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mapetiteamore's fabulous birthday month with one of the best sort of presents. Happy birthday, darling! ♥
Here's where you are, there's where you wanna be
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~9200 words.
It's the fucking collar that does it. One stupid little gift that doesn't even mean anything.
*
Here's where you are, there's where you wanna be
Tommy stumbles off stage body still thrumming with the beat, with the screams of the crowd, with Adam's tongue fucking into his mouth. Fucking Metallica. Fucking Enter Sandman. That fucking kiss.
On some drunken ramble, he's sure he spilled the beans to Adam that his favourite make-out song from high school was Sandman. The opening chords crawl into his chest every single time, through his belly, coil up tight and hot in his dick. He's like Pavlov's fucking dog with that song. By the time Adam crooked that finger at him, he was ready to let Adam do whatever he fucking wanted in front of all those people. Tommy would've gone to his knees right then and there.
Monte's saying something, grin huge enough to be sighted from space, and Tommy says, "Yeah, totally," vaguely hoping he isn't agreeing with something whacked the fuck out like Monte going for a crowd-dive next show. Through the echo of Adam's voice in his head comes the real deal, gorgeously rough, and Tommy grabs for the wall, slumps against it panting like he ran a fucking marathon to get here.
"Birthday boy," Adam purrs in that crazy-low register, crowding him tighter to cool cement bricks. The stage, the heat of the performance, is thick in Adam's blood, pushing him so close to the lines, almost, fucking almost, over them. He's larger than life with his eyes glinting midnight dark, his smile a slow, spreading slant of his mouth. A hand planted on the wall either side cages Tommy in. "Did you like your present?"
"Fuck," Tommy rasps, barely a scrape of sound in his dry throat. He swallows a couple times trying to make his voice work right, but he gets a lungful of Adam's scent instead, makeup and hairspray and sweat, and his dick fucking jerks so hard he grunts, slick precome soaking his shorts.
"There's more, too." Grabbing onto Tommy's wrist, Adam drags him down the corridor to the dressing rooms all the way to Adam's at the end. Inside, Tommy sways on his feet when Adam lets go, heart clogging up his throat as Adam digs through the small army of boxes piled up near the mirror. Coming up with a flat, square one balanced on the palm of one hand, Adam says, "I suck at waiting to give people presents. Open it!"
Gingerly, Tommy picks up the box. He tugs loose the single black ribbon and tries to pry off the top before figuring out it's hinged on one side. With a glance flicked to Adam, he shuffles it around and flips it open.
And fucking stares.
"For my pretty kitty," Adam says, beaming as he plucks the collar out of the box, presents it for Tommy's inspection balanced on the tips of his outspread fingers. It's a plain black leather band about half an inch wide, a d-ring dangling from the centre. "It'll look awesome peeking out between those frills. Put some hardcore rocker back in your glam. Wanna try it on?"
Dumbly, Tommy says, "You got me a collar?"
Adam starts unbuckling it. "Cuffs would've been cool, but I didn't want to fuck up your playing even more hauling you around by those. And you have your gloves anyway." He holds up the collar invitingly. "C'mere."
Feet cemented to the floor, Tommy's stuck on mute and staring again. Adam wants to put a fucking collar on him. Obviously this is not some kinky impromptu commitment ceremony--as far as Tommy knows, neither one of them are into the lifestyle. This is Adam being Adam. In Adam's world, sex toys and bondage gear are fashion statements. Shit, they're not even fucking.
"Aren't you supposed to buy me dinner before you propose?" Tommy asks, but he steps into Adam's range, stomach jittering and head bowed.
Adam laughs, delighted. The leather is cool against Tommy's throat, warming quickly as Adam tightens the buckle. It shifts slightly when Tommy swallows hard, Adam's fingers on his chin to tilt his face up. "Looks good," Adam says, sliding two fingers beneath the band like he's actually testing the fit, making sure it won't rub or chafe with long-term wear. He fluffs up the ruffles on Tommy's shirt with one hand, turning Tommy's face this way and that, sizing up the whole package deal of smeared makeup, leather and lace, then sidesteps to give Tommy a clear view of the mirror, his hand settling on the back of Tommy's neck pressing leather into skin. "It looks really, really good, Tommy Joe."
And yeah, Tommy doesn't live the life--and doesn't have much desire to try it out, either--but the urge to go to his knees redoubles, almost sends him there despite what he thinks he wants. Before his legs quit on him, he leans back into Adam's solid heat, breathes in slow and tilts his mouth up for a kiss. After six months on the road with Adam, kissing him got easy and familiar, something comfortable to take him all the way around the globe.
It's not so easy this time. He pushes for more, asks for it with his fucking mouth and hands and body, but Adam backs off like always, smiles at him like it's cute or some shit. "I'm glad you like it," Adam says, with a sweet nip to Tommy's bottom lip.
"It's cool," Tommy says. He swallows again, feeling it shift. "Y'know they're all gonna cream it when they see me up there in this. Gonna really think we're doing the nasty."
Laughing, Adam hugs him tight. "Good thing you don't care what they think."
"Yeah," Tommy says, flicking the d-ring with one finger. Good fucking thing.
*
It's the fucking collar that does it. One stupid little gift that doesn't even mean anything. But that's the way these things go--the straw that breaks the camel's back, one last fuck-you from the universe. Well fuck the universe right back, Tommy's had enough.
In Melbourne, he wears the fucking thing on stage, hidden beneath the high, prim collar of his shirt. It takes until Fever for Adam to notice he's all buttoned up, a slight widening of his eyes when he comes in for his kiss, nothing more than a short, sweet touch of their lips as he tries to get a good look at Tommy's throat. The choreography demands he strut off before he finds an answer to the question clear in his eyes.
Smug, Tommy rocks out for the rest of the show, not bothered in the least when things are a little off for the whole thing, when Adam keeps his distance during the intros. The more off-balance Adam is, the more personal space he maintains. Serves him fucking right to be the one trying to find the earth under his feet for once.
Once the show's over, though, the glitz and the glam all washed off, the hurt Adam had been hiding under a performer's ease comes seeping through. Crammed in the backseat of a cab between him and Terrence on the way to some club, Tommy feels like total shit, and kinda pissed off, too. Adam fucks around with him all the time. All the fucking time. You don't see Tommy turning into some freakish moping mountain of doom and gloom when he ends up jammed in a tiny bunk all alone with his right hand.
On the sidewalk outside the club, music thumping up through the pavement, Adam catches Tommy by the elbow, holding him back as the others hop the line. Frowning, Adam tugs at the collar of Tommy's jacket, finds nothing but skin and cotton beneath.
Stuffing both hands in his pockets, Tommy cocks an eyebrow. "Lookin' for something, rock star?"
"I thought," Adam starts. "You didn't wear it for the show?"
Tommy shrugs.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Like it doesn't matter to him one way or the other, Tommy says, "Means you didn't come put it on me."
Adam's eyes flash wide. His mouth works, no sound coming out until he notices the few people in the lineup pointing cameras their way. "Inside," he says, turning Tommy around to give him a nudge towards the door.
The same as every dance club the world over, just inside the door the air becomes a thick wall of sound Tommy has to push his way through. He aims for the bar, always his first stop, but Adam snags his elbow again, hauls him to the stairs that lead down from the dance floor, circle around it to the bathrooms in the back. Bypassing those, Adam opens the door to the back alley, squinting at the mouth to make sure the coast is clear before dragging Tommy out into it.
"What do you mean, didn't put it on you?" Adam says as the door bangs shut.
Tommy sighs, sagging against the weather-scored brick. He should've kept his mouth shut. If Adam doesn't get something out of Tommy now, he'll be like a dog with a bone for weeks. "You want me to wear it?"
"I thought you liked it?"
"Didn't say I didn't like it." Flicking a glance around to make sure they're still in the clear, Tommy fishes the collar out of his back pocket, lifts it up draped open over his palm. "Asked if you wanted me to wear it."
"Well, yes," Adam says, forehead crinkled, mouth crumpled. "I wouldn't have bought it for you if-"
Tommy shoves the collar into Adam's hand. "So put it on me."
Mouth snapping shut, Adam makes a clumsy grab for the collar to make sure it doesn't end up in the dirt. He stretches it out between his hands, unsure. Fetish wear or fashion statement, it still means something. Adam likes to pick out jewellery for him, took him shopping for a decent pair of boots when his creepers put him on his ass, and Tommy's got this sinking feeling that Adam doesn't get why he likes to do those things, or why Tommy lets him.
Or worse, Adam knows, but doesn't want to admit it.
Stepping in close, Tommy shakes his jacket off his shoulders, settles both hands on Adam's hips as he bows his head to expose the back of his neck. He closes his eyes as he lets his forehead rest on Adam's shoulder. "Put it on me."
Adam jolts like somebody's taken a cattle prod to him. Almost fumbling the collar again, he fits it to Tommy's throat, fussing with the buckle like he hadn't before until it sits comfortably snug. He leaves his hand heavy on the back of Tommy's neck, thumb stroking along leather and skin, his slow, heavy breaths loud in the small alleyway.
For once, Tommy's the first to push away. He flips his jacket back up, leaving it open so the collar shows clearly above his low v-neck tee. The look in Adam's eyes says he gets it. But the look on his face says he doesn't, and when he opens the door to gesture Tommy back inside, that distance is back with a vengeance.
*
By showtime in Sydney, Adam's all wound up. Most everybody's giving him a wide berth, except Monte, who's been dealing with Adam a hell of a lot longer than the rest of them, and Tommy. The collar hasn't come off since last night and Adam acts like he knows it. Tommy caught his gaze sliding to it a dozen times during soundcheck, a dozen more in the time between then and now.
Minutes from going on, Tommy leans heavily against Adam's arm, fingers in the fringe dangling from his jacket. Adam glances down, familiar, reflexive smile fading as his gaze lands again on the collar.
The same as if it's any other night, Tommy asks, "We all goin' out tonight?"
"Sasha has plans for cake," Adam says, shifting his mic from one hand to the other. "And strip clubs, I think."
Tommy grins fast and fierce. "My kick-ass never-ending birthday."
"Listen, Tommy," Adam starts, eyes on the collar.
"You gonna kiss me tonight?" Tommy cuts in.
Caught off-guard, Adam flashes a brief smile. "Are you going to wear that dark lipstick?"
"Maybe if I do, I want you to kiss me anyway," Tommy says. Straightening up, he starts buttoning up his shirt all the way, hiding the collar. "Maybe instead of like, not minding people thinking we're fucking, I like them thinking you're giving it to me."
"Tommy," Adam says, grip gone slack on the mic.
"I get hard up there, you know that?" From the look on Adam's face, yeah, he knows it. And he's too fucking scared to do fuck-all about it. "I can't fucking wait for you to kiss me. And maybe, did you ever think that maybe I kinda like it when you get my lipstick all over your mouth, 'cause then for fucking once I've got a mark on you?"
Maybe Tommy should give the guy a minute, let that shit sink in. Maybe he should just shut the fuck up entirely before whatever Adam's afraid is gonna happen, happens. But Jesus Christ, it's almost been a year of this shit. Somebody's gotta put up and fucking put out soon, or his head's gonna explode.
"Yeah," Tommy says, stomach hitting the dirt, his heart right on its heels. Adam's okay fooling around with the straight boy, a-o-fucking-kay getting the straight boy hard, all messed up, but the follow through, fuck no. There's a line Adam's not gonna cross no matter how hard Tommy begs.
Tommy says, "I fuckin' figured," and heads up to the stage.
