Archive of Our Own

Tommy keeps his eyes down through the entire audition, his voice low through the following interview. He's intimidated by the presence of the man, by the sheer amount of space Adam Lambert takes up in a room. The smile seems genuine, the sparkle in his eyes gives off vibes of happy and friendly and safe. But Tommy's been fooled before and he really doesn't trust his gut.

It sucks to not be able to trust yourself.

"Would there be a problem with the touring? You'd be looking at about nine months away from home, most nights on a bus where personal space is a dream." Adam's guitarist, Monte Pittman, keeps his eyes on the legal pad in front of him, pencil tapping a rhythmic set of dots onto the top page as he talks. He's another one Tommy thinks he could trust, probably should trust.

"No, sir," Tommy replies quickly. He's learned the consequences of being anything less than extremely polite and prompt in his responses. And, really, the touring, the promise of getting away from Burbank – from Noah – is almost more appealing than getting back into music.

Monte's head snaps up and Tommy can feel the assessment in his stare. "Call me Monte, kid. I'm not that much older than you."

Tommy catches Adam nudging Monte's shoulder, whispering, "old geezer," and grinning like a loon. A blush steals across Tommy's cheeks and he cuts his eyes down to floor. He's jealous of them, of the way they're at peace with each other. He wants to be a part of this thing he sees between them. Welcome and relaxed.

Tommy wants somewhere to call home again.

"Adam," Monte says, "you got anything to ask? Anything relevant, I should say."

Adam sticks his tongue out at Monte and then turns to Tommy, looking serious as all hell. Tommy shivers and locks his legs, refuses to give into the desire to run and hide. He almost misses the question to the heavy race of his heartbeat.

"My favorite movie?" He waits until, instead of correcting him, Adam cants his head, then says, "Velvet Goldmine."

"So what are you, modder or rocker?" Adam's eyes dance with mischief.

Tommy can't stop the tiny quirk of his lips when he replies, "Six of one, half dozen of the other, really."

Adam laughs, the sound light and airy and tinkling throughout the room. "Oh, my God. You're too perfect to even be real."

"That meant something?" Monte asks, head turning to look at each of them in turn. "Really?"

Tommy and Adam trip over each other with the same explanation – "It's from the movie." – then they look at one another and grin, Adam's a full tilt smile, Tommy's slightly more than an upward curve of his mouth.

Monte shakes his head and gives Adam a look. Like he's been dealing with Adam's quirkiness so long it doesn't even cause a blip on his radar anymore.

The feeling that these two people are safe, that they would be able to keep him safe, hits Tommy again, suffocating him with the intensity. He shakes it off and makes his goodbyes, shaking hands and shuffling towards the door while they promise to call no matter what decision is made.

Tommy looks over his shoulder once, his eyes connecting with Adam's, and trembles. The look in Adam's eyes is one he knows all too well; it wars with the easy-going attitude Adam's had throughout the audition. Shutting the door behind him, Tommy wonders if landing here, playing bass for Adam Lambert, would truly be finding his freedom.

Or if it'd be more like jumping from the frying pan only to land in the fire.

"Well?" Mike asks as soon as Tommy hangs up the phone. Mia and Dave are a few feet away sitting on the couch. All of them are staring at Tommy and waiting impatiently for an answer, vibrating hard enough Tommy can see the echo of movement.

Tommy wants to tell them to be still, that if they keep squirming and shifting and making noise he's gonna be in trouble. Then he reminds himself that he isn't living by Noah's rules anymore.

It's hard to forget the rules.

Sometimes it's even harder to live without them.

"I got the gig," he finally says, wincing when Mia squeals and tackles him in a hug.

After Tommy pushes Mia off, Mike nods once and claps him on the back. "Good, you need the change of scenery."

"Yeah," Tommy agrees quietly, pushing the predatory look Adam gave him at the end of the audition to the back of his mind.

"Music, man," Mike says, showing a hundred times more excitement then he was just seconds ago. "You're making music again."

"Dreams do come true, huh?"

Mike nods again, a tight jerk of his head. "Apparently."

Tommy wonders if it will be enough to chase the nightmares away.

"Tommy," Adam calls, jogging over to Tommy's ragtag car.

Tommy takes a step back, and then another, until he's backed himself against the car and is stuck watching Adam close in. Looking down at the ground, he mumbles, "Nice, Ratliff."

"I was thinking that maybe we could hang out tonight," Adam says as soon as he reaches Tommy's side. "Get to know each other a little better before traveling the world in a tin can posing as a tour bus."

"Uh," Tommy stammers, startled to realize that he actually does want to get to know Adam outside the confines of the band, of the roles of boss and employee. It's only been ten days, nowhere near long enough to warrant the desire, the need to know Adam versus Adam Fucking Lambert. Except, it's been ten intense days and no matter how much he tries to deny it, there is something there. An odd sort of connection that defies common sense. Tommy wonders if it's from all the touching that happens in rehearsals or if it's just them, like, would the weird bond exist if he'd met Adam when he was ten or fifty. "My roommates are expecting me."

