Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff. NC-17. ~9400 words. Contains drugs, alcohol, hints of breathplay, hints of desperation play, and intimacy kink.
Adam’s buried so deep in the idea that Tommy only wants him when there’s alcohol and drugs involved it’s gonna take a backhoe to dig him out again.
Tommy is toasted. Absolutely fucking baked out of his gourd. They’re going on tour again in like, five minutes, but right now, they’re crashed in Adam’s awesome house, getting cosy on the fuck-off giant couch that thinks it’s a bed, and there’s this freckle on Adam’s bottom lip that doesn’t want to stay in one place. It skips from one corner to the other to the centre then jumps to his top lip, hiding beside the tiny dip beneath his nose, and Tommy reaches out with one finger, gonna pin that sucker down.
Laughing, Adam catches his wrist. Freckles explode everywhere. A dozen on Adam’s lips, more scattered all over his cheeks, his throat, his arms. Tommy spreads both hands out, gets ready to catch every single last one of them before they fly away.
“Do I want to know what you’re trying to do to my face, Tommy Joe?” Adam asks, sparkle of sun on the water in his eyes.
“Savin’ it,” Tommy says. He tries to wiggle closer in the prime position for freckle-catching. Adam is taking up way more space than physically possible, though, big long legs spread on either side of Tommy, and Tommy blinks, tilts his head back when he figures out that hey, Adam’s upside down, and there are even freckles on the bottom of his fucking chin. They look delicious. Like teeny tiny flecks of shaved chocolate. “Betcha can’t eat just one.”
“I am not a bag of chips,” Adam says, wrangling Tommy’s hand around to pin it to his chest.
“All that and!” Tommy crows.
“God.” Adam’s other hand slaps over Tommy’s mouth. It tastes salty like chips. He gnaws on it just a bit. If he eats Adam, they’re out of a show headliner. “How did you get so high so fast?”
Tommy shrugs. “Talent,” he says, muffled. “Be cool in like, fifteen.”
Eyebrow winging up, Adam asks, “What the hell am I supposed to do with you until then?”
Tommy grins wolfishly. The effect is ruined by Adam’s hand over his mouth, but whatever. He’s got lots and lots of ideas about exactly what Adam can do with him every day of the week. The fact that every time he’s actually gotten around to sharing these ideas he’s been drunk or high or both is one of those things Tommy’s decided he’s not gonna think about tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next day, either. “Mack on me,” he says.
Like it’s seriously a good reason why not, Adam says, “You’re all the way down there.”
“Lazy fucker.” Slapping a hand down on Adam’s knee, Tommy gives a mighty, only slightly uncoordinated heave, and successfully flops a good five inches closer. He almost bashes Adam’s jaw in with his skull, but hey, those are the risks Adam’s taking here. “You could do some of that heavy petting shit too, that’s cool.”
“You’re kind of a slut when you’re high,” Adam says, and Tommy would protest–he isn’t a slut, he really, really isn’t–except Adam’s nuzzling the side of his face, nipping at his jaw on the way to his mouth. By the time he gets there, Tommy’s squirming, half-hard. Adam’s kisses are fucking monumental. The first time he popped a stiffy on stage with Adam’s tongue in his mouth, it was like, shit. It was one thing for Adam to be up there waving a boner around, Tommy didn’t need to be at it too. He discreetly worked his dick out of the crook of his thigh and kept on playing, and when he was still packing wood after the encore, dealt with it like a man. Last time he whacked off so fast it was over getting a hand inside his first girl’s bra.
“God, stay still,” Adam groans, hands clamping onto Tommy’s hips.
“Not kissin’ me yet,” complains Tommy.
With Tommy’s back to Adam’s chest, the angle’s kinda awkward. Dedication for the kisses to be had wins out in the end, and Tommy twists around, chin up and lips parted for the sweet, lazy slide of Adam’s tongue. He shivers, stretching an arm up to hold onto the back of Adam’s head while it stays easy, slowly becomes longer, deeper dips into his mouth. If Adam wanted to do him right now, it’d be fucking perfect. He’d get kisses the whole time, Adam’s heartbeat thudding against his back while Adam’s dick moved in his ass, and fuck, he’s so turned on by the idea it’s like he can actually feel himself loosen up for it, phantom ache way down low.
Adam’s hand squeezing his dick comes out of fucking nowhere.
“Too much?” Adam asks, kisses paused, his hand resting there not doing a damn thing.
Tommy grunts a curse and slaps his hand down on top of Adam’s, grinding into it. Adam, the total fucking fucker, laughs–not like, giggles, no, but this sexy, throaty timbre that reverberates all through Tommy’s chest–and drags his hand up over Tommy’s belly, shirt rucking up but still in the fucking way as he traces maddening little circles around one of Tommy’s nipples. It’s so totally unfair that Adam knows he likes his tits played with. Fucking stage gay shit gave him away.
Then Adam’s back to kissing him, sucking on his tongue and pinching gently at his chest, rubbing with the flat of one palm to soothe, and if Adam keeps that shit up much longer, Tommy’s gonna fucking bust a nut. Pleasure zips through him like jacked up little lightning bugs, manic and crazy. He really needs to get off like fucking yesterday.
Wriggling around, he manages to get one knee shoved between Adam’s hip and the back of the couch, the other perched precariously on the edge of the seat, before Adam gets out more than a squeak. He starts humping away like he’s a teenager again, scooting down bit by bit to find something harder than Adam’s belly to rub off on, and oh fuck yeah, there it is. Adam’s dick. Adam’s big, beautiful dick hard as a fucking rock trapped in his jeans. A shudder ripples up Tommy’s spine, spills out in a moan as he grinds against it.
Adam stares up at him in open-mouthed shock, dazed and confused like he just can’t figure out how mauling the pretty boy spread out in his lap led to said pretty boy trying to get all up on his junk. He gulps down a shaking breath and stares, and stares, and stares some more. Figuring some bare skin would help him get with it, Tommy reaches for the hem of his tee. A half-naked pretty boy is obviously a lot easier to figure out than a fully-clothed one.
“Oh god, wait,” Adam blurts.
