Fic: You Lack Integration and a Cheap Pursuit - Adam/Tommy (2/2)

[blue_soaring]

Part 1

When Tommy blinks gritty eyes open, it's still the deep dark of night. At first, he doesn't know where the fuck he is, because the light's wrong, and the blankets are weird, and Jesus fucking Christ, it feels like he got into a fight with fucking grizzly bear. His neck's hot and throbbing, his arms, even his fucking thighs, are clawed all to shit, and every single muscle he's got is not having any of this moving business at all. Especially the ones in his ass.

A crazy grin tugs at Tommy's mouth. He got rode really fucking hard and put away wet. It feels like Adam cleaned him up, since he's not glued to the sheets, but he's still kinda slick on the inside. He clenches up, curious, and gets hit with a sense-memory so vivid the ache flares way deeper than it should. It's uncomfortable as fuck but still so good. Total Adam was here type of shit.

Oh man. Adam.

Gingerly, Tommy rolls over to find the dark shape of Adam beside him, so close they're touching all the way down one side of Tommy's body, but not cuddling. Kinda weird, given that Adam had been a total snuggler the other night. Maybe it's not as easy to cuddle somebody while you're both asleep. Scooting in, Tommy decides to give it a shot.

*

The bright light of morning is shining through cracks in the blinds when Tommy wakes up the second time. He's rolled all the way to the edge of the bed again. Sighing, he flops back over. He totally wanted to wake up squished in Adam's arms.

Finding the bed empty, he peels open his eyes. The bathroom door across the hall is wide open while Adam takes a leak. Watching him, gaze travelling over the broad span of his back and down the high, round curve of his ass, Tommy flushes dark and hot. Marks from his nails are all over Adam's skin. Even from here, Tommy can see the four perfect crescent moons dug into the meat of his ass on the right side where Tommy had held on so fucking hard his hand cramped. Fuck, Tommy is a total beast in bed. Maybe it's a good thing he hooked up with a werewolf.

Finished pissing, Adam gives his dick a quick shake, hits the flush and rinses his hands. He looks so fucking good it should be criminal. It is criminal, sorta.

"Hey," Adam says, catching him staring. "You're awake."

Fighting off the urge to duck his chin, Tommy grabs onto the bedclothes, dragging them down in an invitation for Adam to crawl right back in here with him. Smiling, Adam pads across the hall, totally unselfconscious. Tommy gets stuck staring all over again. All that goodness walking towards him, he totally hit that last night. When Adam sits down on the bed instead of settling back in for more delicious sleep, Tommy scoots gingerly over, pillowing his head on Adam's bare thigh. Adam smells warm, like sleep and sex. A guy could seriously fucking get used to this.

"I thought I'd take you out for breakfast," Adam says, combing his fingers through Tommy's hair. "After you soak in the tub for about an hour."

"Stink that bad, huh?"

"You smell amazing," Adam says, no joke. Tommy's pretty sure he reeks. "But if I send you home like you are, your mother's going to wonder exactly what you and Mike spent the night doing."

"Aw, man." Closing his eyes, Tommy tucks his face against Adam's belly. Adam's bare cock nudges his cheek, soft but plump, nicely intimate. He likes it so much he's not even really thinking about making something of it, like a good-morning blowjob. He bets those are fucking awesome, though. "Guess how much I don't wanna go home."

"About as much as I don't want you to leave." Bending almost double, Adam gives him the sweetest kiss ever, hardly even a flicker of tongue at the corner of his lips. "I'll run the bath for you after I grab a shower. I'd share, but the tub's pretty small."

Tommy really doesn't want to waste time getting clean and going out when they could stay in here and get even messier. But Adam's looking at him like this is maybe something Important, so Tommy heaves a sigh, waving Adam off. Besides, if Adam wants to go to breakfast with him, that's a good sign.

True to his word, Adam makes Tommy stay in the tub until he's good and pruned. When getting out's a hell of a lot less painful than getting in, Tommy's willing to admit Adam knows a thing or two about this sort of shit. Getting dressed--though Tommy really does want to hang around and do more naked stuff--Tommy ends up going commando, since Adam's underwear are way too fucking big for him, and all the way two blocks south to a diner Adam knows, Adam keeps his fingers tucked in Tommy's back pocket, really warm through a single layer of denim.

Over breakfast, they talk about all kinds of stuff, most of it centred around music. Adam's gigs, were shows, the few bands Tommy's been in, what Tommy likes to play, what they both grew up listening to on the radio. There's so much overlap, Tommy's practically delirious with joy, and he's so fucking caffeinated on the seriously butch coffee this place serves that he feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin.

Way too soon, Adam's parking a few streets away from Tommy's house. Tommy gnaws on the ragged edge of a nail. "Are you gonna walk me home?"

"Of course," Adam says, climbing out. "My mother raised a gentleman."

A gentleman that fucks like a champ. Tommy so can't wait to have more sex. Getting out during the day is no problem, but Tommy's going to have to totally abuse Mike's friendship for any nighttime jaunts. Fortunately, he doesn't think Mike'll care much. Adam even gave Tommy some weed to repay him with, after Adam found out Tommy made off with the half-smoked spliff.

Tommy's insides pull off a fancy samba when Adam laces their fingers together. Seriously. The guy totally fucked him up the ass, spectacularly, and holding hands gives him butterflies. Tommy's got it so bad.

"What?" Adam prompts, smiling that teeny tiny smile of his, the one that means he thinks Tommy's being cute. Tommy's never appreciated being cute so much in his life.

"Just thinkin' about when I'll get to see you again," Tommy says, absently rubbing his thumb along Adam's. Once he realises he's doing it, he thinks about stopping, because man, that's really transparent. Stopping would probably be worse.

"I have a show tonight you're absolutely not sneaking out to see, so I'm not telling you where it is," Adam says. "But if you want to go to a movie tomorrow, that would be nice."

"A movie?" Tommy asks. It feels like forever ago Mike spotted Adam hanging around outside the AMC. Fuck, when Adam was hunting him, how crazy is that. "Like, a date kinda movie?"

Adam laughs. "What else would it be? You're my mate."

An entire country's worth of fireworks go off in Tommy's chest. He fucking knew it. They're totally an item. A really hot, hot item. "Most people say boyfriend."

"Mm hmm," Adam hums, nodding. "That too."

Wait. Too? What, 'too'? Slowing down, Tommy tugs on Adam's arm until he stops and turns around. "What do you mean, mate? As in like, wolf-mate? Not, 'hey, we had sex' mate."

Something cautious, and maybe a little too ready to get upset, shows up in Adam's eyes. Kinda like he hadn't meant to say what he said, but he also totally did. "Tommy-"

"No, seriously, I'm not freaking out." Not in a fucking bad way, anyway. Not exactly sane, either, because fucking shit, man, shit. "You totally mean mate for life, don't you? Like wolves do."

"I- Yes?" Adam winces. "I mean, yes. That's what I meant. But you're not a wolf, Tommy, I don't know if it works the same way."

"Yes," Tommy says, the moment Adam pauses for breath.

"It definitely feels like it-- What?"

"It totally works the same way. I am, like, crazy in my head over you." Tommy barely resists the urge to fling himself at Adam right here in the middle of the street. He settles for squeezing Adam's hand really, really, really hard between both of his. "Obviously my dick's swaying the vote, but what the fuck ever. I will so be your lifemate boyfriend."

Adam goes through about sixteen billion expressions. The entire gamut of human experience is right there on his face, flipbook style, heavy on delight and fear and a little bit of anger, like he's not impressed with Tommy treating this so casually. But Tommy's not. He's so serious about this shit it actually fucking hurts right in the centre of his chest.

Afraid Adam's going to suddenly decide Tommy really is too much of a kid for this shit, Tommy throws his arms around Adam's neck and hold on tight. All the way up on his toes, his balance is for shit, but Adam steadies him with hands light on his hips. "I get that it's a big deal," Tommy says, muffled in the crook of Adam's neck. Adam smells like skin and wolf, and Tommy shivers, remembering Adam pressed tight against his back, holding him down. "Really, I get it. But I still want to do it."

Adam makes a sound stuck halfway between a growl and a whine, his grip on Tommy going tight enough to bruise. His arms slide around to pull Tommy in even closer, plastering them together in the noonday heat. Sweat gathers at the base of Tommy's spine, in the backs of his knees and insides of his elbows, against his cheek where it's pressed to Adam's skin. It feels so good Tommy wants to crawl inside Adam and never fucking leave. He can barely breathe and he doesn't even fucking care.

"I think I dreamed you up," Adam says, soft in Tommy's hair. "I woke up this morning and couldn't believe you were there." Tommy tries to pull back, because this is starting to sound like serious shit he wants--needs--to see Adam's face for, but Adam hold doesn't ease. "All I've ever wanted to do is sing, and be with my mate. I've been with people I probably shouldn't have, tried to make myself believe they were it when they weren't. Everybody told me to stop looking so hard, that you'd find me, but I couldn't wait. And then, there you were. One quiet little human staring up at me from a sea of wolves."

Swallowing hard, Tommy gives Adam another quick, gentle squeeze. It's a good thing Adam doesn't seem to need him to say anything. He's kinda choked up here. It's like, fuck. They don't even really know each other, but it feels like they do. Like they've been friends for years, gone through it all, and this is the inevitable next step.

"I wanna go to your show tonight," Tommy blurts. It feels important. Putting those two things together, what Adam said he's always wanted, feels like something Tommy should make happen.

"Nope," Adam says easily, like he hadn't just spilled his wolfy guts all over the fucking place.

Tommy shoves at Adam's chest, managing to back off a couple inches. He's Adam's mate, god damn it. He's going to the fucking show. "You just fucking said-"

"Wolves, Tommy." Adam's got this stupid heart-breaking earnest thing going on, and it's totally killing the righteous indignation Tommy's working. "An entire warehouse full of wolves, and I'll be on stage for most of the set. I wouldn't be able to protect you."

Tommy says, "I'm your mate," kind of lamely. "Nobody would, like, do anything. Hit on me or something. I smell like yours, right?"

"I don't know." Adam's thumb brushes lightly over Tommy's bottom lip, where the skin's split from their too-hard kisses last night and still sore. He looks pretty lost.

"Oh," Tommy says. Hiding his disappointment's a lost cause. Even if he didn't wear every fucking thing he's thinking on his face, Adam could probably smell it on him if he had a stubbed toe, for fuck's sake. He'd totally bought the Coalition's bullshit about humans getting tangled up with weres all the time. Not the part where it ended up in dead bodies found half-eaten in the desert, but the part where humans and weres actually fucking interacted.

"I'm sorry," Adam says. Stepping back, he takes Tommy's hand to get them moving again.

Tommy shrugs. "It's okay." It's really not. But what the fuck is he gonna do, pitch a fit? "Take me to a show you're not, like, performing in."

There's a big enough delay before Adam's, "Maybe," that Tommy knows it means Adam is actually saying no. Which is total bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. But Tommy bites his tongue. He found one of their super-secret rockouts before, he'll find one again. Eventually.

At the far edge of the park, Adam slows. "We probably shouldn't get much closer."

"Yeah." Being pissed sucks. Except Tommy's not even really pissed. More like all the aches and pains from last night that he'd been so fucking thoroughly enjoying on the way over are less awesome and more prickly, like an itch that's been scratched raw. Feeling weird and conflicted, he lets go of Adam's hand. "I guess I'll, um, see you."

Adam catches his elbow before he can go, making him turn back around. "I'll pick you up for the movie tomorrow. Meet me here around eleven, okay?"

"Eleven's pretty fucking early," Tommy grumbles, even while his stomach's swooping happily. Piled on top of the bitter disappointment at not being allowed into every part of Adam's life, it's kinda making him feel a little sick.

"Matinee." Sunlight adds a nicely mischievous glint to Adam's eyes. Fuck, Adam looks good in the daylight. There are even freckles sprinkled all over him, like somebody thought a few on his nose would look awesome but got totally carried away. "Not as crowded."

"That's not-- Is it gonna be a thing?" Gnawing on the inside of his lip, Tommy glances around. Noises from kids playing on the jungle gym filter through the trees. "I get hiding it from, like, my mom and shit, but what's it matter if somebody sees us at the fucking movies?"

"It matters if somebody sees me making out with you like I'm going to end up doing."

Tommy can't help it; he grins like a total moron and rocks up on his toes a little, like Adam might want to get a head start. "Yeah?"

"I want to do this with you," Adam says. "You don't even know how much I want to let everyone know you're mine. But we need to be careful."

"Really fucking careful," Tommy dutifully echoes, his brain still stuck on 'mine'. Hiding this thing they're doing is smart. Lots of people wouldn't understand. But it doesn't mean they've got to hide it forever. Once Tommy graduates, he'll be a full-time employed adult. They can do whatever they fucking want then. "Just so you know, I'm dying to kiss you right now."

Adam's smile is sharp and sudden. "I do like knowing that."

"A lot," Tommy adds, meaning both how much he wants to kiss Adam, and how much Adam likes knowing it.

When Adam squeezes Tommy's arm, Tommy thinks for a minute Adam's gonna haul him in and plant one on him anyway. But all Adam does is say, "Eleven," staring hard at Tommy's mouth.

Tommy nods fast, backing away step by step until he almost trips on the edge of the sidewalk and has to turn around to walk like a fucking normal person before he breaks his neck. He glances back three times before he reaches his front door. By then, he can't see Adam through the trees, but he gets the feeling Adam's watching him somehow, the same as Adam's been watching since that first night.

"You're home early," his mom says from the living room when he finally stops staring at the park like a lovesick crackhead long enough to drag his ass inside. "I didn't expect you until after dinner."

"I, um. I got a shift tomorrow," Tommy says, and immediately wants to slap himself. He's going out with Adam in the middle of the fucking day, he doesn't need a cover story.

"Oh?" Mom tucks a finger in her book. "I didn't think you were covering for Dave's vacation until next week."

"Other Dave called in sick or something, I dunno," Tommy mumbles, inching for the stairs. He totally fucking forgot he had a full thirty-hour week coming up. Maybe Adam can come visit him at the store. Holy shit, that'd be cool. "Extra cash for me."

