Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~12,000 words. Werefic!
Summer air is close and charged in Tommy’s lungs, the music is thrumming in his bones, the drums guide his heartbeat, and there’s nowhere, fucking nowhere, he’d rather be than where he is, down on one knee, fingers on the frets, Adam’s gaze on him crackling thunderstorm-thick.
Friday night, moon fat and high, they play an outdoor venue. The crowd’s a wild sea of glittering eyes backed up against the trees pressing in on three sides. Tommy’s not sure where on the map he is anymore, fucking Oregon maybe, but he doesn’t give a shit. Summer air is close and charged in his lungs, the music is thrumming in his bones, the drums guide his heartbeat, and there’s nowhere, fucking nowhere, he’d rather be than where he is, down on one knee, fingers on the frets, Adam’s gaze on him crackling thunderstorm-thick.
Grinning, Tommy flicks hair out of his face and glances up, finds Adam half a stage closer than he was two seconds ago. Adam’s not singing anymore, vocalising rough and growly, promising something that makes the audience scream their fucking heads off. There’s a flash in Adam’s eyes, a warning flicker, as Tommy brings the bass up to nuzzle its neck, flick it with his tongue. Like a puppet with its wires snapped, Adam drops to his knees, and somehow the screaming gets louder, a torrent of sound pushing at Tommy, making him throw his head back, throat exposed, soul flying on strings.
“Adam, no!” screeches through Tommy’s monitor, and what the fucking fuck is that shit supposed to be, fucking with his mix like that. He takes one hand off the bass long enough to give Neil the finger for almost messing him up, realising too late the audience’s roar has turned to actual screams, spilled-blood sharp, and when Neil shouts, “Tommy, down!” Tommy doesn’t get it. He really, seriously just doesn’t get it.
Until two hundred pounds of muscle and fur and snapping, snarling teeth slam straight into him. The bass cracks like a twig, broken neck gouging Tommy’s arm, and he hits the stage flat on his back before he has time to do more than cry out in shock. Breath knocked from his lungs on impact, vision swimming, all he can hear are the screams, the thick, heavy snarling above him, and Neil, frantic in his ear, “It’s okay, fuck, fuck, Tommy, don’t move, it’s Adam, it’s Adam, it’s okay, just don’t move,” over and over while the backing track plays on.
A heavy weight settles on Tommy’s chest. He shoves at it on instinct. Pain is thin and metallic coating the back of his throat–his shirt sleeve is flapping open, baring pale flesh, stark lines of ink and a deep, bloody slash–and flares into pure panic when whatever it is on top of him takes a swipe at his face. He drops back, choking on another scream.
“Just stay down!” Neil shouts. “And shut the fuck up! It’s Adam!”
Stamping down on the urge to try scrambling up again, get away, Tommy slowly drags his gaze down from the merrily twinkling stars to face the thing sitting on his fucking chest. Turns out it isn’t sitting on him but perched above him, straddling his torso, one huge paw more than enough to hold him down. There’s another paw hovering so close to his face it’s barely more than a blur. He swallows hard, trembling, waiting for his brain to catch up with what his eyes are seeing. If he’s not actually high right now, or insane, or any number of really good explanations, that’s a giant fucking snow leopard up there. It’s got teeth, and claws, and painfully bright electric-blue eyes, and it’s looking at him like its maybe kinda hungry.
“Holy shit,” sums it all up pretty fucking good, if you ask him.
The leopard gives a threatening growl. Something near its paw glitters. Tommy stares at the sparkle and stares at it, trying to figure out what the hell it is, and then Neil says, calm and even, “Don’t run. Don’t even move. He won’t hurt you. I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing, but he won’t hurt you.”
Tommy drags in a shaking breath. It sure as fuck looks like it wants to hurt him. Fucking eat him alive. “Help,” he says softly, somehow hoping Neil or Monte or someone, anyone, can hear him over the chaos flooding all around his tiny island of terrified quiet. “Please help.”
Making a soft chuffing noise, the cat leans in close, noses at Tommy’s cheek. The teeth are gone but the claws are still out, prickling dangerously sharp through Tommy’s torn shirt. He’s pretty sure he’s about to piss himself. He really hopes not. The cat shifts back a bit, sniffs down Tommy’s arm to find spilled blood, and Tommy closes his eyes, tries to breathe through the crushing weight in his chest. He’d really, really like to not die right now.
With a gentle push against Tommy’s injured arm, the cat mews softly and backs off, flopping down with a huff to rest its head on Tommy’s shoulder. It looks at him sadly, small tufts of fur above its eyes raised like a question.
“Dude, don’t fucking ask me,” Tommy says, wondering when he’s either going to wake up or pass out.
“Sorry,” Neil calls from stage left. He jogs to a stop about a dozen feet away. “We can’t clear everybody out. Fucking zoom lenses. You guys okay to move?”
“Move, what,” says Tommy.
“Adam?” Neil asks, and the cat chuffs again, closing its eyes and tucking its short muzzle into Tommy’s armpit, nosing down until its face is mostly hidden. “Fine, you’re sorry. Have fun cleaning this mess up tomorrow. If I come over there, are you going to try to bite my fingers off again?”
A low, steady growl echoes down through Tommy’s chest. He gulps air. “I think that means yes,” Tommy says, trembling with adrenaline burning uselessly through his veins. His arm is a dull, nagging throb. “Seriously. Adam?”
The growl drops off to a huff. The leopard’s thick tail comes up, thumps lightly onto Tommy’s chest, tip curled along his throat to brush his cheek. It twitches once and goes still.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” All the tension, all the fear, drains out of Tommy like water. He covers his face with one hand, trying to muffle the insane laugh burbling up the back of his throat. When the cat lifts its head, stares at him with a crazily amped-up version of Adam’s eyes, he can’t hold it back. He laughs so hard he starts to hiccup, laughs and laughs and doesn’t stop, not even when Adam growls at him, disgruntled and totally unimpressed.
Hours and a few dozen stitches later, Tommy’s bundled up in fluffy down comforter on Adam’s hotel bed buzzed out of his gourd on some seriously high-class painkillers. The Jack he downed them with probably wasn’t a good idea, but Adam’s feeling guilty, and a guilty Adam will let him get away with all kinds of shit that is so not good for him.
“So you’re not mad,” Adam says for the millionth time. He’s in a big cushy chair on the farthest side of the room from the bed, elbows on his knees. The sweats he’s wearing are old and faded, tattered at one knee. They’re all he bothered to put on once he’d shifted back.
Tommy sighs. “I’m kinda hurt you didn’t trust me enough to tell me, but that’s like, my ego talking. I get it.”
Adam’s mouth crumples. “I’m sorry.”
“At least you didn’t eat me,” Tommy says. If it weren’t for the drugs and the booze, he’d probably be freaking out right now. Maybe. He’s okay with different, though. He didn’t grow up around many weres, and there’s a big, big difference between people being different and people being different, but they’re mostly still people. And Adam’s Adam, so, whatever. “You, uh, weren’t gonna eat me, were you?”
Adam’s laugh is shatter-glass sharp. “No, Tommy Joe. No, I wasn’t about to eat you.”
“All I’m saying is you looked kinda hungry. And like, if those salads aren’t doing it for you–”
“Oh god, stop,” Adam says, burying his face in his hands. “I’m not going to eat you. God, I’m so not going to eat you.”