Letting go of his shirt, Tommy braces both hands on Adam’s shoulders, gives one more good thrust before he manages to stop. He so deserves a fucking medal. He is this fucking close to creaming his shorts. “Whafor?”
Fingers clutch and release on Tommy’s hips. “You’re high.”
“Kinda,” Tommy says. Not high enough he doesn’t have a super clear idea exactly what he’s doing here. He rolls his hips against Adam’s in a friendly reminder that they’re both into this.
Adam’s eyes go heavy, then flash wide again. “I am so not high enough for this.”
Leaning up over Adam, Tommy fumbles for the half-smoked spliff stuck in an ashtray. He lights it back up fast and shoves it at Adam’s mouth. “So get with it,” he says, blowing out the smoke from the small hit he took.
Cautiously, Adam takes the joint. He eyeballs Tommy warily as he takes the most pansy-ass hit ever, barely holding it in his lungs before letting it slip free.
“C’mon,” Tommy says, “you can do me better than that.”
Adam says, “Fuck,” under his breath and goes back for more, gaze on Tommy the whole time. Grinning, Tommy drags back the hair fallen into his face and knee-walks up Adam’s body until he can sit down on Adam’s dick. Cussing again, Adam nearly drops the joint.
“Feel good?” Tommy asks.
All the strain in Adam’s voice instead of his face, Adam says, “You’re on my dick. Yes, it’s good.”
Lust punches Tommy right in the nuts. “Almost. Gotta take it out if you want me to sit on it right.”
“I hate your mouth.” Adam covers his eyes with the hand holding the spliff and groans. “I really, really hate your fabulous mouth.”
“Stick something in it,” Tommy suggests. “Shut me up.”
Growling wordlessly, Adam twists around to dump the joint in the ashtray, his other hand coming up at the same time to twist in Tommy’s hair, yank him down. While Tommy’s never gonna complain about Adam’s tongue in his mouth ever, they both know that’s not what he meant. He’d really like to know what Adam’s dick tastes like. Like, he figures the same way all skin tastes, bit salty with a little something extra, but he wants to know. Imagining the shape of it, the texture, how it would force his jaw wide, he sucks Adam’s tongue into his mouth, starts working it like it’s cock. Fifteen years of blowjobs from the other end of things under his belt, he’s gotta know something about giving head.
From the noises Adam starts making, clutching at Tommy’s hips rocking him down into the roll of Adam’s, he knows plenty. One and a half glorious minutes later, Adam stops. Again.
“What the fuck,” Tommy groans, listing against the back of the couch.
“Gonna come,” Adam grits out, nails digging into Tommy’s sides through his shirt. “Gotta stop, gonna come.”
If it were anybody else but Adam down there, and if they hadn’t done this same shit about a dozen times on tour, Tommy wouldn’t get it. Coming is the fucking point. But it is, and they have, and even knowing Adam’s not gonna let him get away with it, he’s gotta try. He fights Adam’s tightening grip to pick up right where they left off, grinding dick to dick with his mouth on Adam’s. Ten seconds, fifteen max is all he manages before Adam bucks him off, twisting at the same time to put him flat on his back, take control. Last time they did this, though, there was lots of floor to work with. The couch runs out before Adam’s on top and they go tumbling down, landing in a heap with Tommy on bottom dazed and wheezing from Adam crashing right down on him.
“Your own fault,” Adam says, panting as he scrambles to grab Tommy’s wrists, pin them above his head in one hand. As if holding him down isn’t gonna make having Adam on top of him fucking hotter, Jesus. Going up on both knees, Adam hooks his legs over Tommy’s in some weird ninja move that pins him pretty effectively to the floor with whole miles between him and Adam’s dick. “Stay still.”
“Does being a good boy get me a reward?” Tommy asks, giving up on getting close enough to bite at Adam’s mouth.
“Oh my god.” On a sigh, Adam briefly closes his eyes. “Yes. Stop trying to make me come in my pants and you can sleep over.”
Tommy quits trying to wriggle out of Adam’s grasp. Sleepovers are fucking awesome. Sleepovers are like, fuck. Fuck. “Dirty pool.”
“I can call you that cab anytime,” Adam warns.
“Shit, okay, fine. No more tryin’ to make you jizz. You fucking suck, Lambert.”
“Yes I do,” Adam says, happily nipping at Tommy’s throat. “Now do you want more kisses or not?”
“More kisses,” grumbles Tommy.
“Awesome.” Looking bizarrely ecstatic for a guy that’s just cockblocked himself, Adam clambers up and hauls Tommy along. “I’ll put the food away, you go put on a movie.”
“I guess,” Tommy says with a huff. Adam only laughs and gives him a slap on the ass to send him on his way.
The master bedroom is upstairs at the end of the hall. Inside, a lamp’s already glowing, lighting Tommy’s way to the big screen hung on the wall facing it. Of the discs stacked neatly on the shelf below, there’re a few television series, some Hollywood blockbusters mixed in with independents, and porn. Tempted, Tommy hauls out something he recognises, one of Treasure Island Media’s barebacking extravaganzas. He’s kinda shocked. The two things Adam insisted always be stocked on the buses were the water fridge and the condom drawer. Tommy’s never gonna get over that one. A fucking communal condom drawer.
Putting the disc back, Tommy grabs up Fringe, season one. Anna Torv is cute and badass, Josh Jackson is badass and Adam’s got a leftover childhood crush on him, and neither one of them are gonna bitch if they miss scenes. Win-win.
While Tommy’s brushing his teeth with a stolen toothbrush, Adam wanders into the bedroom, puttering around putting stuff away and tugging down the bedclothes. He’s in bed propped up by a small nation’s worth of pillows, fiddling with his phone by the time Tommy comes out. He doesn’t put it down when Tommy unzips, but he’s definitely not paying attention to whatever he was doing anymore, either; Tommy’s still hard, and his shorts don’t hide much. Kicking off his jeans and socks, Tommy leaves his tee on–even with Adam and half the blankets in the known universe, he gets cold sometimes at night–and climbs on in, tucking himself in under Adam’s arm. He splays his hand on Adam’s bare belly because he can, and because he likes it.
Finally putting the phone down in favour of the remote, Adam says, “Ready when you are, baby.”