"That's the best way to look at it," Mom says, turning back to her book and releasing Tommy from any impending parental inquisition. He hauls ass up the stairs, backpack thumping against his knees. Once he's in his room, he boots up his laptop, jams in some cords to hook it up to the pretty decent set of speakers he got on sale at the store, and cranks it as high as he dares with his mom in the house. Making sure his door is locked, he strips off his shirt and takes the first good look at his freshly cherry-popped self. Adam's marks are all over him. Some are half-hidden by the waist of his jeans, so he shoves those off, then his underwear when he notices some mottled colour on his butt. It's crooked and not really the right shape, but that's Adam's handprint right there. And higher up, too, there's a smudge like Adam grabbed his shoulder, and there are tiny little red nips all down his back, more on his stomach and hips, and these small clusters of them all over his neck. It's sort of fascinating and gross and holy fucking fuck, he had sex with his boyfriend the werewolf.

Shoving at the messy blankets on his bed, Tommy flops down on his back, hand curling around his dick. He doesn't even need to close his eyes to blank out his room and picture Adam's instead, the two-foot wide excuse for a closet overflowing with clothes, the way the sunlight slanted in through the narrow window, the thick, musky smell clinging to the sheets and the way it got stronger, filling his lungs, as Adam settled down on top of him.

Tommy's cock doesn't so much give an interested twitch at the memory as much as it goes from pre-show warm-up straight to a full-scale gut-clenching boner. Taking his hand off it to spit in his palm is the worst thing he's ever done. Putting his hand back on it, though, that is fucking awesome. Wriggling down further onto the bed, Tommy kicks the blankets all the way off, his other hand dragging up over his hip to find Adam's marks as he starts jacking. One firm press has his spank bank Rolodex flipping by so fast it's like somebody's tossed it into a tornado; Adam's slow, dark smile right before they kiss; Adam's thighs pressed against the back of his; Adam's hard dick dragging over his belly, leaving behind a smear of warm, slick precome; Adam's cock pushing inside him, so fucking slow, lighting up nerves Tommy didn't even know he had, absolutely wrecking him; his body feeling hot and full and used and he jerks faster, fucking up into his fist, not even trying to drag it out. He comes in about thirty seconds flat, chest heaving like he's been at it for hours. Maybe he's always been a little quick on the trigger but that's fucking insane. Staring down at the spunk sticky on his hand, shocked there's anything at all left in him after last night, he grunts and flails half-heartedly for a tissue.

Fucking crazy, he thinks, and gropes for a sheet, hauling it up to his chin as he rolls over for a little afternoon nap. It's not like he got much sleep last night, after all. And besides that, he doesn't want to waste the whole night tonight, in case Adam's feeling like a midnight stroll.

*

Adam doesn't show up that night (Tommy forgot all about the gig, which is seriously fucking typical) but he's at the edge of the park waiting for Tommy the following morning, looking smokin' hot in this rockstar-casual getup and the sweetest boots Tommy's ever seen, with like, at least twenty buckles per. Tommy resists the urge to take the last thirty feet between them at a sprint.

"Hey," Tommy says, casually meandering up to Adam and giving him a friendly shoulder-bump. Tommy spent most of his way-too-early morning going over and over in his head about how he's gonna be real, real careful about all this so Adam knows he's in it for good.

Adam says, "Hey, baby," and pulls him in for the best fucking hug ever. It's so good Tommy doesn't even care that Adam just blew his plan all to hell. Besides, Tommy's a huggy guy. He totally hugs Mike all the fucking time. What the fuck was he thinking, play it cool and casual, Jesus. He hugs back so hard Adam grunts. "Figure out which movie you want to see?"

"Didn't even look," Tommy admits, and feels a little like a tool and a lot like he's fucking awesome, because Adam gets this look on his face like he knows exactly where Tommy's coming from with the not giving a shit about the movie at all. He leans close as they start heading for Adam's car parked a few blocks away, out of sight of nosy neighbours. "I jerked off thinking about you and totally fell asleep. Sex coma."

Adam squeezes Tommy's hand so hard one of his knuckles crack. He looks like he wants to say ten million things, every last one of them x-rated, but all he does is start walking faster. That speaks volumes enough all on its own. Tommy skips for a few steps until he catches up, and then they're bolting for the car, Adam cracking up laughing halfway there and Tommy flinging him happy, excited grins. Tommy crawls in through the driver's side, half dragging Adam along and half being pushed in. Right before Tommy can get his limbs untangled enough to twist around and suck Adam's tongue out of his skull, Adam says, "I have a lounge gig in two weeks."

"Awesome," Tommy says, 'cause it is, but obviously not as awesome as making out right now.

"I want you to play it with me."

Tommy gapes. Like, literally, he is sitting there with his mouth hanging open and no sound coming out of it.

"If you want," Adam says, shifting around so they're more or less--mostly less--sitting in the car like normal people. "I realise it's short notice, so don't feel like you have to, but it seems important to you."

"I could suck," is Tommy's brilliant response.

Adam gives him a look. "You've been playing since you were twelve, I doubt you suck."

It's really hard to think while Adam's hands are on him. Even if it's only on his knee. That thumb thing Adam's doing on the inside of his thigh is seriously fucking distracting. Tommy sits up. "Are you for fucking real? You want me to play a show with you."

Nodding, Adam scoots closer, his arm slung over the back of the seat so Tommy is nestled in close to his side. "It's a simple acoustic set, probably only four or five songs. The house band usually backs me, but it won't be a problem if I bring my own guitarist." His smile goes lopsided. "You'll have to do it pro bono."

"What the shit, pro bono," Tommy says, finally managing to close his mouth. Adam wants him to do a show. On stage. In front of an audience. Holy motherfucking shit.

"Tommy?" Adam prompts cautiously.

"I need to practice so much," Tommy says, staring wide-eyed at Adam's gorgeous, earnest, fucking insane face. "I'm working full time all next week, and then my regular shitty weekend shifts are starting up again, and two weeks, fuck. Fuck! We can't go to a movie. I need my guitar. My piece of shit acoustic guitar."

Adam's hand closes over Tommy's on the door handle, bringing him up short before he can spill out onto the pavement and take off for home. "So you want to do the show?"

Tommy stares at him some more. "Of course I want to do the fucking show."

"Then don't worry about it," Adam says, gently prying Tommy off the door. "I'll borrow one from a friend for you to use."

"You sure that's okay?" Tommy's not really picky about his guitars, as long as people don't fuck them up--scratches and shit are cool, makes the guitar more real, but fucking with the sound, that's not on--but he gets that some musicians are.

Hiking his hips up to dig his keys out of a pocket, Adam nods. "We can swing by his place today, he's probably still sleeping off last night."

"Is he in your band?" Belatedly, Tommy tugs on his seatbelt and fastens it. Adam is like his grandma about car safety.

"I guess he is," Adam says with a small laugh. He takes a few turns one right after the other in rapid succession, following the twisty route into Eastside Tommy's starting to find familiar. If his parents knew how much time he's been spending, and is going to spend, on the outskirts of pure were territory, they'd fucking flip. "It's not so much my band as it's something we do."

"Because what are you gonna do if you don't, right?" Tommy says. His mom's always asking him why he spends so much time practicing guitar if he doesn't really believe he'll ever have a chance to be in a real band. It's just what he fucking does. Like breathing, or sleeping, or fucking sex now that he's had it. He's got to do it, or it feels like he's gonna die.

"Shit, don't," Adam says, his grip tightening on the wheel.

Tommy flushes. He didn't mean it like there's nothing else Adam could do. Fucking government. "Sorry."

"No, I mean." Adam breathes out nice and slow. "I can smell you. It's distracting."

Oh. Fuck, Tommy's not even really turned on or anything. Just this vague, happy buzz at the edges of his consciousness. "I, uh. I don't think I can help it."

"Maybe I'll ask Monte to bring the guitar over later," Adam says grimly.

But, Tommy wants to be adult enough to say, we need to practice. A show's a big fucking deal. It's Adam's fucking livelihood, and the only way he can advertise is by word of mouth. No way is Tommy gonna screw that up. "Your songs, though," is as far as Tommy gets.

Adam's voice is closer to a growl when he says, "Later," and takes a right turn so sharply Tommy ends up plastered against the door, hanging onto the peeling plastic bar screwed into the upholstered roof.

"Oh, shit," Tommy says, 'cause oh shit, they fucked yesterday, he's still kinda tender, and even with all the sleep, he's still tired, like, sex hangover. But he's getting hard thinking about doing Adam in the daylight, getting Adam fucking naked again, crawling all over him and tasting every single freckle he's got.

By the time Adam slams the car into park, Tommy's so worked up he can't even unbuckle his stupid seatbelt. Adam tears out of the car, yanking open the passenger's side door and hauling Tommy out onto the broken asphalt. "Upstairs," Adam says, trying to push Tommy ahead of him, "go, go, run."

With the fucking massive boner Tommy's got, he's not running anywhere. He'll be lucky if he gets a swift limp going.

"Please," Adam says, shoving the door open for Tommy to get inside the building first. "Please, I want to chase you."

"Fucking stairs," Tommy says, stumbling across the threshold.

Adam's wild around the eyes when he pushes Tommy towards the stairs, missing the mark by enough to leave Tommy pinned against the railing with nowhere to go. "Adrenaline makes your scent stronger. You already smell like sex and it's driving me crazy. I want more."

No fucking kidding. Edging to the side, Tommy finds the foot of the stairs. Obviously Adam's not the only one who's crazy here, since all it takes is one last look at the hunger on Adam's face for him to make a break for it. Half a flight up, his thighs start to burn, but Adam's right there on his heels. Adam could catch him, easy, but it's the same thing as before, Adam herding him up, touching him when Tommy's not expecting it to startle him into climbing faster for a dozen steps or so before his legs scream and he's got to slow.

A growl from Adam shocks a wheezy laugh out of him and he grabs at the railing, tries to climb faster. He lurches onto the landing by Adam's apartment out of breath, dizzy like he's drunk, the low, steady throb of burning muscles shunted to the back of his mind when he gropes for the doorknob and twists it desperately, finding it locked. "Shit," he hisses, surprised even though he figured this is where Adam would catch him.

Adam's forearms thud against the door on either side of his head, Adam's body a hard, hot line pressed against his back. "Up," Adam says, grabbing at Tommy's thigh, urging him up on his toes to line his dick up with Tommy's ass--Tommy's fucking sore, tender ass--and Tommy goes anyway, arches his back and lets Adam grind against him. It aches and it feels good and fuck, fuck, he's gonna let Adam do him again.

"Oh my god," Adam groans, scrabbling at Tommy's fly. "I promised I wouldn't hurt you. I promised, and I won't, but I have to- I've got to-" and then Tommy's jeans are around his fucking knees, his ass bare to the hallway and the grimy window with rusty iron bars tacked across it like a tic-tac-toe grid.

"Wait," Tommy tries, rattling the knob again as if it's magically unlocked in the last five seconds. They can't do this in the fucking hall. Tommy's legs are gonna give out on him any second, he's not gonna be able to take a fuck out here. And then there's the fucking lube, Christ, what the fuck is Adam thinking?

"Don't," Adam says, and, "It doesn't matter," like he's reading Tommy's fucking mind. The heavy thud of Adam hitting his knees on cracked tile registers first, then Adam's hands on his ass, opening him up for the soft, wet swipe of Adam's tongue. Already up on his toes, Tommy claws at the door, pretty sure that was a fucking yelp that echoed back at him as Adam licks him again, slow and gentle and thorough, and it feels so good on tender flesh that Tommy gives up a moan.

"God, yes," Adam says, kissing him right fucking there, "like that, let me hear you."

"Everybody's gonna fucking hear me," Tommy chokes out.

Adam says, "Let them," thumbs curved in close, spreading the cheeks of Tommy's ass even more so he can nuzzle at Tommy's asshole, so up in Tommy's business it's not even fucking funny. "They can hear you through the walls anyway, baby. They smelled it when I fucked you."

"Jesus Christ," Tommy groans, hiding his face in his arms. If he said no, Adam would stop. He's sure Adam would stop. But he doesn't really want Adam to stop, because Adam's doing all these things that feel really fucking amazing, not even involving any fingers, just lips and tongue and a sliver of teeth. And he never thought he'd be huge on the whole exhibitionism thing, but the idea of everybody knowing he's taken, Adam's totally fucking got him, like he belongs here doing what wolves do, not giving a fuck about time and place, makes his insides twist hotly, and he can't see anybody watching so it's almost like they're alone anyway.

Either Adam can smell it when Tommy gives in, or feel it, or fucking something, because the next second Adam's hands are rough on Tommy's hips, shoving him flush against the metal door, Tommy hissing at the chill. The pressure feels good on his dick, even better when he rocks back onto Adam's face. Fresh, damp heat spills out over his skin. His tee shirt clings uncomfortably. Reaching over his shoulder, he snags the back of it and hauls it up, relishing the scrap of cooler air that rushes in.

Groaning, Adam follows the hem up, tongue flat and stuttering dry when he gets to the base of Tommy's spine. Which is good and all, it's totally a spot of Tommy's, but he had been right there, almost ready to blow from Adam's tongue alone. He shoves back impatiently, trying to get his throat working long enough to add some words to the demand.

"Tommy," Adam says, and Tommy nods fast, 'cause yeah, uh huh, this is him, practically fucking humping Adam's front door, "Tommy, I want, let me," as Adam fucking stands up, easily slides a finger or two into him. Tommy goes up on his toes again, the dull ache flaring to a burn and then settling back to that thick, full-up feeling.

On a ragged noise pushed up straight from the pit of his stomach, Tommy blows it all over the door. He slumps against body-warmed metal, flushed so hot he thinks he's gonna burn up.

Adam breaks out into a wild laugh, making Tommy blush darker. "You're so fucking gorgeous," Adam says, biting at the side of Tommy's neck as he yanks his own jeans open. "I knew you'd come for me, that you wouldn't care if they saw you. You want them to know you're mine."

"No fucking shit," Tommy says, aiming for bland and nailing breathless as the wet head of Adam's dick rubs over his ass. He bites at his lip, wondering if Adam's gonna do him on precome and spit. He feels fucking lose enough for it, even with the ache of being used still there, but he tenses up when Adam's cock pushes against his hole. Then tenses up even more for a whole different reason, Adam's dick riding the crack of his ass, thick ridge bumping over tender skin, sparking a low-grade buzz through the heavy, hazy glow. "Christ, you gonna come on me? You're gonna fucking come on me."