"I can come with, if that's cool. It's probably even better, really." Adam bounces on the balls of his feet, looking for the world like an eager puppy. It makes Tommy relax minutely. No one truly horrible could look so impossibly cute and kid-like. "They'll get to know me before I steal you away, find out I'm not a man-eating dinosaur or something."

Or, Tommy thinks, one of them will threaten Adam to within an inch of his life and all of Tommy's secrets will be exposed. Because he does know his friends and they're an overprotective bunch, especially since they put their collective foot down and forced the break from Noah. "Yeah, maybe," he replies, not sure this is a good idea at all.

"Great! Gimme a minute and I'll just follow you there."

Then, before Tommy can come with an excuse to get out of this – because, seriously, he didn't even really agree to it – Adam is gone, heading towards his Mustang with his keys dangling from his hand.

"Fucked, Ratliff," Tommy growls, sliding behind the wheel of his car. "You are so fucked."

He sends off a quick text to Mia – warning her that he'll have company when he arrives – and then cranks Marilyn Manson loud enough he's sure Adam can hear it despite the five car lengths between them.

An hour in and Tommy starts relaxing. It's more the effect of the whiskey than it is anything else. But he's willing to take what he can get.

Everyone is laughing, telling stories and sharing pictures, just getting to know one another. Adam is dishing out barbs as fast as Mia is, giving it as good as he's getting it.

Then it all goes kinda pear shaped fast enough to make Tommy dizzy.

He'd forgotten that he is, has always been, a touchy-feely drunk. That he kinda turns into an octopus, all arms and legs twining around the nearest warm body.

His friends know this. They all indulge it. Even encourage it, to a certain degree. And when Tommy starts working a buzz, no one even blinks when he squeezes himself between Mike and Adam on the couch, totally ignoring the slip of space on the other side of his friend.

He curls against Mike's chest and takes a deep breath, soothing the last remains of his frayed nerves with the familiar scent of friendship and home.

The problem is, Adam reaches out and wraps a hand around Tommy's ankle, flexing his fingers and squeezing once and then brushing circles around the knob of Tommy's ankle.

The touch freezes Tommy cold.

His frame tightens with tension, his heartbeat spikes, goes from mellow to erratic. It just gets worse when Adam jerks his hand back and starts spewing apologies in a higher than normal tone of voice.

Tommy closes his eyes and pushes in closer to Mike.

"It's okay," Mike whispers. "Adam isn't Noah, he isn't mad; he wasn't trying to pull you away."

"I know," Tommy mutters, embarrassed as all fucking get out. "I know."

Tommy keeps his eyes closed until his heart slows away from the thumping fast beat of club music and back into the slower thump-bump, thump-bump, thump-bump he'd been working earlier. Steeling himself for the looks he's gonna get, he blinks his eyes open and glances around the room.

In Mia and Dave he sees pity and concern and the hardline hatred that happens every time Noah is mentioned. But in Adam it's nothing but confusion and slight disappointment.

"Sorry, man," Tommy mumbles. "Didn't mean to flake out on you or anything."

"I didn't mean to startle you," Adam replies, quieter than Tommy's ever witnessed, more reserved than he thought Adam could be. "Did I… I mean at rehearsals…" Adam stops again and drags a hand through his hair, leaving behind a spiky mess. "The choreography, are you really okay with it? Because there is no way I want…"

"Adam," Tommy says, holding up a hand to stop him. "I'm good with it, okay? I just wasn't expecting it tonight."

"What about the choreography?"

Tommy twists around and looks at Mike, giving what he hopes is a 'don't question me on this' glare. "I told him he could grab me and stuff."

"Uh huh," Mike drawls.

"Mike," Tommy sighs.

"Hey," Mike tightens his hold on Tommy's shoulders and, glancing around the room, leans in, dropping his voice to another low whisper. "If it works for you, whatever, man. But, maybe, you need to clue Adam in on some of the details."

"No," Tommy responds, just as quietly.

"Nothing deep, nothing you aren't comfortable with," Mike says. "Just general things."

Tommy tries ignoring Mike, pushing the fact that he's is making sense, that talking to Adam is probably the smart move, to the back of his mind. Talking about it means reliving it and Tommy is so beyond Noah-fucking-Grant it isn't even funny. They're not together anymore and still the man is affecting the way he reacts.

"What if this happens on tour, Tommy?"

And god-fucking-dammit, Mike takes the winning shot, says the one thing Tommy can't argue against. Especially not with a room full of witnesses. With a deep breath, Tommy stands up, grabs the bottle of whiskey and looks at Adam. "So, wanna go sit outside and listen to my sob story?"

After a pointed look from Mike, Adam follows Tommy outside.

Tommy stays quiet until he shivers, the fall night air working its way under his long-sleeved tee. "I really am okay with the choreography."

"Okay."

"And it wasn't you that made me tense up tonight." Tommy's rambling, repeating shit he's already said inside because he doesn't know how much to tell or where to even start.