*
How Tommy goes from Adam trying to eat his face on stage--like Adam's got something to prove now, like he's not gonna fucking flake out the first chance he gets--to a private room in a strip joint, crammed into one of the girls' microminis and a pair of thigh boots with some guy's tongue shoved down his throat, Tommy's never gonna fucking know. What he does know is the guy's no slouch in the macking department, even if he doesn't have Adam's pizzazz, and he's not afraid to get his hand all over Tommy's ass, gripping hard to pull him closer. The stripper--Lauren, maybe?--quit her routine about five minutes ago in favour of cheering the guy on and stuffing Tommy's singles back in his pants. Skirt. What the fuck ever.
"So hot," she says, and the guy breaks away with a smile, says, with a hand on Tommy's cheek, "Everything about you as pretty as your face?"
"You're so wasted you're gonna think it is." Tommy slumps back in the tacky faux-leather bench seat. He raises a hand for the bottle Lauren's holding hostage. "Beer."
"Lap dance!" she singsongs, snatching it out of his reach.
The skirt isn't doing much to hide Tommy's boner--more like highlight it. The slip of fabric's a shiny, scaled bronze, and even he's got to admit it looks pretty good with the black boots and the sliver of his thighs caught pale between the two. Be hotter if he'd shaved, maybe, but dyed-blond or not, his body hair's pretty light. He pats his lap invitingly. "C'mon up."
"Not me, baby," she drawls, setting the bottle down half a continent away and gesturing at the guy. "Give Lauren one. He's buying."
Head lolling to the side, Tommy blinks at the guy. The guy who is apparently named Lauren, which means he doesn't have a sweet clue what the girl's name is. "Dude, you want a lap dance?"
Lauren, who was smart enough to hold onto his beer even while he was sucking on Tommy's tongue, bursts out laughing. The girl applauds, says, "Yes, do it!" and Lauren shakes his head, traces the ink bared on Tommy's arms. The tee shirt Tommy's wearing doesn't really go so well with the skirt. He's honestly kinda surprised they haven't tried to haul it off him yet.
"D'you want to?" Lauren asks, thumb light on Tommy's pulse. "I promise I'll get you your beer back."
"Fuck it." Tommy clambers up. Lauren's hot, with pretty eyes and a lush mouth, and he's right fucking here not afraid to get all up in Tommy's business. "Fair warning, though," Tommy says, leaning over to plant a hand on the back of the seat, probably giving the girl way more of a show than he's giving Lauren. "I suck at this shit."
Lips parted, breaths coming fast and shallow, Lauren doesn't look like he gives a single flying fuck. He scoots down lower in the seat, legs a careless sprawl, cock thick in his jeans. While the girl's still here, and still smoking hot, Tommy's pretty sure that tent Lauren's got pitched is all for him now.
Saddest part of all this shit--aside from the Adam-shaped elephant in the room Tommy's not thinking about--is that for all the lap dances Tommy's gotten in his life, he can't remember a fucking one. Can't even remember watching; his mind's a total blank. Fuck, it's not like he's a professional, or even a hopeful amateur, and Lauren's so turned on a bit of pressure, a quick hump or two, he'll probably nut himself anyway.
Figuring on doing it face-to-face, Tommy hits a snag in how tight the fucking miniskirt is. Laughing through a curse, he turns around to give Lauren his back, give one of those bent over from the waist, legs spread deals a whirl and gets a sharp groan for his trouble. And hell yeah, he likes that, probably almost as much as Lauren does. Hands braced on Lauren's knees, he slides backwards into Lauren's lap, all the way up until Lauren's dick is nudging him in the ass. One slow grind earns Tommy another one of those appreciative groans, Lauren's hands clutching white-knuckled at the edge of the seat, and Tommy lets his head fall back, kiss-red lip caught between his teeth before he gives it a slow lick.
"You really don't suck at this," Lauren whispers. Grinning, Tommy adds in a little thrust, outline of his dick clear through the skirt's clingy material, and Lauren's hands fly up as if to grab for his hips, haul him back down for another slow, dirty grind.
"Holy shit," comes from the other side of the room.
Glancing up, Tommy loses his balance when his gaze lands on Adam framed in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth wider. He ends up sprawled awkwardly in Lauren's lap, grabbing for the hem of the skirt because fuck, man, those are his shorts on the floor, he's got nothing on under this shit. Adam's got front row on a full monty over there, and Tommy is hard. Really fucking hard.
"Uh oh," the girls says, helping herself to Tommy's beer. "Boyfriend's here, babydoll."
Slamming the door, Adam barks, "What the fuck!"
"Hey," Lauren says, hands raised placatingly. "Calm down a minute, we-"
"I am calm," Adam says tightly, a surefire sign that he's anything but. He grabs up Tommy's jeans and boots, and his shorts too, oh fuck, and wads them in a tight ball under his arm. Very, very carefully, he digs a few bills out of his wallet and sets them onto the platform beside the girl, then a few more. "For the time and the clothes. Tommy, up."
"I'm kinda in the middle of something," Tommy says.
"Whoa, hey, no." Giving Tommy a firm shove off his lap, Lauren makes sure there's as much distance between him and Adam as possible. "I'm not getting involved in this."
"Chicken-shit," Tommy accuses, wobbling slightly on the heels before catching his balance.
"Sane, practical shit," Lauren corrects.
Like a thundercloud about to crack, Adam says, "We're going, Tommy Joe."
This isn't the kind of shit Tommy pulls. He wants to blame the booze in his blood, maybe the collar around his throat, even the months and months of Adam not coming through, but he's not so sure he can. He plants his feet as best he can in the fucking boots, not planning on budging an inch. "So you can take me somewhere and not fuck me?"
Adam rocks back like Tommy's slapped him across the face. Tommy's got all of two seconds to enjoy the naked surprise before Adam's striding across the room, grabbing him by the wrist to haul him to the door. Fighting the whole way, Tommy realises too late what sort of shit it looks like is going down here. The girl's backed all the way up, and Lauren's looking like he's about to do something really noble, really stupid, and really, really unnecessary.
"Jesus Christ," Tommy says, easing up to let Adam pull him through the door, out into the back hallway where the music's a dull, muffled thud. "Fine, what the fuck ever. You win."
"I don't know even what the hell you're talking about, and I don't think I want to," Adam hisses. "What the hell were you doing in there?"
Truth be told, Tommy's not sure. He'd been having a good time, mostly. Yanking his wrist out of Adam's grip, he grabs for the wall so he doesn't end up on his ass. "Pretty sure I was about to get laid really awesomely by that hot guy you just hauled me off of."
"You're drunk," Adam says, reaching for him again, making pissy faces when he dodges. "And you're going to hurt yourself if you're not careful, okay? Would you just let me take you back to the hotel?"
"And do what?"
Adam scowls. "And do what, what?"
"Take me back to the hotel and do what?" Tommy asks. "We both know we're not gonna fuck, so maybe you should've left me back there with somebody who would've fucking loved to get up in me."
Wonderingly, Adam says, "You really are wasted."
Squeezing his eyes shut, Tommy chokes back a shout of pure frustration. Yes, he's drunk. He is very, very drunk. And horny. And his fucking arches are killing him in these boots, what the Jesus. "Tell you what I'm not," he says. "I'm not as fucking straight as you think I am. Motherfucking Kinsey scale, Adam, fucking Christ."
"You don't-" Adam says. "You're not-"
"You're so fucking blind," Tommy snaps, grabbing Adam's wrist, shoving him against the wall and his hand up the fucking skirt, Tommy's shit flying everywhere as Adam flails for something to hold onto that isn't Tommy's dick. "I am so fucking gone over you it's driving me crazy, I wish you'd just fucking fuck it outta me already."
The second before Adam snaps, Tommy sees it. Relief floods in, turns him loose and pliant as Adam surges away from the wall, grabs onto his shoulders and pins him against it instead. "Fucking finally," Tommy moans, legs already spread, hard and wet and so fucking ready for this. "C'mon, please."
"You're a selfish brat," Adam says, staring hard at him. "You know I don't do this. I told you I don't."
"We can pick out fucking curtains, I don't give a shit, just fucking-"
"What?" Adam says, mouth so close Tommy could kiss it if Adam would ease up a fraction on his shoulders. "Fuck it out of you? D'you wanna be my gay fuckbuddy, Tommy Joe?"
Tommy's head thumps back against the wall. He's really gotta learn to say what he fucking means. They both do. "You're the one who said you're not looking for anything. Dude, I'll take what I can fucking get, okay? Whatever, I don't care." Being on tour's like living in a fucking snowglobe, anyway. Everything's all fucked up, unreal. He's gonna fly apart if Adam shakes him up just once more with one of those fucking kisses.
"You want me to fuck you," Adam says, not like he believes it at all. His hand's on Tommy's ass, fingers pressing the thin material against his asshole, rubbing him through it, and Tommy can't help clenching up, strung tight he wants it so bad. He's been imagining all the filthy, amazing shit Adam could do to him for months now. He's been jacking off to it for almost as long.
But Adam's only seeing what Adam wants to see, and he takes the eager jerk of Tommy's body for a flinch instead. He hauls his hand away from Tommy's junk so fast the afterimage is burned into Tommy's retinas. Tommy makes a grab for his arm anyway, moans, "Please," aching with the thought of finally getting on Adam's dick.
Adam breathes, "God," squeezing his eyes briefly shut. "We'll talk when you're sober, okay? I promise, we'll talk."
"Yeah, like we talked last time?" Tommy says, and Adam flinches. The booze isn't helping his case any, but it's sure as fuck loosened his tongue. "Or the fucking time before that? Jesus Christ, Adam, would you just fucking tell me for once what the hell you're so fucked up over instead of putting me off, never giving me a straight answer? Quit pretending I haven't fucking asked you point blank to fuck me. Just fucking, fuck."
"I don't believe you!" Adam shouts in his face. Wincing, Adam dials it right back, staring at the hard dig of his fingers into Tommy's arms like he's trying to let up and can't. "You only think you want it."
Tommy blinks. "That is the most condescending bullshit I've ever heard come out of your mouth."
Mouth slanted in a sour smile, Adam says, "Handjobs, sure. Maybe you'll even like blowjobs, as long as I don't shoot in your mouth. But do you really want my dick in your ass?" When Tommy tries to cut in, he steamrolls right on over it with a bitter noise. "Really think about it, Tommy. Really, really think about it. Because I'd want that. I want to be inside you, and I want to hold you down, and fuck you."
Tommy's voice sticks in his throat like it's caught on the collar. He tries to say yes, tries to pull Adam in to show him how much he wants all of that, exactly like that, but the only thing that he manages is a breathless sound when Adam's hand slides around to palm his bare ass, under the skirt this time, fingers so close, right fucking there, and then they're slipping away again.
"It's worth a shot," Tommy blurts. "You're not seriously telling me it's not even worth the chance to find out."
"Baby," Adam says, voice gone soft, "you're more than worth it. But I can't handle having you just once, and losing you when you decide it's not what you want."
Tommy drags in a deep, shuddering breath. He's completely burnt out. He can't believe he even managed to get that pissed at Adam, let alone kept it up for so long. Dropping his head back, away from Adam reaching for his face, he says, "You gotta give me more credit than that. I get that you're all sparkly and magnetic and shit, but honestly, and no matter how much you don't wanna hear it, that guy back there? He was totally doing it for me."
"The girl-"
"Wasn't her lap you caught me in, was it?"