“Go for it,” Tommy says, rubbing his leg against Adam’s, slight scratch of hair still weird and fun when it’s not just his own. He trails his nails through the hair on Adam’s belly, too, cuddling in closer as the opening recap plays.
When Walter starts out the episode high as a kite, Tommy grins, presses it to Adam’s shoulder. With a soft laugh, Adam nuzzles at his hair, fingers stroking along his jaw, down his throat, back up again, waking up Tommy’s nerves one by one. About halfway through the scene, Tommy’s skin buzzing in Adam’s wake, Adam presses a few fingers beneath his chin to tilt his face up. His eyes slip shut, the television a bright flicker behind closed lids, as the seconds count off in his head; one, two, before Adam’s breath touches his lips, another three before Adam’s tongue is sliding wet and perfect against his. He sighs and opens wider for it, melting against Adam’s heat, his cock a steady, throbbing ache he does his best to ignore.
He can’t help turning closer into the kiss, though, his leg sliding over Adam’s, settling between. Or rocking gently against Adam’s hip to ease the worst of the ache. That works as well as it ever does. Adam coaxing his tongue out to lick in the hot, wet space between their mouths is as much a distraction as it is the reason he needs one. He shudders and stills when Adam’s hand slips down to cup his ass through his briefs. He wants Adam’s hands on him so bad. He’s gone crazy thinking about what Adam’s fingers could do to him, what it would be like if he could get that fucking last barrier of clothing out of the way to crawl naked over Adam, invite Adam inside his body any fucking way he wants to get up in it.
When the wet noise of their mouths finally drowns out the show, Adam gives him one last long, lingering kiss and draws away. They’re both breathing heavily, they’re both hard as fucking granite, and Tommy grits his teeth, turns his gaze to the flickering television. In a couple minutes, they’ll both calm down. And then Adam will kiss him again, touch him, drive him closer to the edge and stop, wait for his breathing to even out before doing it all over again until his lips are sore and his chest is aching and it almost doesn’t matter if Adam touches him again, he might come anyway.
By the ending credits, Tommy’s exhausted. No matter how badly he wants to keep going, get as much as he can while the getting’s good, his body’s slowing down, dragging him under a haze of sleep. Adam’s knuckles stroke over his chest as he drifts off, deftly avoiding the low-grade burn of his nipples teased hard and sore to make sure he doesn’t jolt awake again, and fuck if it isn’t the best sleep he gets in days, his blood soaked in pot-smoke and Adam.
Three weeks later, the whole troupe is out celebrating the first show of Adam’s second world tour. A lot of them had been worried about the timing, prior commitments, but sometimes Adam’s a superstitious motherfucker and he wrangled people and studios and week-long breaks smack in the middle of the tour to squeeze in everybody even remotely possible from the first time around. This, Tommy thinks as he downs the dregs of yet another beer, club music and laughter washing over him, through him, is why people love Adam. Why Tommy bummed around LA for months killing time until Adam made the call.
“You,” Taylor says, snatching Tommy’s empty up and shoving a fresh frosty one in its place, “need another beer.”
“I need to take a fucking leak,” Tommy groans, sinking deeper in the faux-leather chair. All the healthy living’s turned him into an old man with a bladder the size of a chickpea.
Helpfully, Taylor jerks a thumb over his shoulder to where the washroom signs are glowing like a giant, teasing beacon of relief.
Trying to get up, Tommy lists sideways. Levelling a warning finger at Taylor cracking up, Tommy says, “Just ’cause you’re legal now, grasshopper.”
“Just ’cause he’s legal what,” Adam says, draped over the back of Tommy’s chair. “Oh hey, beer.”
Tommy snatches the bottle clumsily out of Adam’s grabby hand. “My beer! Oh fuck, I’m gonna piss myself.”
Adam looks delightfully unimpressed with Tommy’s plight, and plucks Tommy’s beer straight out of his hand again. “Bathroom’s right there.”
“That’s what I said,” Taylor says. “Right there.”
“Can’t move,” Tommy says, listing even more dramatically sideways. “Legs are drunk. Yoga killed ‘em.”
“If you really had to go,” Adam drawls.
Flopping back to beg for mercy, Tommy ends up grabbing his junk in panic when the jostling turns out to be a bad, bad idea. His squirming’s attracting some attention he doesn’t actually want, so he bolts upright with the intention of making a break for it, and nearly ends up flat on his ass again, except Adam’s somehow right there holding him up, laughing in his face.
“Poor baby,” Adam says, shit-eating grin ruining his sad attempt at sympathy.
“Carry me,” Tommy moans.
“And risk you pissing on this shirt? No way.” Adam gives Tommy’s shoulder a gentle, encouraging nudge, pointing him towards the bathrooms. “Ten feet, baby, you can do it.”
Tommy eyeballs the distance critically. “Might not,” he says, and mimes aiming his dick. “Six feet’s my record.”
“Oh my god, come on,” Adam says, grabbing Tommy’s arm to drag him around to the stairs leading to the bathrooms, obviously not as concerned about Tommy’s jeans as his shirt. Inside the bathroom, there are four fancy floor urinals, one occupied by somebody else from another VIP’s party, and a single stall. Adam marches Tommy right up to the urinal furthest from the guy, plants him in front of it with his feet kicked slightly apart, and steadies him with with a hand on each hip. “Go.”
Tommy never, ever wants to know where the fuck he gets it in his head to ask, “Not gonna hold it for me?”
Over the music piped in through the ceiling, Adam’s breath hitches. As the other urinal flushes, Tommy can’t help groaning, shifting fitfully, clamping down so hard his guts are aching. There’s a rush of louder noise when the guy exits, not paying them a scrap of attention, and instead of whipping it out, Tommy squeezes his junk through his jeans.
Adam doesn’t say anything as his hands slide forward, gripping Tommy’s fly to peel it open. Doesn’t say anything as he shoves shorts and jeans down instead of pulling Tommy’s dick out through the slit, or as he grips it firmly, chin resting on Tommy’s shoulder to see where he’s aiming. Blood rushes south, starts thickening Tommy’s dick up, and Adam whispers right in his ear, “Don’t get hard.”