Catching the tendon strung tight between Tommy's neck and shoulder in sharp teeth, pressure just shy of breaking skin, Adam moans, jerking off fast and hard, his dick grazing Tommy's ass on every stroke. Not sure what the fuck he's thinking, Tommy pushes back into it, messing up Adam's rhythm. When Adam grabs onto him with a growl and shoves him against the door, he gets it, and it makes his face burn. "C'mon, harder," he says, pushing past the quick shock of embarrassment, figuring if it's who he is, then there are way worse things than fucking going with it, "really fucking hold me down, mark me up, want 'em to fucking- fucking smell you on me," letting his mouth run on without him, all his focus on the noises Adam's making, low, throaty growls, a hitch when he's close, this one breathless pause before he shoots. Come stripes Tommy's ass, a wet, hot shock even though that was the fucking goal here, and he pushes back again, trying to get Adam to smear it into his skin without asking for it.

One of Adam's arms worms between Tommy and the door, hauling him away from it so his weight settles against Adam, barely standing up on his own two feet anymore. He drops his head back onto Adam's shoulder so Adam can kiss him through the last of it, and he doesn't even care that he's in the middle of a stairwell with his dick out and come drying on his ass. "Fuck," he mumbles, kinda lazy and sloppy with Adam's mouth on his, "I really fucking love you."

Adam keeps kissing him, Tommy's face growing hot, thinking maybe Adam didn't hear. Or Adam is pretending he didn't. Everything society's ever told Tommy means it's too early to say shit like that. Or it's a dumb thing to say right after somebody's gotten you off. Or he's too fucking young to know if he means it or not, even with fucking kids younger than him spewing it left, right and fucking centre on television and nobody blinks twice. It's not even that big a fucking deal. So what if he loves Adam already? It's how he fucking feels.

"Stop, stay," Adam says when he goes to pull away, "not done kissing you yet," losing bits and pieces of words because he won't stop licking into Tommy's mouth. Tommy eases back, sorta into it, because he doesn't think there's honestly going to be a time when he doesn't want to kiss Adam, but sorta not. Adam catches on pretty fast, giving him one last kiss like he's got a point to make before easing back.

"What, man," Tommy says, hitching his jeans up over his junk.

"Not wanting to take you somewhere that's dangerous doesn't mean I don't love you," Adam says, his chin on Tommy's shoulder, his hands smoothing down the front of Tommy's rumpled shirt.

"That's not-"

"It might mean I'm perfectly capable of being a jealous territorial bastard, but it probably also means I want you safe."

"Yeah," Tommy says, "okay," mollified for now. He gets it, but that doesn't mean he's gonna give up on it entirely. If Adam's gonna be his one and fucking only, then Adam's got to deal with the fact that Tommy's a part of his world now. Even all the dirty, grungy, dangerous bits.

*

Tommy's flaked out on Adam's couch, head in Adam's lap, studying the sheet music for the lounge gig when a heavy knock sounds on the door. Adam's hand stills on Tommy's bare thigh, thumb brushing the hemline of his shorts. "You expecting company or something?"

Adam only smiles and gives Tommy a quick, closed-mouth peck. "Don't worry, he's not staying long."

"But," Tommy starts, too late. Adam's already up, halfway down the hall to open the door. Settling deep into the couch, Tommy listens to the low, rumbly greeting from whoever the fuck it is, his heartbeat going double time in the long, weighty silence that follows.

"You brought him here?" the new guy says, totally like he's been gearing up for this fight on his way over.

"Monte, come on," Adam says, the youngest Tommy's ever heard him sound, "of course I brought him here. He's my-"

"Your mate, I know," new guy says grimly. "You said that about the last one, too."

"I said I loved him," Adam counters, "not that he was my mate. I did love him."

"Look where that fucking got you. He's human, isn't he? I can smell him from here."

"I appreciate you looking out for me," Adam says, voice straining around the edges with anger he's doing way better than Tommy is to control, "but even if I didn't fucking know he's mine, I'd still want him to be."

"And it'll probably be great until he gets tired of moving every six months, running from the cops, and spending all his money supporting you because you can't get a steady job, and once the Coalition finds him, because you know they fucking will, they'll turn him into another one of their fucking examples-

"For fuck's sake, Monte, shut up!"

Monte, this short dude with a fucking crazy-ass beard, one of the guys Tommy thinks he saw on stage at the show, looks past Adam to Tommy standing behind him in the hallway, eyes going wide. Tommy doesn't even remember moving from the couch. "Christ, Adam, he's a fucking kid."

"I think you should go," Tommy says as quietly as he can manage.

"A kid," Monte repeats, gaze hopping back to Adam.

"Does that happen?" Tommy asks, ignoring him. There's some shit here Adam didn't tell him. Shit that Tommy's not so sure he wants to know, so it's not like he can be pissed about it. "Is the Coalition responsible for those bodies in the desert?"

Adam looks down at the guitar held tight in Monte's grasp. "Some of them," he says, and Monte snorts. "Seriously, Monte. Shut up."

Taking a stumbling step closer to the wall, Tommy lets it bear most of his weight. It's not totally surprising. Fanatics are fanatics. There's always gonna be somebody who takes shit too far. All that it means is they're gonna have to be careful even after Tommy's graduated. "Okay," Tommy says slowly. "Is that guitar for me to use at our gig?"

Monte says, "Jesus Christ."

Tommy pushes away from the wall, coming up behind Adam to take his hand. It's kinda weird how much more grounded, how sure, Tommy feels when they're skin to skin. "You made your point or whatever. We're being dumb shits. I'm still not going anywhere."

Not quite as certain, Monte says, "That's what you say now."

"And if it's not what I'm saying later, than I'm an even dumber shit than you think."

"It's not gonna be that easy to protect him," Monte says, and Tommy finally recognises the way he's looking at Adam is the same way his dad looks at him sometimes.

"I'll do it anyway," Adam says stubbornly, daring Monte to disagree with him, at the same time Tommy grumbles, "If you're so fucking worried, do something more useful than bitching at him."

For a split second, all Monte does is stare. Then he bursts out in this huge, disbelieving laugh. "You really mean that," he says, grinning weirdly at Tommy.

"Yeah," Tommy says, thinking about Mike and how quick he was to put shit on the line for him. If Mike's parents found out he was helping Tommy sneak around with wolves, they'd probably disown him. Not the same as the Coalition shit Monte's talking about, but still bad enough. "Yeah, I do."

Shaking his head, Monte holds out the guitar. "At least you've got heart. Don't fuck up my guitar."

It's banged up in all kinds of ways, sorta like it's been through some of that running from the cops Monte had been talking about, but the strings look new. Tommy lets go of Adam's hand to give them a cursory strum, not surprised to find it already tuned. "Thanks," he says, setting it down gently by the wall so he's free to hold onto Adam again. "I'll be careful with it."

Monte eyeballs them, and their clasped hands, for a long minute. Finally, he says, "Alright. I'll be around if you need me," all gruff and stern. Between him and Mike, they're surrounded by guys working way too hard at this overprotective father shtick, seriously. Adam's so god damn in-charge all the time, it's fucking weird to see him defer to anybody.

"Don't be such a hardass next time," Adam says, hauling Monte in for a quick, one-armed hug, still holding tight to Tommy's hand. "I'll see you on Thursday."

Monte grunts and waves on his way out the door, but he's got this look like he's trying not to smile. As soon as the door's shut, and the sound of footsteps thudding down the stairs fades, Adam says, "I can't believe you sassed Monte."

Tommy's eyes bug out. "He was fucking yelling at you!"

"That's what Monte does," Adam says, laughter bubbling up. "He glowers and he bellows and he scares the pants off people twice his age, and you sassed him."

"Stop saying sassed," Tommy grumbles half-heartedly, picking the guitar back up in an effort to not catch the giggles he can hear in Adam's voice. "Makes you sound like my grandpa."

Adam catches Tommy up in a tight hug, yanking him off his feet to spin him around. Tommy burbles something about the guitar, but it gets lost in Adam's crowing. "You didn't even fucking blink. You pretty much told him to go fuck himself, and you were terrified of him, but you did it anyway. For me."

"Don't remember being scared," Tommy says, hiking his knees up to clench tight to Adam's hips since Adam doesn't seem like he's gonna put him down anytime soon. Maybe in a distant, oh-shit kinda way, since Monte's a fucking wolf, but not, like, piss his shorts scared. Not like he was the first time he faced down a wolf without knowing Adam had his back.

"That was the most stupid, reckless, beautiful thing ever," Adam says, nuzzling at Tommy's collarbone. "Give me a fucking kiss."

Guitar clenched in one hand, banging against the backs of Adam's legs, Tommy grabs onto Adam's face with the other and lays a big wet one on him. It starts off hilarious, exactly like Tommy'd planned, because this shit they're doing right now is fucking ridiculous, but it doesn't take long for it to ease into something sweet and serious and happy.

When Tommy finally eases up, his lips hot and stinging, looking into Adam's face is like watching the sunset, all softly mellow and gorgeous, the beginning of the night instead of the end of the day. Tommy wants to start all kinds of shit with Adam. All fucking kinds.

"We gotta," Tommy mumbles, fisting Adam's hair to drag him back in again, "gotta, like, practice and shit."

"Kiss me again first," Adam says, and Tommy figures why the fuck not.

*

"Will you be home for dinner tonight?" Tommy's mom asks, randomly stuffing shit into her purse. "I won't be in time to cook anything, but we could order pizza."

Tommy tugs at the stiff collar of his tee. It's a pretty sweet shirt, promo for Rob Zombie's newest horror remake, but the thing's so fucking new it still stinks like plastic wrap even after a run through the wash. "I'm probably gonna hang out after my shift."

"Okay, honey," Mom says, totally distracted trying to figure out if she wants to bring chocolate chip cookies or brownies from the fridge for Dad. She ends up stuffing both in her purse to sneak past the nurses, and comes up with a handful of bills to shove at Tommy. "Buy something with at least one vegetable on it."

"I eat vegetables all the time! You're the one who was gonna order pizza." Tommy stuffs the money into his back pocket. There's probably no delivery in Eastside, but he and Adam could always take the car to pick up snacks before they settle in for another round of practice.

And blowjobs. Holy fuck, the blowjobs. Tommy's never learned a piece of music so fast as the day Adam said they should totally institute a reward system, effectively combining Tommy's glaring need to practice a couple of stubborn chords with his even more glaring need to get the fuck off every twenty minutes when Adam's around. Somebody should've fucking told Tommy how awesome it was to sit around jamming with your half-naked boyfriend. The last week and a half of his life has been filled with so much sex and booze and drugs and music that he actually kinda feels like a rockstar. And it's all been so super fucking casual. Not, like, binge drinking, or getting so damn high he blacks out, but a few mellow puffs here, a beer gone warm before he's had a chance to finish it there, then a lazy, slightly-buzzed handjob to round the evening out. It's fucking beautiful.

"I know, honey," his mom says, yanking him to the present. He's got all that to look forward to tonight, though. His shift's over at five, and then he's got a whole six hours to spend with Adam before they've got to sneak him home. "You're a very responsible young adult. I'm proud of you." She smiles like she's only joking a little and kisses his forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow if I'm asleep by the time you get home."

"'Kay. Tell Dad I said hi." Tommy holds out her purse for her to nab on her way out the door, a flurry of skirts and hair and the scarf Tommy bought for her last Christmas. He waits until he hears the car start, pull out of the driveway, then gives it another five minutes for sure before he locks up the house and heads off for Adam's car parked in the usual spot half a dozen blocks away.

Adam, resting with a hip cocked against the driver's side door, long and lean in the sunlight, makes Tommy's insides do weird, weird things. Fluttery, hot, twisty things. He's got a guy that'll pick him up and bring him to work, dropping him off with a quick kiss in the cover of the back alley, and who'll be there when he's done for the day, take him home and hang out for hours, sharing more kisses and music and deli sandwiches from the place around the corner. It's all weird and grown-up and unreal. A big part of him still can't believe he gets to have all that. It's the same part that's afraid somebody's gonna snatch it all away again, and he's got to hold on tight, so tight, never fucking let go.

"Hey, baby," Adam says, smiling wide, the tail end of both lost in a garble as Tommy surges up to kiss the fuck out of him. He gets with the program pretty fast, hands sliding from Tommy's waist to the middle of his back to pull him in, gentling the edge of Tommy's frantic greeting. "Baby, everything okay with your dad?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, clinging like a fucking burr, "yeah, he's good. I just. Fuck, I got all messed up in my head for a minute. I'm okay."

"You smell worried," Adam says, the slight crease between his eyebrows growing deeper when Tommy lets out a crazy-sounding giggle. "Tommy?"

"No, seriously, I'm okay. 'You smell worried', Jesus." Tommy rubs his nose against Adam's chest, giving him a playful little nudge. "You smell like pot and wolf. Late gig last night?"

Adam's grin goes soft. "Fucking awesome gig, but I'm more interested in how that new song's coming. Did you get the bridge down yet?"

The unhappy twinge that popped up when Tommy started thinking about Adam's gigs--the ones Adam seems determined to never let Tommy ever see again--gets buried under a rush of nerves. "I think so. I mean, I wanna run it by you, because I changed it up a little towards the end, and it's your song and everything, but I think it'll totally fit your voice better now. Really let it stretch, right?"

"I can't wait," Adam says, and not in that patronising way at all, but like he literally can't wait to see what Tommy's done. After they're in the car and on their way downtown, Adam's fingers laced loosely with Tommy's between them on the seat, he asks, "Is it okay if I drop by the store early this evening? I'll probably finish up my errands about an hour before you're off."

"Totally," Tommy says, another one of those happy thrills zinging through him when Adam gives his hand a squeeze, smiling out at the thin stream of traffic. Tommy squeezes back. Fucking domestic bliss, that's what this shit is.

*

"And then," Dave-not-the-assistant-manager says, gesturing wildly, "then she says, she says she'll see me fucking later. And I'm there, staring at this sweet ass of hers walking in the other fucking direction, and she's all fucking- Hey, hi, can I help you find something?"

Tommy blinks. "She's wha- Oh." Adam's here, standing between the vinyl bins and the Two Movies! 2.99! display. Tommy's belly does that crazy swoopy thing again. He stares at Adam winding his way closer through the maze of Best Deal!s like a total dork, smiling stupidly. "Hey."

Looking way too interested, Dave asks, "Friend of yours?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, itching to take Adam's hand. "This is the music guy that I was telling you about."

One of Adam's eyebrows creeps into a slow arch. "You were?"

Tommy does his best not to blush. He really, really sucks at lying, so he's figured out the best way for him to get away with shit is to stick as close to the truth as possible. "Don't let it go to your head or anything."

"He's only been talking about you nonstop all week," Dave says, twisting and twisting the paperclip he's been torturing for the last twenty minutes and grinning like a fiend. "It's almost like he's excited, y'know? Tommy Joe, bubbling with excitement. Weirdest shit I ever saw."