"I-"
"Fuck," Tommy spits, "just, fuck this shit," and grabs onto Adam's face, mashes their mouths together in the worst fucking kiss they've ever shared. Asking for it didn't work, throwing himself at Adam didn't work, and this talking shit is fucking worthless. If he wants to get anything at all from Adam, he's gonna have to take it.
Expecting Adam to fight him, he almost loses his footing when Adam surges in, tongue shoved into his mouth. He takes it like a champ, though, 'cause this is what he's fucking here for; he wants Adam inside him, tongue and fingers and dick, the whole nine yards. In stiletto boots, hiking his knee up so Adam's hand slides along the back of his thigh maybe isn't the smartest idea, but Adam's got a firm grip on him, and the walls is right there to hold him up, and yes, fuck, Adam's going for it this time, fingertips brushing past his balls, pushing behind them into the crack of his ass. He moans so loud he's pretty sure Lauren and the girl down the hall can hear him over the music, and he honestly doesn't give a shit.
When Adam breaks away, fingers gone too, Tommy thinks he's gonna die. But all Adam's doing is getting a better grip on him, one hand on his ass and the other sliding right back to where it was, strong, spit-slick fingers rubbing over his hole. Both arms slung around Adam's shoulders, Adam's mouth on his throat, Tommy's barely holding himself up, and barely breathing when Adam presses in with the tip of one finger.
Opening his mouth to ask for more, fucking demand it, a gasp comes out instead as Adam's finger crooks, pushes right up into him. It's a quick, hot burn, then nothing but pressure, a jolt of sensation when Adam rubs him on the inside. "God," Adam says, drawing free too fast, shocking another noise out of Tommy as he goes in again with a different finger, a bit more spit easing the way. "Oh my god, I shouldn't've-"
"Fuck that," Tommy grits out, trying to figure out how the fuck he can get Adam deeper, quick clench and release of muscle that rips a rough noise out of Adam's throat. "C'mon, put more in me."
Looking lost, real, fallen off the edge of the map kinda lost, Adam spits on his fingers again, smears it all around Tommy's hole. Even ready for it, the thick push of Adam's finger has him tensing up, pure anticipation and nothing more. Before Adam gets a chance to read that wrong, Tommy takes hold of his arm, makes him keep on going until knuckles are snug against his ass. "Feels good, right?" Tommy says, voice trembling worse than his legs as Adam does that rubbing thing again, finds all these places inside that spark bright, sharp pleasure in his belly. "Bet it's so fucking tight, gonna be so good. You thinking about me on your dick yet, all slick and wet, what that's gonna be like? 'Cause I sure as fuck am."
Sucking in a hissing breath, Adam presses another finger in beside the first, almost all the way before Adam seems to realises what the hell he's in the middle of doing. But Tommy's got it figured out now, knows how to take it, a sweet-hot ache spreading up into his dick, a slow, spreading stain on the skirt Adam would have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to miss.
"You," Adam says, throat clicking, mouth open against Tommy's sharing breath like he wants a kiss and can't quite manage it, too focused on what Tommy feels like from the inside, "god, you do, fucking amazing, Tommy, I want," and he doesn't get a chance to say what he wants, voice cutting out entirely as Tommy gets a hand on Adam's dick, gives it a rough squeeze through his jeans. Tommy's got a pretty damn good idea what Adam wants, though, and Adam needs to get his dick out to do it.
Tommy's barely able to get a hand on Adam's zipper before Adam stops him cold. "Not here," Adam says, determined light in his eyes, mouth set like he's expecting an argument. "If we're going to do this, we're doing it in a bed."
"Works for me," Tommy says. The only protest he's got is for Adam's fingers slipping out of him, and that one's half-hearted at best. If Adam thinks for one fucking second they're not following through on this, he is so fucking wrong. "But we're doing it. You're gonna spread me out on that big-ass hotel bed of yours, and you're gonna fuck me."
Despite the desire clear on his face, Adam doesn't say, If you still want me to, or We'll see when we get there. Pushing Tommy firmly back against the wall, all stay there, don't move, Adam hauls out his phone to call up a cab and starts picking up Tommy's clothes.
When Tommy had imagined finally getting with Adam, he hadn't pictured the preview as him stumbling down the back corridor of a titty bar decked out like a cheap hooker, hanging onto Adam for all he's worth. The cabbie out back doesn't blink at Adam bundling a twink in a miniskirt and thigh-high stilettos into the backseat, singing out a cheery, "Got it!" when Adam tells him the name of whichever hotel they're staying in. Somehow, Tommy ends up half on the seat, knees tucked up under him as far as the boots will allow, and half in Adam's lap, cradled by Adam's arm and the door. Adam's hand rests heavily on his dick, sorta like he's trying to hide the stain, but more like now that he's decided he's allowed to touch, he's not quitting any time soon.
"Not gonna change my mind," Tommy says, figuring if the cabbie can deal with a half-naked femmeboy twink in the backseat, he can handle some frank conversation. "You think I'm gonna, but I'm not."
Resting his forehead against Tommy's, Adam says, "We can talk at the hotel."
"Talking's not gonna change anything, either." Tommy rocks up into Adam's hand. "That feel any less interested to you?"
"No," Adam says, a sharp intake of breath. "But-"
Since it's worked pretty good so far, Tommy shuts Adam up with his mouth. That solves the problem all through the taxi ride, and once they're at the back lot of the hotel, Adam's more concerned with getting inside, to the elevator, and up to their room with as few witnesses as possible. Given Adam's reputation, Tommy's inclined to think the whole cloak and dagger thing is worse than if they'd strode through the front lobby, boots and stained skirt included, but what the fuck does he really care. He's going to get Adam naked. And then he's gonna get fucked.
Once they're inside the room, Adam rounds on him. But not with a rip-Tommy's-clothes-off kinda look. More like they're gonna talk again. "Come the fuck on," Tommy says. "Fucking seriously?"
Adam holds up both hands, palm out. "I just think-"
Growling a curse under his breath, Tommy tugs off his tee. He gropes for the skirt's zipper, smooth, shiny material slipping out of his hands.
"No, wait, fuck," Adam says, grabbing for his arms, pinning them to his sides. "Oh, fuck, leave it on."
Tommy looks down at his bare chest, the skirt and the boots, then back up, hopeful. "'Cause you like it, right? Not 'cause I got no reason to take my clothes off."
Through a strangled noise, Adam says, "Yes, fuck, I like it. And I'm not gonna ask if you're sure, I'm really, really not. I just--" Adam closes his eyes, breathes deep. When he opens them again, his heart's right there. "Tell me it's not a hookup. That you really want to give me a chance."
"You are so fucking dense," is not the right thing to say at all. Adam tries to smile through the hurt, and Tommy feels worse than shit, like total fucking scum. "That was totally shitty, I'm sorry. I'm bitchy and fucking frustrated and I'm so fucking sorry, I didn't mean it."
Adam's mouth hangs crookedly on the edge of a smile. "You kinda did."
Figuring the truth's the only thing that's gonna dig him out of this pit, Tommy says, "I did, but not like, not the way it sounded. Fuck." Pushing off the door, Tommy rocks up on his toes so he doesn't go crashing down when the heels sink into the plush carpet. "These things are fucking killing me, can we please sit the hell down?"
Adam aims for the chairs in the window, but Tommy detours toward the bed. As far as he's concerned there is only one way this night is ending, and he plans on kisses for breakfast. Adam makes like he's gonna take a chair anyway, but Tommy's got a hand firmly twisted in his sleeve. If Adam wants in one of those chairs, he's gonna have to start stripping to get there.
Flopping back on the bed, hauling on Adam's arm so Adam either crawls on up or crashes down, Tommy can't help but grin when Adam goes with option number one, hands on either side of Tommy's head, knees spread wide so there's as much space between them as possible. But Adam didn't end up in one of the chairs, so Tommy's good. "I lied about the sitting," he says. "I like you up there."
"Tommy," Adam says, mouth thin and unhappy.
"It's not a hookup. I don't really get how you don't get that, but dude, Adam, it's not a hookup." Since he's there, and Tommy can, he brushes back the hair fallen across Adam's forehead, long enough that with some product it stays tucked behind Adam's ear. "You're not like, my experimental phase, and I'm not exactly new to this, but it's close enough maybe you got some right being nervous. But c'mon, you know me. You think I'd go for you if I wasn't really seriously fucking sure? If I didn't want to start something with you?"
"I tried not to think too much about most of that," Adam admits. "It was easier."
"Was it?"
Adam huffs a sound distantly related to a laugh. "Alright, I told myself it was easier. I bought you presents and took you out and I played pretend, thinking it'd be enough."
"And since we both know how fucking well that turned out, can we be done with the talking now?"
Like it takes more guts than Adam thinks he's got, he asks, "Can I be done pretending?"
"I'd really fucking love it if you did, 'cause I haven't been pretending for a long time. And this," Tommy says, flicking the d-ring on the collar, "this was like, Jesus. Like you were putting a claim on me you weren't ever gonna fucking make good on. Pissed me right the fuck off."
Trapping Tommy's hand against the collar, Adam slots their fingers together. "But you wore it anyway."
"'Cause I'm a sappy romantic shit. And like, seriously. I really want you to kiss me. Talked so much I'm fucking parched, I deserve some fucking kisses."
When Adam smiles, really truly smiles, something in Tommy's chest clicks back into place. His whole world's been out of whack for weeks, like he's been two beats behind the rest of the universe, stuck in some sort of never-never land since Adam sung him there. That one smile is all Tommy needs to know they're gonna be okay. "Maybe I should get you some water instead."
Catching Adam by a fistful of hair before he can move, Tommy says, "Maybe you should get me out of this fucking skirt."
Adam's gaze slides down, openly appreciative instead of a quick, furtive glance. "You might've been lying about sitting down, but I wasn't lying about liking you in it. And it cost me three hundred dollars, so if it's okay with you, I'm going to get my money's worth."
Watching Adam's hands skate down over his sides, thumbs hook in the skirt's hem, Tommy says, "Now you're fucking talking," and then doesn't say anything at all, breath frozen in his lungs, when Adam pushes it up all the way so it's a thin line of shimmering bronze across his hips. He's been wanting this so fucking bad, he'd been planning on doing all sorts of shit once he finally got Adam here. And now the best he's got is a shaking moan, arching up into Adam's hands as Adam pulls his dick out from underneath the skirt, grip as sure as the fingers stroking into the crack of his ass. He grabs onto Adam's shoulders, dragging his knees up so he's spread wide, wide open, everything he's got right there for Adam to see, touch, get all fucking over.
"God," Adam says, and Tommy says, "Yeah," back at him, Tommy trying to brace his feet to thrust up and Adam catching him behind one knee, hooking his leg over a shoulder instead. Wetting his lips, Tommy says, "Yeah, okay, that works," and Adam smiles at him, this fucking gorgeous, dirty twist of a smile that sets off a flurry of razor-wing fluttering in Tommy's belly.
When Adam snags one of the pillows from near the headboard, Tommy hikes his hips up as best he can for Adam to stuff it beneath him. He's got lots of ideas about what happens next, and Adam leaning down to suck on his balls lands smack in the middle. Pleasure shoots straight for his dick on the edges of Adam's teeth pressing in, a slight scrape as Adam backs off to lick behind them, head further down.