“Okay,” Tommy says slowly. He totally believes Adam. He’s not so sure about the giant fucking scary-ass predator that had pinned him to the stage in front of five thousand people. “So, what happened? Is it a moon thing?”
“No, it’s not a moon thing,” Adam snaps, and immediately says, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’m pissed off at myself and I’m taking it out on you. I’m sorry.”
“I get it already. You’re really, really sorry,” Tommy says. “You’re forgiven. Just tell me what the fuck, okay?”
Adam looks up at him helplessly. “Do I have to?”
If he had mentioned oh hey, by the way, I’m a fucking were, then no, he wouldn’t have to. But he didn’t. He didn’t, and he scared the shit out of Tommy out there. “Yeah. Pretty sure you have to.”
“Fuck.” Heaving a sigh, Adam slumps back into the seat. “I’m not very good at controlling myself.”
Tommy raises both eyebrows. Yeah, no. Almost a year they’ve been friends and he didn’t have a fucking clue. That’s not gonna cut it.
“When I’m turned on,” Adam grumbles.
“So why the hell did you have to jump me,” Tommy blurts, not really catching on until Adam’s face goes flat. And oh. Oh. “Right. Um, sorry.”
“It’s part of the show, Tommy. It’s my fault. I should be able to keep a fucking handle on it.”
“Oh hey, no,” Tommy says, clumsily clambering his way out of his cocoon. It’s possible he’s more fucked up than he thought, though, because the floor wavers like the ocean. Before he figures out where to put his feet, Adam is there to catch him, trying to push him back down on the bed. “Shit happens, okay? I don’t get much about the were thing, and that’s, like, my problem, but I know shit happens. Quit beating yourself up about it.”
Adam’s fingers ghost over the bandage covering Tommy’s arm. “You should be terrified of me. I hurt you.”
Tommy’s smile goes lopsided. “Can’t feel a thing right now.”
“I’m being serious,” Adam says, in his very serious tone, a dire crinkle between his brows, his mouth thin and unhappy. “I didn’t mean to do it, but it happened regardless. We’ll be more careful during performances from now on. Tone it back a little.”
“Not the kiss,” Tommy says, guts clenching. He loves the Fever kiss. Hot or fun or both, it’s a part of who Adam is, what the show is all about. They need that in there. “I’ll quit jacking off my bass, okay, but not the kiss.”
“The bass I can deal with,” Adam says, finally nudging Tommy back to sit on the edge of the bed. “Not so much with you licking me. Or grinding your ass on my dick.”
Shoulders hunched, Tommy mumbles, “Sorry.” It’s a good time up there. Sometimes he gets carried away, that’s all.
“Don’t apologise.” The mattress dips as Adam settles onto the bed beside him, bumps their knees together. Since he’s there, Tommy rests his head on Adam’s shoulder. The happy time cocktail in his blood is really doing a number on him. “I’m just glad you’re not mad at me,” Adam says, giving his knee another companionable bump. “Or afraid. I don’t know what I’d do if I’d made you afraid of me.”
“So you’ve got big scary claws,” Tommy says, curling his fingers into a pretty decent imitation of the things he’d seen earlier, pawing at Adam with them, “and teeth and shit. You were also kinda adorable. And fucking huge, holy shit, man. I didn’t think snow leopards were that big.”
Adam laughs, startled. “You recognised what I am?”
“Hey, I got satellite. National Geographic.”
With another quiet laugh, Adam lets his head rest against Tommy’s. “Real snow leopards are smaller. My full body mass carries over into the shift.”
Poking at one of Adam’s fingers, the nail on it still shiny black, Tommy asks, “And this stuff too, huh.”
Adam curls his finger in to trap Tommy’s, a smile in his voice. “Yeah. I’m still me. Just with claws and teeth and shit.”
Thinking about how contrite the cat seemed the second it had calmed down, how very Adam that guilty look on its face had been, answers the big question kicking around in Tommy’s brain. Lots of times on stage Adam goes for his throat to control him when he pushes. It’s all fun, part of the show; he doesn’t for a second believe Adam would actually choke him if he didn’t back off. But pushing at Adam? Apparently pushes Adam’s buttons.
“Can you change again?” Tommy asks.
“Probably,” Adam says, shoulder shifting in a small shrug. “It’s not that hard– Wait, like right now?”
“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Lemme get a look at you when I’m not about to shit myself.”
Adam’s shoulders droop. That last bit was total dirty pool. Even if Adam doesn’t want to shift, he’s gonna feel obligated now. Tommy’ll feel bad about it later. Right now, he really wants to see Adam without the haze of confusion and fear.
“Are you sure?” Adam asks, curling his whole hand around Tommy’s, holding on. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea.”
“You’re not gonna do anything.” Scooting back, Tommy tucks his legs up onto the bed, fixes Adam with an expectant look. “Cats like being petted, right?” He waits for Adam’s reluctant nod, then breaks out into a wide grin. “So you change, and I’ll scratch behind your ears.”
“That’s bribery,” Adam says, sliding off the bed to shuck his sweats. “Shameless bribery. Nobody scratches my ears anymore.”
“Um,” Tommy says. That is Adam’s bare-ass junk right there. No big deal, he’s seen it before. Usually with warning, though. Like costume change, or Adam heading into or out of the shower. Not just bam, there it is.
Eyes closed, Adam doesn’t notice the staring. He drags in one long, deep breath, then another, sinking down like he’s going to his knees. Halfway there, the change starts. Tommy’s not sure what he’s expecting, definitely not the monster-movie crack of bones rearranging–he wouldn’t have asked if he thought for a second it would hurt. But the smooth flow of fur over skin like a gentle tide over the beach isn’t what he had in mind, either. There’s no way he can follow it all at once, the familiar shape of Adam’s face there and gone in a blink, his hands already paws when they touch carpet, his thick tail curling around his haunches as he settles back. With a soft huff of breath, he licks his whiskers, quiet and waiting.
“Wow,” Tommy says, staring. “Dude, wow.”
Adam makes another one of those chuffing noises, almost like a laugh. He thumps his tail once, twice, and ducks his head, small round ears swivelling back then forward again, expectant.
“Gonna have to c’mere if you want scratching,” Tommy says. “Almost ate carpet last time I stood up.”
Rising up onto all fours, Adam gives himself a quick shake. His fur is gorgeous pure white with smoky grey overlay, peppered with dozens and dozens of black rosettes, big on his legs and body and smaller on his face, dainty speckles of them a lot like his freckles. He rubs his cheek against the edge of the bed, then slides his chin onto it, eyes wide and innocent, totally milking it.
“Heard you the first time, baby,” Tommy says, cautiously reaching out. He didn’t think he’d be nervous, but he is. Obviously Adam can’t talk, his mouth isn’t made for human words anymore, but he does that chuffing thing again, not quite a purr, and it’s almost as reassuring as his voice. Tentatively, Tommy strokes the fur between Adam’s ears, smiling crookedly when Adam’s eyes immediately close and his tail thumps the carpet again. Scratching a little harder gets Adam rising up on his hind legs, forepaws braced on the bed as he pushes up into Tommy’s hand, chuffing away like a bellows.
Scooting back again, Tommy pats the bed. “C’mon, big guy.”
Adam doesn’t hesitate to leap up. Tommy lists sideways as the bed dips, laughs as Adam turns around in a circle before flopping down, paws tucked under his chest and head in Tommy’s lap. He butts at Tommy’s elbow until Tommy lifts his arm, lets it drape over him and starts scratching at his ears again, down lower over his chin, through the ruff thick on his neck.
