand comes up to cup his cock, heel at the head, rocking slowly. The anger brewing in Tommy's gut fizzles out like a wet firecracker, sizzle-pop nothing. Adam's way too good with his hands, and when he pops the button on Tommy's jeans, slides inside, the best Tommy's got is a ragged moan and a hand gripping hard at the back of Adam's neck.
"You like that," Adam says, stroking from base to tip, sweet slow drag. "You've got to trust me, Tommy Joe. I'll make you feel so fucking good."
Tommy can't get a word past the pile-up in his throat. Not until Adam's hand skids lower, shoves roughly between his legs, his balls pressed snug to Adam's wrist and Adam's fucking fingers in the crack of his ass. "Wait," Tommy blurts, rising up on his toes. "Give me a second."
Barely hesitating, Adam's fingers crook, press warm and strong against his hole. Maybe it feels kinda good, sends dirty excitement coiling through Tommy's veins, but fuck if that doesn't flip over to full-on shaky panic as Adam pushes a dry fingertip up inside him. "Fucker," Tommy gasps at the sudden burn, rocking away from it, "I said wait."
"I heard you." Dragging his hand free, Adam comes in for a kiss, takes it even when Tommy's not so sure he wants to give it. Fingers hover at the corners of their lips, edge in to take the place of Adam's tongue pushing into his mouth. The taste of Tommy's own sweat explodes salt-sharp on his tongue.
"Suck," Adam says, nosing at the hinge of his jaw, his throat. Adam's hand at the small of Tommy's back slides down as a thigh nudges between his legs, snugs up firmly against his cock. He groans at the pressure, his mouth slack, surprise as much as a quick rush of pleasure making him slow to close his lips, slide his tongue along Adam's fingers. "That's it, baby. You've had my fingers before. You like what I do to you."
Tommy shakes his head, goes to pull back, but Adam's fingers hook over his teeth, wedge his mouth open. The warning's clear, and Tommy flicks his tongue at Adam's fingers again, thinks about how much he likes the way Adam's dick jerks when he sucks, breath stuttering. He likes the way Adam's eyes go dark, heavy-lidded, that all he has to do to bring that groan rumbling in Adam's chest out into the open is suck harder, nuzzle spit-slick fingers like they're Adam's cock when they slide free of his mouth. He loves that Adam's so easy for him. He likes the power, the control, but he doesn't have that now.
When Adam starts tugging on Tommy's jeans, whispers, "Spread your legs for me," soft and sinuous against his throat, he thinks about saying no. There's this weird, unsettled feeling twisting through his stomach, steady warning trill that he shoves away. Something's got Adam worked up, that's all. It happens sometimes. Tommy grips Adam's shoulder, thinks about how they'll fuck around, blow off some steam, and then Adam's fingers are back, slip-sliding over his hole, pressing into him again. He rocks forward onto his toes as Adam pushes harder, sucks in a hissing breath as that burn comes rushing back, too much stretch too fast.
"Shit," he bites out, then, "Fuck," as Adam goes all the way to the knuckle, doesn't pause before pulling free, fucking back in again. It's too rough, overwhelming gritty drag not slick and sweet the way he likes it. He can't catch his breath through the discordant jumble in his head, the realisation that he can't get any air in his lungs because Adam's fucking it out of him, harsh and fast. His hand curls into a fist he thumps down on Adam's shoulder. "Adam, fuck, stop. Stop."
Adam stops, his fingers still buried deep. A small twitch makes Tommy jerk, gasp out, "Fuck, I said stop!"
Tommy's whole universe explodes when Adam jerks free to grab onto his jaw and say, "No."
Dimly, Tommy's aware he sways back, almost falls onto the table. It takes him a second to figure out what's going on when the room turns sideways, Adam picking him up again, and he lets his body go to dead weight. It doesn't even slow Adam down. "Hold on or fall," Adam warns, his shoulder digging hard into Tommy's gut and a fingers hooked in Tommy's waistband, yanking his jeans down to get at his bare ass. The beaded curtain slides over Tommy's back, clinking merrily, and Tommy bites back a choked noise, struggling to get his legs to work, to kick out of Adam's arms.