"Oh, fuck," Tommy groans, fumbling to get his other leg up, both hands on his ass and he doesn't give a fuck what he looks like opening himself up like that. From the noises Adam's making down there, the view's appreciated, so very fucking appreciated. Between one breath and the next, Adam's tongue is wet and hot on Tommy's hole, flat pressed wide against it before Adam starts licking long and slow like he's in no hurry at all, like the tip tracing along the rim, so close to pushing inside but never getting there, isn't fucking killing Tommy.
A laugh is all Tommy gets for cursing at Adam, then two fingers sliding up to frame his asshole as Adam licks harder, playing at eating him out for real. Tommy's breaths go short, sharp, muscles starting to ache with tension, and the second, the fucking second he breaks, begs, "Please, fuck, Adam," so genuine it hurts, Adam's tongue pushes deep. There's no chance to even fucking think before Adam gets a finger in alongside it, pulling against his rim to open him up, lick him loose from the inside. This isn't the first time Tommy's gotten some serious tongue action down there, but it's the only one where he's been afraid if it gets even a fraction better, he's gonna blow it. Adam's taking the whole eating ass concept to levels Tommy's never even fucking dreamed of, teeth and tongue and lips all involved, sweet, sucking kisses and tiny, playful nips, so fucking good Tommy's already halfway to his belly, desperate to shove his ass right in Adam's face, before hands clamping to his hips stop him cold.
Mouth red, wet, Adam says, "I want to watch you."
Tommy swallows hard. "Wearin' too many fucking clothes."
Grinning, Adam brushes a kiss to Tommy's belly above the wrinkled skirt. "Easy fix," he says, sliding off the bed to shed his shirt, unbutton his jeans and shuck them too fast for Tommy to really appreciate the reveal. Careful of the killer heels on the boots, Tommy plants one foot on Adam's bare thigh to hold him off for a minute, give Tommy a second to really get a good look at what Adam's packing.
Long, long moments later, Tommy drags his gaze up to meet Adam's. "Better rim me a hell of a lot more before you try to get me on that."
Catching Tommy's ankle, Adam presses Tommy's knee up close to his chest, murmurs, "Stay right there," on another kiss before he goes to dig up lube and some condoms. The look on his face when he turns around to find Tommy exactly the way he left him is so fucking worth the effort. The way he grabs his dick at the base, squeezing like he's gotta hold off shooting, is even better.
"You gonna get over here any faster if I finger myself open or what?" Tommy asks. There's a weird, empty ache low in his belly, not wholly unfamiliar but not really welcome, either. He knows what he wants and his body is so fucking on board with the plan.
"I might want to watch that," Adam says, kneeling on the bed between Tommy's legs again, foil packets crinkling in his hand. Like it's actually gonna be a distraction, he tilts Tommy's face up for a kiss, slow and deep and shockingly similar to the way he'd been going at Tommy's ass, and okay, fine, fuck, it totally works, because Tommy missed the whole part where Adam got one of those packets open and slicked up. He clues in right as two of Adam's big fingers push up into him, making him groan through the kiss, clench up tight.
Instead of jumping to conclusions again, thank fuck, Adam asks, lips brushing Tommy's, "Too much?"
"S'good," Tommy says, craving just this, him and Adam on the same fucking page again, finally clicking like they did from day one, as much as the slippery fuck of Adam's fingers loosening him up. Things got so fucked between them it hurts thinking about it, makes him chase after a different kind of hurt to burn the other away.
"Easy, baby," Adam says, hand splayed on Tommy's chest to hold him down, Adam's eyes soft and grateful beneath the heat. "I got it. I've got you."
"Bet your fucking ass you do." Fumbling at the skirt again, Tommy finally gets it unzipped, but there's no way to get it off without getting in the way of Adam's magic hands. He goes for the boots instead, so sick and tired of having things separating them that even those are too much. The second time he flubs the zipper, hands shaking as Adam press in deep and hard, filling him with a thick, heavy ache, he groans, "Fuck, help me."
Between the two of them, they get the fucking things off. After both boots hit the floor, Adam rolls onto his back, drags Tommy along for the ride while trying to tug the skirt off at the same time. It ends up in a crumpled heap by the abandoned pillow, Tommy finally naked and straddling Adam's hips, kissing Adam like he could actually crawl inside if he tried hard enough.
Adam strokes a thumb along the collar to get Tommy's attention. "Are you going to yell at me if I want to do this slow?"
"Fuck no," Tommy says, bracing his hands, fingers splayed, on Adam's chest. "Figured you'd be the sweetest fuck I'd ever have, anyway."
"I can do dirty." With fingers trailing along Tommy's crack, sliding in, curved to pull muscle open, Tommy believes him. "I can do filthy and rough, and I'm gonna want to hold you down sometimes, make you take it."
On a steady exhale, Adam's cockhead nestled against his asshole, Tommy says, "Okay."
Adam strokes his free hand along Tommy's thigh, trembling getting worse as Tommy holds himself ready. "Sit down on it, baby," Adam murmurs, his hand following the shakes as they settle into Tommy's belly, travel down Tommy's arms to his hands curling into fists. Adam fits his fingers over Tommy's. "Show me how you like it."
Tommy's not so sure he likes it this way, his heart feeling naked and exposed in his chest as he sinks slowly down, opens up even more for Adam. Adam's jaw clenches tight with the urge to thrust, mirror-image of the urge that's got Tommy by the throat ready to jam him down on Adam's dick. Watching Adam's face makes it easier and harder to keep it slow. By the time Tommy's ass settles onto Adam's thighs, he's a shaking, panting mess, so full he can't even breathe. He's not gonna live through Adam actually fucking him.
"Gorgeous," Adam says, pulling Tommy in for a wet, open-mouthed kiss, one hand cupping Tommy's ass, fingers stretched out to hold his dick steady. "Do I get to watch you move?"
Sucking down air, Tommy gives it a shot. It's fucking amazing and unreal, slick, slow burn way down inside, smooth drag as he rocks forward, tries pushing back. Adam's eyes snap shut, mouth open on a ragged noise. "Like that?"
"So fucking much," Adam breathes, blinking his eyes open as his hand skids down to grasp Tommy's waist. Not exactly what Tommy meant, but still a really awesome answer. He gives it another go, letting the clench of Adam's fingers guide him. Both of Adam's hands end up on his ass, nails digging in as Tommy rides the steady roll of Adam's hips, thick cock rubbing all along his insides, pressing in so deep breath hitches in his chest. It's so fucking easy to get lost in the rhythm, the sounds spilling quiet and sweet from Adam's lips, the way everything narrows down to bright, sparking sensation, that when Adam's thrusts go from long and slow to short and sharp, almost there, Tommy's not ready for it. He holds on tighter, tries to dial it back down again, but Adam's already got him off-balance, tumbled against Adam's chest, and fucked so loose and pliant he's got nothing in him to resist. Face tucked into the crook of Adam's neck, he gives up and lets Adam shove him down on his dick, come in him so deep that even if Adam wasn't wearing a rubber, he's sure not a single fucking drop would leak free.
Adam recovers fast, panting hard through the kiss he presses to Tommy's forehead. With a murmured warning, he rolls them over, his cock slipping free along the way making Tommy wince. Arm flung over his eyes, Tommy waits while Adam ties off the condom and flings it into the garbage, peeking out when Adam comes back to kiss his belly, nuzzle at his dick resting hard and wet against it.
"Still with me, baby?" Adam asks, thumb running from the seam of Tommy's balls all the way down to his hole and pushing in. As open as he is, as fucked as he is, Tommy thought he wouldn't notice after Adam's fucking giant dick, but he does, and fuck him if it doesn't still feel so good. Catching him watching, Adam smiles. "You like getting fucked."
"Told you I did," Tommy says. But maybe he didn't think he'd go for it this way. He's used to the build-up, the quick spike after, not this steady, thrumming pleasure winding through his veins. If Adam had kept going, jacked him a bit, he probably could've come on Adam's cock.
"I mean you really like it," Adam says, and kisses the side of his dick. Tommy's still hard, didn't even soften up a bit while Adam did him, and the evidence is rubbed all over his belly in the wet glisten of precome. Thumb dragging free, Adam goes back in with the thick knot of three fingers arching Tommy up off the bed, riding them back down on the slow withdraw. "God, I wish I could fuck you again."
Tommy grabs for Adam's other hand, wraps it snug around his cock. "Keep doing that, if you want."
Up on his knees, Adam catches up the lube again, squeezes the last of it out straight onto Tommy. His eyes jump from his fingers working between Tommy's legs to Tommy's face and back, his tongue a quick flash wetting his lips as he looks up again. How the hell he's got the coordination to do that so fucking good while he's jacking Tommy's dick all of fifteen seconds after coming, Tommy's never gonna fucking know, but Tommy seriously appreciates it. Like, whole fucking sonnets of appreciation, ones he's gonna get around to composing as soon as he can remember what the fuck a sonnet is. He has the vague thought that this would be even better if Adam's mouth were on him instead of his hand, and then he thinks fuck no, he'd come too soon then, and he'd miss the way Adam's staring down at him like he's something unreal, some wet dream come to life instead of the guy who's been trying to get in his pants for the better part of a whole god damn year.
"Come on, sweetheart," Adam says, edging in closer to lick at his mouth, back off and watch again as his hand curls tight around the head of Tommy's dick to really work him over. "You're so gorgeous, I want to see it. Let me see you come, baby, please."
Not really thinking he's all that close, Tommy barely notices when the pleasure spikes to just another kind of intense. It hits him right before he goes off, familiar tightening in his belly, his balls, easy as falling off the edge of a cliff or stumbling onto the tracks when the train's bearing down. It wrenches a groan deep from the pit of his stomach, his hands tangled up in the sheets as he grinds into Adam's hands, everything going even slicker with his come smearing Adam's fingers. He starts to notice the difference as soon as he comes down, though, heartbeat thundering in his head, pressure roaring through his ears, strange ache radiating out from his centre as it all eases. Like he spent the last hour on the best trip of his lifetime, hitting the dirt fucking sucks.
"What the fuck," he grits out, shoving the heels of both hands into the hot burn building behind his eyes.
"Hey, hey," Adam says, gathering him in close, not caring about the mess smeared all over the sheets in getting his arms around Tommy's back, "it's okay, I'm sorry."
"What, no," Tommy says, angrily digging harder at his eyes. "I don't-- That was fucking awesome, alright, I'm not like, I'm not freaking out, shit."
"It's called stress relief," Adam says, like he's not bothered one bit at all by whatever fucked-up shit Tommy's pulling here. He tugs Tommy's hands away from his face and takes his mouth all sweet and gentle, gorgeous lush kisses that centre the ache in Tommy's chest, make him kinda want to scream. "Let it out if you want."
"I'm not--" But Jesus Christ, Tommy is. The noises burbling up the back of his throat turn to hiccuping laughs that only get worse as Adam smiles down at him, bemused. "Fucked me to fucking tears," Tommy gasps, covering his face with his hands again, shoving them back through his hair and fisting tight as he tries to calm the fuck down. "Jesus, I mean, fuck, what the fuck."
"Pure rapture," Adam says, only joking a little as he pecks Tommy on the tip of the nose. "And maybe something you wouldn't mind doing again?"
"Without the part where I'm fucking insane?" Tommy asks.
Like it really doesn't make a difference to him, Adam shrugs. "Maybe I'll drive you a different sort of crazy next time."
Tommy must already be there, because that, the whole thing where Adam's counting on a next time, and probably a next time after that, and all the stuff that comes between that they've been doing all along anyway, wandering foreign cities at midnight and watching shitty movies on shittier flights and Adam smiling at him like that, just like that, it sounds fucking awesome to him.