“Total cuddle-slut,” Tommy says, bringing his other hand into it, careful not to pull his stitches, his fingers combing through fur heavy and thick on Adam’s back, softer and fluffier beneath. “Way prettier when you’re not snarling, too.”
Adam cracks one eye open, noses at Tommy’s side in another apology Tommy doesn’t need. When he ducks out from under Tommy’s hand, pins it to Tommy’s thigh with one big, wide paw, Tommy goes still. The shift back isn’t so much a reversal as it is Adam coming to the surface the same as the cat had, skin over fur, paws into hands, muzzle into a shy, happy smile. It takes only seconds for the leopard to vanish and leave Adam in its place, curled lazily on his side, his hand wrapped around Tommy’s and his cheek on Tommy’s thigh. Not sure what else to do, Tommy goes with what feels natural, fingers stroking through Adam’s hair almost as soft as his fur had been, something he’s done too many times before to count.
“Thanks,” Adam says roughly, giving Tommy’s fingers a brief squeeze.
“Told you I wasn’t afraid.” Nervous, maybe, but not afraid. If he’d known it was Adam up there snarling in his face, he probably wouldn’t have been afraid then, either. Not like he was.
“You are scarily easy-going, Tommy Joe,” Adam says, nuzzling at Tommy’s thigh again.
“Good thing, too, ’cause you’re really, really naked.”
Adam chuckles under his breath, not moving to get up but shifting his leg slightly, enough to cover his junk. It doesn’t help much. He’s still acres and acres of bare, freckled skin, smooth curves of muscle. Beautiful in a way that makes his face all of three inches from Tommy’s dick kinda awkward.
“Wish you hadn’t shifted back,” Tommy says, propping his chin in his hand. He keeps the other curved lightly on Adam’s shoulder, not wanting to draw too much attention to it by pulling away. “I was kinda hoping you’d sleep on my feet.”
“Oh, you brat,” Adam says, and bites Tommy’s leg through his jeans, sharp and sudden. Tommy’s not sure–Adam doesn’t really make a habit of biting him–but his teeth don’t feel as blunt as they should be. “No way are you ever getting your frostbitten toes near my belly.”
“But it’s so furry,” Tommy whines. “You’d never even notice.”
“Nope,” Adam says, rolling off the bed onto his feet. He stretches lazily, his back one long, easy flex of muscle, and bends down to haul on his sweats.
“I’ll scratch your ears again,” Tommy tries, only slightly strained at the edges.
“You’ll scratch my ears again anyway,” Adam says smugly, and starts tugging down the bedclothes. “Am I walking you back to your room, or are you sleeping here?”
Since that’s the dumbest question ever, Tommy flops down and starts wriggling out of his jeans. Like hell he’s leaving Adam now. Adam alone means too much time to think, and if Adam’s got time to think about what happened tonight, he’s going to work his way straight back around to guilty and stressed out. There’s gonna be enough shit to deal with tomorrow without adding that on top.
“I’ve got press at eight,” Adam warns, checking the alarm on his phone before he flicks off the lamp.
“Whatever,” Tommy says, helpfully lifting the blankets for Adam to crawl in. He’s gonna hate every second of it, but he’s going to that press conference too. He can’t even fucking imagine the shit that’s going down on Twitter right now. Like Adam, the rest of the world needs to know he’s not afraid. The best way to do that is to be right there by his side.
“I’ve never been in hiding,” Adam says to the forest of cameras and microphones. “Nobody ever asked.”
Even on the periphery, Tommy winces from the torrent of questions that go up. He’s tucked about as far away from the mess as he can get and still be in the same room. Two big guys in imposing black suits flank the small stage where Adam’s answering questions, one of them very strategically blocking Tommy from view. He’s feeling a little bitchy about that, and a little relieved. Adam had tried to get him to stay behind, but at the same time, Tommy knows, Adam had really, really wanted him to come. How much Tommy hates these things is no secret.
“Guys, come on,” Adam says sheepishly when the din eases. “You know me. Sometimes I get a little carried away.”
“How does Mr. Ratliff feel about you getting carried away?” one of the reporters shouts, while at the same time another one calls out, “Will Mr. Ratliff continue with you on tour?”
For the first time in a long, long time, and despite Lane helping him prep for those very questions, Adam falters. At first, no one notices. Then someone else shouts, “Was Mr. Ratliff aware of your were status?” and someone else jumps in with, “Has he recovered from your attack?” making Adam’s nostrils flare, his hands on the podium mottle.
Before Tommy knows what the hell he’s doing, he’s on his feet. “Mr. Ratliff is fucking fine.”
The whole room freezes, then surges forward like a pack of starving wolves. Tommy’s guts go to ice. People start shouting questions at him, so many he can’t pick one out from the other, more camera flashes than when they’re on stage going off in his face. Adam tries to butt in but nobody’s listening, and Tommy fights the urge to hunch back, forces Adam’s line out between clenched teeth. Nobody gets it at first, so he repeats it, loud and clear. “It’s all part of the show. He didn’t attack me.”
“But your injuries,” someone cuts in.
Tommy shrugs. “Accident. Watch the tapes, man. My bass splintered. You can rehearse all you want, but sometimes, shit happens.”
More questions come in from all sides, the same as before–did Tommy really know, is Tommy leaving the band, why didn’t Adam come out to support weres the same as he did the queer community. Adam gives the same answers one more time, then closes the whole thing down. “We’ve got a show to put on,” he says, waving off the jerkwad who wants to know why Tommy’s always the one who takes the brunt of Adam’s little moments on stage, and steps down. The second his back is to the room, he smiles wide and brilliant, grateful, and falls in beside Tommy on the way out. “Thank you.”
“No big deal,” Tommy says, letting their shoulders bump. “Sorry I butted in like that, fucking douche pissed me off. Why’s everybody always figure I’m gonna jump ship or some shit?”
Safe in the hallway, one of the bodyguards and Lane, busy on her cell, up ahead, and the other trailing a few feet behind them, Adam loops an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. “They’ve got a point. You’re the one that gets it all because I can’t reach the others, and Monte would knee me in the balls.”
“And like, that part where I said you could do it,” Tommy reminds him.
Adam plants a smacking kiss to the top of Tommy’s head. Wrinkling his nose, Tommy sighs. No matter how many times he tells Adam to quit that, it never sinks in. Just because he’s tall enough to do it is no excuse.
There’s a small crowd gathered out back. The sun’s high and bright, blinding, and Tommy digs out his sunglasses, lets Adam guide him through the noise. A few pens and photos get shoved in his way and Adam brushes them off with a smile and an apology that they’ve really got to get on the road, but thanks for coming out. In the car, Lane in front with the driver, Tommy in back with Adam, Adam says, “About your arm, though.”
“What about it?” Tommy asks, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. “I’m good to play.”
“You’re sure? The last thing we need is you pulling your stitches out.”
“Seriously.” Tugging one sleeve of his jacket off, Tommy turns his arm up, pulls back the edge of the bandage to show Adam the neat line of stitches tracking up the soft underside. He’s lucky the bass jabbed him where it did. If it’d been his left arm, it for sure would’ve fucked up his ink. As it is, the gash runs a good half-inch from the Duke’s face. “See? If I take it easy, no problem.”
Adam carefully pushes the bandage back down. “I really am sorry.”
“Sorry enough to quit apologising yet?” Tommy asks, shrugging his jacket back on. “‘Cause if you don’t quit, pretty soon I’m gonna start milking it for more than a new Viper.”