“Tryin’,” Tommy says, fingers digging into Adam’s forearm. He breathes in, out, muscles relaxing, pure heady relief swimming up as the piss starts to flow. Like a dam broke, it turns into a flood, loud splash on porcelain made obscene by the way he’s trembling in Adam’s hold, moaning gratefully as his bladder empties. By the time it slows to a trickle, he’s high on fucked-up endorphins, heart pounding in his chest, and the sensation of Adam’s bare hand on his dick, his fucking naked dick, comes crashing in. He goes from semi-soft to ready to blow so fast his knees buckle.
Adam’s grip on Tommy tightens to hold him up, but the fist on his dick loosens, skids up abruptly like Adam’s thinking about jacking him. Tommy stares at Adam’s hand on him and tries to burn the image into his brain, the exact curve of Adam’s fingers, the way his thumb is angled up like he means to rub over the head, the heat and the pressure and the vicious, driving urge to fuck.
Even though he knows it’s gonna happen, he fucking knows it, he’s so not ready for Adam to tuck him carefully back into his shorts, zip him back up with a few fingers making sure nothing gets pinched in the tight fit. It’s like nothing comes as a surprise, right down to them making out messy and dangerous while they’re still in front of the urinal, Adam’s cock pressed hard to his ass, riding the cleft when one of them can’t help wanting it, the only miracle that nobody else has barged in here yet to see this shit going down.
“Tommy, fuck,” Adam says, hips snapping harder, Tommy’s balance so totally fucked he has to make a grab for the wall above the urinal or end up in it. He ends up bent halfway over it anyway, both hands skidding down shiny black tile, the smell of expensive, scented disinfectant stuck in his mouth and nose as Adam tries to fuck him through his clothes. He spreads his legs and takes it, loves it, thrilling nervous churn in his stomach at wondering what it would be like to be on Adam’s dick, if Adam were actually up inside him pounding the fuck out of him right now.
“Adam,” Tommy groans, drunk, high on nothing, really fucking messed up. “Please, fuck, I’m not, I want-”
“You are,” Adam hisses, hauling him up, pinning him back to chest as he forces abused lungs to fill with air. “You are so drunk right now, Tommy Joe, don’t lie to me.”
So hard the ache in his nuts is throbbing in time with his heartbeat, Tommy sags in Adam’s hold. “But I want-”
“But-” Tommy jolts as Adam’s hand–the hand that Adam had on his dick, he can smell it, fuck–comes up to cover his mouth. He licks at Adam’s palm, tries to shake it off to suck on Adam’s fingers, but Adam presses down harder, only a few scraps of air getting past as his thumb and forefinger pinching Tommy’s nose shut. Trembling, pretty sure he’s moaning his damn head off, Tommy goes still.
Adam quickly releases his nose, letting him breathe properly. Once he’s got it under control, Adam kisses him again, startling soft and gentle with the lingering ache of Adam’s hands digging into his hips, the soreness on his palms from taking the brunt of almost being fucked into the wall. Smoothing Tommy’s hair behind his ear, still holding onto him from behind, Adam asks, “Want another beer?”
“Yeah,” Tommy croaks. He fucking needs it.
A couple more weeks into the tour, Tommy starts thinking Adam has a point. They’ve got to quit this shit. The stuff on stage is bad enough, everything else going on off of it is gonna kill him. But the fucking problem there is that they’re on tour. When they’re not performing, they’re partying, and when they’re not partying, they’re sleeping. Tommy’s only downing about half as much booze as the first time around, but he’s still pretty buzzed most of the time.
Buzzed, and horny. Fuck, he is so fucking horny. Like Adam is an oasis in the middle of the desert and Tommy’s dying of thirst, he wants to dive right in. He’s sure it wasn’t this bad on Glam Nation. He’d wanted to jump Adam’s bones, sure, got really close lots of times, but whacking off alone in the bus’s small bathroom didn’t feel like a fucking death sentence.
The fourth time he does it in three days, he’s willing to admit he’s got a problem. The solution to his problem, obviously, is taking Adam for the ride of his life, possibly for the rest of his life. Implementing this solution is where it gets tricky. Adam’s buried so deep in the idea that Tommy only wants him when there’s alcohol and drugs involved it’s gonna take a backhoe to dig him out again.
Tommy refuses to take all the blame for that one. Maybe he totally made it worse, but Adam was the one who started out only letting him get away with the kissing and the groping and the mock-fucking while he was high. What the fuck was Tommy supposed to do, stop? Like fuck. That shit was too good to go cold turkey on, and he’s so not talking about the quality weed Adam smuggled out of Amsterdam.
“You what?” Adam asks, gaping, gripping the edge of his dressing table like it’s the only thing keeping the world spinning.
“You heard me.” Blocking the door, Tommy shoves his hands stubbornly into his pockets. He’s not letting Adam out of here until Adam either bowls him over, or Lane beats him unconscious with the door. “You’re gonna fuck me.”
“You’re drunk,” Adam says. “Tommy, you’re drunk before a show, that’s not good.”
For a guy that’s spent the better part of three years all up in Tommy’s space, he’s kinda slow. Maybe Tommy miscalculated. “Are you high?” he asks.
Tommy squints. Adam hides high pretty well, but drunk is usually plastered all over his face. He doesn’t look like he hit the bottle early. “Drunk?”
“I really think you must be,” Adam counters.
“Stone-cold sober, babyboy,” Tommy says, a tiny frisson of excitement creeping up his spine. “And I want your dick in my ass, and definitely my dick in your mouth, and that thing you do where you like, pinch my tits and and it feels like you’re, I don’t even fucking know, dude, inside my fucking balls or something, that too.”
Adam stares, and stares, and finally says, “You have to tell me this when we’re ten minutes to stage.”
“Hey, I tried the other night when you were thinking you could maybe eat me out without yanking my pants down first.”
Like he’s remembering, Adam’s eyes go dark. Tommy thought for sure it was gonna happen. Adam was right fucking there, face in his ass, Tommy bent over the back of a couch in the venue crash room humping the fuck out of it, and nothing. Fucking nothing, except a pretty impressive bruise on one cheek.
“You,” Tommy’s compelled to point out, “were the one who stopped me from shoving a couple fingers up my ass.”