*
End
mapetiteamore's fabulous birthday month with one of the best sort of presents. Happy birthday, darling! ♥Here's where you are, there's where you wanna be
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~9200 words.
It's the fucking collar that does it. One stupid little gift that doesn't even mean anything.
Here's where you are, there's where you wanna be
Tommy stumbles off stage body still thrumming with the beat, with the screams of the crowd, with Adam's tongue fucking into his mouth. Fucking Metallica. Fucking Enter Sandman. That fucking kiss.
On some drunken ramble, he's sure he spilled the beans to Adam that his favourite make-out song from high school was Sandman. The opening chords crawl into his chest every single time, through his belly, coil up tight and hot in his dick. He's like Pavlov's fucking dog with that song. By the time Adam crooked that finger at him, he was ready to let Adam do whatever he fucking wanted in front of all those people. Tommy would've gone to his knees right then and there.
Monte's saying something, grin huge enough to be sighted from space, and Tommy says, "Yeah, totally," vaguely hoping he isn't agreeing with something whacked the fuck out like Monte going for a crowd-dive next show. Through the echo of Adam's voice in his head comes the real deal, gorgeously rough, and Tommy grabs for the wall, slumps against it panting like he ran a fucking marathon to get here.
"Birthday boy," Adam purrs in that crazy-low register, crowding him tighter to cool cement bricks. The stage, the heat of the performance, is thick in Adam's blood, pushing him so close to the lines, almost, fucking almost, over them. He's larger than life with his eyes glinting midnight dark, his smile a slow, spreading slant of his mouth. A hand planted on the wall either side cages Tommy in. "Did you like your present?"
"Fuck," Tommy rasps, barely a scrape of sound in his dry throat. He swallows a couple times trying to make his voice work right, but he gets a lungful of Adam's scent instead, makeup and hairspray and sweat, and his dick fucking jerks so hard he grunts, slick precome soaking his shorts.
"There's more, too." Grabbing onto Tommy's wrist, Adam drags him down the corridor to the dressing rooms all the way to Adam's at the end. Inside, Tommy sways on his feet when Adam lets go, heart clogging up his throat as Adam digs through the small army of boxes piled up near the mirror. Coming up with a flat, square one balanced on the palm of one hand, Adam says, "I suck at waiting to give people presents. Open it!"
Gingerly, Tommy picks up the box. He tugs loose the single black ribbon and tries to pry off the top before figuring out it's hinged on one side. With a glance flicked to Adam, he shuffles it around and flips it open.
And fucking stares.
"For my pretty kitty," Adam says, beaming as he plucks the collar out of the box, presents it for Tommy's inspection balanced on the tips of his outspread fingers. It's a plain black leather band about half an inch wide, a d-ring dangling from the centre. "It'll look awesome peeking out between those frills. Put some hardcore rocker back in your glam. Wanna try it on?"
Dumbly, Tommy says, "You got me a collar?"
Adam starts unbuckling it. "Cuffs would've been cool, but I didn't want to fuck up your playing even more hauling you around by those. And you have your gloves anyway." He holds up the collar invitingly. "C'mere."
Feet cemented to the floor, Tommy's stuck on mute and staring again. Adam wants to put a fucking collar on him. Obviously this is not some kinky impromptu commitment ceremony--as far as Tommy knows, neither one of them are into the lifestyle. This is Adam being Adam. In Adam's world, sex toys and bondage gear are fashion statements. Shit, they're not even fucking.
"Aren't you supposed to buy me dinner before you propose?" Tommy asks, but he steps into Adam's range, stomach jittering and head bowed.
Adam laughs, delighted. The leather is cool against Tommy's throat, warming quickly as Adam tightens the buckle. It shifts slightly when Tommy swallows hard, Adam's fingers on his chin to tilt his face up. "Looks good," Adam says, sliding two fingers beneath the band like he's actually testing the fit, making sure it won't rub or chafe with long-term wear. He fluffs up the ruffles on Tommy's shirt with one hand, turning Tommy's face this way and that, sizing up the whole package deal of smeared makeup, leather and lace, then sidesteps to give Tommy a clear view of the mirror, his hand settling on the back of Tommy's neck pressing leather into skin. "It looks really, really good, Tommy Joe."
And yeah, Tommy doesn't live the life--and doesn't have much desire to try it out, either--but the urge to go to his knees redoubles, almost sends him there despite what he thinks he wants. Before his legs quit on him, he leans back into Adam's solid heat, breathes in slow and tilts his mouth up for a kiss. After six months on the road with Adam, kissing him got easy and familiar, something comfortable to take him all the way around the globe.
It's not so easy this time. He pushes for more, asks for it with his fucking mouth and hands and body, but Adam backs off like always, smiles at him like it's cute or some shit. "I'm glad you like it," Adam says, with a sweet nip to Tommy's bottom lip.
"It's cool," Tommy says. He swallows again, feeling it shift. "Y'know they're all gonna cream it when they see me up there in this. Gonna really think we're doing the nasty."
Laughing, Adam hugs him tight. "Good thing you don't care what they think."
"Yeah," Tommy says, flicking the d-ring with one finger. Good fucking thing.
It's the fucking collar that does it. One stupid little gift that doesn't even mean anything. But that's the way these things go--the straw that breaks the camel's back, one last fuck-you from the universe. Well fuck the universe right back, Tommy's had enough.
In Melbourne, he wears the fucking thing on stage, hidden beneath the high, prim collar of his shirt. It takes until Fever for Adam to notice he's all buttoned up, a slight widening of his eyes when he comes in for his kiss, nothing more than a short, sweet touch of their lips as he tries to get a good look at Tommy's throat. The choreography demands he strut off before he finds an answer to the question clear in his eyes.
Smug, Tommy rocks out for the rest of the show, not bothered in the least when things are a little off for the whole thing, when Adam keeps his distance during the intros. The more off-balance Adam is, the more personal space he maintains. Serves him fucking right to be the one trying to find the earth under his feet for once.
Once the show's over, though, the glitz and the glam all washed off, the hurt Adam had been hiding under a performer's ease comes seeping through. Crammed in the backseat of a cab between him and Terrence on the way to some club, Tommy feels like total shit, and kinda pissed off, too. Adam fucks around with him all the time. All the fucking time. You don't see Tommy turning into some freakish moping mountain of doom and gloom when he ends up jammed in a tiny bunk all alone with his right hand.
On the sidewalk outside the club, music thumping up through the pavement, Adam catches Tommy by the elbow, holding him back as the others hop the line. Frowning, Adam tugs at the collar of Tommy's jacket, finds nothing but skin and cotton beneath.
Stuffing both hands in his pockets, Tommy cocks an eyebrow. "Lookin' for something, rock star?"
"I thought," Adam starts. "You didn't wear it for the show?"
Tommy shrugs.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Like it doesn't matter to him one way or the other, Tommy says, "Means you didn't come put it on me."
Adam's eyes flash wide. His mouth works, no sound coming out until he notices the few people in the lineup pointing cameras their way. "Inside," he says, turning Tommy around to give him a nudge towards the door.
The same as every dance club the world over, just inside the door the air becomes a thick wall of sound Tommy has to push his way through. He aims for the bar, always his first stop, but Adam snags his elbow again, hauls him to the stairs that lead down from the dance floor, circle around it to the bathrooms in the back. Bypassing those, Adam opens the door to the back alley, squinting at the mouth to make sure the coast is clear before dragging Tommy out into it.
"What do you mean, didn't put it on you?" Adam says as the door bangs shut.
Tommy sighs, sagging against the weather-scored brick. He should've kept his mouth shut. If Adam doesn't get something out of Tommy now, he'll be like a dog with a bone for weeks. "You want me to wear it?"
"I thought you liked it?"
"Didn't say I didn't like it." Flicking a glance around to make sure they're still in the clear, Tommy fishes the collar out of his back pocket, lifts it up draped open over his palm. "Asked if you wanted me to wear it."
"Well, yes," Adam says, forehead crinkled, mouth crumpled. "I wouldn't have bought it for you if-"
Tommy shoves the collar into Adam's hand. "So put it on me."
Mouth snapping shut, Adam makes a clumsy grab for the collar to make sure it doesn't end up in the dirt. He stretches it out between his hands, unsure. Fetish wear or fashion statement, it still means something. Adam likes to pick out jewellery for him, took him shopping for a decent pair of boots when his creepers put him on his ass, and Tommy's got this sinking feeling that Adam doesn't get why he likes to do those things, or why Tommy lets him.
Or worse, Adam knows, but doesn't want to admit it.
Stepping in close, Tommy shakes his jacket off his shoulders, settles both hands on Adam's hips as he bows his head to expose the back of his neck. He closes his eyes as he lets his forehead rest on Adam's shoulder. "Put it on me."
Adam jolts like somebody's taken a cattle prod to him. Almost fumbling the collar again, he fits it to Tommy's throat, fussing with the buckle like he hadn't before until it sits comfortably snug. He leaves his hand heavy on the back of Tommy's neck, thumb stroking along leather and skin, his slow, heavy breaths loud in the small alleyway.
For once, Tommy's the first to push away. He flips his jacket back up, leaving it open so the collar shows clearly above his low v-neck tee. The look in Adam's eyes says he gets it. But the look on his face says he doesn't, and when he opens the door to gesture Tommy back inside, that distance is back with a vengeance.
By showtime in Sydney, Adam's all wound up. Most everybody's giving him a wide berth, except Monte, who's been dealing with Adam a hell of a lot longer than the rest of them, and Tommy. The collar hasn't come off since last night and Adam acts like he knows it. Tommy caught his gaze sliding to it a dozen times during soundcheck, a dozen more in the time between then and now.
Minutes from going on, Tommy leans heavily against Adam's arm, fingers in the fringe dangling from his jacket. Adam glances down, familiar, reflexive smile fading as his gaze lands again on the collar.
The same as if it's any other night, Tommy asks, "We all goin' out tonight?"
"Sasha has plans for cake," Adam says, shifting his mic from one hand to the other. "And strip clubs, I think."
Tommy grins fast and fierce. "My kick-ass never-ending birthday."
"Listen, Tommy," Adam starts, eyes on the collar.
"You gonna kiss me tonight?" Tommy cuts in.
Caught off-guard, Adam flashes a brief smile. "Are you going to wear that dark lipstick?"
"Maybe if I do, I want you to kiss me anyway," Tommy says. Straightening up, he starts buttoning up his shirt all the way, hiding the collar. "Maybe instead of like, not minding people thinking we're fucking, I like them thinking you're giving it to me."
"Tommy," Adam says, grip gone slack on the mic.
"I get hard up there, you know that?" From the look on Adam's face, yeah, he knows it. And he's too fucking scared to do fuck-all about it. "I can't fucking wait for you to kiss me. And maybe, did you ever think that maybe I kinda like it when you get my lipstick all over your mouth, 'cause then for fucking once I've got a mark on you?"
Maybe Tommy should give the guy a minute, let that shit sink in. Maybe he should just shut the fuck up entirely before whatever Adam's afraid is gonna happen, happens. But Jesus Christ, it's almost been a year of this shit. Somebody's gotta put up and fucking put out soon, or his head's gonna explode.
"Yeah," Tommy says, stomach hitting the dirt, his heart right on its heels. Adam's okay fooling around with the straight boy, a-o-fucking-kay getting the straight boy hard, all messed up, but the follow through, fuck no. There's a line Adam's not gonna cross no matter how hard Tommy begs.
Tommy says, "I fuckin' figured," and heads up to the stage.