Tommy's stomach lurches up into his throat as Adam dumps him on the bed. He grabs at the edges of the mattress, willing it back down. His heart's banging around inside his chest so hard his ribs ache.
"How much wine did you drink?" Adam asks, a gentle hand on his cheek turning his attention back from the mirror beside the bed where he can see how fucked out of his mind he really is, how Adam's perched above him, this look on his face that doesn't match the light touch of his fingers. "Tommy, how much wine?"
"A full glass," Tommy manages, gaze already sliding back to the mirror. He didn't have a chance before to notice Adam's wearing the black shirt he loves, the one that's slick and gorgeous clinging to Adam's shoulders, the strong muscles in his back. Or those weird, not-leather pants, the ones that stretch fucking perfectly across Adam's ass, with the industrial zipper on the front bunched up tight over the thick heat of Adam's dick. Adam's gorgeous, always is, but there's something hard in his eyes, determined. "My full," he adds, wetting his lips, "not your full."
"I figured," Adam says, tracing the wet curve of Tommy's mouth with one finger. "Wino."
"You're gonna fuck me," Tommy blurts. "You fucking roofied the wine."
There's no guilt in Adam's eyes like Tommy expects, no shock at the accusation, only the smug spread of a satisfied smile. He grasps the hem of Tommy's shirt, yanking it up and off over Tommy's head so fast seams tear. "Say no to me now," he says, and takes hold of Tommy's open jeans, roughly shoving him over onto his belly to skin the rest of his clothes while he's still dazed.
"Fuck," Tommy hisses, scrambling up onto his knees, barely getting one under him before Adam's dragging him back, pinning him down. "Don't, fuck, stop it. Son of a bitch, get off me!"
A cruel hand clamps over Tommy's mouth, fingers digging roughly into the hinge of his jaw to keep him from biting. "Don't fight me," Adam says, calm and even, dangerous, and it brings a frisson of dread so cold it scalds Tommy's insides. He freezes, breathing fast through his nose as Adam shoves a hand under him, rudely squeezes his dick. His eyes clamp shut as Adam says, genuine wonder in his tone, "Fuck, you're still hard. Jesus, Tommy, be more of a slut for me, I dare you."
Heat flares up the back of Tommy's neck. He shakes free, pants, "Fuck off," while he waits for the room to stop spinning.
"You really want this," Adam says in that same voice, another rough, warning squeeze to Tommy's dick more than enough to keep Tommy trapped right there as his other hand comes up, fingers pushing into Tommy's crack, stroking his hole. "You want me to fuck you so bad right now you're fucking leaking."
Muffled into the bed, Tommy says, "I'm not, fuck you," ruining it with sharp moan when Adam starts jacking him, fingers skidding through the slick wet at his slit. He jerks away with a curse when Adam smears it over his face, into his mouth. He's had Adam's come all over him before, caught sticky in his eyelashes, but this isn't anything like that. He doesn't even know what the fuck this is.
Adam's hand splays out in the centre of Tommy's naked back as the mattress shifts. Tommy tries to squirm away, body too sluggish with the drugs pumping through his system to manage it. All he gets for his trouble is the flare of the ache in his shoulder and his vision blacking out at the corners. He quickly ducks his head, forcing his racing heart to slow before he blacks out.
Two spit-slick fingers shoved into his ass shreds his breath to nothing. He expects muscle to snap taut against the invasion, for his body to rebel, but nothing happens. He stays loose, pliant beneath Adam's hands, the rough fuck of Adam's fingers opening him up. A shudder roils through him, bubbles up in a miserable sound. Adam's gonna fucking use him to get off, and Tommy's dick jumps, the obscene wet smack of Adam's knuckles striking flesh sending a fresh rush of heat up over his cheeks.
"Baby, god," Adam says, kisses brushed across Tommy's nape, along the sharp curve of his spine as he arches up, his body not his own anymore with Adam's fingertips stroking his insides, making him shudder and moan and leak watery precome all over his belly. "You're so loose, so ready. I could've fucked you out there in the alley."