Adam pushes away from the dressing table, as gorgeous now in his badass apocalyptic rocker getup as he was in voodoo feathers and snakeskin pants. “If I saw you do that, I was going to fuck you.”
“I really, really wanted you to.” Backed against the door, Adam penning him in, Tommy feels slightly smaller than he did three seconds ago. And compared to Adam, he was already kinda small, Jesus. “You got no fucking idea how ready I was to take it, fucking seriously.”
Adam groans, his forehead falling against Tommy’s shoulder. “You’re killing me. We should’ve, why didn’t we fucking talk?”
“I figure maybe I was scared,” Tommy says, carefully petting Adam’s hair near the nape of his neck where he won’t mess it up too bad. “I mean like, obviously I’ve had stuff up my ass before. You watch porn, you try it out, sometimes you like it. But I figure getting fucked’s got to be different from taking some skinny little plastic dil.”
With another groan, Adam hauls himself upright. “Please stop talking.”
Tommy’s eyebrows fly up. “Dude, weren’t you just complaining that we didn’t talk enough?”
“No, I mean, not now.” Adam goes to drag a hand back through his hair, catching it just in time and huffing out a breath instead. “We should talk. We will talk. Just, not right now, and for fuck’s sake, please not about your ass.”
“I want you to put your dick in it,” Tommy repeats. “Gonna have to talk about that one.”
“Oh my god, not now,” Adam hisses. He makes like he’s about to do that gagging thing again, with his hand across Tommy’s mouth, but Tommy’s wearing blood-black lipstick, and that shit gets everywhere. He settles for fitting his hand to Tommy’s throat again, thumb and forefinger snugged in tight beneath the hinge of his jaw. “After the show, you can come to my room, and we’ll talk.”
“And fuck,” Tommy says. He wants that one to be really, really clear.
“And fuck,” Adam breathes, looking for all the world like he wants to say the hell with the show and screw Tommy senseless right here. “God, baby, there is so much I wanna do to you.”
“Said no talking,” Tommy says, and risks somebody yelling at him for getting them in a mess three seconds before they have to go on by rising up on his toes to peck Adam on the mouth. “You know what’s really cool, though?”
Adam makes a miserable noise.
“All that stuff you wanna do, I’m gonna let you.”
“Oh, god, I hate you,” Adam says, with so much feeling Tommy almost believes it. Almost.
Turns out getting dragged by Adam Lambert through a hotel lobby at Mach 1 speeds attracts a hell of a lot of attention. Adam either doesn’t notice or, and far more likely, doesn’t give a flying fuck. He crowds Tommy into an elevator, then into a corner, ignoring Tommy’s slightly alarmed peep about the cameras by stuffing his tongue as far down Tommy’s throat as he can reach. Adam’s had a lot of practice; it’s pretty far.
“I’m going to eat you out,” Adam promises, sounding kinda dangerous whispering in Tommy’s ear like that, “and finger you open so slowly, baby, make sure the only thing you feel is my dick going in you.”
Tommy’s throat clicks on a breath. With Adam being a total fucking sweetheart all the time, he hadn’t expected it to flip right over into a straight-up porno so fast. All the times he’s felt up Adam’s dick, practically took it for a test ride, Adam’s been seriously fucking holding back on him. “Thought we were gonna like, talk?”
“We are talking,” Adam says, flicking a glance at which floor they’re on. “You’ve had somebody’s tongue before, right?”
This isn’t so much talking as x-rated twenty questions, but whatever. It’s hot, and Tommy’s game. “Nope.”
Pure animal lust chases surprise across Adam’s face. Like, the real deal, eager and possessive and greedy. It’s kind of staggeringly amazing without all the makeup he usually wears on stage to distract. “Fingers?”
“Couple. And the dildo. Like, um.” Tommy holds up his hand, thumb and fingers forming a circle slightly less an an inch around. “That.”
Somehow, Adam manages to look really fucking turned on, delighted, and baffled all at once, like he can’t figure out how all these presents got under the tree but oh fuck is he gonna open them good. Things way down low in Tommy’s belly reflexively tighten. Open him up and play with him so fucking good.
“Shit,” Tommy says, shifting his junk in his pants. Fucking crazy. “That got me hard.”
Adam laughs joyously and sweeps him up for a quick kiss before the doors chime. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“Glad you’re excited,” Tommy says, aiming for wry and mostly striking true. He is excited, and nervous, and really kind of awesomely and honestly glad in a really sappy way he’s doing this with Adam. He trusts Adam’s gonna do this right, make it as mind-blowingly hot in reality as it is in his head. Maybe even fucking better.
Inside Adam’s room, bed already turned down and everything neat, a few lamps glowing, Adam gathers Tommy in close and goes right back to the kissing, hands sliding down Tommy’s back, over his ass to pull him in a bit more, then up again, an endless caress like Adam’s trying to make sure he’s all here, it’s not some Tommy-shaped figment of his imagination, and that leaves Tommy feeling slightly dazed. People are people, doesn’t usually matter much if they’re male or female, but apparently all of Tommy’s girlfriends and hookups to date have been the passive type, letting him take the lead. It’s weird and crazy and feels good to be with somebody who wants to call the shots for a change.
“Want to grab a shower?” Adam asks, brushing Tommy’s hair back off his face again.
“Had one at the venue while you were out signing,” Tommy says, getting in some exploring of his own, pretty fond of the smooth curve where Adam’s back becomes his ass. “Y’know, got ready and stuff.”
Looking floored, Adam echoes, “And stuff,” and kisses him again, setting up a pretty good theme for the evening. He loves kissing, Adam loves kissing, there’s going to be a whole lot of kissing going on along with everything else. Holy shit, Tommy’s gonna get fucked.
“I was going to make you tell me what you like,” Adam says, carelessly pushing Tommy’s jacket off to thump to the floor, then tugging off his shirt, letting that fall with it, “but I think I want to find out on my own.”
“You already know like, everything.” Determined to get at some skin for once, Tommy starts tugging on Adam’s clothes, getting his shirt out of the way to deal with his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping and shoving until Adam’s laughing, kicking aside crumpled jeans. “But yeah, sure, why the fuck not, we could do that.”
