Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~2400 words. Mild D/s. Armbinding. Adam sees sequinned zebra-print pants and has to try them on, Tommy sees hardcore bondage porn and has to try it out. Whatever.
Tommy wiggles his fingers to feel how much the stiff leather doesn’t give. “This is pretty fucking cool.”
Tugging the second glove into place, Adam presses a kiss to his shoulder before straightening up. They’re custom-made, covering Tommy’s arms up to about an inch below his armpits. Dozens and dozens of clinking metal rings track the full length of each one. No way is Adam going to lace him up all the way the first time out, but the possibility is there. “And you look really, really good in them.”
Flexing his hands again, Tommy grins. He’s on his knees on the bedroom floor, Adam in front of him, a thick quilt folded up beneath him to cushion the beating his knees are about to get. The gloves are the only thing he’s wearing. With Adam fully dressed all the way down to the kick-ass wedge boots, looming above him, Tommy already feels small and vulnerable in the best possible fucking way. After the first few times he went off before they were both ready, Adam’s been more careful about using his size like this. Tonight, it’s totally the point.
“Let me see again how close you can get them,” Adam says, his hand soft on Tommy’s jaw urging him to bend forward.
Spreading his knees further apart for balance, Tommy tucks his arms behind his back, metal hoops chiming. They’ve been practicing for this. Not with the gloves, but with him on his knees while Adam fucks him, dragging his arms back and pinning them. It goes against what Tommy would’ve figured, but Adam says he’s looser, more relaxed, when he’s got a dick up his ass. Getting his elbows touching on his own is easy.
“Beautiful,” Adam says, stroking his cheek. Tommy nuzzles into his palm, happily. He’s as addicted to being touched by Adam as Adam is to touching him. There weren’t many boundaries between them before the start of all this, and now it’s hard to think of even one. Tommy always thought they could tell one another anything. By the time that became true, they could do anything, too.
The really kinky shit, though, that’s usually all Tommy’s idea. Adam sees sequinned zebra-print pants and has to try them on, Tommy sees hardcore bondage porn and has to try it out. Whatever. It works.
The tips of Adam’s fingers trail up to touch the liner dark around Tommy’s eyes. Tommy went all out with feminine soft tonight. His hair’s falling all around his face, tousled and spike-free, his lips are quiet pink, his cheeks lightly blushed. The makeup’s more for him than Adam. It feels good, stark against the harsh black leather on his arms, the way his cock’s already curved up hard and thick. Big money says Adam likes it, though.
“One day I would love to crawl inside your head,” Adam says, smiling. The plain black cord for the binder is snaked around his arm, dangling lazily from his wrist. “Find out exactly what you’re thinking when you’re looking at me like that.”
“Could always ask.”
Quietly, the touch on Tommy’s face sliding down to become a hand pressed to his throat, Adam asks, “What’re you thinking, Tommy Joe?”
“I love your dick,” Tommy says, no hesitation at all. “I really fucking love your dick, and I want you to let me suck it, let me try to cram it straight down my throat.”
Adam huffs a startled laugh. He should totally be used to shit like that flying out of Tommy’s mouth by now. Somehow, he isn’t. “I so asked for that.”
“You totally did,” Tommy says, and leans harder into Adam’s hold. His shoulders are starting to ache from the effort of keeping his arms back by himself. “Gonna lace me up, give me what I want?”
Adam says, “Yeah,” voice thick. He uncoils the cord, lets it whisper through his fingers, drape against Tommy’s upper back. “Bend over for me, baby.”
A shiver skittering down Tommy’s spine, he rests a hand on Adam’s thigh, settles between the spread of Adam’s legs with his shoulders butted right up against them. Once he’s sure he’s got his balance, he tucks his arms behind his back again, lifting them as much as he can for Adam to start lacing the cord through the hoops.
They could’ve done this first, had it ready. The cord’s long enough. But every time Adam drags it through a loop, it’s a slithering kiss on his ass, trailing up his back, and that is so fucking totally worth the effort of keeping still, his head bowed between Adam’s legs. Adam’s boots smell sharply of leather and mink oil, and he breathes in deep, even.