“Oh yeah?” Smile reaching all the way to his eyes, Adam settles deep into the seat. “What’ll buy back your love, Tommy Joe?”
Tommy blanks. There’s not much he wants, and even less that he needs. Adam’s already paying him way more than he’s gotten for a gig in his entire life. Probably all his gigs fucking combined. Then it hits him, and he smiles casually, slings an arm along the back of the seat with an ankle balanced on one knee.
Smile dropping right off his face, Adam says, “No way. Not a chance.”
“You asked,” Tommy says, picking up the slack with the grin tugging his mouth wide.
“I can’t spend all night as a cat,” Adam whines.
“Like, ’cause you don’t want to, or you just plain can’t?” Tommy asks, honestly curious. “And dude, you don’t have to, I’m teasing.”
“It’s weird,” Adam says, fiddling with his phone. “My instincts are there all the time anyway, but the longer I stay shifted, the stronger they get. It’s good for some things. I can tell pretty easily when people are lying to me, or when they’re afraid or turned on, things like that. But I get really, you know, too.” He waves a hand vaguely.
“You know?” Tommy echoes.
Making a frustrated noise, Adam says, “There’s no good word for it. Not bossy or possessive, but sorta.”
“No, not even that. Snow leopards aren’t all that aggressive.”
Tommy grunts. He’s not so sure about that one. Adam can go from sweet and mellow to all up in your face in a couple seconds flat.
“It’s really hard to explain,” Adam says, his need to try clear in his tone. “Think about it like a stage persona. It’s me, but amplified. So I get more cat-like, but more me-like too.”
“Okay.” Tommy figures he’s got it. Mostly. “So you’re not gonna keep my toes warm tonight because you’ll wake up more you than you.”
“You are such a shit,” Adam says, hauling Tommy in for a sloppy, one-armed hug. “I hate that you had to find out this way, but I’m glad you know.”
“Yeah,” Tommy drawls, flicking a quick glance out the window, wondering how much time he’s got before the buses separate them and he won’t have a choice but to leave Adam on his own. Well, not on his own, there are lots of people on Adam’s bus–people that love him as much as Tommy does–but without him. “Why didn’t you tell me? And don’t give me that bullshit line about not asking.”
“I should’ve,” Adam concedes right off the bat. “I really should’ve, and it’s killing me I was making excuses not to. Being openly gay and so male about it, not some sitcom parody, already gets me so much shit. I didn’t want more on top of it.”
Tommy gets that. People can be entitled, snotty bitches. Half the internet already thinks they own Adam. There’s being loud and proud, and then there’s having a scrap of your life left for your fucking self. There’s also a big difference between telling the world and telling your friends, but Tommy’s not gonna hash out that line now. Adam’s not perfect. He doesn’t fucking have to be.
“It’s my business anyway,” Adam grumbles sourly.
Giving Adam’s knee a pat, Tommy digs out his phone. He’s probably ready to deal with the shit on Twitter now. Maybe. Social media is fucking exhausting. “If you wanna put it in the show for real, babyboy, you just let me know.”
There’s pure dead silence from Adam’s side of the car. Pretending he doesn’t notice, Tommy starts scrolling through his feed. Five seconds in, he says to hell with that shit and starts clicking around for Adam’s tweets. There’s one from early, early this morning already retweeted about fifty zillion times. Mouth quirking at the corner, Tommy retweets it too, and adds in a saucy wink.
“You didn’t,” Adam says when his phone chimes.
“Dude, you’ve got me on fucking alert?”
Instead of answering, Adam flips over his phone to show Tommy the touchscreen. ;) RT @adamlambert: So I got carried away again! #woops
“Gonna reply?” Tommy asks.
“Nah.” Tucking his phone away, Adam lets his head fall back against the seat, eyes closed. “Let ‘em wonder what you’re winking about.”
“My brand spankin’ new portable furry heater,” Tommy says, wiggling in close to Adam’s side because he can, and because in a few minutes he’s not gonna see Adam again for hours and hours and hours.
Hair bundled up in a riot of curls on top of her head, hip cocked, Brooke says, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She waves to one of the crew lugging up the amps, and redirects him to the other side of the stage. The roadies are all busy, barely paying them any attention, but Sasha, Terrence and Taylor are lounging around waiting for Tommy to quit horning in on their practice time. They’re trying to look like they’re not all dying to know what he’s cornered Brooke about. It’s not really working.
“I know it’s weird to change the show halfway through, but it could be really cool.” Stamping down the urge to pick at his nails, Tommy meets Brooke’s gaze head on. She’s beautiful and he loves her, but she’s definitely the most hard-headed of the bunch, and hella intimidating when she wants to be. Maybe it’s because Monte’s known Adam longer that he’s more easy-going, but Brooke takes her role as choreographer really, really seriously. There’s being professional about it, though, and then there’s this.
“Have you talked to Adam about it?” she asks.
Tommy winces. He tried. Adam shot him down faster than a B-1. “Sorta.”
She hikes up an eyebrow. “And?”
“He’s worried something’s gonna happen. Which is just plain fucking stupid, okay? Something already happened. Sticking it back in the closet isn’t gonna make it any better.” It’s not Adam’s style to duck and run. It’s out there. Either they own it, or people will keep talking shit.
“Neither will sneaking around behind his back trying to get me to help you gang up on him.”
“I don’t want to gang up on him,” Tommy lies. Sometimes Adam needs a good gang-up to get his head out of his ass. “All I want is for him to at least fucking think about it before writing it off.”
“For who to think about what?” Adam asks, popping up out of fucking nowhere.
“There you are,” Brooke says, obviously relieved. “Do something about him. I need the stage.”
“Tommy?” Adam prompts.
“You suck,” Tommy tells her, and she smiles, wriggles her fingers at him in a quick wave. He probably deserves her calling Adam on him, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shrugs. “I was just talking to her about the show, that’s all.”
Jerking his chin for Tommy to follow, Adam grabs up one of the water bottles sitting on an amp and trots down the stairs from the stage to the floor. At first Tommy thinks they’re gonna hash it out there, where there are lots and lots of people around to keep it from getting heated like they sometimes do, but Adam keeps on going towards a side door, bumping it open with his hip to lead Tommy into the warren of service hallways. The last thing Tommy’s expecting is a hand on his shoulder pushing him gently but firmly back against a wall, pinning him there with an easy, thrilling strength. Adam makes sure Tommy’s looking straight at him before he says, “This is the last time we’re doing this, Tommy.”
“No buts. I’m not chasing you down on stage no matter how cool you think it is right now.”
“You don’t have to actually like fucking chase me,” Tommy protests. “Just stalk me a little. Right before Sleepwalker, it’ll be fucking perfect. Everyone’ll be so worked up from Fever it’ll hit ‘em like a ton of bricks. The music’s already made for it, it’ll fit right in with the dance segment.”
“It would,” Adam agrees. “But no.”
“Oh come the fuck on,” Tommy says, kicking it up a couple octaves. “You’re not gonna fucking hurt me! We’ll practice. We already fucking told the god damn world it was part of the show. What the fuck is it gonna look like when we don’t actually fucking do it? The anti-weres are having a fucking field day with it as it is.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Adam says, calm and even. “But we’re not doing anything until your arm is healed, and we have the time and the space to get it right.”
In the middle of another protest, Tommy snaps his mouth shut. He squints suspiciously. “You just agreed with me.”