"Tommy," Adam pours him another finger of whiskey. "Who is Noah?"

"My ex."

"Oh," Adam says, then sits back hard in the chair, swallowing a large mouthful of liquor. "I didn't see that coming."

"What? That I like guys?" There's a hint of teasing in Tommy's voice. "Guess you didn't hire me to get in my pants then, huh?"

"Noah?"

Tommy sighs. Adam is worse than Mike about pushing shit. "It ended badly."

"He hurt you."

"Yeah." It's not a question, but Tommy answers anyway. And then, registering that Adam is looking at him with compassion and understanding, that he has yet to offer anything close to the pity Tommy hates, he gives a little more, "In more ways than you could know. It hadn't been good for a long time before the end." Tommy shrugs, "Sometimes it just sneaks up on me."

"Like tonight?"

"Yeah, like tonight." Tommy drains his glass and then sets it aside. He's already had too much, any more and he won't be able to monitor his words.

"Are you going to be okay with living on a bus, surrounded by people you don't know?"

The question is a valid one. Tommy doesn't have an answer to it. "I dunno."

"Will you talk to me if it starts pushing in, if it gets to be too much?" Adam holds his hand out, fingers splayed and palm up, and inches it across the table towards Tommy, stopping at the halfway point. "Will you let me help you?"

"Will you promise not to ask me a fuckton of questions?" Tommy counters, clenching his fingers into fists, resisting the urge to put his hand in Adam's.

"Nope," Adam replies, startling the shit out of Tommy with the blunt honesty. "But I will promise to let it drop if you tell me to."

"You didn't let it drop tonight," Tommy points out.

"Did you really want me to?"

In answer, Tommy slowly unfurls his fist and slides his hand into Adam's, meeting him in the middle, giving back a fraction of what he's receiving. He totally didn't want Adam to let it go. The fact that man read him so well makes his heart trip over its next beat.

"How much did you tell him?"

Tommy keeps his eyes glued on the television, his fingers working the game controller. "That Noah is my ex, and a dick, and that sometimes something just kinda makes me flip."

The couch dips when Mike plops down. "Tommy."

"Mike," Tommy returns in the same drawn out frustrated voice.

Grabbing the remote from the table, Mike turns the television off. "How about you stop avoiding this, Tommy?"

"What?" Tommy snaps, dropping the controller on the coffee table and pushing to a stand, pacing the small space of the living room. "Tell me exactly what I'm avoiding?"

Arching a brow, Mike jumps up and, getting right in Tommy's face, snarls back, "Seems to me you candy-coated everything with your new boss. How is that fair to either one of you?"

Stepping back instinctively, Tommy growls, "What the fuck, man?"

"My ex was a dick," Mike says in an exaggeratedly high-pitched voice. "How's that going to help him to help you?"

"He doesn't need the details," Tommy hisses. "He's my boss, not my goddamn therapist."

"He's your friend," Mike replies softly, bringing Tommy to a stop mid-rant. "We all saw it, Teej. He cares about you, or at least he would if you let him."

"And you want me to let him."

Mike steps closer, pulls Tommy into a hug. "I want to know you'll be okay."

Tommy sags into Mike's grip. "You do know we aren't leaving for months, right?"

"You'll be on the AMAs in a week," Mike says, pushing Tommy back enough to look in his eyes. "Everything is gonna change, man. Just, seriously, think about it, okay? I don't think you need to open a vein and bleed all over him, but a little more than the fact that Noah Grant is a dick might be good."

"Maybe," Tommy says, mostly to pacify Mike and make this conversation go the fuck away.

"At least think about dropping some hints about the type of relationship, man." Mike steps back completely, his arms falling to his sides. "Last thing you want is to be needing support and instead having to defend your choice."

Tommy rolls his eyes. He highly doubts that Adam Lambert needs a PSA from him about dominance and submission. Adam is about the toppiest fucker he's ever met and, Tommy's convinced, Adam knows exactly what kind of shit Tommy likes to get up to. He's seen the way Adam looks at him, the contemplative moments when he wraps his fingers in Tommy's hair and tugs and all Tommy can do is melt against him, going ragdoll lax.

The less said about it directly, the better for Tommy. The last thing he wants to do is eliminate the one place where he can get a taste of what he's missing.

And it is something he's missing. Tommy misses his submission, misses the freedom and the rush of the high and the blurred edges of subspace. Right now everything is too bright and too loud and too hard, except when Adam is dragging him around stage. Then everything just drifts into that place and Tommy can completely relax.

"You'll talk to him?"

"Yes, Mike," Tommy sighs. "If, if, an opportunity comes up where I won't look like a total douche, I'll tell him more."

Tommy flees the AMA stage doubled over in a fit of mad giggling. This gig is the stupidest thing ever. Forget about the fact that Adam's voice was kinda wonky and the way he had to ninja roll himself out of breaking his ass, or the how the dude was on national television pulling a man's face against his dick. None of that even matters in Tommy's world.