“You need to lie down,” Adam says, stepping out of his shorts. “And you need to take those pants off.”
Grabbing Adam by the hips, Tommy says, “Hang on, just like, wait a minute,” and turns Adam towards the light to get a good, really fucking long look at his naked dick. And fuck if he doesn’t like all of it, everything from the exposed ridge to the thick swell to how it curves a little to the left. He knew it was big. Hell, he’s felt exactly how fucking big it is, but looking at it now, it is big.
Softly reverent, Adam says, “God, your face. You really want this.”
Tommy swallows the saliva pooled in his mouth and closes his hand around Adam’s cock. It jumps in his grip, hot and firm and velvety soft. He shivers, maybe moans a bit, not sure what he wants to do with it, just jack it a bit or try sticking it in his mouth or fuck, finally climb on up. Jesus, he wants it all.
“I love the way you’re looking at me right now,” Adam says, his hand on Tommy’s elbow, holding on while Tommy gives him an experimental tug, testing out the angle before sliding up to get some precome slicking his fingers.
Flicking a glance up, Tommy says, “Yeah?” sweet, happy ache way down inside.
“So much.” Breath shuddering in his chest, Adam reaches out to deal with Tommy’s jeans, doing an impressively good job of not getting in the way of Tommy’s playing to shove the whole works down. It’s the second time Adam’s hands have been on his junk, but there’s an electric thrill like it’s the first when Adam hefts his balls in one palm, rolls them up against his dick and lets them slip down again to cup his cock. “Even prettier than I remember,” Adam says, stepping in close, hooking his thumb around his dick to snug them together, Tommy a few seconds delayed in following suit. He can barely fit one hand around both of them, and there’s nothing, fucking nothing in the world like his cock pressed up against somebody else’s. When Adam starts jacking them off together, Tommy’s legs nearly call it quits.
“Bed,” Adam suggests, catching him around the waist. “Spread out, let me look at you.”
Forehead resting on Adam’s shoulder, Tommy says, “Yeah,” and smears a kiss to bare, freckled skin. “Yeah, okay.” On unsteady legs he takes care of the rest of his clothes, then turns around to crawl up onto the bed, stretch out on his belly. Kinda feeling like he’s posing for a porn mag, he drags one knee up, twisting to palm his own ass, spread the cheeks so everything, absolutely fucking everything he’s got, is bare to Adam’s gaze.
The longer Adam stands there saying nothing, the harder Tommy wishes he’d gotten at least small buzz on for this. He keeps his head down, hiding the flush creeping up his face, eyes closed. “Adam?”
“Sorry,” Adam blurts, the bed dipping. His hands push warm up the backs of Tommy’s thighs. “Honestly, I thought you’d lie down on your back.”
“You said spread ‘em.” Less like he’s on display now, it’s easier for Tommy to lift his head, glance back over his shoulder to see Adam kneeling above him. “And you said you wanted to eat me out, rock star.” He stretches his fingers out for a better grip, can see Adam watching the reflexive clench-release of his asshole at the pressure.
“I do,” Adam groans, dropping down onto both hands to kiss the backs of Tommy’s fingers, then, open-mouthed and slow, wet, his hole. Not actually a fucking virgin here, somehow Tommy’s still totally unprepared how incredible Adam’s mouth on him is, and his brain hasn’t even had a chance to catch up when Adam starts licking, wide, flat drags of his tongue all the way from Tommy’s balls up to the base of his spine.
“Holy fuck.” Turning his face to the sheets, Tommy muffles another curse as Adam’s tongue firms to a point tracing all around his rim, fingertip slipping up to press him open, let Adam lick deeper. “Fuck, wow. You can do that until we hit the next tour if you want.”
Adam laughs, sound vibrating through flesh with his mouth pressed to Tommy’s ass, alternating licks with slow, sucking kisses, and oh fuck, the sucking. Like, that is his fucking asshole Adam’s sucking on, and it feels like the pressure’s starting in his fucking balls and drawing straight up his spine. He’s not sure when the hell he starts squirming, small fitful twitches of his legs he can’t control. Adam doesn’t seem to mind one bit, following when he rocks up, pressing him back down to the bed with tongue slid up his ass, fucking right up in there along with a finger or two, making honest-to-Jesus happy noises like eating Tommy out is the best fucking thing to happen to him since birth.
“Fuck,” Tommy says once he’s got the space to breathe, Adam sliding up to kiss his shoulder, the back of his neck, giving them both a break, “that is like, fucking,” and he reaches back to fist Adam’s hair, get one of those kisses landing on his mouth. Adam hesitates, maybe thinking Tommy might have a hang-up or something about where his tongue’s been, but fuck, if Adam can lick his ass, Tommy can sure as fucking hell kiss him after. Adam doesn’t even taste all that different, a bit heavier with the salt-sweat of Tommy’s skin, the heat of his body. It’s hot, really kind of stupidly hot, and Tommy opens his mouth wider, moans louder when Adam licks in deep.
And then, right in the middle of some pretty stellar making out, Adam settles down with his cock riding the slick cleft of Tommy’s ass. Tommy’s kisses go messy, uncoordinated, and smooth as fucking silk Adam picks up the slack, hips rocking slowly, dick rubbing hot and thick over Tommy’s hole. Tommy drops flat to the bed, legs spreading further as his back arches, ass thrust up for Adam to grind against.
“You should get some stuff,” Tommy says, voice like a train wreck. This whole riding thing’s not quite the same as being the one doing the fucking but close enough it only takes him a couple tries to figure out how to roll his hips along with Adam’s. “So you can, y’know, get that big dick of yours in me for a change.”
Adam flops down half on top of him and half off, groaning through what sounds like should’ve been a laugh and ends up more a breathless huff. “Tommy, the stuff you just say.” He bites at Tommy’s shoulder. “What am I gonna do with you?”
“Seriously,” Tommy says, bouncing a bit, trying to get Adam moving. “Get a rubber. Fuck me until I can’t walk. Jerk me off and fuck me s’more. Not being very picky here.”