Adam nods. “And if instead of sulking you’d been listening last night, and yesterday, and the day before, you’d have realised that already. I’m probably going to get hell from the were community for doing it, but it’s worse not to. It just needs to be right.”
Quietly, Tommy says, “Oh.” Maybe he had been a little fixated. But it’s been almost a week since the press conference, and just as long since he’s seen Adam shift. It’s been bugging him. “Sorry.”
Offering up a smile, Adam releases his shoulder to brush a few knuckles along his jaw. “It’s okay. You’re only trying to protect me. I appreciate it.”
“We can talk about it though, right? Like kinda how it could go. I got ideas.” Nabbing Adam’s water, Tommy wets his throat. He doesn’t get why venues don’t blast the A/C when performers and roadies are trying to work. Place is a fucking sauna.
Adam drags in a long, slow breath. “I bet you do.”
Lazing around his cushy hotel room, towel knotted around his waist, Tommy nabs his phone off the dresser before flopping onto the bed and helping himself to a mouthful of beer. Adam’s been out doing promo all day. From the mentions rolling in on his feed, everything went pretty good, people asking the obvious questions about Adam being a were, and gay, and blah blah fucking blah, whatever. It probably annoyed Adam more than the whole AMA thing, but at least none of the interviewers really harped on it. He doubts anybody even really notices how frustrated Adam gets when the questions aren’t about the music, anyway. Adam hides it too well.
Very deliberately, Tommy traces the smooth, shiny scar on his arm. It feels really cool, and it’s not even tender anymore. When he can, he wants to get something inked around it, something to highlight it, claim it.
Somebody knocks politely on his door and Tommy nearly jumps out of his fucking skin, blushing hot. Nabbing his tee shirt, he quickly hauls it on as he rolls off the bed. “Yeah?” he calls, forgetting to check the peephole before he opens up to find Adam on the other side, casual in jeans and a tee but his eyes lined and smoky beneath the fringe of his hair, his mouth softly glossed, freckles shining through.
“Hey,” Adam says.
“Hey,” Tommy croaks.
Adam’s smile widens. “Can I come in?”
“Jesus, yeah, sure, of course,” Tommy blurts, backing up a few quick steps. “I was checking out how the interviews went.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “How did the interviews go?”
“Good,” Adam says, then amends with a wry twist, “Alright. I wish they’d let me talk about the music more.”
“It’s always way more interesting for them to try to pick you apart,” Tommy says. “Lemme grab some shorts. You want a beer?”
“Yes,” Adam says, “but no. Do you have plans tonight?”
In the middle of hauling out a pair of underwear, Tommy pauses to flick a glance around his room. “This is it. Why, you wanna go out?” Not that he thinks there’s really anywhere in Idaho Falls, Idaho that Adam’s dying to hit.
Adam shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “There’s a national forest about a half hour from here.”
Oh. Fuck yeah. Hitching his shorts up over his hips, Tommy lets the towel fall as he grabs up a pair of jeans. “Let’s do it.”
Adam kills the rental’s engine. It’s getting dangerously close to dark, but they’ll have an hour at least. Tommy hopes an hour is enough. From the way Adam’s over there buzzing with energy, five minutes should be enough.
For the dozenth time since they left the hotel, Adam asks, “You’re sure about this?”
“Really fucking sure.” Unbuckling, Tommy shoves his door open, steps out into the tall grass. The treeline looks to be less than half a mile off. “Dude, how long has it been since you played around out here?”
“Months,” Adam says, shivering in the warm breeze. “There aren’t really a lot of were-friendly places in LA.”
“So c’mon.” The car’s roof is sun-warm where Tommy folds his arms, leans on it. “Get naked and get catty, rock star.”
Adam starts shrugging out of his clothes. If they’d parked closer to the main road, it might’ve been dicey, but Adam found an older dirt road to bump down, bring them closer to the forest and further away from civilisation. It’s so quiet out here it feels like they’re the only people for miles.
“Don’t run right away,” Adam warns, vanishing behind the car as he ducks down to unlace his boots, tuck them into the backseat. “Let me get your scent first.”
The shiver that crawls up Tommy’s spine sure as hell isn’t from the wind. He licks his lip, scrapes it dry with his teeth. “Got it.”
“And be careful. You don’t have to run all out. I’ll let you get a good head start.”
“Seriously, chill. I got it.”
Tossing the rest of his clothes into the car, Adam looks at Tommy across the roof. “This is the stupidest thing we’ve done yet.”
“It’s also really fucking hot.”
“Try to stay away from rocky outcroppings, snow leopards like to pounce,” Tommy mimics from Adam’s endless lectures on leopard behaviour. “It’s gonna be awesome. Just don’t get distracted by a rabbit or a deer or something and forget about me.”
“Not likely,” Adam snorts. He pushes away from the car to round the front, shifting along the way so that when he comes out on Tommy’s side, he’s all big, toothy cat. Tommy doesn’t have to crouch down for Adam to get his scent, but he does anyway, scratching at Adam’s stubby little ears while he has the chance.
“Kinda wish you’d let me watch,” Tommy says, and Adam nuzzles into the crook of his neck, chuffing breaths ticklishly warm. “Ready?”
Pawing at Tommy’s leg, Adam makes that mewing noise that really, really isn’t, way more deep and rumbly than the same sound from a domestic cat, and butts his head up under Tommy’s chin. Giving in, Tommy digs his fingers in Adam’s thick fur for another good scratch, burying his face in it the same time and breathing deep, surprised to find a familiar hint of Adam beneath the clinging wildness.
“Alright,” he finally says, checking to make sure his shitty, beat-up Chucks are laced tight. They’re far from the best thing for handling the terrain out here, but they’re better than his creepers. Adam would’ve fucking killed him if he’d tried to leave with those on.
Settled back on his haunches, Adam gives him an expectant look.
“Straight for the forest, okay?” Tommy says, backing up step by cautious step. Maybe he’s a little more nervous about this than he let on. It’s not every day he agrees to let his best friend fucking hunt him for kicks. Even if it kinda was his idea.
Adam’s agreement comes in a low snarl, his lips barely twitching back from vicious teeth.
Tommy’s eyebrows fly up, lips pursed teasingly. “Ooh. Kitty’s got fangs.”
Rocking smoothly up onto all fours, Adam takes a threatening step forward. Grinning for all he’s worth, Tommy turns and takes off, wind in his hair, grass beneath his feet, and he gets it then, why Adam’s whole face lit up when he suggested this. The temptation to look behind, see if Adam’s given chase yet, nips at him, but he ignores it, runs on until he hits the trees.
In the forest it’s quieter still. There’s the trickle of a brook somewhere off to the left so that’s the way he heads, hoping it’ll give Adam some of a challenge. The trees are tall and widely spaced, the underbrush sparse. He picks his way carefully over big, weather-worn rocks as quickly and quietly as he can. When he finally gives in to the urge to look back, there’s nothing but forest. Flattening himself to a tree, kinda wishing he had something other than a grey tee and black jeans so he’d blend in more, he listens. The brook doesn’t sound far off.
Then he hears the very deliberately snap of a twig beneath one of Adam’s big paws and he darts away from the tree. About a minute later he slows to catch his breath, straining to listen again. Hearing nothing, he starts moving through the trees at a walk. It’s actually really kinda creepy in here. He’d expected the sound of birds, other animals, something. It’s not the cold, dead quiet of a tomb, but a watchful silence, looming. Goosebumps prickle all along his arms.