It's the kiss that is shorting out his brain and reducing him to bouts of hysterical laughter. At least laughing is better than the alternative, better than losing his shit in a flood of tears or half-assed screaming.

He keeps going back to that one thing, to a few fast seconds buried in the fucking middle of the four and a half minute performance.

Adam Lambert kissed the living shit out of him. On stage. In front of a live audience and fourteen million plus home viewers. A fuckton of other shit going on and Tommy still got so lost in a kiss that his knees buckled and he had to grab the goddamn keyboard.

He's in some serious trouble.

"Tommy?"

Adam's voice is laced with confusion and worry and a hint of amusement. It's not enough to make Tommy stop the maniacal chuckling. "Sickest shit ever, man," he gasps out. "Seriously."

"You're not pissed or freaking out or anything?" Adam is fidgeting, hands smoothing over his suit jacket, words coming out in a messed up rush, nowhere near as eloquent as he usually is. "Cause, if you're good, I need to get to this interview, but, you know, if not, I can get Lane to push 'em off or something."

"Nah, I'm okay." He's not. He's so far from okay that he's still vibrating, right on the edge of a total breakdown or some shit. Swallowing, he gives Adam a plastered on smile. At least he hopes it's a smile. "Really. Just, you know, tell them I'm cool with it and shit. Rock-n-roll's a prostitute, it should be tarted up, right?"

"You're too much, Tommy Joe Ratliff." Adam shakes his head, and then, before Tommy can jerk away, leans in and brushes his lips across Tommy's forehead. "I'll do my best to keep you out of it."

He holds out until Adam disappears into the crowd at the end of the hall and then he slumps against the wall, wondering if Adam knows just how much of a lie all of that was. If Adam could feel the way Tommy's heart sped up when he grasped the back of Tommy's neck, if he knew Tommy was caught in some crazy war of instincts, fighting the urge to run and to drop to his knees equally. He hopes Adam was blinded by his own issues, so caught up in his own madness Tommy was able to fly beneath the radar.

Taking a deep breath, he pushes off the wall and heads to the dressing room. They have to be at the airport in less than an hour and he has to get his game face back in place.

Another squeak of laughter escapes. He is so fucking fucked it really isn't funny.

"You sure you're okay, Tommy?"

Tommy looks away from his laptop, stares into the inky dark outside the plane windows. "Yeah, not like I didn't say you could grab me and stuff, right?"

"Tommy," Adam whispers, leaning into Tommy's personal space. "Look, it's that, sometimes you just react, you know? Just let me take over, you don't fight it at all. And I don't know if it's a good thing for you or if I did something to make you think of that asshole you were dating."

Sighing, Tommy makes a decision. It's time to give up a little more detail, let more of his past come into his present. He promised Mike he would talk given an opening, and Tommy Joe Ratliff is a man of his word. He could fucking kick Adam for opening the door so goddamn wide though. "You don't remind me of Noah. You two are total opposites."

Adam sucks in a breath. "But… you like it? When someone, when I take that control?"

"I do." Simple and to the point and hopefully the end of it.

"Did… with Noah, was it…" Adam flaps a hand in the air, the words coming out just as jerky and stilted as his flailing. "This isn't new for you."

"Dude," Tommy snorts, trying to lighten the conversation, steer it away from the thin ice he's treading on. "You do realize I'm actually older than you. Totally means I've been getting up to shit longer than you."

"Months, Tommy. You have me beat by months."

"Still older."

"Whatever." Adam rolls his eyes, then goes silent.

The quiet lasts for all of three seconds.

"Do you miss it?"

Tommy shakes his head. He should have figured that once it was out there, no matter how oblique the reference was, Adam would latch on and just toss random fucking questions into the air. Sighing, he asks, "What? Noah? Or my submission?"

"Either, or, both," Adam replies, taking a sip of his drink.

Draining his whiskey, Tommy closes his eyes. He's not really sure how much of this he's ready for. Hedging, he says, "Some of it."

"Come on, give me more than that."

Cajoling. Adam Lambert is a cajoling little bitch with his bright blue eyes and pretty smile. Tommy sighs again, knowing he's going to give in. He can't ignore Adam, isn't sure he wants to. "I miss the rules, the structure. Miss knowing what's expected and where the boundaries are and learning how to stretch myself beyond what I see as my limits."

"Do you miss kneeling for Noah?"

Adam's voice, low and attentive, seduction wrapped in a delicate layer of true interest, pierces straight through the barriers Tommy has built up, stings him in his chest and flairs out, in bold colors and heavy beats, until every nerve ending is on alert. He is so fucked.

"Yes," and then quickly, "no. I don't miss kneeling for Noah."

But he misses being on his knees, having fingers threading through his hair and the weight of a heavy cock pushing into his mouth. Misses it more than he figures is healthy.

Adam tilts his head to the side and stares. It's fucking unnerving. Finally, eyes all serious, he says, "But you do miss belonging to someone. Miss being on your knees and giving it all up."