Rolling sideways off the bed, Adam lands lightly on his feet and heads for the suitcase laid out on the desk. Since the view is so nice, Tommy rests his chin on his folded hands and watches as Adam digs out a string of condoms and a snap-top bottle of lube. When Adam turns around, he stops short, leans back against the desk. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Yeah, you’re pretty fucking hot too,” Tommy says, kicking one of his feet up, chest full of a warm, satisfying glow, excitement nipping in all around the edges. “C’mere and stuff that thing in me already.”
Laughing again, all bedroom-sexy smile and sparkling eyes, Adam comes over by the side of the bed instead of climbing on, cock in front of Tommy’s face for a split second before Adam sinks down on the balls of his feet, leads Tommy in for another kiss with a few fingers curved under his chin. Rising up on hands and knees, Tommy lets that go on for a bit longer than he’d maybe planned, then drops his head down, gets a look at Adam’s cock shiny with spit from rubbing all over him.
“You really need to fuck me now,” Tommy says, giving his own dick a quick tug. “Or I’m just gonna like, fucking pounce on you and suck you off whether you want me to or not.”
“What if I wanted to rim you more first?” Adam asks, standing up, one hand in Tommy’s hair, his dick right fucking there again, fucking cockteasing fucker.
Grabbing onto Adam’s thigh for balance, Tommy catches Adam’s dick with his mouth, sucks on it hard and fast to get Adam’s taste flooding over his tongue. Turns out knowing what a dick feels like in his hand doesn’t help with predicting what it’ll feel like stuffed in his face. He takes hold of it around the base to steady it as he tries sinking down further, pushing against hot, soft skin with his tongue, finding the thick vein on the underside and tracing it up to the slit. It feels slightly different on his lips than against his tongue, so he rubs it over his mouth, lets it slip inside again, back out.
Grip firm in Tommy’s hair, Adam takes a shaky but decisive step out of range. “You’re going to make me come,” he says, sounding like he’s almost there, voice a thready rasp, and yeah, yeah, Tommy likes that idea, really fucking gets off on being the one to make Adam lose it.
Licking his lips, Tommy wipes his mouth dry on the back of his wrist. “I like the way your dick tastes, in case you were like, wondering.”
Very matter-of-factly, Adam says, “If I wake up tomorrow morning and you’re not in my bed, I’m going to cry,” and drops the condoms on the bed, knee-walks over the sheets with his hand sliding down Tommy’s back. The snap of the lube opening ratchets up Tommy’s spine, and he glances over his shoulder to watch Adam slick a few fingers, drop the bottle to brace a hand at the small of Tommy’s back. “You’re not allowed to hold any hysterical wailing against me if this turns out to be an incredibly vivid dream.”
“Deal,” Tommy says, trying to get his shivering under control as Adam’s fingertips ghost over his asshole. This has been so long brewing, he’s not sure he’s gonna last through Adam putting it all the way in him, especially when two fingers pushing inside makes his legs feel like they’re made of jello. He drops down to one elbow, face tucked against his arm. “Magic fucking fingers or something, Christ.”
Not saying anything, Adam somehow goes in deeper, crooked fingers sparking a heavy, full ache. The second time he pushes in, a thick groan comes pushing out of Tommy’s chest, and Adam asks, clear in his tone he already knows the answer, “Like that?”
All Tommy can manage is another groan, rocking back on his knees as Adam’s fingers press against his insides, twist and stroke, pressure building until it’s flirting with the edge of too much. Before it crosses the line, Adam draws out all the way, pushes back in with only his thumb, rubbing around Tommy’s asshole with the tips of his other fingers. When Tommy breathes out, he goes in, two fingers and thumb spreading Tommy wide, holding, spreading wider as muscle tires, loosens.
“What the fuck are you even doing,” Tommy grits out, fingers shoved into his hair gripping tight, forehead against his palm.
“Is that you really asking?” The mattress dips again when Adam reaches for a condom, the sound of foil tearing ringing loud in Tommy’s head. “Or do you just want to know how much I like watching your tiny little hole open up for me?”
Tommy’s heart starts trying to bash its way through his ribs. “Fuck, maybe that second one,” he says as Adam’s cockhead settles big and blunt into place. “Definitely that second one. It looks good, right? Finally getting your dick right there?”
Pure honesty, Adam says, “So good, baby. So fucking good.” One small push is all it takes to get the head slipping in, Tommy so fucking loose for it already. There’s no burn, only a sweet endless push until Tommy thinks he’s got it all, and then it’s the drag of Adam easing out, fucking back in deeper than before. Again, and that’s gotta be it, there’s no fucking way there’s more, he’s aching already, pulse throbbing in his brain, his dick. He can’t help tightening up, and Adam strokes over his hip and down his thigh, starts to pull back.
“No, shit, don’t.” Tommy gasps as he rocks back too fast to reclaim those lost few inches, taking way more for his trouble. Fisting both hands in the sheets, he shoves back again, again when Adam’s hand clamps to his side, and doesn’t stop until he can feel Adam’s balls heavy against his ass and his thighs are trembling, the ache in his belly spread out and up into his chest, melted-taffy thick in his lungs. Gulping air, Tommy says, “Fuck, oh fuck, Adam, you gotta fuck me, I’m gonna go crazy.”
One hand on Tommy’s hip, the other on his ass, Adam fucks in slow and hard, spiking the manic buzz in Tommy’s blood to something steady, something fucking bearable. Adam keeps on going just like that, smooth, even rhythm, grip tightening to hold Tommy still for a heartbeat then pull him back into the next thrust, the quiet, wet slap of skin on skin, Adam fucking inside him, filling his head with the sound of it.
“Jesus,” Tommy breathes, pushing up on the palms on his hands, arching back to get more exactly like that. The air in his lungs goes stale long before he realises he quit breathing, and the moment he notices he starts panting, rocking back on hands and knees, so fucking into it he’s not one bit surprised to find his cock leaking when he drops his head down, precome sticking stringy to his thighs. “Shit. Fuck. Fuck.”
Biting at his shoulder, hands skimming down his chest, back up to pinch lightly at his nipples, Adam hums his agreement. Curling one arm under Tommy’s chest, hand hooked on his shoulder, Adam kicks it up a couple notches, driving in faster, some of the rhythm gone in favour of pure fucking, giving Tommy a really good, sweet ride.