How Tommy goes from Adam trying to eat his face on stage--like Adam's got something to prove now, like he's not gonna fucking flake out the first chance he gets--to a private room in a strip joint, crammed into one of the girls' microminis and a pair of thigh boots with some guy's tongue shoved down his throat, Tommy's never gonna fucking know. What he does know is the guy's no slouch in the macking department, even if he doesn't have Adam's pizzazz, and he's not afraid to get his hand all over Tommy's ass, gripping hard to pull him closer. The stripper--Lauren, maybe?--quit her routine about five minutes ago in favour of cheering the guy on and stuffing Tommy's singles back in his pants. Skirt. What the fuck ever.
"So hot," she says, and the guy breaks away with a smile, says, with a hand on Tommy's cheek, "Everything about you as pretty as your face?"
"You're so wasted you're gonna think it is." Tommy slumps back in the tacky faux-leather bench seat. He raises a hand for the bottle Lauren's holding hostage. "Beer."
"Lap dance!" she singsongs, snatching it out of his reach.
The skirt isn't doing much to hide Tommy's boner--more like highlight it. The slip of fabric's a shiny, scaled bronze, and even he's got to admit it looks pretty good with the black boots and the sliver of his thighs caught pale between the two. Be hotter if he'd shaved, maybe, but dyed-blond or not, his body hair's pretty light. He pats his lap invitingly. "C'mon up."
"Not me, baby," she drawls, setting the bottle down half a continent away and gesturing at the guy. "Give Lauren one. He's buying."
Head lolling to the side, Tommy blinks at the guy. The guy who is apparently named Lauren, which means he doesn't have a sweet clue what the girl's name is. "Dude, you want a lap dance?"
Lauren, who was smart enough to hold onto his beer even while he was sucking on Tommy's tongue, bursts out laughing. The girl applauds, says, "Yes, do it!" and Lauren shakes his head, traces the ink bared on Tommy's arms. The tee shirt Tommy's wearing doesn't really go so well with the skirt. He's honestly kinda surprised they haven't tried to haul it off him yet.
"D'you want to?" Lauren asks, thumb light on Tommy's pulse. "I promise I'll get you your beer back."
"Fuck it." Tommy clambers up. Lauren's hot, with pretty eyes and a lush mouth, and he's right fucking here not afraid to get all up in Tommy's business. "Fair warning, though," Tommy says, leaning over to plant a hand on the back of the seat, probably giving the girl way more of a show than he's giving Lauren. "I suck at this shit."
Lips parted, breaths coming fast and shallow, Lauren doesn't look like he gives a single flying fuck. He scoots down lower in the seat, legs a careless sprawl, cock thick in his jeans. While the girl's still here, and still smoking hot, Tommy's pretty sure that tent Lauren's got pitched is all for him now.
Saddest part of all this shit--aside from the Adam-shaped elephant in the room Tommy's not thinking about--is that for all the lap dances Tommy's gotten in his life, he can't remember a fucking one. Can't even remember watching; his mind's a total blank. Fuck, it's not like he's a professional, or even a hopeful amateur, and Lauren's so turned on a bit of pressure, a quick hump or two, he'll probably nut himself anyway.
Figuring on doing it face-to-face, Tommy hits a snag in how tight the fucking miniskirt is. Laughing through a curse, he turns around to give Lauren his back, give one of those bent over from the waist, legs spread deals a whirl and gets a sharp groan for his trouble. And hell yeah, he likes that, probably almost as much as Lauren does. Hands braced on Lauren's knees, he slides backwards into Lauren's lap, all the way up until Lauren's dick is nudging him in the ass. One slow grind earns Tommy another one of those appreciative groans, Lauren's hands clutching white-knuckled at the edge of the seat, and Tommy lets his head fall back, kiss-red lip caught between his teeth before he gives it a slow lick.
"You really don't suck at this," Lauren whispers. Grinning, Tommy adds in a little thrust, outline of his dick clear through the skirt's clingy material, and Lauren's hands fly up as if to grab for his hips, haul him back down for another slow, dirty grind.
"Holy shit," comes from the other side of the room.
Glancing up, Tommy loses his balance when his gaze lands on Adam framed in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth wider. He ends up sprawled awkwardly in Lauren's lap, grabbing for the hem of the skirt because fuck, man, those are his shorts on the floor, he's got nothing on under this shit. Adam's got front row on a full monty over there, and Tommy is hard. Really fucking hard.
"Uh oh," the girls says, helping herself to Tommy's beer. "Boyfriend's here, babydoll."
Slamming the door, Adam barks, "What the fuck!"
"Hey," Lauren says, hands raised placatingly. "Calm down a minute, we-"
"I am calm," Adam says tightly, a surefire sign that he's anything but. He grabs up Tommy's jeans and boots, and his shorts too, oh fuck, and wads them in a tight ball under his arm. Very, very carefully, he digs a few bills out of his wallet and sets them onto the platform beside the girl, then a few more. "For the time and the clothes. Tommy, up."
"I'm kinda in the middle of something," Tommy says.
"Whoa, hey, no." Giving Tommy a firm shove off his lap, Lauren makes sure there's as much distance between him and Adam as possible. "I'm not getting involved in this."
"Chicken-shit," Tommy accuses, wobbling slightly on the heels before catching his balance.
"Sane, practical shit," Lauren corrects.
Like a thundercloud about to crack, Adam says, "We're going, Tommy Joe."
This isn't the kind of shit Tommy pulls. He wants to blame the booze in his blood, maybe the collar around his throat, even the months and months of Adam not coming through, but he's not so sure he can. He plants his feet as best he can in the fucking boots, not planning on budging an inch. "So you can take me somewhere and not fuck me?"
Adam rocks back like Tommy's slapped him across the face. Tommy's got all of two seconds to enjoy the naked surprise before Adam's striding across the room, grabbing him by the wrist to haul him to the door. Fighting the whole way, Tommy realises too late what sort of shit it looks like is going down here. The girl's backed all the way up, and Lauren's looking like he's about to do something really noble, really stupid, and really, really unnecessary.
"Jesus Christ," Tommy says, easing up to let Adam pull him through the door, out into the back hallway where the music's a dull, muffled thud. "Fine, what the fuck ever. You win."
"I don't know even what the hell you're talking about, and I don't think I want to," Adam hisses. "What the hell were you doing in there?"
Truth be told, Tommy's not sure. He'd been having a good time, mostly. Yanking his wrist out of Adam's grip, he grabs for the wall so he doesn't end up on his ass. "Pretty sure I was about to get laid really awesomely by that hot guy you just hauled me off of."
"You're drunk," Adam says, reaching for him again, making pissy faces when he dodges. "And you're going to hurt yourself if you're not careful, okay? Would you just let me take you back to the hotel?"
"And do what?"
Adam scowls. "And do what, what?"
"Take me back to the hotel and do what?" Tommy asks. "We both know we're not gonna fuck, so maybe you should've left me back there with somebody who would've fucking loved to get up in me."
Wonderingly, Adam says, "You really are wasted."
Squeezing his eyes shut, Tommy chokes back a shout of pure frustration. Yes, he's drunk. He is very, very drunk. And horny. And his fucking arches are killing him in these boots, what the Jesus. "Tell you what I'm not," he says. "I'm not as fucking straight as you think I am. Motherfucking Kinsey scale, Adam, fucking Christ."
"You don't-" Adam says. "You're not-"
"You're so fucking blind," Tommy snaps, grabbing Adam's wrist, shoving him against the wall and his hand up the fucking skirt, Tommy's shit flying everywhere as Adam flails for something to hold onto that isn't Tommy's dick. "I am so fucking gone over you it's driving me crazy, I wish you'd just fucking fuck it outta me already."
The second before Adam snaps, Tommy sees it. Relief floods in, turns him loose and pliant as Adam surges away from the wall, grabs onto his shoulders and pins him against it instead. "Fucking finally," Tommy moans, legs already spread, hard and wet and so fucking ready for this. "C'mon, please."
"You're a selfish brat," Adam says, staring hard at him. "You know I don't do this. I told you I don't."
"We can pick out fucking curtains, I don't give a shit, just fucking-"
"What?" Adam says, mouth so close Tommy could kiss it if Adam would ease up a fraction on his shoulders. "Fuck it out of you? D'you wanna be my gay fuckbuddy, Tommy Joe?"
Tommy's head thumps back against the wall. He's really gotta learn to say what he fucking means. They both do. "You're the one who said you're not looking for anything. Dude, I'll take what I can fucking get, okay? Whatever, I don't care." Being on tour's like living in a fucking snowglobe, anyway. Everything's all fucked up, unreal. He's gonna fly apart if Adam shakes him up just once more with one of those fucking kisses.
"You want me to fuck you," Adam says, not like he believes it at all. His hand's on Tommy's ass, fingers pressing the thin material against his asshole, rubbing him through it, and Tommy can't help clenching up, strung tight he wants it so bad. He's been imagining all the filthy, amazing shit Adam could do to him for months now. He's been jacking off to it for almost as long.
But Adam's only seeing what Adam wants to see, and he takes the eager jerk of Tommy's body for a flinch instead. He hauls his hand away from Tommy's junk so fast the afterimage is burned into Tommy's retinas. Tommy makes a grab for his arm anyway, moans, "Please," aching with the thought of finally getting on Adam's dick.
Adam breathes, "God," squeezing his eyes briefly shut. "We'll talk when you're sober, okay? I promise, we'll talk."
"Yeah, like we talked last time?" Tommy says, and Adam flinches. The booze isn't helping his case any, but it's sure as fuck loosened his tongue. "Or the fucking time before that? Jesus Christ, Adam, would you just fucking tell me for once what the hell you're so fucked up over instead of putting me off, never giving me a straight answer? Quit pretending I haven't fucking asked you point blank to fuck me. Just fucking, fuck."
"I don't believe you!" Adam shouts in his face. Wincing, Adam dials it right back, staring at the hard dig of his fingers into Tommy's arms like he's trying to let up and can't. "You only think you want it."
Tommy blinks. "That is the most condescending bullshit I've ever heard come out of your mouth."
Mouth slanted in a sour smile, Adam says, "Handjobs, sure. Maybe you'll even like blowjobs, as long as I don't shoot in your mouth. But do you really want my dick in your ass?" When Tommy tries to cut in, he steamrolls right on over it with a bitter noise. "Really think about it, Tommy. Really, really think about it. Because I'd want that. I want to be inside you, and I want to hold you down, and fuck you."
Tommy's voice sticks in his throat like it's caught on the collar. He tries to say yes, tries to pull Adam in to show him how much he wants all of that, exactly like that, but the only thing that he manages is a breathless sound when Adam's hand slides around to palm his bare ass, under the skirt this time, fingers so close, right fucking there, and then they're slipping away again.
"It's worth a shot," Tommy blurts. "You're not seriously telling me it's not even worth the chance to find out."
"Baby," Adam says, voice gone soft, "you're more than worth it. But I can't handle having you just once, and losing you when you decide it's not what you want."
Tommy drags in a deep, shuddering breath. He's completely burnt out. He can't believe he even managed to get that pissed at Adam, let alone kept it up for so long. Dropping his head back, away from Adam reaching for his face, he says, "You gotta give me more credit than that. I get that you're all sparkly and magnetic and shit, but honestly, and no matter how much you don't wanna hear it, that guy back there? He was totally doing it for me."
"The girl-"
"Wasn't her lap you caught me in, was it?"