"But I won't let it go to my head," Adam says wryly, gaze cutting sideways to pin Tommy.

"I'm gonna alphabetise the fucking jazz section," Tommy grumbles, the big-ass smile taking over his face totally ruining his threat.

"What, you're not gonna beg and plead for me to let you go early?" Dave thumps his chest. "Y'know I got the power now."

"Speaking of going to your head," Tommy says.

Dave gives Adam a look. "You see the lip I gotta deal with? And here I was, about to let him skip out a whole twenty minutes early so he could play rockstar."

"It's shameful," Adam agrees, enjoying this shit way too much. "And he isn't even alphabetising."

"Fuck you both very much," Tommy says, still grinning. Obviously he's insane, since he's getting as much of a kick out of this as Adam is. They're not even doing anything, just sorta hanging out with one of Tommy's casual friends, and it's awesome. "See if I fix your lame progressions anymore."

Adam sputters out a shocked laugh. "It wasn't lame! It was a placeholder!"

"Uh huh." Tommy folds his arms, putting on his best doubtful face.

"You little shit," Adam says, his hand twitching like he wants to grab onto Tommy, maybe tickle him into submission like that one night last week when they'd been screwing around and it turned into an all-out war. Tommy totally lost, pinned on his belly in the middle of the tousled living room with Adam sitting on his legs, tears streaming down his face as he begged Adam to ease up just a minute, let him get some air. They ended up fucking right there, hard and slow while Tommy clung to Adam trying to relearn how to breathe.

The next breath Adam draws is slightly deeper than the last as he scents the memory on Tommy's skin. It takes everything Tommy's got not to shiver.

"So, uh," Dave says, gaze jumping weirdly between them, "did you wanna take off early or not, man?"

"If it's cool with you, yeah." Tommy scratches at the back of his neck, trying to get a handle on his crazy hormones. It's bad enough when Adam isn't around that some random thing, like, the way the sun hits the chrome bumper on a car, or the smell of a dusty hallway with dirt ground into the corners, ends up reminding him of Adam and he pops wood so fast his head spins. Having Adam right here in front of him but not being able to touch is brutal.

Dave waves a hand, almost knocking over the stack of damaged CDs they're supposed to be doing something with. "Get the hell outta here already."

"Gone," Tommy says, shooting bolt upright and making a beeline for the door. "Clock me out, dude. Got nothing in the back, let's go."

"I fucking love you too!" Dave shouts after them as the door swings shut.

"Sorry," Tommy says, speed-walking for the alley where Adam usually parks. Adam's presence hot at his back makes him want to break into a run, let Adam chase him for a few blocks before pinning him to a wall somewhere to shove a hand down his pants. "I couldn't fucking help it. I was thinking about when we, like, in your living room, and fuck, that was so good."

"Talking about it is not the best way to keep me from fucking you in the back of my car," Adam says.

A jolt of lust-ridden adrenaline shoots through Tommy's veins. Still a good dozen feet away from the relative cover of the old sedan, he turns around, caught up against Adam's chest in half a second flat with Adam's hands rough on his arms. "We should totally fuck in your car," he says, stupidly eager.

"It's not as awesome as it sounds," Adam says, the tone of his voice totally backing him up but the razor-thin ring of yellow around his pupils making a total liar out of him. "I'd rather have you in my bed."

"Or your kitchen," Tommy says, wriggling free to back towards the car. "Or the hallway, or the living room, or your fucking bathroom when I'm all innocently trying to brush my teeth and you wake up horny."

Adam says, "You were naked," like that's a totally legitimate reason for sneaking up behind him and palming his sleepy dick. It had been a pretty fucking sweet way to say goodnight, Adam's chest solid at his back, arms looped around him, hands working his dick nice and slow between playing with his balls, slipping a little further back just to touch him a little. Would've been better if they hadn't had to drag their asses out into the night to drive Tommy all the way home, but he's totally not complaining.

Hauling open the passenger's side door, Tommy uses it as a shield between him and Adam's grabby hands. "No fucking until we nail this song."

Adam's eyes go comically wide. "That's not fair! You're teasing me."

"Am not. I'm totally gonna deliver."

"Teasing is not nice," Adam growls, grabbing onto the top of the door like he's thinking about ripping it off to get to Tommy. "I can smell you getting hard right now."

"Because you're fucking looking at me," Tommy protests. And wow, way to sound like a total freak. "I mean, like, looking at me like you're gonna eat me or something. You're all," he gestures vaguely, "wolfy."

"That turns you on," Adam says, sounding like it's this big huge question mark for him while for Tommy it's more like a twenty-foot flashing neon arrow.

"Yeah, shit, of course." Inching away from the door, Tommy sits his ass down on the seat. A quick puff of breath gets the wispy bits of his hair out of his eyes so he can look up at Adam. "I'm not being a total objectifying douche, but yeah. The whole, you know, the stuff you do. Biting me and, like, fucking scenting me and shit. It turns me on."

Sucking in a sharp breath, Adam glances quickly down to make sure all Tommy's bits and pieces are inside the car before he slams the door. The car rocks, shocks squealing, as he hops over the trunk, Tommy twisting around just in time to see him land on the other side and wrench the driver's door open. "You're not kidding, right?" Adam asks once he's in, one hand on the wheel and the other clutching his keys.

Tommy's turn to stare. "Are you fucking kidding me right now? I mean, you, like, you've been there every time you made me lose it so hard I thought I'd fucking bust something."

"Tommy, please," Adam says, breathing shallowly through his mouth. "Tell me you're being serious."

"I am so dead fucking serious." When Adam keeps breathing through his mouth all weirdly, Tommy scoots across the seat. "No, like. I mean it. I'm not fucking tolerating it or some shit." If that's the way Adam's thinking, no wonder he only does it when they're either fucking or about to. He thought it was just a thing that went with the preshow, like adjusting your dick or something. Foreplay, werewolf-style. "Do it now. Sniff me or bite me or whatever."

With a sound like a whine, Adam tightens his grip on the wheel. He holds on until Tommy reaches across his lap, ready to crawl right fucking into it to get him to do something, and then he's pushing Tommy down, pressing his face into Tommy's belly. His breath is hot through Tommy's tee, goosebumps prickling all along Tommy's arms and raising the hair on the back of his neck when Adam tugs his shirt out of the way, nose grazing skin. It's really, really sexual at the same time it's not. All Adam's doing is smelling him, a brush of lips every now and then, and it's turning Tommy's crank so fucking hard. They're not even gonna do anything--can't out here, too easy to get caught, and fuck, what they're already up to is so bad--but it totally doesn't matter.

Sitting up, Adam keeps scenting the close air, eyes heavy and dark as he watches Tommy breathe. Tommy's cock twitches, filling out even more, his jeans so tight it's kinda starting to hurt a bit. He shifts, trying to ease the pressure, and Adam makes that low rumbly noise, not quite a growl, the warning Tommy gets sometimes right before Adam starts fucking him for real. Biting hard at his lip, Tommy stills.

"Oh my god," Adam says, closing his eyes. "You mean it."

"Told you I did." Tommy risks a tiny wriggle, breathing easier when the seam of his jeans quits pinching his nuts. "Totally pro-wolf over here."

Adam barks a laugh, followed quickly by the startled giggle he lets out every time Tommy manages to surprise him. "C'mere," he says, holding out a hand for Tommy to grasp, tucking Tommy in close to his side as he starts the car. "I really need to cuddle you right now."

"Also pro-cuddling," Tommy says, wriggling around again to get comfy as best he can with the gearshift in the way. "Gonna sniff me s'more on the way home?"

"You're ridiculous," Adam says, but when they hit the first red, his nose is buried in Tommy's hair, his breathing slow and even and content. Tommy is so fucking good at this inter-species relationship crap, he should write a book.

*

From the dark of the wings, Tommy peers out at the audience. Looks like it's mostly young professionals and classy middle-agers, pretty much the kind of crowd you'd expect to find in a lounge that charges fifteen dollars a cocktail. It's a pretty high-brow joint to be hiring talent under the table. But then, places like this can get away with shit like that. Tommy doesn't even look like he's close to legal, but when he showed up at Adam's side, the dude running the show assumed he was a werewolf and turned a blind eye to the frosty beer Adam nudged his way. As good as it was, it didn't even make a dent in the jittering of his stomach.

"Breathe, baby," Adam says, close behind him stroking a soothing hand across Tommy's belly. "You're going to be amazing."

"We're gonna be fucking awesome," Tommy agrees. "But I might need to throw up first."

Adam nuzzles in close to his ear, trusting in the shadows to keep prying eyes out. The house drummer's still at the bar hitting on a chick with legs longer than Tommy is tall. "Ten minutes to our set. Time for a blow in the back if you need to relax."

"Ugh, shit, don't even joke," Tommy says, pressing Adam's hand tighter to his churning stomach. "I probably couldn't even get it up right now."

Pulling back a bit, Adam turns Tommy's face up. "Are you really that afraid? You smell nervous and excited, not scared. You know you don't have to do this."

"Stage fright. I'll get over it." Fuck, he hopes he'll get over it. They didn't tell the house he was coming, just in case the guitarist decided that meant he could fuck off for the night and leave them hanging, but Tommy's got no intentions of flaking out if he can at all help it. They worked way too hard. And the guitarist only knows the old arrangements, while Adam's been practicing the new ones for days. Nope. Tommy's going out there, and that's it.

Tugging him in for a tight hug, Adam says, "Let's set up. Give your brain something else to focus on."

Breathing in and out a couple times, really slowly, Tommy nods. Distractions are good.

Except once he's out on the stage, there's no ignoring the curious gazes. He fiddles with his borrowed equipment, tuning and retuning and straightening out cords as the drummer finally weaves his way to the stage. Somebody brings out a couple stools, setting one for Adam right near the front of the stage and one for Tommy way, way in the back near the drum kit. Tommy grabs that fucker right off the bat and plants it all of two feet from Adam, maybe a couple inches back. Grinning, Adam reaches out and gives it a pat, mostly an invitation for Tommy to sit his ass down, but also letting him know they're close enough to touch if Tommy really needs it. There are no fucking words for how much Tommy appreciates that one gesture.

Mic down, smiling softly, Adam asks, "Ready?"

"Yeah," Tommy croaks, stilling nervous fingers on the frets. It takes him a little longer to lift his head, flinging his hair back from his face. "Yeah, fuck, c'mon. Let's do it."

Smile growing, Adam gives the guy in the wings the go-ahead and turns to greet the crowd. Tommy only hears half of what he's saying, focused more on the familiar cadence of his voice, the way the dark presses close again when the drumbeat kicks in. The first few chords Tommy plays are too tentative. Tommy clenches his teeth, ignoring the drummer boring holes into his back as Adam holds off to let the rhythm repeat, giving Tommy a chance. Tommy's not gonna disappoint him, or himself, or anybody else out there. He flexes his fingers, coming back in stronger, stronger again, until Adam's voice rises to meet the music, meld with it, and then it's so fucking easy. Not easy like he doesn't have to put the effort in, because he does. Adam tends to improvise, linger, and the guitar in most of his pieces isn't there for rhythm but to act as another voice to compliment his.

It's easy like this is what he's meant to do, be that voice for Adam, support and lift him higher and higher, a smooth push-pull that brings down the house long before the last note fades.

"Save some of that for later," Adam tells the audience, plucking up the glass next to his stool and giving Tommy a warm glance over the rim as he drinks. "We're just getting started."

*

Fooling around in Adam's car is exactly as cramped and uncomfortable as Adam said it would be, and about fifty billion times as awesome. They're parked near the warehouses again, far away from the freeway, where the shadows are deepest. Tommy's got about thirty minutes before he needs to be home or his mom's going to start cracking down for real on this habit he's got of being late for curfew. That's so not enough time to even get to Adam's place in Eastside, let alone do all the things that Tommy is fucking dying to do there, so this quick dirty handjob thing, fuelled by the adrenaline of the fucking awesome show they put on, is gonna have to be enough.

"C'mon," Tommy says, hiking his hips up, "oh, fuck, c'mon, fucking, harder."

"Ten minute walk," Adam says, biting at Tommy's throat, words humming beneath skin, thrumming all the way down to pulse in Tommy's dick. "I can make you last fifteen."

"But I don't-" Tommy gives up talking with a grunt, grabbing onto Adam's shoulder to fuck roughly into his fist. Fuck, he wants to come. Being on that stage with Adam wasn't anything like he thought it would be. He wants to spend his whole fucking life up there, and here, stuffed in this too-small space, anywhere Adam is. How the fuck he made it through all the years so far without Adam in his blood is a total fucking mystery to him. It'd take more than a knife to cut Adam out of him now.

"God," Adam says, his hand slipping over Tommy's cock, wet with so much spit and precome there's barely any friction at all, just this perfect endless slide that's driving Tommy crazy. He wants to fuck so bad. "Baby, come on, get your legs up."

Tommy says, "Fuck," and kicks one foot free of his jeans, hooking his knee over Adam's shoulder as Adam crawls above him, slick fingers sliding down to find his asshole, rub it wet and open so he can push inside. Tommy clenches tight, grabbing blindly at the door, the dash, as he rocks frantically between Adam's hands. He's so fucking close he can taste it, thick and salty at the back of his throat like he's already had Adam's dick in his mouth. "Gonna," he pants, "gonna suck you off after, gonna fucking go to bed still tasting you, fuck, fuck, fuck," and he loses it thinking about lying in the dark in the bedroom he grew up in with Adam's come still slick on his tongue.

"Tommy," Adam groans, fingers pulling free, palm rubbing over Tommy's dick as it jerks, smearing the mess everywhere, "Tommy, just your hand, baby, give me your hand."

Fumbling with Adam's fly, Tommy gets one hand inside to haul his cock out, big and thick and shiny wet, and rubs the other over Adam's hand, gathering up his come to slick it even wetter. Braced on one elbow, Adam gives a sharp grunt and fucks Tommy's fist rough and ragged and really fucking far gone like he never is straight out of the gate like this. He tangles a hand in Tommy's hair, wrenching his head back too far, so all Tommy can see is torn upholstery on the roof and the car door upside down, handle on top and window on bottom. Pure electricity dances down Tommy's spine, bright yellow sparks making him firm his grip and ignore the ache in his wrist after playing way past their set for an encore so he can jack Adam faster, feel his balls draw tight and his dick pulse and the hot, wet spill of come all down his knuckles. He doesn't want to stop. Adam feels too good in his hand, hard beneath impossible softness, blood-thick and heavy. Even when Adam tugs on his hair and whines, trying to get him to stop, he almost can't. His arm's shaking when he finally pulls his hand away.