“That’s it, baby,” Adam says, running a hand down his arm, up again. Tommy lets his shoulders relax, heart kicking when the binding holds. They’re not tight yet, not even close, but he doesn’t have to work to keep his arms back anymore. “Good?”
“So good.” Unlacing his fingers, Tommy flexes his hands, listens to leather creak. The sound travels down his spine straight into his balls. “Jesus, this is crazy. I’m like really fucking hard. I might lose it before you get your dick in my mouth.”
Adam laughs, bedroom-sexy and delighted. “Let me worry about how close you are. Gonna tighten it now.”
Tommy’s okay comes in him locking his fingers back together.
There’s hardly any pressure at first. Nothing compared to when Adam’s pinning him, anyway. It comes in slow, creeping stages, gentle tugs that bring his arms closer together bit by bit until he can feel the muscles bunched up tight between his shoulder blades, the ache of it spreading out and down into his chest. When that teasing, floaty feeling starts rising up, he makes the mistake of grabbing at it. He groans miserably as it slips away slick as an eel.
“Don’t work for it,” Adam reminds him, digging blunt nails briefly through the cords into Tommy’s back. That’s another one of those things Adam says Tommy responds to wonderfully that he has his doubts about. But maybe Pavlov wasn’t totally cracked, because the second the pain spikes, he quits reaching for what he wants, lets Adam bring it to him. The soft, affectionate praise Adam murmurs in its wake doesn’t hurt, either. He is such a sucker for Adam’s voice.
By the time Adam nudges him back up on his knees, the ache in his arms has turned into a low-grade burn. For a long, long minute, Adam doesn’t do anything else, just watches Tommy’s face as the burn flares hotter, drowns under an endorphin flood and begins to build again, smouldering under skin. It’s that rhythm, waves of bite and release, that finally start to drag Tommy down.
The loud snick of Adam unzipping brings Tommy’s gaze dragging up. He doesn’t try to focus. Trusting in Adam’s hand on his jaw to guide him, he opens his mouth, his chest rising slow and easy as Adam’s cockhead slides over his tongue. Ignoring the urge to lick up all the thick taste of Adam’s precome, he opens up wider, invites Adam to do whatever he wants, tease them both with it, keep fucking against Tommy’s tongue like that, anything, as long as he doesn’t stop.
When Adam’s fingers dig into his aching shoulder, he groans, ends up sucking eagerly anyway. Adam lets him get away with it, too. He takes Adam’s cock as deep as he can manage without his hands to help guide it, brushfire heat breaking out all along his skin as it bumps the back of his throat, sticks there. His cock jerks, a sticky string of precome snapping and slapping back against his belly, hot wet cling. Seconds count off in his head in sluggish heartbeats. Right before Adam moves, Tommy knows he’s going to, but he’s expecting to be hauled off Adam’s dick, not driven down further on it. As Adam’s cock wedges into his throat, the urge to choke rises up fast, dies off even faster.
He can’t breathe. He can’t actually fucking breathe, can’t get away with his arms bound, with Adam’s grip twisted tight in his hair, and oh fuck, he’s gonna come.
“Not yet,” Adam hisses. He does choke then, fighting the need to cough until Adam’s dick is pressed wet and hot against his cheek. Fingers take its place, hooking over his teeth to keep mouth open as he struggles to breathe. When his tongue grazes the pads, it’s like he can feel every dip, every whorl of Adam’s fingerprints. He sucks the salt from Adam’s skin, nuzzles his face against the rough, scratchy weave of Adam’s pants. The scent of leather rises up again and he sinks down, knees spread as wide as they’ll go, to lick at Adam’s boots. Seams rough against his tongue, he wonders what the hell made him want to do that, why the sharp bite of oil in his mouth isn’t disgusting, why he can’t stop, not even when Adam tells him to.
“Oh, god, baby,” Adam says, “stay there for me. Don’t move. Please don’t move.”
Swallowing a breath as Adam moves away, Tommy realises the soft scratch against his forehead is carpet fibres. He groans, miserable at the loss of Adam’s heat, and again, shockingly honest, when the dull thud of Adam hitting the floor behind him registers. Two seconds delayed, he feels Adam’s hands on his bare ass, fingers pushing slick into the crack, up inside him. It doesn’t even seem real. It hurts and then it doesn’t and then it does again, endless feedback loop. He wants Adam to touch his dick. He wants Adam to stay far, far away from it, because the second Adam’s hand is on it, he’s going to come so hard. So fucking hard he can already taste it.
