Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~2700 words. Drugs, questionable consent.
Adam’s probably daydreamed about taking him all sweet and slow the same way Tommy’s dreamed about this and woken up in the middle of the night hot and sweaty and so hard it hurts.
“Tommy,” Adam says, grabbing clumsily for Tommy’s arm, and, “Tommy,” again, slightly slurred, his wide eyes glassy, but he doesn’t get to the wait hovering on his lips, losing air on a startled grunt when his ass hits the couch.
“Don’t even fucking try it.” Tommy’s as high as Adam is, maybe worse. He’s thought about pulling a stunt like this so many times, played through it scene by scene, everything down to the exact way he plants a hand on Adam’s shoulder to hold him down as Tommy climbs into his lap, that it feels like they’ve done it all before. But they haven’t done a fucking thing even close to Tommy yanking open Adam’s fly, rudely shoving his hand inside to finally get a grip on Adam’s dick. Definitely nothing like Tommy hauling it out to get a good look at it, or spitting on his hand to slick it wet, or watching as Adam’s head falls back, hands scrabbling at the couch, Tommy’s thighs, grabbing on and holding tight as Tommy jacks him.
Adam says, “Tommy,” again, strangled low in his throat, the only word he’s managed to get out since Tommy cornered him in his dressing room five minutes after the show ended.
“You want this,” Tommy tells him, and bites at his mouth, kisses it, licks into it, does all the things to Adam that Adam does to him on stage, feeling Adam’s body go loose and tense up by turns beneath him. “You want this so fucking bad you don’t even know how to fucking ask for it.”
“Oh god, oh fuck,” Adam says, blinking so fast his eyelashes, thick and long even without layers of mascara, skim Tommy’s cheek as Tommy fists a hand in his hair, pulls him in for a kiss so deep and dirty it shocks Tommy how good it is, delicious and obscene, nasty like the really best fucking porn. He fucks Adam’s mouth the same way he’s gonna make Adam fuck him, and only stops when he’s gotta tell Adam all about it, jacking his wet dick while Adam pants and twists and tries, tries and tries and fails, to get a word in edgewise.
“So fucking easy.” Digging into his pocket, Tommy drags out the condom he stuffed into it before the show, the small packet of lube. He doesn’t even fucking know what gave him the idea that tonight he was gonna do it. Maybe he was already high then. He thinks he must’ve been, pot smoke tickling his lips, his blood, his brain, making him want. The memory of Adam licking smoke off his tongue slams into him so hard it’s got to be real. “Should’ve done this fucking months ago. Fucking shoved you down and made you give it up.”
Breath hisses in through Adam’s teeth. Tommy glances down, finds himself already in the middle of rolling the condom onto Adam’s cock. He bites back a giggle. He’s so fucking glad it fits. Buying rubbers for a guy when you’ve only ever felt his dick against your ass through too many fucking cockblocking layers of clothing is one of those life challenges Tommy never thought he’d face. Snatching up the packet of lube from where it fell onto the cushions, he shoves it into Adam’s hand. “Slick up. I want some fingers.”
“What,” Adam starts, voice dying on a groan as Tommy kneels up, unzips and shoves his clothes down, pants and underwear both in one go. Tommy’s so hard he’s leaking, and he can’t help a few quick tugs, fingers and thumb circling tight around the head to give it a slow squeeze.
“Lube,” Tommy says, pushing his pants down past his knees one leg at a time and leaving them there, caught on his boots. “On your fucking fingers, and then your fingers up my ass, that’s how this works.” Catching the front of Adam’s vest, Tommy yanks it open, hauls his own shirt up so when he shuffles closer, elbow braced on the back of the couch, he can rub his dick against Adam’s bare chest, add the glisten of precome to the glitter already shining on it. Skin on skin is so fucking amazing Tommy lets go of his cock, presses in flush so he can grind. “Fingers,” he hisses, “c’mon, fucking now,” and he groans, muffling it in Adam’s hair, when hands finally grab at his ass.
Maybe, if Tommy gave Adam a fucking chance here, Adam would go easy on him. Adam’s probably daydreamed about taking him all sweet and slow the same way Tommy’s dreamed about this and woken up in the middle of the night hot and sweaty and so hard it hurts. The quick swipe of lube over his hole is exactly what Tommy wants, and the rough, steady shove of Adam’s fingers that follows couldn’t be one fucking bit better. The harsh stretch sinks all the way to Tommy’s bones, making them thrum like his nerves, ache like his dick, and his heart shudders, thudding against his ribs when Adam fucks in harder, spreads his fingers to pull against Tommy’s rim on the way out, open him up fast and efficient.