Tommy gasps, “Wait, wait, sit me-” and loses breath on a hard thrust, grabbing onto Adam’s hand trying to get his attention. “Fuck, sit me down on your dick, I wanna feel it.”
Hips rolling to a shuddering stop, Adam smears a kiss and a curse across the the nape of Tommy’s neck. “Hang on, baby,” he says, guiding Tommy’s arm up, elbow bent, to grab onto his shoulder, and slowly, so, so fucking slowly, he sits back on his heels, drags Tommy up and back with him, settled right down on his cock. Tommy thought it went fucking deep before, now it’s like it’s in his fucking throat, cutting off his air and making him shake, burn from the inside out.
He goes for his dick without thinking, needing the rush of familiar pleasure to take the edge off, and he definitely didn’t realise how much he’s gonna clench up until he’s in the middle of jacking it. He’s fucking glad he wasn’t thinking, because then he might not have done it, and then he’d've had to wait to find out how fucking incredible it is to come with Adam’s dick shoved so far up in him he can almost taste it. He’s even riding it, small, sharp rolls of his hips barely working Adam’s cock at all but he can feel it, fuck, can he feel it, come slick on his fingers, Adam hot, thick, so goddamn big inside him.
Adam’s arm comes around his chest again, pins him for the ride down as Adam falls back onto one elbow. Trying to catch some of his weight is a lost cause; he lands fucked-out and boneless on Adam’s chest, legs splayed wide as Adam’s knees come up, feet planted square on the bed for leverage. Finally catching on, Tommy says, “Fuck, c’mon, do it,” trying to drag his legs up, a fucked-up grateful noise jolted out of him when Adam catches him behind one knee, getting it up high enough Tommy can grab on, hold it there. Both of Adam’s hands skid down his thighs to grip his ass, fingers stretched out to work his dick back in him, and then Adam goes for it, really fucking goes for it like he’s gonna die if he doesn’t. Tommy holds on as best he can, nerves shredded, lungs sliced to ribbons on every sharp breath, his free hand clutching at Adam’s hair and his eyes squeezed shut, so far out of his mind he can’t even fucking believe it.
When Adam starts to shake, drives it home once more and stays buried deep, Tommy struggles to focus, wanting to know if he maybe clenches up again, bears down, he can feel Adam coming from the inside. But his body won’t listen, fucked so loose that as soon as Adam isn’t doing him anymore, his softening dick slips free. Tommy drops his leg, fingers cramped all to hell, and focuses instead on the deep, heavy pulls of air into Adam’s lungs, following along, trying to relearn how to breathe.
Close to Tommy’s ear, Adam asks, “You okay up there?”
Not even enough energy to croak an answer, Tommy gives a whole-hearted but pretty pathetic looking thumbs-up.
Adam huffs, “Yeah,” and levers up barely enough to tip Tommy off onto the bed. Tommy groans at all the needless jostling, pretty sure his head’s not screwed back on yet, and thumps a weak elbow into Adam’s chest. “Sorry, baby,” comes with a kiss to the corner of Tommy’s mouth. “I want to get a look at you.”
“M’right here,” Tommy slurs, apparently still not really with it since he doesn’t have a sweet clue what the fuck Adam’s up to sliding down to spread his legs again. It hits him right about the time Adam’s gently fingering his sore, swollen hole, and he flings an arm over his eyes, grunting as the tip of one finger pushes slowly in. “You checkin’ me out, or are you like, checkin’ me out?”
“Both,” Adam says, then, “Mostly admiring. You ended up pretty loose pretty fast.”
Tommy lifts his arm a fraction, squinting down the length of his body at Adam once again between his legs. “You must’ve fucked me damn good, ’cause I don’t even care that you’re down there calling me easy.”
“Easy’s not a bad thing,” Adam says, crawling up to plant kisses along Tommy’s sternum, along his throat to his mouth. “Easy here and now means you know what you want.”
“Got it, too,” Tommy says, grinning ridiculously. “Didn’t even make me work for it this time.”
A frown tries to take over Adam’s mouth, but it can’t get a foothold through the smile already taken up permanent residence there. His hand keeps smoothing down Tommy’s hip, over his thigh, restless like he’s afraid Tommy’s going to vanish in a puff of smoke if he stops. “I wish I’d had the guts to ask if you meant it before.”
Honestly, Tommy had kinda expected this part to happen before the amazing fuck. “Don’t do that regret shit. I see you smilin’.”
“I’m not regretting,” Adam huffs. “I’m briefly mourning all the really great sex we could’ve had.”
“Yeah?” Tommy isn’t gonna ask, he’s not, but, “So it was really good, right? Like, bam, wow,” comes tumbling out.
Adam’s smile goes darker and brighter all at once, a lazy, satisfied curve to his mouth and pure joy in his eyes. Braced on hands and knees above Tommy, sweat-damp hair falling into his face, deep red marks on his shoulders from Tommy’s nails that Tommy doesn’t remember putting there, he’s beautiful. So fucking gorgeous Tommy’s chest goes tight. He shoves up to get both arms around Adam’s neck, haul him down to hug the fuck out of him, all that bare skin addictive, better than a high.
“Baby,” Adam says, soft in Tommy’s hair.
“I wanna date you,” Tommy says before he chickens out. “If you’d rather do the friends with benefits thing, maybe we could give that a whirl, but I wanna like, hold your hand in public and bitch about endless shopping trips and bring you home for Christmas and all that shit.”
Adam’s chest fills on a sharp breath. He pushes up, this sappy, dopey look on his face, and Tommy loves it. Absolutely fucking loves it. “You want to take the Jewish boy home for Christmas.”
“Fuck yeah,” Tommy says. “Santa don’t give a shit.”
“I was going to bitch at you for thinking I’d want friends with benefits, because I don’t even know where the hell you got the idea that’s something I’d do with you,” Adam says, fingertips soft on Tommy’s face, “but you want to take me home to meet your mom.”
“Dude, you already met her. Like, three dozen times.”
“As your boss and your friend,” Adam says, and rolls down onto the bed to tuck Tommy in close. “Not your boyfriend. I’ll have to bring her flowers.”
“She’s gonna love you.” She’ll have to, because Tommy already does. And she’s not gonna be one bit surprised.