Hot through thick leather, Adam’s hand curls into his. He can’t ride Adam’s fingers like this, no leverage, his body not listening to him when he tries to make it move, but Adam’s fucking him anyway, sweet and slow and amazing. He holds onto Adam’s hand as hard as he can, pressing the shape of Adam’s fingers, knuckle and bone and flesh, into his palms. The taste ofAdam’s cock is still thick in his mouth, the feel of it, so hard and soft all at once, branded into the burn of his throat.
“Please,” he hears his own voice rasp, though it doesn’t feel like him talking at all, “please, I want it. Adam. Please.”
Through the haze in his head, he catches Adam telling him it’s okay. But it’s not. It’s fucking not okay. He wants Adam’s cock in his mouth, Adam’s come on his face, and he’s not getting it, and he fucking wants. Adam tells him easy, breathe, but how the fuck is he supposed to do that when Adam’s not fucking listening to him.
There’s a loud scuff of leather on carpet, Adam’s boots sliding past Tommy’s face, and Adam saying, “Baby, baby, c’mon,” as he stretches out on his side, curled around Tommy’s body, his leg beneath Tommy’s head to give him something to rest on so he can catch his balance. Tommy strains for Adam’s cock, catching the head between his lips and sucking the whole thing hard into his mouth. The sharp hiss of air between Adam’s teeth makes him fight to take more, struggle for it, scalp tingling from Adam’s grip holding him off. He whines and sucks harder, as hard as he fucking can, and gets a rough knot of three fingers in him up to the last knuckle instead of more dick down his throat. Sensation peaks, shining sparking incredible, so much he can’t tell one thing from the other anymore, doesn’t even try. It’s forever and no time at all before Adam drives in hard, stills and floods Tommy’s mouth full. Sometimes swallowing is a bitch and sometimes, like now, Tommy does it without thinking, not even a drop leaking free even though when he pictured this moment in his head, he had Adam’s come all over his face.
“Got you,” Adam says, smoothing back his hair, “just breathe, I’ve got you,” Adam’s heartbeat suddenly loud beneath his ear, a firm, steady rhythm for him to match. He thinks he maybe whimpers as the cord binding his arms releases, not sure if it’s disappointment or not. The manic buzz of deadened nerves coming back to life isn’t much of a relief, and he tries to squirm away as Adam massages his shoulders, his arms, making it so much worse.
One of Adam’s arms locks tight around his back. “Don’t fight me, Tommy Joe.”
Tommy sucks in air. It didn’t hurt before. Now it’s fucking killing him.
Adam keeps saying breathe slow, it’ll pass, and for a few tortured minutes, Tommy doesn’t actually believe him. Then the horrible buzzing starts to ease bit by bit, mellowing out enough for him to feel the ache of muscles used, abused, beneath it. Blinking his eyes open, he finds himself staring straight at the slant of Adam’s collarbone.
“There you are,” Adam says when he glances up. “Don’t worry about moving yet.”
Closing his eyes again, Tommy burrows sluggishly closer. He’s mostly on top of Adam, the quilt that had been on the floor draped over them both. Moving is a hell of a lot of effort. Talking’s almost as much. “How long was I under?”
“Half an hour since you came,” Adam says, combing his fingers through the hair at Tommy’s nape. “You still look like you’re pretty far in.”
“Feels it.” Oh hell, does it feel like it. Grounded so firmly, floating so far. There are times Tommy wishes he could bottle this feeling to save for later, take tiny, tiny sips when he needs it most. Usually when he does, Adam’s right here. But sometimes, life happens.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Adam promises. “Not tonight, not tomorrow, not the whole weekend. I’m all yours, baby, as long as you need me.”
“Good,” Tommy says, already planning on taking a nap right here, shored up by Adam inside and out. In a few minutes, Adam’s going to haul him into bed to get a proper night’s sleep while he can. Despite him being perfectly willing to, Adam’s never let him crash for long on the floor. “Keep that schedule clear,” he mumbles. “Gonna need you a long time yet.”