There's nothing Tommy can say in the face of such a baldly honest statement. Instead he lets his gaze fall away from Adam's, his eyes lowering the way he'd been taught, and hopes that Adam takes it for what it is meant to be.

Not that Tommy truly knows what he means it to be.

Sleep for Tommy is an elusive thing. Following the AMAs, it becomes almost nonexistent. Tommy blames Adam.

Something shifted between them two weeks ago, on the flight from L.A. to New York and their on-stage dynamic is bleeding over into real life. It is driving Tommy batshit crazy.

None of it is overt, not a single specific thing Tommy can point to. And it's nowhere near enough for Tommy to bristle up and call Adam out. It's a fuckton of little shit, none of it sexual and none of it even in the realm of Noah's idea of dominance. It's all the more powerful for Tommy because of that, battering away at him until he's a nervous ball of energy.

It's dumb stuff like making sure Tommy isn't cold, Adam taking the scarf from his own neck and settling it around Tommy when the bite of northeast air kicks Tommy's Southern Cali ass. Or the way a bowl of gummy bears always finds its way to the table after Tommy has eaten something more substantial, something healthier than his usual food run of tacos and beer. Or the way that Adam has taken to calling him Tommy Joe instead of Tommy, drawing it out and saying it in that ridiculous voice that makes Tommy's breath catch every single fucking time.

Or like tonight, when they boarded another plane heading to New York, and Adam ushered Tommy to the window seat and then dropped his ass down next to him, buffering him from all of the other people on the plane, keeping Tommy's personal space narrowed to just the two of them.

All little things that, if Tommy mentions them, will make him sound like a fucking lunatic for being pissy.

Tommy stuffs his earbuds in and cranks his music up, doing his damnedest to ignore the heat of Adam's body and his own natural inclination to curl into it. He's got to get some sleep before he does something ridiculously stupid.

Like read more into everything Adam is doing and then finding himself in another situation.

Because nothing is ever what it seems at first. His years with Noah taught him that.

"You look like shit, man."

Tommy jerks his head up from the pillow of his arms and glares at Monte. "Thanks."

"Not able to sleep in hotels or something?" Monte pushes a cup of coffee – one of those sissy sized cups that you get in restaurants – across the table, totally the right blend of cream and sugar and bitter caffeine. Tommy might love him a little for that alone, he'll definitely forgive the whole look like shit thing.

"Something. Hotels don't usually bother me." It's being around Adam and not knowing what the hell is going on, wondering when the attentive concern is going to morph into a snide type of demanding, when the warm fuzzy buzz of being in Adam's orbit will start to burn and hurt. Tommy is so not telling Monte all of that shit. "I'll balance out soon enough."

"Is it because you're racking out with me?"

"What?" Tommy isn't awake enough to follow the logic.

"Lisa claims I snore like a freight train." Monte shrugs. "I think she's full of shit on that one, but, seriously, if that's it we can rearrange the rooms."

"Why are we rearranging rooms?" Adam asks, taking the seat next to Tommy. Then, as he pushes a plate of pancakes and bacon towards Tommy, says, "And, wow, you're pale, baby. You getting sick again?"

Before Tommy can answer, Monte says, "Nope. He's not sleeping. As much as it pains me to admit, Lisa may be right. I think I'm keeping him up at night with my snoring."

Adam chuckles. "It's not just Lisa who has told you that." Adam bumps against Tommy's shoulder, head tilted toward the still untouched breakfast. "Eat up, Tommy Joe. Let's get through today and then tonight you can sleep in my room."

Fourteen hours later Tommy is still trying to find a way to politely tell Adam there is no fucking way in hell he's bunking with him.

He fails spectacularly.

Tommy wakes up slowly, warm under the covers with the hot press of a body along his back. He cracks his eyes open and sees the sun coming in around the edges of the curtains, bright and high in the sky and well past time for Noah to be up and at work.

"Oh, shit," Tommy mutters, jerking away from the arm wrapped around his waist and effortlessly sliding to the floor, knees spread, back straight, eyes cast down. Noah is gonna be so pissed. "Sir," Tommy says, swallowing against the rough morning break in his voice. Then, louder, "Sir. You're late, the alarm didn't go off and…"

"Tommy? What the hell… baby?"

Tommy winces. The voice ringing in his ears is way too soft to be good. It's the voice that usually precedes an open hand to the face.

There's a hissed intake of air and then, when a hand comes into view, Tommy, trying with all he has to not react, goes rigid. At least he didn't flinch completely away. That would have been disastrous.

Instead of the pain Tommy steels himself for, the sting of a slap that he anticipates, fingers card gently through his hair. Tommy shivers, not in pleasure but in fear. He's off his game and doesn't know what to expect. It's been so long since Noah touched him like this, like Tommy was precious and something to be cared for, adored and loved and cherished.

"Tommy, baby," the voice says again. "Come on, Tommy Joe, look up, look at me."