"I need to fucking graduate tomorrow," Tommy says, staring up through the shadows at Adam's face. It's getting harder and harder to drag himself from Adam, and the life he wants to have with him, to the one he's got to live through first. School feels like a million miles away. Like Mars, or fucking Pluto--a place you hear about but never, ever expect to go.

Adam drags in a stuttering breath, then another. "We've got a few minutes yet," he says, and kisses every last one of them away.

*

The Monday after their show, Tommy heads home alone from his shift at the music store. Adam's got a gig somewhere north of the city, far enough away it's an overnight thing, so he's gone all Monday and most of Tuesday. It's seriously fucking with Tommy's head to be separated for so long. It's not even that fucking long, only a day and a half, but he hasn't gone a day without seeing Adam since they started doing this thing for real. Tommy can't even call him, because they still haven't gotten him his own fucking phone. He feels disconnected and too big for his own skin and he totally almost bit Dave's head off today for no fucking good reason at all.

"It's probably a mate thing," Mike says, almost lost in the traffic noise as Tommy walks home with his phone glued to his ear, desperate for some kind of genuine contact with another person.

"A mate thing?" Tommy prompts when there's nothing but rustling coming across the line.

"In myth, wolves pine without their mates. Real wolves are more 'til death do us part about it, and go find another one when the one they're with dies. But yeah, pining. You're pining, dude."

"I am not fucking pining."

"You've been on the phone with me for two hours. I listened to you do nothing but breathe for ten minutes, man. You're fucking pining."

Tommy gives a rock a vicious kick off the sidewalk into a scraggly patch of weeds. "It sucks that I can't go with him. My fucking boyfriend's in the band and I don't even get to see the show, let alone bone him backstage."

Mike says, "Yep. Sucks. You coming over to get high or what?"

"Fuck, I so am," Tommy breathes. "Lemme go change out of this skanky shirt, leave a note for my mom, and I'm so there."

"Rock on, Ratliff," Mike says, and hisses a curse when something clangs. "Gotta go. Bring munchies."

Stuffing his phone away, Tommy picks up the pace, cutting through the playground with only the barest twinge. It's not fucking pining, though. He's allowed to miss his guy, doesn't mean he's gonna waste away like some chick in a gothic romance.

When Tommy gets home, his mom's car is in the drive. Sure she said she'd be at the hospital with his dad today, giving the doctors hell because they're dragging their feet about him checking out, he's not too worried until he opens the door and a miasma of doom settles heavily on his shoulders. "Mom?" he calls, running through the hall to the kitchen. "Mom, why're you home? Is Dad okay?"

"Tommy," she says, in a perfect, even tone that means she's twenty seconds from going postal. At least that means Dad's probably okay, since postal isn't exactly her usual reaction to bad news about him, but it probably isn't good news for Tommy. "Sit down, honey. We need to talk."

Tommy inches around the doorjamb. "Can I stay over here?"

Mom sets her cup of coffee down very deliberately. Tommy swallows. Fuck. She knows about him sneaking off to Eastside every five minutes. She's got to. He wracks his brain trying to figure out when they slipped up. If anything, they've been even more careful since Adam invited him to play the lounge gig. Neither one of them wanted to mess up his chance.

"I'm going to ask you only once, Tommy," Mom says, and oh fuck, that is not good, "where were you Wednesday night?"

Jerking my boyfriend off in the front seat of his car. "Um."

"One chance," she says ominously.

"I, uh, had a thing." Nervously, Tommy tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, huffing when it slides free again right away. "Like, a show?"

"A show," she repeats. Either she knows exactly what he was up to Wednesday night, or she's got the best fucking poker face Tommy's ever seen. Since she lies about as well as he does, he doubts it's the latter. "Where, Tommy?"

"At a lounge?" Fuck. Tommy clears his throat. "I mean, uh. At a lounge. Somewhere. I didn't drink or anything! I was there, um." Somehow, his mother's eyes turn frosty. Like, a slice of the fucking Antarctic right here in the bright summer sunlight streaming through the windows. "I played with some guys I know."

"You told me you were going to Mike's."

Shit. Shit. He knew that one would bite him in the ass. He didn't even have to tell her where he was going. She hardly ever asks. "I know. I lied, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to! But I didn't think you'd let me go."

"If you didn't do anything wrong there," Mom says, every word carefully measured, "then why did you lie?"

Fuck, fuck, shit. This is why Tommy's not made for a life of fucking sneaking around, he never has a god damn story ready for when he's caught. "Because I didn't think you'd let me play it."

"If you think I'm not going to let you do something, that's a good reason not to do it. Not a good reason to lie about it. But why wouldn't I let you play?"

"Because, like, you want me spending my time getting ready for college. And I, um." Holy shit, holy shit, d-day's come early. "I'm not going to college."

Wow. That was way easier than 'fessing up to having a werewolf boyfriend. Score.

"Oh, honey," Mom says, a suspicious wet shine in her eyes.

Panicking, Tommy shoots across the kitchen and nabs a handful of tissues from the box on top of the fridge. Fuck. Fuck. He knew this college thing meant to much to her, it's not fucking healthy. "Shit, Mom, don't cry."

"I'm not crying," she says evenly, taking the crumpled tissues and setting them down beside her cooling coffee. She totally looks like the waterworks are about to start, and shit, he's never made his mom cry before, he's such a fucking asshole. "I'm upset. I know you don't want to go to college. I won't say I hadn't been hoping you'd change your mind. But that you had to lie to me about your music because you thought I'd try to stop you, sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Tommy says in a daze. "I, um. I'm sorry I lied to you about it. It was really important to me and I didn't-- But I shouldn't have lied. I'm really, really sorry."

"Okay." Tugging at her sleeves, his mom straightens up. She's got her Tough Corporate Chick Face on. "I realise this is going to sound very unfair, but you're grounded."

"What?" Tommy couldn't have heard that right. He's got pretty serious plans to mope the night away with Mike, some classic horror flicks, and Mike's quality stash. "What do you mean, grounded? I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You lied instead of talking to me. And not just about playing that show."

"But I said I was sorry!"

"It isn't any easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission, either," his mom says pointedly, and calmly picks up her coffee to warm in the microwave. "It's only for a week. You'll survive."

Tommy can so not believe this shit. Yeah, okay, he didn't get busted. But fucking grounded. "Grounded," he says, wondering if it'll sound more real. It seriously fucking doesn't. "You never fucking ground me."

"Language," she warns, so not joking even a little bit. "I've never grounded you before because you've never been bothered much by staying in the house. if you're not careful, you'll lose your phone, too."

Slapping a protective hand over his phone in his pocket, Tommy quickly retreats half a dozen steps. "What about work?"

"Of course you can go to work. Straight there, and straight home."

For a split-second, Tommy considers the merits of lying about when his shifts are. Knowing his mom, though, now that she's on the warpath about something, she'll fucking call the store to make sure he's working. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A fucking week. A day without Adam and he's already going to climb out of his fucking skin.

"If you're pissed off about me not going to college, fine," Tommy snaps, and turns around to stomp up the stairs. "But I'm not gonna change my fucking mind."

"Tommy Ratliff!" his mom shouts after him, but he darts down the hallway and flings his door shut. Angry, frustrated tears burn hot behind his eyes. Wrenching his phone out of his pocket, he quickly fills Mike in, crazy-ass typos everywhere that he can't be bothered to fix. Mike'll know what he means. And he can't call. Fuck, he can't call, he's this fucking close to bawling his stupid head off.

Way to man up and shit! Mike texts back, totally missing the fucking point. Whatever the fuck that means. Congrats dude.

Yeah but now i'm stuck home, Tommy bitches. FUCKING GROUNDED FOR A WEEK.

Mike's reply takes longer to come back. Tommy's not sure if it's because the fucker's toking up without him, or is busy trying to come up with something that won't send Tommy into a tailspin of dramatic lovesick insanity. He's maybe starting to calm down a little, the urge to scream and cry and throw shit tapering off enough for him to sit his ass on the bed by the time his phone chimes again. Jerk off thinking bout ur bf, pinky. Like u do every night.

Fuck u. Usually he's jerkin me off.

Dude i'm sorry. Want me to bust ur ass out?

Tommy makes a noise that is so totally not a sniffle, tells Mike it's cool, but if he could drop by the store on Wednesday, that would be really awesome. He gets back a promise that Mike'll be there or be square, which is just the stupidest shit but makes Tommy feel a teeny tiny bit better. There's got to be some way he can get a message to Adam, and Mike'll totally have some crazy ninja idea. Mike's always got ideas. It helps that his mom lets him have the run of the fucking internet. Tommy would so be better at this shit if he had the knowledge of a hundred thousand devious teenagers behind him.

He kills some time practicing Adam's songs, but that ends up making him sad and lonely on top of everything else. Resisting the urge to fling his old guitar aside--it's not the guitar's fault--he blasts some Manson, letting his mom know how fucking ticked off his is over this shit. Three songs in, he's pacing his room, seething. She couldn't fucking stop him if he left. Kids do shit like that all the time. Once she's asleep, there's nothing to stop him from, like, climbing out his fucking window.

Except he's on the second floor, and he's never climbed out a window before, and what the fuck is he gonna risk breaking his neck for? Adam's not even in the city. He left Tommy here alone to go put on a show Tommy's never gonna get to fucking see.

Facedown on the bed, teeth clenched so hard his jaw aches to keep the tears trapped firmly behind his eyelids, Tommy lets Manson scream and growl and snarl at him. Some motherfucking mate Adam is.

*

The next day, Tommy lurks around the house unable to focus on a damn thing. Movies are boring, his video games suck, none of the songs he tries to play go right. His mom's home again, which means she fucking took another day off to hang around and make sure he stayed grounded. Of all the stupid fucking shit to do. She already takes day after day after day to be with his dad, it's a waste to spend one on him and his single shining moment of teenage rebellion. It'd be a hell of a lot easier to stand the whole house arrest thing if she wasn't fucking there, being all silently disappointed in him. He's done way worse shit than she could probably even dream, and she's treating lying about playing a fucking show like he robbed a fucking bank.

Around six, after he's done all the stupid dinner dishes for the stupid fucking dinner he didn't want to eat, he goes upstairs, shoves open his window, and leans half his body out over the sill, judging the distance. A bone would definitely break if he gave that shit a shot. He'd seriously kill for a joint or some Jack or fucking something right now. He was supposed to meet Adam by the warehouses an hour ago. Right around now, Adam's probably listening to some tunes, frowning absently at his watch every now and then, wondering what the hell the holdup is. Tommy's never been late. Maybe soon, Adam'll start to worry. He'll get all pissed off thinking something's happened, fucking, like, wolf out or something, and track Tommy down by his day-old scent from the walk home from work.

By the time the sun goes down, Tommy's decided Adam knows exactly where he is and is only waiting for the cover of darkness to come get him. Eleven o'clock comes and goes while Tommy fiddles with the playlists on his iPod. Then midnight rolls around, and rolls on without Adam making an appearance. One o'clock. Two. It's way, way past his curfew. If Adam is at the park waiting for him, he's gotta know by now Tommy's not gonna show. Why the fuck isn't he here?

Giving up, Tommy slumps off to bed. Another five fucking days of this shit. His life sucks.

*

Wednesday, as promised, Mike shows up at the store while Dave-the-manager and Dave-not-the-manager are out back for a smoke break before Dave-the-manager goes home and leaves his precious store in the hands of two well-meaning, music-obsessed kids. Mike takes one look at him and says, "Dude, you look like shit."

"Thanks a fucking lot," Tommy says, shoving fucking Aretha Franklin back into the bin where she belongs. It seriously pisses him off that people can't put shit back where they found it. The next person he catches stuffing CDs into the movie racks is getting a fucking earful.

Mike holds up both hands, palms out. "Don't snarl at me, wolfboy. I'm on your side."

"He didn't come by last night," Tommy says, shoulders sagging. "I totally stood him up, and he's probably all pissed off and hurt and wondering what the fuck he was doing screwing around with a kid, and I can't even tell him it's because I'm fucking grounded. Grounded!"

Giving his shoulder a brotherly pat, Mike stumbles back a step when Tommy whirls around, gesturing frantically with a New Kids on the Block Anniversary Collection. For fucking serious, Dave-the-manager has got to be fucking high when he orders shit. (Except five of these fucking things came in, and only two are left, which is just so fucking Twilight Zone, Tommy's refusing to think about it.) "And even if I could fucking tell him, he'll probably dump my ass anyway. Grounded, Mike. Fucking grounded. Who wants to date somebody that gets grounded and doesn't even have the balls to say fuck it and jump out his bedroom window?"

"Somebody who's not fucking Spider-Man?" Mike says.

Weirdly, that gets all jumbled up in Tommy's head, and the next thing he knows, he's bent double clinging to the side of a bin laughing his fucking ass off. Because no, he's not fucking Spider-Man, in any sense of the word. He's totally doing it with, like, he doesn't even fucking know. A wolf. Michael J. fucking Fox circa 1985.

"Dude," Mike says, awed. He keeps patting Tommy's shoulder worriedly. "This is totally getting to you. It's like you're detoxing."

"M'not fucking detoxing," Tommy wheezes, struggling up.

"Okay," Mike says, not buying it.

"What the fuck ever." Dragging a hand back through his hair, Tommy shakes off the urge to giggle crazily. "Okay, so. I need you to buy a phone for me."

"A phone?"

"Yeah, a phone. From 7-11. The cheapest fucking one you can find." Tommy digs through his pockets for his wallet and fishes out a handful of bills. Seventy bucks is the best he can do until payday next week. "I'll pay you back if it's not enough."

Mike, because he is the very fucking best, doesn't ask any questions. Like why Tommy can't go buy the fucking phone himself on his lunch (Tommy suspects Dave-the-manager might have gotten a call from his mom, which is just, so fucking embarrassing) or why Tommy needs a pre-paid piece of shit when he's got a perfectly good phone. He takes the money, says, "Back in a few," and heads off.

Tommy jitters the next fifteen minutes away. Dave-the-manger leaves a couple minutes later, after giving a few half-assed instructions about shit he wants done, which is the same shit he always wants done. Tommy nods dutifully and jitters around some more.

"Dude," Dave-not-the-manager says. "You on something?"