Tommy groans, "Fuck you," but he's not really even trying anymore, his limbs too heavy. Adam's voice in his ear, Adam's thumbs spreading him open, the cool air licking at his stretched hole, all of it's too much. He barely twitches when Adam pushes his knee up higher on the bed, making space to settle between his legs. Pressing his face into the blankets, hands gripping the knotted mess he's made of them, he waits for the cold slap of lube on his ass, waits and waits and jolts up off the bed when Adam spits on him instead.
"No, no, you can't," tumbles out of Tommy, and he's struggling again, kicking out and getting nowhere when all it takes is Adam's hand on the back of his neck, shoving his head back down, to control him. He manages to get one knee under him, Adam's rough groan cluing him in about the picture he makes, chest down ass up like he's fucking asking for it. "Wait, oh fuck, don't. Not dry, don't fuck me dry."
Adam breathes out a quiet shush, the tail end of it trailing off into a hiss as his dick rides the crack of Tommy's ass. His hands skid down Tommy's sides, curling tight around his hips to hold him down. "You can take it, baby."
The blunt shove of Adam's naked dick tears a real scream out of him, pure guttural shock. There's nowhere to go with Adam's weight pinning him down, nothing to do but take it, one long terrible thrust that buries Adam deep, his balls snugged up heavy and hot against Tommy's ass. Rasping, choked-off pleas come spilling out of Tommy, fuck and please and stop, oh fuck, stop, but Adam ignores them all, fucks in harder.
Then Adam moans his name, sharp as a blade, and says, "Feels so fucking good, you're so good, baby, so sweet trying to fight me, don't stop."
Everything else clamouring to get out of Tommy's throat snags on a sound too close to a sob as Adam's dick drags free, all rough harsh friction as he shoves in again, and again, harder. Even harder, like he's trying to pound the words trapped in Tommy's chest free, but all that comes tumbling out are sharp nonsense syllables. Tommy's fingers cramp where they're tangled in the blankets, and it's too fast, Adam's fucking him too hard, searing heat building and building until it bursts free on a razor-sharp cry, slicing up his throat so the next one is thick and ragged, ruined. Then he can't fucking shut up, clawing at the bed, tearing up the sheets until he gets to the bare mattress beneath.
"Fuck," Adam gasps, "fuck, Tommy," as he collapses forward, all his weight bearing Tommy down. He stays there for a long minute, breathing hard, and then he levers up, pulls Tommy with him. "C'mon, baby, c'mon," he's saying, nails raking over Tommy's chest, up his thighs, sitting Tommy down on his dick, shoving it so fucking deep Tommy chokes. "You look amazing, so fucking beautiful, look."
Shaking his head, teeth grit, it takes Adam's grabbing his chin, forcing his head up to make him look in the mirror. He looks wrecked, fucking destroyed, angry red scratches all over him, his own blood-speckled clawmarks on his forearms. With his thighs spread and Adam cruelly holding his head still, he watches Adam's dick slipping out of him shiny slick, pushing back in again so easily. Over and over as Adam kisses the side of his neck, lazy and lingering, and then Adam lifts him carefully off, his reflection’s eyes going wide as the full length slides out of him, smacks hot and wet against the inside of his thigh.
Licking his lips wet, Tommy scrubs them dry again on the back of his wrist. Adam's still thick, and he can't tell if that's spit or come slicking his insides. He reaches down, gingerly touches his tender hole, wonders if it's over.
Adam's grip on his hip goes brutally tight. "You are such a fucking slut," he rasps, and tugs Tommy around, catching him when he unbalances and almost falls flat on his face. Adam leans back against the pillows, stretching out and dragging Tommy on top of him, Tommy's legs splayed wide. Strong arms wrap around him, crushing him close as Adam fucks back in.