"I-"
"Fuck," Tommy spits, "just, fuck this shit," and grabs onto Adam's face, mashes their mouths together in the worst fucking kiss they've ever shared. Asking for it didn't work, throwing himself at Adam didn't work, and this talking shit is fucking worthless. If he wants to get anything at all from Adam, he's gonna have to take it.
Expecting Adam to fight him, he almost loses his footing when Adam surges in, tongue shoved into his mouth. He takes it like a champ, though, 'cause this is what he's fucking here for; he wants Adam inside him, tongue and fingers and dick, the whole nine yards. In stiletto boots, hiking his knee up so Adam's hand slides along the back of his thigh maybe isn't the smartest idea, but Adam's got a firm grip on him, and the walls is right there to hold him up, and yes, fuck, Adam's going for it this time, fingertips brushing past his balls, pushing behind them into the crack of his ass. He moans so loud he's pretty sure Lauren and the girl down the hall can hear him over the music, and he honestly doesn't give a shit.
When Adam breaks away, fingers gone too, Tommy thinks he's gonna die. But all Adam's doing is getting a better grip on him, one hand on his ass and the other sliding right back to where it was, strong, spit-slick fingers rubbing over his hole. Both arms slung around Adam's shoulders, Adam's mouth on his throat, Tommy's barely holding himself up, and barely breathing when Adam presses in with the tip of one finger.
Opening his mouth to ask for more, fucking demand it, a gasp comes out instead as Adam's finger crooks, pushes right up into him. It's a quick, hot burn, then nothing but pressure, a jolt of sensation when Adam rubs him on the inside. "God," Adam says, drawing free too fast, shocking another noise out of Tommy as he goes in again with a different finger, a bit more spit easing the way. "Oh my god, I shouldn't've-"
"Fuck that," Tommy grits out, trying to figure out how the fuck he can get Adam deeper, quick clench and release of muscle that rips a rough noise out of Adam's throat. "C'mon, put more in me."
Looking lost, real, fallen off the edge of the map kinda lost, Adam spits on his fingers again, smears it all around Tommy's hole. Even ready for it, the thick push of Adam's finger has him tensing up, pure anticipation and nothing more. Before Adam gets a chance to read that wrong, Tommy takes hold of his arm, makes him keep on going until knuckles are snug against his ass. "Feels good, right?" Tommy says, voice trembling worse than his legs as Adam does that rubbing thing again, finds all these places inside that spark bright, sharp pleasure in his belly. "Bet it's so fucking tight, gonna be so good. You thinking about me on your dick yet, all slick and wet, what that's gonna be like? 'Cause I sure as fuck am."
Sucking in a hissing breath, Adam presses another finger in beside the first, almost all the way before Adam seems to realises what the hell he's in the middle of doing. But Tommy's got it figured out now, knows how to take it, a sweet-hot ache spreading up into his dick, a slow, spreading stain on the skirt Adam would have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to miss.
"You," Adam says, throat clicking, mouth open against Tommy's sharing breath like he wants a kiss and can't quite manage it, too focused on what Tommy feels like from the inside, "god, you do, fucking amazing, Tommy, I want," and he doesn't get a chance to say what he wants, voice cutting out entirely as Tommy gets a hand on Adam's dick, gives it a rough squeeze through his jeans. Tommy's got a pretty damn good idea what Adam wants, though, and Adam needs to get his dick out to do it.
Tommy's barely able to get a hand on Adam's zipper before Adam stops him cold. "Not here," Adam says, determined light in his eyes, mouth set like he's expecting an argument. "If we're going to do this, we're doing it in a bed."
"Works for me," Tommy says. The only protest he's got is for Adam's fingers slipping out of him, and that one's half-hearted at best. If Adam thinks for one fucking second they're not following through on this, he is so fucking wrong. "But we're doing it. You're gonna spread me out on that big-ass hotel bed of yours, and you're gonna fuck me."
Despite the desire clear on his face, Adam doesn't say, If you still want me to, or We'll see when we get there. Pushing Tommy firmly back against the wall, all stay there, don't move, Adam hauls out his phone to call up a cab and starts picking up Tommy's clothes.
When Tommy had imagined finally getting with Adam, he hadn't pictured the preview as him stumbling down the back corridor of a titty bar decked out like a cheap hooker, hanging onto Adam for all he's worth. The cabbie out back doesn't blink at Adam bundling a twink in a miniskirt and thigh-high stilettos into the backseat, singing out a cheery, "Got it!" when Adam tells him the name of whichever hotel they're staying in. Somehow, Tommy ends up half on the seat, knees tucked up under him as far as the boots will allow, and half in Adam's lap, cradled by Adam's arm and the door. Adam's hand rests heavily on his dick, sorta like he's trying to hide the stain, but more like now that he's decided he's allowed to touch, he's not quitting any time soon.
"Not gonna change my mind," Tommy says, figuring if the cabbie can deal with a half-naked femmeboy twink in the backseat, he can handle some frank conversation. "You think I'm gonna, but I'm not."
Resting his forehead against Tommy's, Adam says, "We can talk at the hotel."
"Talking's not gonna change anything, either." Tommy rocks up into Adam's hand. "That feel any less interested to you?"
"No," Adam says, a sharp intake of breath. "But-"
Since it's worked pretty good so far, Tommy shuts Adam up with his mouth. That solves the problem all through the taxi ride, and once they're at the back lot of the hotel, Adam's more concerned with getting inside, to the elevator, and up to their room with as few witnesses as possible. Given Adam's reputation, Tommy's inclined to think the whole cloak and dagger thing is worse than if they'd strode through the front lobby, boots and stained skirt included, but what the fuck does he really care. He's going to get Adam naked. And then he's gonna get fucked.
Once they're inside the room, Adam rounds on him. But not with a rip-Tommy's-clothes-off kinda look. More like they're gonna talk again. "Come the fuck on," Tommy says. "Fucking seriously?"
Adam holds up both hands, palm out. "I just think-"
Growling a curse under his breath, Tommy tugs off his tee. He gropes for the skirt's zipper, smooth, shiny material slipping out of his hands.
"No, wait, fuck," Adam says, grabbing for his arms, pinning them to his sides. "Oh, fuck, leave it on."
Tommy looks down at his bare chest, the skirt and the boots, then back up, hopeful. "'Cause you like it, right? Not 'cause I got no reason to take my clothes off."
Through a strangled noise, Adam says, "Yes, fuck, I like it. And I'm not gonna ask if you're sure, I'm really, really not. I just--" Adam closes his eyes, breathes deep. When he opens them again, his heart's right there. "Tell me it's not a hookup. That you really want to give me a chance."
"You are so fucking dense," is not the right thing to say at all. Adam tries to smile through the hurt, and Tommy feels worse than shit, like total fucking scum. "That was totally shitty, I'm sorry. I'm bitchy and fucking frustrated and I'm so fucking sorry, I didn't mean it."
Adam's mouth hangs crookedly on the edge of a smile. "You kinda did."
Figuring the truth's the only thing that's gonna dig him out of this pit, Tommy says, "I did, but not like, not the way it sounded. Fuck." Pushing off the door, Tommy rocks up on his toes so he doesn't go crashing down when the heels sink into the plush carpet. "These things are fucking killing me, can we please sit the hell down?"
Adam aims for the chairs in the window, but Tommy detours toward the bed. As far as he's concerned there is only one way this night is ending, and he plans on kisses for breakfast. Adam makes like he's gonna take a chair anyway, but Tommy's got a hand firmly twisted in his sleeve. If Adam wants in one of those chairs, he's gonna have to start stripping to get there.
Flopping back on the bed, hauling on Adam's arm so Adam either crawls on up or crashes down, Tommy can't help but grin when Adam goes with option number one, hands on either side of Tommy's head, knees spread wide so there's as much space between them as possible. But Adam didn't end up in one of the chairs, so Tommy's good. "I lied about the sitting," he says. "I like you up there."
"Tommy," Adam says, mouth thin and unhappy.
"It's not a hookup. I don't really get how you don't get that, but dude, Adam, it's not a hookup." Since he's there, and Tommy can, he brushes back the hair fallen across Adam's forehead, long enough that with some product it stays tucked behind Adam's ear. "You're not like, my experimental phase, and I'm not exactly new to this, but it's close enough maybe you got some right being nervous. But c'mon, you know me. You think I'd go for you if I wasn't really seriously fucking sure? If I didn't want to start something with you?"
"I tried not to think too much about most of that," Adam admits. "It was easier."
"Was it?"
Adam huffs a sound distantly related to a laugh. "Alright, I told myself it was easier. I bought you presents and took you out and I played pretend, thinking it'd be enough."
"And since we both know how fucking well that turned out, can we be done with the talking now?"
Like it takes more guts than Adam thinks he's got, he asks, "Can I be done pretending?"
"I'd really fucking love it if you did, 'cause I haven't been pretending for a long time. And this," Tommy says, flicking the d-ring on the collar, "this was like, Jesus. Like you were putting a claim on me you weren't ever gonna fucking make good on. Pissed me right the fuck off."
Trapping Tommy's hand against the collar, Adam slots their fingers together. "But you wore it anyway."
"'Cause I'm a sappy romantic shit. And like, seriously. I really want you to kiss me. Talked so much I'm fucking parched, I deserve some fucking kisses."
When Adam smiles, really truly smiles, something in Tommy's chest clicks back into place. His whole world's been out of whack for weeks, like he's been two beats behind the rest of the universe, stuck in some sort of never-never land since Adam sung him there. That one smile is all Tommy needs to know they're gonna be okay. "Maybe I should get you some water instead."
Catching Adam by a fistful of hair before he can move, Tommy says, "Maybe you should get me out of this fucking skirt."
Adam's gaze slides down, openly appreciative instead of a quick, furtive glance. "You might've been lying about sitting down, but I wasn't lying about liking you in it. And it cost me three hundred dollars, so if it's okay with you, I'm going to get my money's worth."
Watching Adam's hands skate down over his sides, thumbs hook in the skirt's hem, Tommy says, "Now you're fucking talking," and then doesn't say anything at all, breath frozen in his lungs, when Adam pushes it up all the way so it's a thin line of shimmering bronze across his hips. He's been wanting this so fucking bad, he'd been planning on doing all sorts of shit once he finally got Adam here. And now the best he's got is a shaking moan, arching up into Adam's hands as Adam pulls his dick out from underneath the skirt, grip as sure as the fingers stroking into the crack of his ass. He grabs onto Adam's shoulders, dragging his knees up so he's spread wide, wide open, everything he's got right there for Adam to see, touch, get all fucking over.
"God," Adam says, and Tommy says, "Yeah," back at him, Tommy trying to brace his feet to thrust up and Adam catching him behind one knee, hooking his leg over a shoulder instead. Wetting his lips, Tommy says, "Yeah, okay, that works," and Adam smiles at him, this fucking gorgeous, dirty twist of a smile that sets off a flurry of razor-wing fluttering in Tommy's belly.
When Adam snags one of the pillows from near the headboard, Tommy hikes his hips up as best he can for Adam to stuff it beneath him. He's got lots of ideas about what happens next, and Adam leaning down to suck on his balls lands smack in the middle. Pleasure shoots straight for his dick on the edges of Adam's teeth pressing in, a slight scrape as Adam backs off to lick behind them, head further down.