"Your face," Tommy tosses back, staring holes in the front door as he dusts shelves.

"Dude," Dave repeats, affronted and kinda impressed, and goes into the back to log inventory or process out damages or fucking jerk off, Tommy doesn't give a shit. How fucking long does it take to buy a damn burner phone, anyway?

Just as Tommy's ready to make like Spider-Man for real and climb the fucking walls, Mike meanders back with a 7-11 bag kicking around his legs. Reading the back of a phone card, he says, "This is so cheap and sleazy. Awesome."

"Dude, don't activate it!" Tommy says, flinging himself around a bin too fast, whacking his hip off the corner. He stumbles, but aside from that, barely notices.

"Jesus." Mike holds up the bag and the phone card like a shield. "Chill, man. I didn't touch it. I bought you some fucking extra time, here."

"Sorry," Tommy says, pausing long enough in wrenching the phone free of the plastic to give Mike a sloppy hug. "I'm sorry, you're totally right, I'm going fucking insane."

"Seriously," Mike agrees. He hops up on the edge of the counter. "So, you got the phone. What're you gonna do with it?"

"I'm not gonna do anything with it," Tommy says, finally getting the phone free. Staring at it for a minute, he shrugs and sticks it in his armpit.

"Uh," Mike says.

"Shut up." Tommy squeezes his arm down harder, like he could force the plastic to absorb his scent. "I'm gonna wrap it in a shirt after, you won't have to get your precious hands all dirty."

"Your life is really weird," Mike points out.

"Fucking tell me about it." Tommy hops around a little from foot to foot, trying to will himself into sweating a bit without really putting in the effort. "I'm pretty sure he could sniff me out of a dumpster, but why take fucking chances, right? And I was just gonna stuff it under a tree in the park or something, but with my luck, some bum'll wander in and make off with it."

Reaching behind the counter, Mike helps himself to Dave and Dave's stash of post-smoke Tic Tacs. "Thought you were pissed he didn't show last night?"

"I am. Sorta." Grabbing a couple CDs off the counter, Tommy goes to awkwardly put them away with the phone still caught beneath his arm. "But, like, maybe he was tired and shit. You haven't seen those shows, man, they go crazy up there."

"You're totally wigging out," Mike says, and pops a handful of candies into his mouth. "It's kind of adorable, Tommy Joe, I feel like I should film you so he can watch it later. Too bad he already knows you're a total dork."

"Shut the fuck up," Tommy says. Flicking a quick glance at both doors, glad there are no customers and it takes Dave-not-the-manager twenty fucking minutes to rub one out in the bathroom, Tommy nabs another promo shirt from the box of swag, rips open the plastic, and quickly hauls his old one off to tug the new one on. It's stiff and scratchy, and totally stinks. Careful not to let the phone touch anything but his hands and his old shirt, Tommy wraps it up tight and stuffs it in the plastic bag. "Try not to get your stink all over it, okay?"

Mike holds the bag out at arm's length by the tips of his fingers. "What the fuck d'you want me to do with it? Wave it around?"

"Put it somewhere outside your house," Tommy says. "Where your mom's not gonna find it. Adam'll probably catch the scent before he gets close to my place, and he'll think I'm over there. Then you can give him the phone and my number and tell him to fucking call me."

One side of his mouth quirked up, Mike says, "I could've just let him use my phone, you know."

"Fuck off, he needs something to fucking take with him so I can fucking call him next time my mom decides she's actually gonna be a fucking mom and cockblock me."

"Dude," Dave says from the back, slow and dragged out like he was either totally jerking off or smoking up or both. "That is so not cool. When did you hook up? I thought Mike was totally your girlfriend."

Mike's face twists sourly. He hops off the counter. "You are so fucking oblivious, man. Tommy J, later."

"No, seriously." Dave wobbles out to slump against the counter. "Who's your girl? Are chicks literally throwing themselves at you now that you're in a band?"

Tommy stares. Dave is un-fucking-real. He was actually afraid Dave would be the one person to actually figure out what Tommy was up to, with Adam dropping him off and picking him up every day for work. "You're an idiot," Tommy says, grinning. "I fucking love you, man."

"Yeah, well, you're fucking short," says Dave. "I hope she bites your dick next time."

When Tommy ends up fucking laughing his head off like a total loon all over again, Dave makes a disgusted face and goes to reorganise the graveyard of posters in the back nobody ever bothers to flip through. Tommy would tell him the truth that his dick is totally not what ends up covered in bites, but then he'd have to explain a whole bunch of shit, and honestly, it's way more fun to listen to Dave bitch in the corner about crazy punk-ass teenagers. Since Dave is, like, one year older than him, it's extra hilarious.

Tommy spends the rest of his shift listening to Dave spout shit like, "Dust the shelves, weirdo!" and tossing back, "I'll dust your mom," just to hear him gurgle. Tommy even only thinks about Adam maybe fifteen or twenty times. He's totally not pining. He's got a plan.

*

After dinner that night, Tommy's hanging out his window again, pining. He flicks at a flake of loose paint, watching it tumble down into the grass. He hadn't wanted to jinx it by thinking about it too much, but since Adam didn't fucking show up anyway, it doesn't matter. Today was the first day in over two weeks Adam didn't pick him up after work. Not that Tommy could've gone anywhere with him, but he could've at least told Adam what the fuck was going on. Maybe since Tommy didn't show up at the usual spot for Adam to drive him to his shift, Adam figured he didn't need a ride home.

Tommy pries up another paint flake and crushes it under his thumb. It's really, really hard not to think about all the terrible reasons why Adam isn't even making an effort to get to him. There's playing it safe, like Tommy's doing, and then there's being a total asswipe. And worse still, Tommy's mom is gonna figure out really fucking soon something more than being grounded is getting him down. He barely touched his dinner again tonight, because apparently he totally is the wasting heroine of a fucking period romance.

Slumping down the stairs, Tommy collapses in the armchair and stares blankly at whatever sitcom his mom's watching, just so he's making a fucking effort at being social and heading off the inevitable grilling about what the fuck is the matter with him. She looks up at him for a long minute, then turns back to the show without saying anything. Maybe if he could talk to his dad without her around, he could get some fucking sympathy in this house. But probably not. The last thing his dad said to him when they chatted on the phone before eating was that he was really disappointed Tommy wasn't even going to give college a try. Tommy didn't even have the energy to give him the same spiel he's been giving Mom for the last few nights. Like talking to fucking walls, both of them.

*

Tommy wakes with a start. His room's lit in greyscale, a slight breeze making his open blinds clack against the window frame. Rolling over, he closes his eyes, firmly telling himself that's what woke him and it'd be really stupid to get his hopes up.

He's so getting his fucking hopes up. Scooting out of bed, he fumbles his way half-asleep to the window, scrubbing gunk out of his eyes. Feeling like a total tool, he whispers, "Adam?"

A soft yip, like from a dog, echoes through the night. Tommy grips the sill harder. "Please. Adam, c'mon, if that's you, please."

When the wolf steps out of the shadows, Tommy's shirt bundled up in its maw, Tommy's not sure if it's Adam or not. It's been so long since he's seen Adam as a wolf. But it's fucking got to be. What reason would some other wolf have to track him down?

"I can't come down," Tommy says, his whisper harsh. "I'm fucking grounded." All he needs is for this to be the one time he wakes his mom up by sneaking out. She'd put him under house arrest for fucking real. "Adam?"

The wolf pads up to the back stair and drops the bundle. It whines softly, and then there's a weird popping noise, the sound of something wet tearing. Breath frozen in his lungs, Tommy watches the wolf hunker down, panting hard, shaking even harder. It sounds like it hurts. A lot.

"Adam," Tommy says, "don't, not when I can't," but it's too late. Bits and pieces of freckled skin show through the wolf's fur, then more, like its shedding its coat in chunks. But there's nothing falling to the grass, not even when it speeds up, the shape of Adam's human body emerging from the wolf's like a horror flick on fast-forward, all stop-motion jerky. When it's over, Adam's on his knees, glistening with sweat in the moonlight. And he's really fucking naked. "Holy fuck," Tommy breathes.

A noise like a choked-off laugh answers him. Adam stumbles to his feet, gripping the railing as he looks up, then off to the side, like he's sizing up the place.

"No, Adam, no," Tommy hisses, his grip on the sill the only thing keeping him from tumbling out the fucking window, "it's too fucking high, you'll- Jesus fucking Christ."

Gaping, Tommy watches Adam scrabble for a handhold in the slippery shingles on top of the garage. Not finding it, Adam swings around fast, skidding almost to the edge of the roof before he takes another fucking crazy flying leap, bypassing Tommy's window entirely. Tommy quickly backs his ass up, his heart in his throat, his eyes fucking bugging out of his head as Adam slinks in through the window, feet-first. He lands lightly, one hand braced on the floor, and gives himself a quick shake before standing up. There's blood on his knees and his hands, and a pretty vicious-looking scrape on his thigh.

Tommy chokes out a noise and flings himself straight at Adam. "Fucking crazy," he says, locking his arms tight around Adam's neck, his legs around Adam's hips. He kisses Adam hard, not caring that Adam's stumbling back and almost going down with a thump because he's here, Adam's fucking here, he's here and naked and Tommy's never wanted anything so fucking bad in his life. "Fuck, fuck, I missed you, you're fucking insane, my mom totally heard that shit."

"I'm sorry." Adam's voice is quiet, strained. Turning around, he gets Tommy propped up against the wall to kiss him again, and again. "Mike told me everything. I was being stupid. And afraid. I'm so sorry, Tommy."

"Shut up," Tommy says, pushing impatiently at Adam's shoulder. "Fuck, shut up, put me down."

Adam lets go immediately, letting Tommy slide down the wall onto his feet. Adam feels so fucking good pressed against him Tommy's eyes almost cross. And he smells fucking amazing, like sweat and wolf and warm night air and sex. Fuck, sex. Tommy's missed sex so fucking much.

"You're a total jerk," Tommy says.

Brows drawn together in a sad arc, Adam nods. "You weren't at the warehouses, you weren't at the park, you weren't anywhere. I thought you were angry at me."

Tommy punches Adam in the shoulder. "So you fucking avoided me?"

"You were really upset when I left!"

"Because I couldn't go fucking with you," Tommy hisses, "not because you were going."

Before Tommy can punch him again, Adam catches his wrist and pins it to the wall. "You were furious."

"Was not."

"You know I can smell it when you lie to me."

"M'not lying," Tommy grumbles, half-heartedly trying to twist his hand out of Adam's grip. It feels way too good for him to really want to get away. "Yeah, okay, I really don't fucking like it that you tell me I'm your mate and you let me be a fucking part of your life, but I didn't want you to, like, just fuck off and leave me."

"Baby," Adam says softly, "I didn't leave you."

Finding a patch of carpet to stare at, Tommy says, "I know that."

"Then-"

"'Cause it fucking felt like it," Tommy snaps. Remembering that his mom is right across the fucking hall, Tommy sucks in a deep breath. "I can't tell anybody about us. It's like, if you went away, nobody would even fucking know. Like we're not even real."

"It's not like that," Adam says, pulling Tommy away from the wall. "People know. Mike knows, and Monte. Half of Eastside knows your scent by now."

"But they don't know." Reluctantly, Tommy lets Adam push him down on the bed. He figures they're gonna have some heart-breaking talk or something, but Adam urges him to lie back, and that's a way better idea. It's been three whole fucking days since he got to touch Adam. A week since the last time Adam crawled on top of him and fucked him slow and hard and perfect. If they're quiet, his mom'll never fucking know.

"Know what, baby?" Adam asks, his hand warm on the sliver of bare skin between Tommy's shirt and his old, threadbare pyjama bottoms.

Thinking he can get away without answering if he pushes Adam in the right direction, Tommy drags his knees up, settling Adam's hips firmly between his legs. Adam goes with it, shifting up to brace his elbows on the pillow on either side of Tommy's head. "Tell me," Adam says.

Tommy huffs. "They don't know that you're mine. Some other wolf could just fucking, you know. Who's gonna worry about pissing off the puny little human that can't even go to a fucking show?"

There's a long pause, then Adam says, "You're jealous."

"M'not fucking jealous." Tommy digs his nails into the softness above Adam's kidneys. "I just. Fuck." He squeezes his eyes shut. He's so totally jealous. The idea of somebody sniffing around Adam makes him see fucking red. "It didn't bug you at all to go without me?"

"It bothered me a lot," Adam says. "But as much as I love the idea of you wanting to stake a claim on me, I'm not willing to risk your neck for it."

"You don't even fucking know if they'll do anything. Do you guys get into fights over mates all the fucking time or what?"

Warily, Adam says, "No. But it happens."

"I get it, okay? You're scared. Fuck knows I am. But if we gotta pick, I figure chances are way, way better that weres will tolerate me more than stupid fucking humans will tolerate you. A whole bunch already don't give a shit we're fucking all the time. And I want to be your mate." No matter how many times Tommy says it, it still makes his stomach squirm and his face heat. There's something primal in the word, sexual, but something really fucking vulnerable, too. "Not the half-assed excuse for one you can't fucking bring anywhere."

Not looking convinced, which hurts way more than Tommy's ready to admit, Adam says, "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Fucking think about it," Tommy mutters, and starts squirming out from underneath Adam. "Leggo for a minute."

Adam rolls off of him, looking way too hot all fucking naked like that. And half-hard, shit. It's totally not fair that he can lie there with his dick slumped thickly against his thigh and Tommy goes from zero to sixty in half a second flat. "Do you want me to go?" Adam asks.

"Fuck, no. Jesus." Scrubbing both hands through his hair, Tommy goes to the door and listens carefully. His mom's snores are comfortingly loud. He gives the lock a jiggle to make sure it's caught. "I haven't seen you for three fucking days."

A sly curve creeps its way across Adam's mouth. Settling back, he tucks an arm beneath his head. "I think I should go."

"Fucking try it," Tommy says, skinning off his shirt. "The only thing you're gonna do is put me on my belly so I'm not too loud."

Adam's eyes close briefly as he draws in a slow breath. Tingles skip all up Tommy's spine, fanning out to prickle along his arms. "Smell something you like?" Tommy asks, grinning as he tugs his pants off, kicking them into a heap beside the bed.

"You're terrible," Adam says, sitting up. "Fuck, come here."