The sound building up low in Tommy’s chest burbles free, half a groan and half a laugh; he’s so beyond delighted he’s finally getting this, and he’s high as a fucking kite, and it feels so god damn good it’s like coming back to life. “Fuck, yeah, c’mon,” spills out of him next, “gonna really fucking do it, gonna get me wet and fuck me, gonna put the whole fucking thing up inside me, sit me down on it, made me want it so fucking bad.”
Adam keeps making short, sharp noises that try to be words, and if this is finally fucking living again for Tommy, then for Adam it looks like dying. Tommy imagines he’s trying to say stuff like, “Fuck, Tommy, so good,” because Adam’s wanted this for fucking ever, and, “so tight, baby, you’re really gonna feel this,” because Tommy wants to feel it happen, and long after it’s happened, wants to be able to make his body remember what it’s like to have Adam inside it.
“S’good,” Tommy says, fist thumping down on Adam’s shoulder as Adam drives in again, “s’good enough, get it in me already.”
Adam’s vest rucks up as he slides down, legs sprawling wide and fingertips digging hard into cheeks of Tommy’s ass, holding them spread. Sucking in a couple deep breaths, Tommy gets a hand back on Adam’s cock, fingers stretched out to find his hole, nudge the head up against it. “You’re gonna do it right,” Tommy says, pulse tripping as he sinks down, the slow, slick stretch shredding his breath, making his voice shake, and his legs are trembling so bad he wonders if they’re about to crap out on him, “gonna go all the way. Don’t fucking stop.”
There’s a brief flash in Adam’s eyes before they close, something Tommy’s never, ever seen, even with all the ways Adam’s looked at him, and Adam pushes his hand away, taking over and going by feel alone. The push of Adam’s dick slows, becomes too much, not enough, and when Tommy reaches back to make him pick up the pace again, he shoves Tommy down ass flush to his thighs. Razor-edged pleasure shoots up Tommy’s spine, and he chokes on a shout, hands flying forward to grab onto Adam’s shoulders as his legs really do give out.
Tommy can’t breathe. Can’t move, can’t even moan when Adam jostles him, feet planted getting ready to fuck. He’s so full, so fucking full, ass and chest and throat, it’s like his skin doesn’t even fit anymore. Adam’s inside him, thick, heavy pressure, about to fuck him for real, and he’s actually fucking scared of how much he wants it, how good it’s going to be.
And then Adam grinds up into him, one slow roll of Adam’s hips, and starbursts explode behind Tommy’s eyelids. Nothing anybody’s ever lived through felt this good. Getting fucked by Adam is seriously going to kill him.
“Please,” he says, not even sure that’s his own voice he’s hearing, “please, fuck, now.”
Adam says, “Baby,” against Tommy’s cheek, intimate and soft, and suddenly this is real. Incredibly, vividly real, more real than the gritty drag of Adam drawing back, the burst of heat and the bone-deep ache as he fucks in. Tommy curls as tightly around Adam as he can, clinging as Adam does it again, and again, fucks him slow and hard and grinds in deep at the peak to loosen him up more. This is so not how he’d imagined it would go. He’d pictured it rough, fast and desperate, not deliberate like this, forcing him to slow down and take it, and then take more just like it, too much, so much he can’t handle it. He seriously fucking can’t. Adam’s going to break him. He’s got to come, he’s got to do it right fucking now, but he can’t get his fingers to release their death grip on Adam’s vest, and he can’t quit moaning long enough to ask Adam to get a hand on him.
Adam keeps fucking him slow and hard, easy like Adam could do this all fucking day. The heat coiled tight in Tommy’s belly burns hotter, so hot it spreads out under his skin, sweat prickling at his hairline, salty on his lips when he licks them. Everything except Adam pressed against him, moving inside him, feels cold in comparison, like he’s running a fucking fever, and then he’s laughing, crazy little hiccuping noises, as Adam ruins him for anything else, everyone else, for fucking life.
“That’s it,” Adam says, startling Tommy with how close he sounds, like he’s inside Tommy’s head, rattling around inside his chest on the manic beat of his heart, “baby, you can do it, you wanted it just like this.”
“Didn’t.” Tommy’s strained and crackling all around the edges like he’s going to fly apart. “Wanted you to fucking, fucking give it to me, pound it the fuck outta me,” and he’s so fucking messed up, crazy, he’s gonna come on Adam’s dick.
Adam says, “Let me feel it, let go, baby, give it to me, I want to feel you come so bad,” and Tommy’s whole body clenches tight, almost there, so fucking close. Adam keeps talking, pleading with him to come, let go, telling him to give it up and give in, and Tommy doesn’t have a fucking choice. All the pressure built up inside him finally snaps under the strain, bursts free in thick, choking waves, and Adam fucks him all through it, not giving him a chance to catch his breath before forcing more pleasure through him. His throat closes over, throttling the noises clamouring to get free, shoving them straight back to pile up in his chest, fuck up his heart, a silent echo screaming through his head.