Slowly, Tommy drags his gaze across the carpet and then higher. Blinking, he makes himself look up to the bed. Then he blinks again. "Adam?"

"Yeah, baby," Adam replies, fingers still scratching over Tommy's scalp. "You back with me now?"

He's back. And he's mortified. This is exactly why the fuck he didn't want to crash with Adam. One bed in the room meant a whole host of issues. The fact that he got a whole night's sleep is totally beside the point. He'd rather be exhausted and living on Red Bull than to have a goddamn flashback in front of Adam.

"Oh, fuck," he whispers, wondering how long it'll be before he's in the bathroom hurling his guts up.

"Easy, Tommy Joe." Then Adam is on the floor beside him, wrapping his big arms around Tommy and pulling him closer, manipulating them both until Adam is sitting with his back against the bed and Tommy is in his lap, his head cradled against Adam's neck. Tommy wars with himself, wanting – needing – the comfort Adam is offering but wanting just as desperately to protect himself. The safety that he feels in Adam's arms wins out and slowly he relaxes. "That's it. Now, breathe with me, baby."

"I'm sorry. I don't…"

"Shush," Adam says. "Come on, breathe in," he waits until Tommy takes a deep breath, "and out."

Tommy follows Adam's lead, his heart rate falling to normal within minutes. The shaking takes longer to control. Finally, he says, "Lemme up, Adam. I'll just get lost and you can catch more sleep."

"Nope," Adam replies, arms tightening their hold. "We're not going anywhere."

"Adam," Tommy sighs. "Please."

"We can either sit here quietly together or we can sit here and talk. Those are your choices, Tommy Joe."

Tommy knows exactly which one Adam would prefer. He wants to know what the fuck happened. Tommy doesn't blame him. Still… "It's no big deal, man. I can just…"

"Tommy Joe, enough." The words aren't shouted, aren't even growled. But Tommy knows that Adam means business, isn't joking even a fucking little bit. Tommy decides sitting quietly is cool with him.

Ten minutes of being coddled and the silence starts to give him a headache. Two minutes more and he starts talking.

"I woke him in the same way every morning."

Adam hums, his arm squeezing Tommy gently before loosening again.

"I thought I was back there, just did what I was supposed to," Tommy whispers. "It's the first time I've woken up beside someone since Noah and, at first, I thought I was still with him and that he was late to work." Tommy stops and swallows. "If… I didn't mean to flinch."

"I know, Tommy Joe," Adam murmurs. "It didn't take you long to figure out the difference."

"All I could think was I was late and… Noah was gonna be so pissed." Tommy closes his eyes. Adam is way too intuitive, he'll hear everything Tommy isn't saying. And admitting even this little bit makes him sound – feel – so weak. "The way you touched me was wrong."

Adam huffs. "The way I touched you was perfect. If that wasn't how Noah said good morning to such a pretty display, then he was wrong."

Blushing, Tommy pokes Adam in the ribs, growing more confident in this new, weird, nice aspect of their friendship. "You know what I mean. It wasn't what I was expecting."

Adam presses his lips to Tommy's temple. "Then we need to raise your expectations."

Despite all of Tommy's protests – and pouting and arguing and snarky sulking – sleeping with Adam becomes a full time thing. Even after they get back to L.A., Tommy is shuffled right into Adam's apartment, a key pressed into his hand and his suitcase unpacked and stored in a closet. His guitars, his bass and his acoustic, are on stands in his bedroom – even though after two weeks he's still never, not once, slept in the fucker.

It's both a blessing and a curse. It's some of the best sleep that Tommy has had in fucking years. He's smiling and laughing and enjoying the shit out of the crazy ride that is being in Adam Lambert's band.

But he's also getting attached to Adam. Way too damned attached. Which is plain stupid no matter how Tommy looks at it.

Not even once has Adam hinted he's looking for anything more than a friendship. Nothing beyond the hugs and light fluttering kisses, the same kind of affection that Mike and Mia and Dave smother him with. What he has with Adam is a friendship; one that has the most fucked up boundaries Tommy has ever seen, because, dude, he so doesn't sleep with any of his other friends. But, just a friendship all the same.

It's the actual fact that Tommy is maybe, possibly, would be interested in more that is making his gut clench.

To think about going there again means he's lost his everloving, fucking mind.

It took too much out of him to be with Noah, and even more to leave the man. He's finally worked his way to a half decent keel, not listing too far in either direction and instead of being content with it, he goes and starts crushing on his boss.

His out-in-the-public-eye and oh-so-very-dominant boss, for fuck's sake.

The morning he wakes up with a boner, Tommy knows the friendship has gone too goddamn far. No way in hell is he opening himself up to that again. To the reconditioning, as Noah called it, of cock cages and milking because his body – his dick – has a mind of its own.

He'll do whatever is necessary to keep his reaction to Adam – the physical proof that being so close to him, being kissed and man-handled and cuddled seems to bring on – to himself. Even if it means slinking out of bed and away from Adam like a two-bit hooker making a break before sunrise.