No way he's gotta ask Tommy twice. Scooting up the bed on his knees, Tommy straddles Adam's lap, bracing a hand on the wall so he can get in really close, feel Adam's chest warm and solid against his dick, a little rough with a smattering of short, dark hairs. "Fuck," he says, hunching over Adam, cupping the back of Adam's head as he nips at Tommy's belly, damp breaths hot on bare skin. He grinds harder, faster, totally about to get himself off just like this. It's been too fucking long, he can't help it. Just like he can't help moaning as Adam's hands skim down his back, cup his ass.

"Tommy," Adam warns, and Tommy nods fast, biting his lip. He manages to shut the fuck up until Adam's fingers, blunt and dry, dip into the crack of his ass, then he's jerking forward and moaning again, his dick skidding up to smear wet across Adam's collarbone.

Adam says, "You weren't kidding," kinda guttural-sounding, and really fucking hot. The bed shakes as Adam tumbles him down onto it, pushing him over onto his belly and crawling on top of him, Adam's dick rubbing against his ass. Hitching his hips up, he bites at the pillow, totally crazy because yeah, okay, he's a fucking pillow-biter, but even that isn't enough to keep him quiet.

"Sorry," Tommy says, scrubbing hair out of his face. "I'll be quiet, I promise. I really want you to fuck me. I've got stuff and everything."

Adam groans, low and rumbly in his chest. "I don't think you can. I love hearing you, baby, but-"

"Please." Tommy shoves up on one elbow, scrabbling for the bedside table, the stash hidden in the back. "I know you really want to get your dick in me again. Just your dick this time. Fucking do it raw like you wanted to the first time."

"Stop," Adam snarls, dropping down over him to pin him to the tousled sheets, one hand covering his mouth. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and groans, working really fucking hard not to make even more noise when Adam presses harder. The urge to buck and twist and make Adam give him what he wants almost wins out, but he somehow manages to go still, breathing harshly through his nose, waiting for Adam to choose.

There's a quiet rustle as Adam shifts back a bit, then Adam's hand is pushing up the inside of Tommy's thigh, spreading his legs. Tommy breathes faster and draws his knee up, the sheets cool against his skin then warming fast. It's really, really different like this, only having the touch of Adam's hands to follow. He's so used to being able to watch Adam at the beginning, not ending up on his stomach until Adam's gotten him off and he's dazed and floaty, and Adam's so close to losing it there's no way to pretend Adam's anything but a were desperate for his mate. Now, Adam's slow and careful working slippery fingers into him. If he thought that would make it easier for Tommy to keep quiet, he's so totally wrong. In lots of ways it's really fucking worse because he's got all the time in the world to focus on the feeling of being stretched open, the heat of Adam against him, the way Adam's dick jerks when Tommy shoves his face into the pillow to muffle another moan.

Adam kisses the back of his neck, his shoulders, anywhere he can reach without pulling away. It feels so good to grind against the mattress Tommy can't help doing it, sucking in a breath and holding it when it makes his ass clench harder around Adam's fingers. The ache's not so deep this time. He pushes back trying to make it spike, chasing after the sweet mellow buzz that follows.

"Okay," Adam says, sounding weirdly steady, "come on, up on your knees for me, baby."

Swallowing a ragged noise, Tommy says, "Yeah, yeah, okay," and pushes unsteadily up, feeling way more exposed than he maybe should. They've got this thing they do where it's always face-to-face, because Tommy likes watching Adam and Adam likes watching him, or they're pressed so close together, his back to Adam's chest, that Tommy can feel everything Adam's thinking anyway. This is different. Kinda scary. Really fucking exciting.

Even more fucking exciting is the press of Adam's naked dick. It's slick and wet but not as slippery as latex, raw when he pushes in, skin dragging on skin. Tommy curls his hands into tight fists in the sheets, chin dropping to his chest as he breathes and breathes and doesn't whine like he wants to so fucking badly. Everything's more this way. Bigger, rougher, slower. He doesn't know if it's better until Adam's in all the way, panting hard and petting his sides and his back, waiting for him to be ready.

He's really not fucking ready, but he pushes back anyway, biting off a shallow grunt when Adam takes the cue right away to go for it. Adam's fingers brush his ass when Adam's got to help push his dick back in, Tommy not loose enough to take it easily, and that's a whole different kind of really fucking crazy-awesome, like being opened up all over again, pleasure like a long, slow stretch rippling through Tommy's body. Choking back the noises that want to come spilling out of him is getting harder and harder, like the smoother the roll of Adam's hips, the easier it is for Tommy to push back and meet him with the quiet smack of skin on skin, the less his chances of keeping his mouth shut.

"Fuck," he says, dropping down to one arm, bracing his forehead against it. Tiny bright sparks light up all through the aching fullness. They've got to be making so much fucking noise. Adam's fucking making a lot of it, soft, animal noises that are so fucking messed up and good, totally doing it for Tommy in ways that he doesn't really want to think too much about. Like, he's not thinking about Adam-the-wolf fucking him, he's really not, but the idea flits across his mind every so often, this total random blip where he doesn't really picture a fucking wolf okay, but some crazy mashup that's both Adam and the wolf, and then his brain goes yeah, fuck yeah, if he could shift, he'd totally fuck Adam doggy style for real.

Adam makes this pained noise, wrenched right out of him, and grabs onto Tommy by the hip and shoulder, hauling him up to slam it home. And if Tommy thought it was going deep before, it was fucking nothing compared to this, thick and heavy and suffocating as Adam sits back on his heels and drags Tommy with him. Tommy's spine snaps into a tight arch, his mouth falling open soundlessly, like Adam's fucked his voice out of him. It takes him way too long to figure out Adam's in the middle of losing it, grinding up into him with short, sharp jerks, and even then he can't get enough air in his lungs to tell Adam to keep going like he wants, fuck it all into him, mark him so good no were would be able to tell where Adam ends and Tommy begins.

Mouth pressed to the side of Tommy's neck, Adam pushes Tommy's dick up against his belly, rolling over it with his palm and sliding down to play with his balls. And Adam's settled in him so deep, grinding it in, making these tiny sounds like it's too much but he still can't stop, that it's a fucking miracle Tommy hasn't gone off yet. As soon as he thinks about how spectacularly he's gonna blow it, he's there, grabbing desperately at Adam, knowing he's gonna shout so fucking loud and there's nothing he can do to stop it. His nails dig into Adam's wrist as Adam's palm comes down on his mouth again, almost in time to completely to muffle his shout. He bites at the heel of Adam's hand, tasting salt, biting harder when Adam groans, loving the feel of flesh caught in his teeth as Adam jerks him through it, come slicking Adam's fingers, dripping down to speckle the hair at the base of Tommy's dick. Adam combs his fingers through it and smears it down over his nuts, back up his cock, squeezing the last pulses out of him.

"Jesus Christ," Tommy slurs behind Adam's hand. He gives Adam's arm a weak tug, turning his head to press his face in the damp crook of Adam's neck. It's starting to hurt, being on Adam like this, but he can't move yet. His fucking legs are jelly.

"Hang on, baby," Adam says, giving him a gentle nudge. Tommy bites down hard on a rough groan when Adam slips free, but Adam's hands keep him steady as he stretches shakily out. He rubs his face against the cool sheets as Adam settles behind him, skin sticky against his. Adam's hand skims down his back and curls over his ass, fingers pressed close to his hole. "Okay?"

Tommy manages a mumbled, "Yeah," keeping his eyes shut tight as Adam's fingers push a little harder, settling between the cheeks to actually touch him. It's soft, barely there, but Tommy's really fucking tender, aching, and it makes his heartbeat hitch.

"God," Adam says, nuzzling his shoulder. "Tommy, oh my god, the way you smell. I can taste you."

Tommy laughs, rough and used-sounding, because yeah, that's totally the kind of pillow talk you'd get from a were. "Been there, done that," he says.

Hushed, Adam says, "Not like this," and all Tommy can really do is nod. He might not have Adam's crazy instincts, but he totally gets it. He can still feel Adam in him. Like, for real in him, nothing separating them, just skin and sweat and come.

When Adam moves away, maybe to grab a shirt to clean up or something, Tommy makes a clumsy grab for him. "Don't, like," he says, and pauses, wetting dry lips. There's a tiny, stinging crack in the middle of his bottom lip, where he bit too hard. "Stay for awhile, okay?"

Snagging Tommy's shirt, Adam rolls back and gives Tommy a really light wipe-down, like he doesn't want to risk rubbing his scent away. "What time does your mom get up for work?"

"Six, maybe?" Tommy says, and watches as Adam drops the shirt in his lap to nab Tommy's cell off the nightstand.

"I'll probably wake up when she does," Adam says, setting the phone back down well within reach. "But just in case."

"'Kay," Tommy says. His eyes are heavy, kinda gritty, so he lets them close as he listens to Adam clean up, then shuffle down to curl up around him. They've only ever slept together once. One time, and Adam hadn't held him close like this. "S'gonna be the best part about living with you," he mumbles.

After a long moment of quiet, Adam asks, really softly, "What, Tommy Joe?"

"Sleeping," Tommy says, which isn't the whole answer he's got in his head, but before he can get with you off his tongue, he's out.

*

Tommy's finally fucking free. It's Monday. Monday, and he's only got a four hour shift that ends at two, and his mom's going to be working late, and there is nothing to fucking stop him from spending every single minute of the next ten hours fucking the hell out of his boyfriend. They haven't really had the chance to be together since Adam climbed out his window at, like, quarter to six in the morning last Thursday. It's been better since he's been able to text with Adam, and even talk a little, but hearing Adam's voice without being able to touch him was a different kind of terrible. He seriously thought he'd go crazy.

Sitting on a concrete block outside the store, Tommy jiggles his leg impatiently. Adam's not late. Even with Tommy's fucking ass grounded, he's been by to pick Tommy up, steal as many kisses as they dared, and then get Tommy straight home before his mom got suspicious. He hadn't exactly said he'd swing by and pick Tommy up today, but he's been by every other day without saying so. The only time he says anything about it is when he's not going to be there. And he didn't say anything, so that means he's going to be here, and Tommy needs a fucking drink or a keg or for Adam to hurry the fuck up and be here.

The familiar rumble of Adam's piece-of-shit car is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. He catapults off his perch and boots it across the parking lot, wrenching open the door before the car's even rolled to a stop. "Hi," he says, tumbling into the seat, hands already out grabbing for any part of Adam he can get. "I really fucking missed you."

"So I see," Adam says, eyes sparkling, pure human joy with the musky-sweet dash of wolf when he twists to meet Tommy's kiss. The car rolls forward a few inches. Adam gropes blindly for the stick so he can shove it into park and keep kissing until the manic jitter in Tommy's belly finally shuts the fuck up.

"I missed you a lot," Tommy says, his lips still buzzing. Reluctant to stop, he drags himself away, thumping back into the seat to wrangle the belt out of the runner where it always sticks, and buckles up. The sooner they get back to Adam's place, the better Tommy's life is gonna be. He gnaws on his lip. Better to get some shit out of the way first, though. "And, um, I've been thinking."

About to turn out into the street, Adam pauses, then slides the car back into park. "About?"

"I wanna meet your mom," Tommy says. He's seriously thought this one through. He's had a whole week to stew over this crap. That's way more thinking time than he's devoted to pretty much any decision ever. Usually, he's a solid go-with-his-gut kinda guy, which completely explains how he ended up dating a werewolf. "If there's gonna be shit we can't do, fine." Not really, but he's picking his battles here. "And since you meeting my mom would be like fucking Armageddon, I want to meet yours."

"Huh," Adam says slowly.

Tommy squints hard at Adam's face. That's not Adam's panic face. Or his no-Tommy-and-that's-final face, which he hasn't successfully managed to trot out on any issue aside from taking Tommy to a were show. Mostly because Tommy's not a total shit, okay, and he knows when an idea is crazy versus just plain fucking stupid. Here's the kicker, though. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

Adam's gaze bounces from the rearview mirror to the street and back again. Tommy gnaws the fuck out of his cheek. "I honestly don't know," Adam finally says, "but the thought of you meeting my mother fills me with some sort of preternatural terror."

"Jesus." Tommy slumps into the seat. "Fuck, you had me worried. I thought, like, shit. Your mom sounds so fucking awesome when you talk about her, I was, like, convinced she'd be cool with me."

"Up until she realises how young you really are and she guilts me into waiting until your birthday to even kiss you again," Adam says sourly.

That brings Tommy up short. If his mom tried hard enough, she might--might--be able to guilt him into... no, actually, she totally wouldn't. Tommy would lie like a fucker and crawl into Adam's bed again anyway. "You wouldn't."

"I might," Adam says, grim.

"You'd try and last, like, five minutes, c'mon. Even talking about not kissing me makes you want to kiss me."

"Yes, okay, but-"

Tommy grins hopefully and scoots across the seat as much as the belt will let him. "I can meet your mom?"

Adam heaves a defeated sigh. "I'll tell her we're coming for dinner tomorrow night."

"Fuckin' A," Tommy says, grabbing onto Adam's shirt to haul him in for another quality liplock before they've got to get their asses out of here or risk plaza security wandering over to find out what the holdup is. "I bet your mom is awesome."

"She's something," Adam says, dry as fucking toast as he flicks the turn signal back on.

Tommy gnaws on the side of his finger, taking another stab at getting rid of a cuticle that's been bugging him all day. "She won't care about the underage thing, though, right? I mean, if you really thought she would, you'd say so."

Adam doesn't even shoot him a glance.

"Or the human thing?" Nothing. Not a twitch. "Adam?"

"You wanted to meet her," Adam says, a hitch at the corner of his mouth finally giving him away. "Here I am, giving you what you want. Don't blame me for anything."

"Asshole," Tommy says, listing sideways on the seat so he can get a cuddle in. "If she's anything at all like you, I can't wait to meet her."

*

"Shit," Tommy says, fiddling with his hair as they follow the walk up to the front door of a small bungalow, well cared-for but still showing its age. If it weren't for the battered, dirty backdrop of Eastside eroding away at its edges, it'd be easy to picture in Tommy's neighbourhood. "Shit, now I'm nervous."

Adam catches his hand and holds it tight to his chest. He's got a bottle of wine held by the neck in his other hand. "If she catches you doing that, she'll tell you all your hair's going to fall out before you're thirty."

"Fuck." Tommy clutches harder at Adam's hand. Adam's sort of doing that werewolf thing again where his scent gets stronger or something, and Tommy breathes it deep, trying not to think too hard about what it means that it calms him down every time. "This was a really bad idea. I mean, she's your mom."

"She is," Adam agrees. "And she's been patiently listening to you stress yourself out for the entire ten minutes it took us to walk from the car, so maybe you should knock on the door."