"Oh, fuck," Tommy groans, fumbling to get his other leg up, both hands on his ass and he doesn't give a fuck what he looks like opening himself up like that. From the noises Adam's making down there, the view's appreciated, so very fucking appreciated. Between one breath and the next, Adam's tongue is wet and hot on Tommy's hole, flat pressed wide against it before Adam starts licking long and slow like he's in no hurry at all, like the tip tracing along the rim, so close to pushing inside but never getting there, isn't fucking killing Tommy.
A laugh is all Tommy gets for cursing at Adam, then two fingers sliding up to frame his asshole as Adam licks harder, playing at eating him out for real. Tommy's breaths go short, sharp, muscles starting to ache with tension, and the second, the fucking second he breaks, begs, "Please, fuck, Adam," so genuine it hurts, Adam's tongue pushes deep. There's no chance to even fucking think before Adam gets a finger in alongside it, pulling against his rim to open him up, lick him loose from the inside. This isn't the first time Tommy's gotten some serious tongue action down there, but it's the only one where he's been afraid if it gets even a fraction better, he's gonna blow it. Adam's taking the whole eating ass concept to levels Tommy's never even fucking dreamed of, teeth and tongue and lips all involved, sweet, sucking kisses and tiny, playful nips, so fucking good Tommy's already halfway to his belly, desperate to shove his ass right in Adam's face, before hands clamping to his hips stop him cold.
Mouth red, wet, Adam says, "I want to watch you."
Tommy swallows hard. "Wearin' too many fucking clothes."
Grinning, Adam brushes a kiss to Tommy's belly above the wrinkled skirt. "Easy fix," he says, sliding off the bed to shed his shirt, unbutton his jeans and shuck them too fast for Tommy to really appreciate the reveal. Careful of the killer heels on the boots, Tommy plants one foot on Adam's bare thigh to hold him off for a minute, give Tommy a second to really get a good look at what Adam's packing.
Long, long moments later, Tommy drags his gaze up to meet Adam's. "Better rim me a hell of a lot more before you try to get me on that."
Catching Tommy's ankle, Adam presses Tommy's knee up close to his chest, murmurs, "Stay right there," on another kiss before he goes to dig up lube and some condoms. The look on his face when he turns around to find Tommy exactly the way he left him is so fucking worth the effort. The way he grabs his dick at the base, squeezing like he's gotta hold off shooting, is even better.
"You gonna get over here any faster if I finger myself open or what?" Tommy asks. There's a weird, empty ache low in his belly, not wholly unfamiliar but not really welcome, either. He knows what he wants and his body is so fucking on board with the plan.
"I might want to watch that," Adam says, kneeling on the bed between Tommy's legs again, foil packets crinkling in his hand. Like it's actually gonna be a distraction, he tilts Tommy's face up for a kiss, slow and deep and shockingly similar to the way he'd been going at Tommy's ass, and okay, fine, fuck, it totally works, because Tommy missed the whole part where Adam got one of those packets open and slicked up. He clues in right as two of Adam's big fingers push up into him, making him groan through the kiss, clench up tight.
Instead of jumping to conclusions again, thank fuck, Adam asks, lips brushing Tommy's, "Too much?"
"S'good," Tommy says, craving just this, him and Adam on the same fucking page again, finally clicking like they did from day one, as much as the slippery fuck of Adam's fingers loosening him up. Things got so fucked between them it hurts thinking about it, makes him chase after a different kind of hurt to burn the other away.
"Easy, baby," Adam says, hand splayed on Tommy's chest to hold him down, Adam's eyes soft and grateful beneath the heat. "I got it. I've got you."
"Bet your fucking ass you do." Fumbling at the skirt again, Tommy finally gets it unzipped, but there's no way to get it off without getting in the way of Adam's magic hands. He goes for the boots instead, so sick and tired of having things separating them that even those are too much. The second time he flubs the zipper, hands shaking as Adam press in deep and hard, filling him with a thick, heavy ache, he groans, "Fuck, help me."
Between the two of them, they get the fucking things off. After both boots hit the floor, Adam rolls onto his back, drags Tommy along for the ride while trying to tug the skirt off at the same time. It ends up in a crumpled heap by the abandoned pillow, Tommy finally naked and straddling Adam's hips, kissing Adam like he could actually crawl inside if he tried hard enough.
Adam strokes a thumb along the collar to get Tommy's attention. "Are you going to yell at me if I want to do this slow?"
"Fuck no," Tommy says, bracing his hands, fingers splayed, on Adam's chest. "Figured you'd be the sweetest fuck I'd ever have, anyway."
"I can do dirty." With fingers trailing along Tommy's crack, sliding in, curved to pull muscle open, Tommy believes him. "I can do filthy and rough, and I'm gonna want to hold you down sometimes, make you take it."
On a steady exhale, Adam's cockhead nestled against his asshole, Tommy says, "Okay."
Adam strokes his free hand along Tommy's thigh, trembling getting worse as Tommy holds himself ready. "Sit down on it, baby," Adam murmurs, his hand following the shakes as they settle into Tommy's belly, travel down Tommy's arms to his hands curling into fists. Adam fits his fingers over Tommy's. "Show me how you like it."
Tommy's not so sure he likes it this way, his heart feeling naked and exposed in his chest as he sinks slowly down, opens up even more for Adam. Adam's jaw clenches tight with the urge to thrust, mirror-image of the urge that's got Tommy by the throat ready to jam him down on Adam's dick. Watching Adam's face makes it easier and harder to keep it slow. By the time Tommy's ass settles onto Adam's thighs, he's a shaking, panting mess, so full he can't even breathe. He's not gonna live through Adam actually fucking him.
"Gorgeous," Adam says, pulling Tommy in for a wet, open-mouthed kiss, one hand cupping Tommy's ass, fingers stretched out to hold his dick steady. "Do I get to watch you move?"
Sucking down air, Tommy gives it a shot. It's fucking amazing and unreal, slick, slow burn way down inside, smooth drag as he rocks forward, tries pushing back. Adam's eyes snap shut, mouth open on a ragged noise. "Like that?"
"So fucking much," Adam breathes, blinking his eyes open as his hand skids down to grasp Tommy's waist. Not exactly what Tommy meant, but still a really awesome answer. He gives it another go, letting the clench of Adam's fingers guide him. Both of Adam's hands end up on his ass, nails digging in as Tommy rides the steady roll of Adam's hips, thick cock rubbing all along his insides, pressing in so deep breath hitches in his chest. It's so fucking easy to get lost in the rhythm, the sounds spilling quiet and sweet from Adam's lips, the way everything narrows down to bright, sparking sensation, that when Adam's thrusts go from long and slow to short and sharp, almost there, Tommy's not ready for it. He holds on tighter, tries to dial it back down again, but Adam's already got him off-balance, tumbled against Adam's chest, and fucked so loose and pliant he's got nothing in him to resist. Face tucked into the crook of Adam's neck, he gives up and lets Adam shove him down on his dick, come in him so deep that even if Adam wasn't wearing a rubber, he's sure not a single fucking drop would leak free.
Adam recovers fast, panting hard through the kiss he presses to Tommy's forehead. With a murmured warning, he rolls them over, his cock slipping free along the way making Tommy wince. Arm flung over his eyes, Tommy waits while Adam ties off the condom and flings it into the garbage, peeking out when Adam comes back to kiss his belly, nuzzle at his dick resting hard and wet against it.
"Still with me, baby?" Adam asks, thumb running from the seam of Tommy's balls all the way down to his hole and pushing in. As open as he is, as fucked as he is, Tommy thought he wouldn't notice after Adam's fucking giant dick, but he does, and fuck him if it doesn't still feel so good. Catching him watching, Adam smiles. "You like getting fucked."
"Told you I did," Tommy says. But maybe he didn't think he'd go for it this way. He's used to the build-up, the quick spike after, not this steady, thrumming pleasure winding through his veins. If Adam had kept going, jacked him a bit, he probably could've come on Adam's cock.
"I mean you really like it," Adam says, and kisses the side of his dick. Tommy's still hard, didn't even soften up a bit while Adam did him, and the evidence is rubbed all over his belly in the wet glisten of precome. Thumb dragging free, Adam goes back in with the thick knot of three fingers arching Tommy up off the bed, riding them back down on the slow withdraw. "God, I wish I could fuck you again."
Tommy grabs for Adam's other hand, wraps it snug around his cock. "Keep doing that, if you want."
Up on his knees, Adam catches up the lube again, squeezes the last of it out straight onto Tommy. His eyes jump from his fingers working between Tommy's legs to Tommy's face and back, his tongue a quick flash wetting his lips as he looks up again. How the hell he's got the coordination to do that so fucking good while he's jacking Tommy's dick all of fifteen seconds after coming, Tommy's never gonna fucking know, but Tommy seriously appreciates it. Like, whole fucking sonnets of appreciation, ones he's gonna get around to composing as soon as he can remember what the fuck a sonnet is. He has the vague thought that this would be even better if Adam's mouth were on him instead of his hand, and then he thinks fuck no, he'd come too soon then, and he'd miss the way Adam's staring down at him like he's something unreal, some wet dream come to life instead of the guy who's been trying to get in his pants for the better part of a whole god damn year.
"Come on, sweetheart," Adam says, edging in closer to lick at his mouth, back off and watch again as his hand curls tight around the head of Tommy's dick to really work him over. "You're so gorgeous, I want to see it. Let me see you come, baby, please."
Not really thinking he's all that close, Tommy barely notices when the pleasure spikes to just another kind of intense. It hits him right before he goes off, familiar tightening in his belly, his balls, easy as falling off the edge of a cliff or stumbling onto the tracks when the train's bearing down. It wrenches a groan deep from the pit of his stomach, his hands tangled up in the sheets as he grinds into Adam's hands, everything going even slicker with his come smearing Adam's fingers. He starts to notice the difference as soon as he comes down, though, heartbeat thundering in his head, pressure roaring through his ears, strange ache radiating out from his centre as it all eases. Like he spent the last hour on the best trip of his lifetime, hitting the dirt fucking sucks.
"What the fuck," he grits out, shoving the heels of both hands into the hot burn building behind his eyes.
"Hey, hey," Adam says, gathering him in close, not caring about the mess smeared all over the sheets in getting his arms around Tommy's back, "it's okay, I'm sorry."
"What, no," Tommy says, angrily digging harder at his eyes. "I don't-- That was fucking awesome, alright, I'm not like, I'm not freaking out, shit."
"It's called stress relief," Adam says, like he's not bothered one bit at all by whatever fucked-up shit Tommy's pulling here. He tugs Tommy's hands away from his face and takes his mouth all sweet and gentle, gorgeous lush kisses that centre the ache in Tommy's chest, make him kinda want to scream. "Let it out if you want."
"I'm not--" But Jesus Christ, Tommy is. The noises burbling up the back of his throat turn to hiccuping laughs that only get worse as Adam smiles down at him, bemused. "Fucked me to fucking tears," Tommy gasps, covering his face with his hands again, shoving them back through his hair and fisting tight as he tries to calm the fuck down. "Jesus, I mean, fuck, what the fuck."
"Pure rapture," Adam says, only joking a little as he pecks Tommy on the tip of the nose. "And maybe something you wouldn't mind doing again?"
"Without the part where I'm fucking insane?" Tommy asks.
Like it really doesn't make a difference to him, Adam shrugs. "Maybe I'll drive you a different sort of crazy next time."
Tommy must already be there, because that, the whole thing where Adam's counting on a next time, and probably a next time after that, and all the stuff that comes between that they've been doing all along anyway, wandering foreign cities at midnight and watching shitty movies on shittier flights and Adam smiling at him like that, just like that, it sounds fucking awesome to him.
End