He goes home – back to Mike – and snatches a shower and a change of clothes that have never seen Adam, have no connection to anything at all. When he leaves for soundcheck, he's calmer, riding a high that's made up of Adam Lambert and his perfect fucking nighttime snuggles and the impending show.

Because, really, Gridlock. That fucking rocks.

Tommy arrives at the soundcheck whistling, thinking he made a clean getaway, that Adam slept through the attempt at a quiet escape.

He should have known better. Adam Lambert misses very little once he's deemed it important.

Soundcheck is hardly over, Adam's last high notes still ringing in Tommy's ears, when Adam comes up beside him and says, "So, really, you think you could at least leave me a note if you slip out before I get up? I stayed awake for a few minutes waiting for you to come back to bed."

Tommy jerks his head up. Fast. "Wha… huh?"

Adam looks at Tommy with a frown. "You don't seriously think you made it out of the bed without waking me up, do you?" Then, eyes going wide, he laughs, "Oh, my God, you do."

Hot embarrassment erupts over Tommy's cheeks. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Rolling his eyes, Adam nods. "I know. And you really didn't. It was that sleepy, I'm just pretending to be awake thing. I thought you were going to the bathroom or something and dozed back off. Figured out you split when I dragged out for that phone interview." A hand in the small of Tommy's back, Adam leads them down the hall and out into the bright afternoon sun. "I told you to make yourself at home, yeah?"

"Yeah," Tommy mumbles.

"Then why'd you leave?" Adam's fingers curl against the knobs of Tommy's spine, directing him across the parking lot to their cars. "I wanted to have breakfast together, talk about the show."

Snorting, Tommy says, "You wanted to have breakfast together to make sure I ate. You turn into a Jewish grandmother at meal time."

"You're too skinny," Adam replies, not denying the accusation at all. "And, I really did want to talk about the show."

Tommy arches a brow. "So talk."

Adam leans back against his Mustang. "You're not going to tell me why you left?"

That would be a hell no, Tommy thinks. It'll take a lot more than Adam's big blue eyes and honey-soaked voice to get Tommy to own up to his arousal and the encompassing fear that came with it. That's a conversation that Tommy has avoided with everyone; no one, not even Mike, knows about the cock cage, the milking, that happened in lieu of orgasms and sexual satisfaction, of the fact less than halfway through their relationship, Tommy was nothing more than a hole to be used. No one knows and Tommy damn well plans on keeping it that way. "The show? You changin' something up?"

Sighing, Adam shakes his head. "Nah, just wanted to make sure you were still cool with the choreography."

"Thought we were playing a lot of that by ear," Tommy replies, confusion wrinkling his brow. "Am I wrong?"

"You sure? I mean, you know how I get when I'm performing."

Myriad images flood Tommy's mind, each one taking their stage-play a single step further than the one before it. The blush returns full force. "I'm…" Tommy stops and swallows, then lies his nonexistent ass off. "'M good with it."

Adam spends several long seconds staring at Tommy, looking for all the world like he's going to call his bluff. Then, with a jerky nod, says, "Okay."

He is so not good with it. Not at all. He just didn't expect to be this not good with it.

He combats the hard press of his cock with beer and Jack and, between their set and the afterparty, the bigger half of a joint. Adam pulls him in close and whispers, "Just enjoy yourself, okay, Tommy Joe? But, if you need anything or if you decide to wander outside, come to me first. Okay?"

After Tommy acknowledges the command, because, dude, that was so much a command, Adam brushes his lips across Tommy's forehead in another one of those maddening friendshippy kisses and heads away, mingling with random pretty boys.

Through one drink and then another Tommy watches Adam. Watches him dance and talk and flirt. Tommy lurks in a corner, keeping silent surveillance, his brow marring as a larger crowd of boys, all twinky and coy, grows around Adam until Adam's cheeks flush and his eyes darken, making him look more exotic and dangerous.

Tommy's not good in crowds, sucks at having so many people around him. This is totally not his scene, not anymore. It borders on claustrophobic. But he can't make himself leave, can't put one foot in front of the other and force himself out of the room. He has to stay, has to watch.

Spicy hot jealousy lances through Tommy, bubbling beneath his skin and burning the back of his throat with words he can't, has no right, to say. He knows the annoyance he feels, the possessiveness towards Adam, is irrational. It doesn't stop him from wandering over to Adam, from wrapping his arms around Adam's waist and snuggling into his chest. From preening when Adam automatically drags a hand through Tommy's hair and then, arm around Tommy's shoulder, pulls him closer.

Then Tommy blinks as reality crashes through the buzz. Cockblocking Adam can only lead to Adam turning towards him, expecting something to come from Tommy's display. He pulls out of the embrace and goes to find another drink.

He is so fucked. Six ways from Sunday, no lube in his pocket fucked.

He wants Adam. Wants Adam to do a whole host of amoral, filthy things to him. At least he does as long as it stays something he's imagining, doesn't come close to being a reality.