"Oh Jesus," Tommy says, and lurches for the stoop. The door opens before he's got a chance to knock, and he draws up short, staring slack-jawed at it like a total winner. Not even sure what he was expecting, the small, dark-haired woman that stands on the other side of the threshold, smiling a softer version of Adam's smile at him, fits perfectly.

Belatedly prying his hand free of Adam's, Tommy holds it out. "Hi. I'm Tommy. Um, obviously."

"Oh Adam," she says in the exact same tone of fond exasperation Tommy's mom uses on him daily, "why is it you always go for the shy ones?" Taking Tommy's hand, she pulls him in for a hug. "Call me Leila."

Recovering fast from being tugged away from Adam's steadying hold, Tommy hugs back. Clearly she's where Adam learned to give such awesome hugs. She even smells a little like Adam, on the wolfy side. It's lighter and softer, but familiar enough it keeps the butterflies in his stomach from kicking up a whirlwind. "It's really good to meet you," he says.

"You too," Leila says, smiling when Tommy backs up automatically to feel Adam standing solid beside him. "Are you going to come inside now?"

"Yes, please," Tommy says, trying to physically will the stink of nerves he knows he's spilling all over the place to fucking quit it already. He steps inside when Leila gestures, immediately cast adrift again without Adam's warmth against his skin.

"Hi, Mom," Adam says when Leila draws him in for his hug hello.

"Baby," she says, rubbing his arms as she steps back. "It's good to see you. I couldn't have been more surprised when you said you were bringing him over."

"He wanted to meet you," he says, guiding her into the house so he can shut the door. He quirks a smile. "He was incredibly insistent about it, too."

Snorting a laugh, Tommy says, "You caved like a house of cards when I asked," and steps around the cute halfmoon table covered in fresh flowers that's in his way of being plastered to Adam's side. He's being stupidly obvious about the clingy thing, and it's probably coming across as immature and codependent and all those other things that Tommy so does not give a shit about right now. Adam's mom is small and beautiful and totally has this look in her eyes like she wouldn't mind at all ripping his throat out if he hurt her baby boy. Which, yeah, okay, Tommy gets that, but holy fuck, intimidating.

He breathes easier when Adam slides an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close as Leila leads the way from the hall to the cosy-looking living room, taking a big, threadbare plush chair to let them have the couch. Up until Adam says, "I'll get us something to drink," anyway, letting Tommy settle onto the couch without him, gesturing with the wine bottle and totally running the fuck away.

Tommy stares at the patch of faded carpet where Adam used to be. "I could, um, help," he says, moving to stand up again.

"Or you could stay and tell me a little about yourself," Leila says.

Tommy plunks his ass straight back down. No way that was a polite suggestion. "There's, uh, not much to tell?" he says, and hates how it comes out sounding like a question. He wonders how well I'm stupidly in love with your son would go over. "I pretty much just play guitar. But I've got a really good job at the music store on East Magnolia," he's quick to add, 'cause in his experience, parents like you more if you're responsible, "the one that still carries vinyls and stuff?"

"Full time?" Leila presses, with that scary mom-ish crook to one eyebrow.

"In the fall," Tommy says, and barely resists the urge to shrink away from her steady gaze. The hug out front was dirty pool, totally knocking him off his guard, making him think she's all easy-peasy like his mom is most days. "When I'm done with classes."

She makes a quiet mm hmm noise under her breath, like she's not really buying it. But Tommy's not saying a word unless she calls him on it point blank, so he smiles back at her, big and bright like he used on Mrs. Phelps when she caught him practicing chords in his head instead of paying attention to the Battle of Palo Alto for the third time in a row. How long does it take to open a bottle of fucking wine, anyway?

"Adam really hasn't had a chance to tell me much about you," Leila says. "It was only a couple of weeks ago he mentioned he was dating again."

Tommy hides a wince. "Yeah, um. It was pretty quick? I mean, uh. Like." Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Mom," Adam says sourly, appearing in the doorway with the open wine bottle in one hand and three clean wineglasses caught by the stems in the other, Tommy's total chickenshit saviour. "I told you not to grill him."

"I'm not grilling him," Leila says, and turns to Tommy. "Am I grilling you?"

Trapped, Tommy looks from her to Adam and back again. "A little? But I totally get where you're coming from." Tommy stuffs a piece of hair behind his ear and wills it to stay there. "I don't know a lot about the way this thing works, only really what Adam's told me, but I get that it's kinda weird. Me being human, I mean."

"And very, very young," Leila adds.

"Mom," Adam says darkly, finishing pouring the wine and handing her the first glass. He very pointedly hands the next to Tommy, practically daring his mother to say something about it. Tommy takes it gingerly and holds it cradled in both hands as Adam finally settles down beside him, arm slipping around his waist. Not so sure it's a good idea, Tommy leans into him anyway, grateful for the comfort.

Adam gives him a little squeeze, pleased.

"She's right though," Tommy says. The wine Adam brought is a deep, rich red, clinging thickly to the glass when he gives it a swirl. "My mom says the same thing."

"About you two being together?" Leila asks, surprised.

"No, um. She's not anti-were or something stupid like that, but it scares her. I don't think it's really a good idea to tell her yet. My dad's sick a lot." When he risks a glance up, he finds Leila's steady gaze square on him. "I guess that's why I wanted to meet you. It's bad enough we've got to hide from everybody else. Keeping it from our families sucks. I got the feeling that you and Adam are really close, and that you'd be happy to know he's not going to be alone anymore."

Adam draws back slightly to face him. "Not- What?"

"Not alone. Like, you have me now." At Adam's blank look, Tommy rolls his eyes. "You know about the part where I'm staying with you. We totally already talked that shit out. There's even an apartment building Mike found online that won't ask too many questions about the tenants, as long as the name on the lease is mine."

"I know you didn't mention anything about an apartment." Adam frowns. "You said you were going to stay at home to help your mom."

"I can do that, too," Tommy says, fiddling with his glass. He should probably put it the fuck down before he spills red wine all over Leila's woven rug, but then he wouldn't have anything to do with his hands except cling to Adam for dear fucking life. "It's cool if you don't want to move out of Eastside, I don't really care where we live. I just sorta thought you'd worry less about me when you're out playing shows, that's all."

"Oh, Adam." There's a hint of a smile at the corners of Leila's mouth. "You honestly didn't realise?"

"Realise what?" Adam snaps, then heaves a breath and a short, dutiful, "Sorry," before he goes on. "What about college?"

Tommy flicks a wary glance Leila's way. She doesn't look surprised. Adam probably already fucking told her he's not out of high school yet, and she was totally letting him get away with creeping around the truth. "I told my mom I'm not going. 'Cause I'm not. It'd be a huge waste of money. And college is pretty much the place you go to figure out what you want to do with your life, right? I already know what I want to do. Even if I'll never be able to do one of your shows, we can do stuff like the lounge gig. Places that can't afford a house band or whatever, they'll get, like, two for the price of one. It'll work. We'll seriously fucking make it work, okay?"

"It's not that easy," Adam starts to say.

"I know it's not gonna be easy," Tommy barks, even though he doesn't mean to. "Like hell I'm not even gonna try."

"Tommy," Leila says, scooting forward to the edge of her chair. "There's a lot about Adam's life I'm not sure you understand yet. Right now, it's good. His friends are nearby, no one's targeting him. But all it takes is one wrong step, one moment when you're not careful enough-"

"So I'll learn," Tommy cuts in, gaze on Adam, the unhappy tension drawing his mouth tight. "You said mate. You fucking said lifemate, and you don't get to take that back."

Leila says, "Adam?" worry pitching her voice high.

"I did say that," Adam says softly, kinda wonderingly. "I didn't think you really knew what it meant."

"Maybe I don't." Looking down at his wine, Tommy takes a quick sip. It's strong and bitter and doesn't give him a single ounce more courage. It barely even soothes his dry throat. "But just 'cause I might not know everything the word means doesn't mean I don't feel all the stuff that comes with it." It's not like he's trying to pull some romantic, destined-to-be shit here, even if that's sort of what it's starting to sound like. He gets Adam, and Adam gets him. The thought of not going for this all the way makes him hurt. And he's so running out of steam here. Adam's the one he thought for sure would have his back. "I kinda thought you were right there with me."

A slender hand on Tommy's knee brings his gaze zooming up to meet Leila's. "If I know my son," she says, in a way that means she has no doubts at all how well she knows him, "he's done a lot more to show you how he feels than he has talking about what that means for you both. I think you need to do more talking." Her focus shifts to Adam. "A lot more."

"We've been busy," Adam says, totally looking like a grumpy, chastised kid. Tommy flushes hotly when both of Leila's eyebrows wing up. "With Tommy's guitar practice, Mom, god."

"I've been mated," Leila says primly, and oh god, Tommy is going to fucking combust, "I know exactly what it is you're spending all your time doing."

Throttling a weird noise in his throat, Tommy gulps wine. It burns hotter than fucking lava and he starts hacking up half a lung, waving his free hand vaguely when Adam rubs his back, asking if he's okay. "Fine," he croaks, and coughs up the other half. Only fucking mortified, Jesus fucking Christ.

"She does that." Adam gives Tommy's shoulder one last rub, then takes the glass out of Tommy's hands before he tries chugging the whole thing and fucking dies. "Always when you least expect it."

Since Tommy never expects shit like that to come out of a mother's mouth ever, he's in for a fucking treat. He can't even blame it on wolf sensibilities. That's way too human a thing to do to your son's poor shit-freaked boyfriend.

Giving Tommy's knee a pat, Leila stands up, says, "I'm going to check on dinner," and heads pointedly for the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing out of Adam's mouth.

"C'mon, she's not that bad," Tommy says, knowing full well Leila can hear every single word.

"She is," Adam says flatly, with a dark glance at the hall. "But I meant for being too afraid to believe in you."

"You totally believe in me. I never would've even got up on that stage without you."

"No, that's not what I mean." Adam blows out a frustrated breath. "As much as I wanted to be right about us, I couldn't help worrying about being wrong. I've been wrong before."

Tommy isn't even close to figuring out all the wolf shit, let alone the people shit, that's going on here. All of this is brand fucking new to him. Even if Adam doesn't talk much about the specifics of his life pre-Tommy Joe, Tommy's not so naïve as to think it's his first time for anything. Except maybe the mate thing. And hey, that totally gives Tommy a leg up right off the bat over anybody else that's been here before him. He's still trying to figure out how to put all the certainty he feels in his gut into words when Adam says, "There isn't even a place we can be together. Your family doesn't even know I exist."

"So we fucking make a place." When Adam's thumb abruptly stops bumping over Tommy's bony knuckles, Tommy curls his fingers in tight, holding on. "How much shit are you really gonna from other weres over me?"

"Not as much as you'll get from other people," Adam says darkly.

"Sweetheart," comes Leila's voice from the doorway. She leans against the jamb, arms loosely folded. "As stubborn as you are, and as much as I love you for it, I think you're going to have to face the fact that you've met your match. When have you ever brought someone home to meet me?"

"You've met everyone, Mom," Adam says. "You even met Monte's wife before I did."

"Always at your shows, honey," Leila says, turning to saunter back to the kitchen.

Tommy's grin is fast and seriously fucking ridiculously delighted. "You never bought home a guy before?"

"Not to meet her," Adam says, pride warring with a decent dose of embarrassment. "Nobody asked. Hell, you didn't even ask. You demanded."

"Damn straight," Tommy says, scooting in close. Leila's not the only one around here who can play dirty. "But I bet you took all your other boyfriends to your shows."

"Tommy," Adam starts wearily.

"Every one!" Leila shouts from the kitchen.

"Mom!"

"I really like her," Tommy confides while Adam's busy scowling out at the empty hallway. When Adam turns back, surprised, Tommy shrugs. "She doesn't take your crap."

"She won't take yours, either," Adam says sourly.

"Whatever. I got you for that."

Adam groans. "I knew this was a bad idea. Now you're both going to gang up on me."

"It's for your own good, honey," Leila calls.

"Yeah," Tommy agrees. "Your own good." He gives Adam's leg a shove. "Now go help your mom set the table."

With a sigh, Adam trudges off to the kitchen. Tommy gathers up the wine and the two glasses left behind, grinning so wide he's pretty sure his face is gonna break when he hears Leila say to Adam, "I really like him. He doesn't take your crap."

Maybe it's not gonna be easy, and they're gonna have to put up with a hell of a lot of stupid shit, but Adam says, "I really like him, too," with so much warmth in his voice, Tommy knows it's all gonna be so fucking worth it.

*

Epilogue

Layered through the heat, the smoke, the steady pulse of the music filling the warehouse and throbbing in Tommy's veins, is the smell of wolf. Adam's scent is the brightest, sharpest, wound through every breath he takes, filling his lungs and his head, echoing through him like a touch. If it weren't for Adam solid at his back, arm slung around his waist holding him close as they grind together up on the makeshift stage, he'd be lost in the animal crush as the crowd surges, bodies beating back at the music like rocks fighting against the waves, the metal beneath his feet shaking with it. He drops his head back against Adam's shoulder, gulping air, his skin too tight and his clothes clinging to damp skin, and he wants Adam's bare hands on him, pushing and holding and taking. His dick presses hard against his zipper, heavy and full, jerking as Adam's hand smooths down his belly, underneath the guitar slung low across his hips, and angles in to lazily palm his cock, guide his hips in a slow, hard roll that gets Adam's dick fitted perfectly against his ass.

"Beautiful," Adam tells him, a low growl barely heard over the music, the word more in the shape of his lips against Tommy's ear than the sound they make, but the mic picks it up, takes it and flings it like a challenge in every face turned up to watch. "Let them all see you, baby. Let everyone know."

Nobody in here needs to see Tommy pliant in Adam's arms to know they're mated. Nobody needs to hear him moan for Adam's hands, or see him twist for his kiss, or watch as he spread his legs and rides Adam through their clothes until they're both desperate. Adam's scent is sunk into every part of him, marking him deeper than the angry red mottle of Adam's bite on the back of his neck, the same as his is sunk into Adam, his clawmarks on Adam's back and chest and belly bared by the scrap of a vest he's wearing. The urge to mark and claim is as strong in Tommy as it is in any were. What the rest of the world outside these walls may think of them doesn't matter. In here, bathed in salt-sweat heat, all that matters is the wild clamour of music and instinct and fierce, primal joy.

*
End

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Comments

[sgorny]

This was so wonderful!!!! I always get so excited when I see you've written something new, and this? Divine!!!