He thought Adam would’ve cornered him by now.
The second time he catches the snap of a branch, he freezes. This is probably exactly how a deer goes through life, always knowing something’s out there bigger and stronger and hungrier, even if it can’t be seen. Adam’s fucking white and grey, he should stick out as much as Tommy amongst the green and yellow and brown. Looking around, that’s all he can see. He squints at a bunch of rocks, wondering if Adam would blend in with those. Something on one of them twitches like one of Adam’s ears and he jumps, laughs nervously under his breath when it turns out to be dandelion fluff wafting away on the air.
“This better be fucking fun for you,” he mutters through a crazy lopsided grin. His nerves are buzzing. It’s not like he’s in any danger, even less than if he was out here alone, but there’s still something exciting about it, something really fucking awesome. He’s not sure what the fuck he’s gonna do when Adam finally catches him.
“Gonna pin me again?” he asks the nothing lurking between the trees, his steps slow, measured. Working to keep his breaths as even, he veers away from a tight crop of boulders, not trusting that Adam isn’t crouched behind it, waiting. “That totally does it for you, doesn’t it. Being bigger than me. Being able to hold me down.”
On the lazy breeze comes the sound of a growl. Tommy keeps walking, gaze darting left and right and back again, straining to pick Adam out from the terrain even though he knows it’s not gonna happen. Maybe he should shut the fuck up. Running his mouth off out here isn’t the same as giving Adam a hunt. It’s too easy to keep talking though, egg him on, say all the shit that’s been kicking around inside his head for days and weeks and maybe months.
“C’mon,” he says, turning around in a slow circle, “c’mon, come and get me. I’m right fucking here, come get me!”
There’s no warning roar, not sudden dark shadow falling over him. One minute he’s alone and the next he’s not, Adam right fucking there leaping straight at him, claws outstretched. He freezes, stupidly, and somehow Adam doesn’t slam right into him, lands barely a foot away to rise up on hind legs, bring those heavy paws down onto Tommy’s shoulders. Tommy doesn’t mean to go down but he does anyway, flat on his fucking ass with Adam riding him the whole way, teeth bared, fucking closing over his god damn throat. He’s pretty sure he screams, and that he knows he didn’t mean to do, it just came bursting out of him unchecked, honest, real.
Adam doesn’t let go. He doesn’t break skin, either, but he doesn’t let go, breath burning hot on Tommy’s skin, one paw square on Tommy’s thundering heartbeat. Before Tommy really thinks his way through what he’s about to do, he buries his hand in Adam’s thick ruff, holds on as hard as he can. He swallows once, hard, wondering what the fuck Adam’s thinking, if he’s even thinking at all.
And then it’s Adam, human Adam, with his teeth digging into Tommy’s throat, lying between Tommy’s spread legs as naked as the day he was fucking born. He says, “Tommy,” like it hurts, rough and growling, and he’s pressed so close Tommy’s got no choice but to notice how much the whole hunt-and-stalk-Tommy-prey thing did it for him. Is still doing it for him, because he’s fucking humping the shit out of Tommy, an arm shoved beneath Tommy to haul him up into it, and Tommy’s really pretty sure it can’t be that fucking good, not against the jeans he’s wearing, the studded belt, but apparently it’s good fucking enough.
So Tommy does the only thing he really can do, and plants his sneakers in the dirt, hikes his hips up and lets Adam go to fucking town. It doesn’t take much longer, a handful of seconds, and Adam comes, biting down harder as warmth soaks into the crotch of Tommy’s jeans, smears over his belly where his shirt’s rucked up. It’s been a long, long fucking time since a guy’s jizzed on him, like, he’s talking high school maybe. He’s sure it wasn’t this hot back then. Not even fucking close.
Adam’s still panting heavily, still shaking, as Tommy runs a hand down his bare back. It takes way longer for Adam to come down than it did for him to go off, the shadows stretching long, the breeze chilling. By the time he finally lifts his head, the pebble digging into Tommy’s kidney has turned into a boulder, and the sharp pain in his elbow where he bashed it off something on his way down has mellowed out to an ache.
“I didn’t think that would happen,” is the first thing Adam says.
Doubtful, Tommy says, “Really? No clue at all.”
Somehow Adam manages to look guilty and smug all at once. “I thought I’d be able to control myself better?”
“Oh, come on.” Tommy shoves at Adam’s shoulder. “The whole thing was pretty much engineered to get you to bone me, we both know it.”
“It was not! It was– It was–”
Both eyebrows raised, Tommy taps his toes in the grass, waits for Adam to catch up.
“If you didn’t smell so good all the time, I would’ve been fine,” Adam finally grumbles. “I thought we were just playing.”
“We are playing. And who said you can smell it when I’m turned on, huh? You said, that’s who.” Tommy gives Adam’s shoulder another shove for good measure. “Try and tell me you couldn’t smell that all through the car ride out here.”
“Maybe I thought that’s how you smelled all the time,” Adam says. “Because you do.”
“You really suck at lying.”
With a huff, Adam lets all his weight drop. And Adam is big, okay, and it’s a fucking lot of dead weight to come crashing down like that, so Tommy figures the squeak that ekes out of him is totally forgivable. He pushes ineffectually at Adam, his ribs creaking. “Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.”
“If you couldn’t breathe,” Adam says reasonably, “you wouldn’t be able to talk.”
“Draping your naked ass all over me isn’t getting you out of this one, Lambert,” Tommy promises on a wheeze. “You knew every single fucking time I got hard on stage for you.”
“Maybe,” Adam says, muffled with his face hidden against Tommy’s throat. Tommy’s throat, Tommy would like to point out, which is fucking aching from the gnawing Adam gave it. Adam’s back rises as he drags in a deep breath, holds it for a second before lifting his head. “You’re hard now.”
Semi-hard, maybe, but he could get back there no problem. No fucking problem at all. “Gonna do something about it?”
The flash of Adam’s grin in the twilight quickly fades as he shifts. This time, pressed right up against him, Tommy can feel it as well as see it. Bizarre and amazing beneath his hands, fur spills out over Adam’s skin, thick, powerful muscle flexing as Adam rises up on all fours, gives himself a shake to settle it. Cold sweeps in where Adam used to be, especially chill on the come drying into Tommy’s clothes. He wrinkles his nose and plucks his clammy shirt away from skin. “Gross.”
Huffing, Adam swipes at his belly with a wide, wet tongue, then backs off a few feet, waiting expectantly while Tommy climbs up. “You know the way back to the car, right?” Tommy doesn’t have a sweet fucking clue where he is now. He could’ve crossed the border into fucking Wyoming.
Padding back, Adam slides in under Tommy’s hand, waiting until Tommy gathers up a light handful of fur before he starts leading the way back through the trees.
“I feel like I should have a sword,” Tommy says, leaning heavily on Adam as he clambers down a steep hill he doesn’t remember climbing. “Maybe a leather leotard and a metal bikini, too.”
“Dude, don’t front. I saw those clubbing pics. Sticking me in some skimpy leather getup would totally do it for you.”
When Adam’s tail comes up to thump him solidly in the ass, Tommy laughs and rubs his ears, and laughs harder again as Adam swerves so abruptly against his legs he almost ends up right back on his butt in the grass.
By the time they make it back to the hotel, it’s full dark. During the elevator ride up to Adam’s room, Tommy thinks about how he kind of wants a shower and he kind of wants to jump Adam’s fucking bones, and how maybe he could get both.