"Oh," Tommy says, and hates it, short broken noises he can't stop, "oh, oh," again, and, "oh, shit," because it fucking hurts, he can feel how sore he is already, how it only gets worse as Adam goes to fucking town on him. The whole room reeks of sex and sweat, all Tommy can hear are his own hurt noises, the slick slap of flesh, and he aches everywhere and he feels so good, so fucking crazy-good. He doesn't have to think anymore, doesn't have to try to stick the role he's chosen to play. He buries his face in the crook of Adam's neck and holds on as best he can, lets Adam take everything he wants.
He doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on when Adam groans and shoves him up, and then he's staring at Adam's hand on his cock, stripping him hard and fast as he comes. Like a track out of time the pleasure is a few seconds delayed, and then it slams into Tommy, squeezing his lungs tight. It's fucking endless, and when Adam's hips roll, dick grinding into him, he topples down again, wrung dry and completely fucking trashed. He's barely with it by the time Adam's orgasm hits, and he kisses Adam all through it, anywhere he can reach, shoulder and neck and the curve of his ear, everywhere.
Before Adam comes down, Tommy's babbling, "I'm okay, baby, I'm fucking awesome," and, "fuck, I'm gonna pass out," and, "tell me you're okay, too, yeah, you're okay?"
Adam's answer is barely more than a rasp, but it's a yes, and Tommy's so fucking glad, because he's so ready to pass out for real.
When Tommy wakes to a strange dark room and holes in his memory, he's not worried. Adam's a big warm presence at his back, and it hurts like hell to move, but whatever. He rolls over to cuddle into Adam's chest, stroking a hand down Adam's bare back and wondering when the clothes came off. He needs a glass of water, and something for the vicious headache brewing behind his eyes, but that can wait.
Adam shuffles closer and tucks Tommy's head beneath his chin. "I'm okay."
Even though Tommy can't see anything through the pitch black, he glances up anyway. "Yeah?"
"You woke me up twice to ask me already," Adam says, voice rough, content. "And when I cleaned you up. I'm okay." After a short pause, "More than okay."
Tommy bites his lip. Slivers of memory are all he has for now, but he's got Adam, and the camera in the corner all packed up, tucked safely away. He has the echoes of emotion, muted but vicious, the aches in his body, and it's exactly right. He rubs his cheek against Adam's chest. "Sorry I left."
"We couldn't anticipate everything," Adam says, cotton whispering as he tucks his knee under Tommy's leg, eliminating every last scrap of distance between them bit by bit. "How do you feel?"
Blowing out a short breath, Tommy says, "Sore," his grin hidden by the dark but loud in his voice. "Like maybe I'm not gonna take one step outta this bed tomorrow. But good. Satisfied, I guess. I really fucking wanna see that tape. Bet it's so hot."
"God, you were, I couldn't fucking believe it, but you were gorgeous. All I wanted was to make you scream for me, and when you finally did," and Adam trails off, no words left. Tommy gets it, though, what's unsaid--Adam got a taste, and then he wanted more, everything he could have. Gentle fingers push through Tommy's hair, soft and familiar again. "I wasn't sure you'd still want it."
"It wasn't like I thought it'd be. Fuck, it was like, not real, I know it wasn't real, but." Either the dark's making it easier to talk, or the drugs are still kicking around in Tommy somewhere, because he honestly thought this would be the worst part, the talk after the come-down. "Don't get pissed at me or anything, 'cause I'm really sorta stupidly in love with you right now and that would suck, but I didn't think you'd be able to hurt me. And fuck, Adam, you hurt me, you really fucking hurt me, and it was so fucking amazing."
Adam laughs quietly and brushes a kiss across his forehead. "It'd be silly to get pissed at you, since I was thinking the same thing. But you wanted it so bad." Dragging in a shuddering breath, Adam rolls onto his back, silent until Tommy follows, laid out halfway on top of him. His gaze is like something tangible on Tommy's skin, pure awe and wonder. "Even when you were begging me to stop, you kept kissing me. You couldn't stop. You loved it." Another soft noise, disbelief, but not. "You made me love it."
Tired again, a perfect bone-deep laziness, Tommy says, "I'm good like that," with his smile pressed to the centre of Adam's chest.
End