Collapsing against Adam, Tommy drags in a shuddering breath. Then one more, and another, gradually coming around enough to figure out he can’t quit shaking because Adam’s not done with him. When he can’t swallow a whine down, he muffles it in the crook of Adam’s neck. He thought it was too much before, but now it really is. He doesn’t want it to ever stop. He’s fucked raw and open, completely wrung out, overstimulated nerve endings dying off one by one until all he can feel is the thick, dull ache of Adam buried in him, still fucking.
“Can’t,” Tommy says, and Adam palms the back of his head, pushing his face back down, says, “You can, baby, you’re fucking going to.” All Tommy’s got left in him is a hitching moan. He’s so not sure he can, but he’s going to, and he stops trying to move, to think, to do anything but slump down and let Adam fuck him. He blinks at the back of the couch, the pattern swimming in front of his eyes, and listens to his heart pound.
Adam hisses, “God, yes,” and fucks harder, rhythm changing, Tommy’s breath skipping because this is it. He forces muscle to clench tight, hoping to feel it, but there’s nothing but the same slippery heat, Adam’s arms locked around his back holding him down on it. The sound Adam makes way down low in his throat, sandpapery thick, burrows its way under Tommy’s skin, into his brain, like some sort of disease. He finally got Adam inside him, and now he’s never getting out again.
When Tommy manages to open his eyes again, he’s shivering. Adam’s holding him close, whispering for him to come around now, he’s been out long enough, he’s got to open his eyes. Tommy groans, trying to let Adam know he’s awake with as little effort as possible.
“You’ve got to look at me, baby,” Adam says, stroking his hair back. “Let me see you.”
Pushing against the back of the couch, Tommy manages to lift up a couple inches. Adam’s arm around his back braces him as he sways. “M’okay,” Tommy says, tongue like a lead weight in his mouth. “Crashing.”
“Stay with me,” Adam says, giving him a small shake. “You need to make sure. You need to clean up.”
Tommy nods. Makes sense, and it sounds pretty easy. He tries lifting up a bit more, Adam’s cock sliding out of him a few inches, and he shudders, blinking fast, panting faster, wondering if he’s seriously going to pass out.
“Tommy,” Adam says, panic in his voice, and Tommy gives it his best shot, he seriously fucking does, but he loses it for maybe a couple seconds. Finally managing to blink his eyes open again, he realises he’s facedown on the couch, and there’s warm, soothing heat stroking up the insides of his thighs. Quickly closing his eyes again, he works to keep his breathing even.
The gentle touch of fingers at Tommy’s asshole makes his heartbeat trip. As Adam pushes into him again, he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes tighter shut, or to clench up. There’s nothing really sexual about the way Adam’s touching him now, pressing gently against his insides, thumb smoothing around his rim, except for how if Tommy hadn’t come five fucking seconds ago, he’d be getting off on it. And for how he’s kinda getting off on it anyway. Pot makes him so fucking freaky sometimes.
Seemingly satisfied that Tommy’s alright, Adam slides his finger free and brings the cloth up, rubbing softly. “You can open your eyes now,” Adam says.
“Wasn’t hiding,” is the first thing out of Tommy’s mouth, his eyes flying wide open. Pot loosens his tongue a hell of a lot, too, and it’s not like he does a lot of censoring himself most of the time anyway. “I kinda liked it.”
Adam’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, the cloth dangling loosely from one hand. The other hand’s resting heavy and warm on Tommy’s ass, and Tommy zeros in on the small smile lurking at the corner of Adam’s mouth when Adam says, “Did you think I’d stop if I knew you were awake?”
“Dunno.” Tommy’s eyes threaten to close again, the steady stroke of Adam’s hand from the small of his back, over his ass to his thigh and back up again lulling him into a doze. “Didn’t think about it. Kinda high.”
There’s a soft shuffling noise. Tommy blinks once, very, very slowly, and finds Adam moved closer, touching the side of his face. “I don’t think I’m high anymore,” Adam says, fingertips trailing down to sweep over Tommy’s lips. “You fucked me sober.”
Tommy’s nose wrinkles on a giggle. “But you’re still gonna kiss me.”
“I don’t have to be high to want to kiss you, or fuck you,” Adam says, leaning in, and even though Tommy really hadn’t had any doubts about where Adam stood on this ten seconds after he shoved Adam down, he takes it as permission to fuck Adam’s brains out any time he gets the urge.
“As long as you let me do it sweet and soft at least one time out of three,” Adam says, and Tommy grins, mouth bumping into Adam’s to get that kiss.