“You’re killing me,” Adam groans.
“I didn’t say nothing!”
“You don’t have to say it, I can smell it.”
A warm shiver spills down Tommy’s spine into his belly. It says a lot about his mental state that the idea of Adam fucking smelling him gets him hot. He casually leans against the gilded railing and watches the numbers count up. “You like it?”
“So much,” Adam says miserably. “Oh god, Tommy, so much.”
“Yeah, um.” Tommy drags a hand back through his hair, getting it out of his eyes. “You get that I’ve totally given you a free pass, right? Like, if you wanna fuck around.” In some weird, pretty impressive way, Adam manages to look excited and disappointed all at once. Tommy bites at the old scar on his lip from a piercing that didn’t last three days before he got rid of it. “If you wanna do more than fuck around?”
Restlessly tapping his fingers on his elbow, Adam looks from the numbers still counting up to the red light of the camera in the corner to the doors that apparently need to open the hell up already. When the chime finally sounds and they do, Adam spills out into the hallway, leaking impatience as Tommy strolls along behind him, hands stuffed in his pockets and a big shit-eating grin on his face. There’s something kinda addictive about being wanted the way Adam seems to want him. It’s been there for a long while now, stirring beneath the surface every time they’re close enough to breathe the same air. He never would’ve guessed in a million years this is why Adam’s been holding back. Even while he didn’t honestly think it was the whole straight label thing–it just didn’t make sense, Adam’s worldview being that narrow–if he had to put money down, that’s where he would’ve lost it.
He totally should’ve fucking asked.
The moment he crosses the threshold into Adam’s room, Adam’s on him. Like really fucking seriously on him, slammed back against the door so hard he grunts. “Sorry,” Adam says, hands on his face, thumbs soft on his mouth, “sorry, just. Can I?”
“Pretty sure you can,” Tommy says, grinning still.
“This is going to make me sound completely fucking neurotic, but if we do this, if you let me fuck you–” Adam stops, sucks in a breath so sharp Tommy expects to hear a rib crack. He moves his hands from Tommy’s face, braces them on the door. “I can’t share, Tommy. I really, really can’t. If I smell somebody else on you, I’ll go crazy.”
“No,” Tommy drawls, “not possessive or territorial at all.”
“It’s insane. Completely insane, I will totally admit that,” Adam says, sounding desperate. “And I actually hate it a little, because it’s fucked things up for me before. I’m hardcore monogamous, Tommy Joe. Not lock you away in the basement hardcore, but if you’re with me, you’re with me.”
“Yeah, I,” Tommy’s throat clicks. He’d been willing to take whatever he could get here and leave the worry about the consequences, and the inevitable Nine Inch Nails marathon, for later. If fuckbuddies was the only thing on the menu, he’d have gone with it, gladly. And now Adam’s hitting him up for this? “You asking me to be your steady?”
“My mate,” Adam says, smiling like he knows how ridiculous that sounds, how stupidly fucking hot it is at the same time. “The way you smell has been messing me up for months. Sometimes I can’t even think when you’re right there covered in my scent. Like you’re already mine.” There’s a pause, barely a breath, and before Tommy can open his mouth, Adam’s barrelling on. “I don’t mean move in with me. Or centre your whole life around me,” which is kinda hilarious when it already is, “but just–”
“Be with you,” Tommy interrupts, hooking a hand in the crook of Adam’s elbow. “Seriously, man, I’m already there. I am right fucking here. And who the hell said you got to be on top, anyway?”
“Nobody,” Adam says, then hot on its heels, “I did, fuck, I did. Please, I want to. We can do whatever you want later, anything you want, but let me have you first.”
Pushing away from the door, backing Adam towards the bed, Tommy says, “Better treat me right. Better do me sweet and amazing like all those promises you make up on stage.”
“I will. God, I will.” Right before Adam’s legs bump the side of the bed, he slips around to tumble Tommy down on it instead. “I’m going to be so good to you, baby, you have no idea.”
Aiming for a reassuring grin, Tommy ends up with a shy, happy smile plastered on his face instead. Adam groans again, rumbly like a growl, and crawls on top of him, face buried in his neck scenting him. It’s weird and seriously kind of a turn on when he scoots further back onto the bed Adam follows head down, breaths puffing hot as he sniffs at Tommy’s belly, the mess dried into the crotch of Tommy’s jeans. A shudder ripples through him and he shoves his face hard against Tommy’s dick, nuzzling and biting and dragging in these deep, shaking breaths like he can’t get enough, never will.
“Hey,” Tommy says, and nearly swallows his fucking tongue as eyes gone a bright unnatural blue flicker up. He means to say, Easy, big fella, to lighten Adam up a little, but what comes tumbling out is, “Maybe I should take my fucking clothes off this time.”
“Oh god, please,” Adam says, rocking back to yank open Tommy’s belt. Since he’s all caught up in the party going on below the waist, Tommy shrugs out of his shirt, wriggles around to kick off his dusty sneakers. His jeans get shucked straight off the second his shoes hit the floor, everything else with them, and Adam’s back on top of him before he can blink, straddling his hips to stare down at him, nostrils pinched white Adam’s sucking in so much air. “You smell amazing. You look amazing. Fuck, Tommy.”
“Bet I feel pretty amazing too,” Tommy says, laughing as Adam jumps off the bed again to strip down so fast seams tear. “Lube and stuff!” he shouts before Adam’s on him again, and Adam snarls impatiently, stalks off to his duffle bag to yank the whole works out, digging out the lube and a crinkling packet of condoms. He holds them both up expectantly. “Okay, we’re good. Climb on up, kitty cat.”
“We don’t really need those,” Adam says, tossing the condoms aside on the bed, lube flicked open one-handed. This time when he kneels on the bed, it’s between Tommy’s legs. He nudges Tommy’s knees up and Tommy goes easy, letting them fall wide and wondering if Adam can hear how hard his heart is pounding, smell the spike of adrenaline in his blood. “I’ve never been sick a day in my life.”
“Have too,” Tommy says, fighting the urge to bite down on his lip as Adam’s knuckles brush up the inside of his thigh, shiny-wet fingers disappearing for a brief second before he can feel them sliding into the crack of his ass, stroking slow and easy over his hole. “You catch colds all the time.”
“That’s a shift hangover, not a bug.” Propping his free hand on the sheets, Adam leans down to nuzzle at Tommy’s belly again, Tommy’s cock too. It’s good, really good, but in no way a distraction from the fingertip Adam’s pressing slowly up inside him. Not until Adam licks straight from root to tip, and the texture of Adam’s tongue is different, rougher. Cat-like.
“Oh shit,” Tommy says, grabbing at Adam’s hair. “That is really fucked up, oh wow.”
“Good, though?” Adam asks, easing off, and Tommy’s attention zeros in like a laser on the slow stroke against his insides, how it feels like more than it was a second ago, two fingers in him instead of one. When Tommy can’t get a word out, Adam briefly closes his eyes, the shocking blue of them toned down when they open again. “I can try harder to hold it back if it’s too freaky.”
“No, no,” Tommy says, voice hitching as he gives working his hips a shot, distracting Adam for a change. It does the trick on him, too, sharp spike of pleasure that he’s got to grit his teeth against. “No, it’s good. It’s you, right? I’m here for the whole package.”
Tommy’s never actually seen somebody’s eyes go hot, but that’s what Adam’s do then. Burning bright and unreal as he comes in for a kiss, this crazy-slow claiming of Tommy’s mouth like Adam plans on crawling inside him forever. And even then those big, clever fingers of Adam’s don’t quit working, and Tommy has to grip at Adam’s shoulders to keep from bucking up, digs in as hard as he can and still ends up ruining the perfect rhythm Adam’s set. But Adam’s quick to move with him, bring him straight back into it again like Tommy’s Braille at the ends of Adam’s fingertips.
Tommy huffs out a shaking breath. “You tryin’ to make me come already?”
Right beside his ear, Adam says, “I can smell it when you’re close,” like a purr.
“Jesus.” Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. “I think maybe we should– fuck.” Flailing stupidly as he hits the bed on his stomach, Tommy tries to shove up, goes right back down when Adam’s teeth fasten to the tight bunch of muscle between neck and shoulder, bite in hard. “Little warning next time,” he mumbles into the rumpled bedclothes.
Adam lets go long enough to say, “More fun this way,” before biting him again, softer and lower down his back. Adam’s fingers aren’t doing that beautiful slow slide out, quick push in thing anymore, are just there inside him, holding him open, and maybe it’d be uncomfortable as fuck if Adam weren’t nibbling down his back, flick of tongue between teeth, and up again, all over the fucking place until it probably looks like he got into a fight with an angry kitten. And fucking lost.
“I really, really think you should fuck me now,” Tommy says. “Or baby, I’m so going off without you.”
Adam’s as quick to say, “Are not,” as he is to scramble up from sucking a hickey onto Tommy’s ass, reaching for one of the condom packets to tear open.
Pushing up onto one elbow, Tommy twists around. Adam’s fucking fingers are still in him. He’s not gonna get used to that any time soon. “Thought you said we didn’t need it?”
Adam spits out the foil caught between his teeth. “You wanted it. Oh my god, did you change your mind? Tell me you changed your mind. Latex stinks, I want to smell me in you.”
“Jesus,” Tommy says again, dropping his face into his hands with a rueful laugh. He’s pretty sure he’s never accidentally hooked up with a were before, not if they’re all crazy the way Adam is. “Yeah, if you want. And we’re safe without it, I mean.” If it wasn’t Adam up there, he’d totally call bullshit lies to get him to give it up bareback. But it is Adam, so.
“God, I want to.” Adam gives the rolled-up condom a three-point pitch into the trash like it’s grossing him out. There’s another click-snap of the lube opened up, the obscene wet noise of Adam slicking up with it. Tommy keeps his head down, eyes covered. He knows exactly what this is gonna feel like at the same as he doesn’t have a sweet fucking clue. The quick push of Adam’s fingers back in him isn’t anything close to a surprise but he gasps anyway, groans as they slide out again, spread wide to hold him open for Adam’s cock. He thinks he’s ready when it pushes in, big and thick and intrusive, and he isn’t. He’s not one bit fucking ready at all. His asshole clenches up tight, spiking the sharp burn, and before he can suck in the breath to tell Adam to wait, give him a second, Adam bites at the back of his neck, startles him into loosening up, letting Adam fuck in a fraction deeper.
The friction nails Tommy first, the bare drag of skin on skin. Then the heavy, full feeling as Adam gets all the way inside, a sweet edgy ache making Tommy clench his hands in the sheets. On the slow pull out, it’s all friction again, lighting up Tommy’s nerves crazily, that melts into fullness again, one into the other as Adam picks up a rhythm, fucks him easy and steady as somebody who knows exactly what the hell they’re doing, like he can read Tommy’s fucking mind.
“Don’t need to,” Adam says, licking at a bite hot and stinging on the back of Tommy’s neck. “You’re really fucking loud, Tommy Joe. Telling me everything you want.”
“Am not,” Tommy says, face heating when a hard hitch in his chest makes a total liar out of him. He never thought he was one of those loud, mouthy fucks. He’s sure he never has been until now, Adam fucking pounding it all out of him, holding him down by the teeth digging into his shoulder and the dick in his ass. Fuck, it’s really fucking good. So good he needs to get a hand on his cock fucking yesterday. He needs to find out what it’s like to get off with Adam inside him, fucking him.
“Do it.” Adam half-groans, half-growls as he hauls Tommy up off the bed by his hips. “Do it, jerk off, let me hear you.”
Pushy bitch gets stuck in Tommy’s throat. He gets a hand on his cock, barely jacks it once before Adam’s hand is there pushing him away. Biting out a curse gets a warning growl in response, teeth clamping onto the back of his neck. His body tightens up on reflex, squeezing down hard on Adam’s cock, and that is pure fucking gold right there, filthy, dirty heaven with Adam jerking him, fucking him deep and hard, and he comes on a wrenching groan, caught and shaking in Adam’s hold.
When Adam shoves him right down into the wet spot, he barely manages more than a grunt. It takes him a second to figure out he’s not down in it so much as Adam’s hauled him back, ass high and chest down, Adam pressed all along his back going at him like maybe any second now the world’s gonna end and this is Adam’s last chance ever to get some. He gets as far as thinking wow, is he gonna be fucking sore when the endorphin rush wears off, then Adam’s growling his name, biting it into flesh, small, fierce fucks of Adam’s hips driving his cock in as far as he can get it as he comes.
On a long, lazy sigh, the tight clamp of Adam’s jaw eases up. He noses at the throbbing mess of Tommy’s neck like an apology.
“Lemme guess,” Tommy croaks. “You got carried away.”
Tommy shivers as Adam sniffs him. “You’re not mad,” Adam says, pure confidence. “You don’t smell mad.”
“Oh yeah?” As soon as Tommy’s limbs decide to work again, he’s going to stretch out on this bed and not move for twelve hours straight. “What do I smell like?”
“Satisfied,” Adam says, a hand stroking up Tommy’s arm to brush his cheek, coax him around so Adam can see his face. “Happy.”
Nipping at Adam’s fingertips, Tommy asks, “That it?”
“Like mine.” Adam’s usual brilliant smile is full of sleepy, smug satisfaction. “You smell like mine, and you like it.”
“Damn fucking skippy.” Nudging at Adam’s calf with his toes in warning, Tommy crawls off his dick and flops down face-first with a huff. Those aches he figured weren’t gonna makes themselves known until tomorrow are getting a head start. “Man, you totally did a fucking number on me.” Reaching over his shoulder, he fingers one of the marks throbbing hot on his back. It fucking stings. Crazy fucker broke skin.
Not caring about the bedclothes, Adam clambers down beside him. “I’m not like that all the time,” he says, worried. “You seemed like you liked it, and I–”
Tommy drops an arm heavily onto Adam’s back. “Wasn’t a complaint.”
“You got excited.” When the sex flush on Adam’s chest turns into an all-out blush, Tommy digs up the dregs of his energy and rolls over to cuddle in against Adam’s side. “Dude, you’re not the only one good at reading people. You wanted to do that since day one.”
“Maybe,” Adam mumbles. “Yeah.”
“Do it anytime you want,” Tommy says. “As long as you’re the one who’s gonna clean us up.”
“Deal,” Adam says, face pressed against Tommy’s hair.
“And like, not on stage.” There’s a lot of crazy shit they can get away with up there, but not, like, that.
“No,” Adam says, laughing. “No fucking on stage.”
“Mock-fucking though, that’s cool. And the biting thing.”
Adam groans, “Stop trying to kill me, Tommy Joe,” and bites him, hard, rolling him under to bite him again, and again, until laughter turns to gasps.