The realization is almost enough to make him puke. Definitely enough to have him fleeing the party and escaping to crowds outside, to the women outside.

Tommy slides into the back of the limo behind Adam, the tone of voice – Tommy, Tommy. We're leaving. – and Adam's confident crook of his finger whizzing along Tommy's nerves, snapping and popping in little lightning bursts of energy. All Tommy wants to do is slip off the seat and kneel in the vee of Adam's spread legs.

He reaches towards the bar and pours another drink instead.

"So, Tommy Joe," Adam says, still working the whole no nonsense pitch, his words clipped and perfect instead of holding the usual rolling lilt, "a chick."

He can't tell if it's a question or statement. "Um, yeah."

"Why?"

Tommy closes his eyes and sighs, wondering if he can avoid this question the same way he'd skirted answering Adam earlier, when he'd asked about why Tommy skipped out before breakfast.

"Tommy Joe," Adam growls, seriously growls. That answers the question about not answering.

Thankful for the pitch black of the night, Tommy keeps his eyes closed and answers, "Girls are safe."

"Safe?" The heavy accusation in Adam's voice is mostly, but not entirely, replaced with hurt. "You rushed away from me to find something safe."

Tommy has no reply for that. He really doesn't. Because even with all of his memories mashing up all confusing like with the present, he's never not felt safe with Adam.

The inside of the limo flares bright, Adam's hand hovering over the switch controlling the interior lights. Tommy blinks, his eyes watering at the rapid-fire loss of darkness. "Why are girls safe?"

He swallows against the bile burning his throat. He hears the real question Adam is asking: Why am I unsafe? This is embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing. "I don't sub for chicks."

Adam cants his head to the side. "And not subbing for them makes it safe?"

Biting his bottom lip, Tommy looks at Adam, throwing a fuckton of pleading into his eyes. Not here, he thinks, please don't do this here.

"We're going home, you can sleep in whichever room you want to," Adam says, flicking his fingers against the button and plunging them back into darkness. "But don't even think about running out after I'm asleep."

"Yeah, okay," Tommy mumbles, knowing it's as much of a reprieve as he's gonna get.

The hangover he's rocking keeps Tommy in bed long enough for him to realize that it's Adam who is pressed against his back and sticking to him tight enough to be a leech. Nothing but arms and legs holding Tommy in close, his body covered on one side by Adam's, bondage in its purest form. It's stopping all of his inclinations to move and attempt to get away.

Plus it just fucking feels good. Good enough that Tommy talks himself out of getting up to take a piss.

"You okay?"

Tommy feels the words as much as he hears them, Adam's lips pressing in against his neck. Lips twitching into a small grin – because Adam is always so Adam – he whispers, "Yeah, 'm good."

"No flashbacks? Don't need me to move?"

He should say yeah, lemme go. It's the easiest way to get him out of the predicament he's in, with his body reacting to Adam, the goosebumps breaking across his arms and his dick, hidden behind baggy sleep pants, hard and wet at the tip. Instead he says, "Knew it was you, Noah would never be caught dead wearing black fingernail polish."

Adam snorts, the flash of hot breath skating moist along Tommy's skin. "You want to talk like this or in the living room after breakfast?"

Tommy's stomach rolls. He seriously had hoped Adam would forget all about last night. About the way Tommy had pushed his way between Adam and those guys, rubbing himself against him and then, later, right before he'd escaped outside, how he'd gone over and kissed Adam. Kissed him right on the fucking mouth. He should've known better.

"Can we try here, like this?" Because, really, it's embarrassing enough. Doing it when he actually has to look at Adam, has to see whatever emotions flitter in Adam's eyes, that would be too much.

"Wherever you want, Tommy Joe, just as long as it gets done." Adam squeezes his arms around Tommy once. "You know it has to be done, right?"

He hates to admit it, knows that there is no way to keep it from leading back to Noah. But he knows Adam is right. They have to talk. If they don't this thing between them will spiral into some madhouse clusterfuck. Assuming it hasn't already. "I know."

"Good boy," Adam replies, sending crazy heat down Tommy's spine.

Tommy bites back a moan. This has disaster stamped all over it.

Then, like Adam knows Tommy needs a minute to pull himself together, says, "You go to the bathroom, I'll go grab us some coffee, and we'll meet back here in ten, 'kay?"

Nodding, Tommy mutters, "Okay," way more thankful than he really wants to be.

It's more like twenty minutes before they're both back in the bed, Adam sitting with his back against the headboard and Tommy curled into his side, both of them nursing a mug of hot coffee. Tommy takes a sip and then sets his on the bedside table. The last thing he wants to do is dump coffee all over Adam and his bed.

Tommy has no idea where to start. He sits quietly, focusing on Adam's heartbeat, and waits.

The wait is far shorter than he'd hoped for.

"So, bi, huh?"

Shrugging, Tommy says, "More fluid than anything. It's about attraction, you know? Who stirs it, who doesn't."

"And that girl last night, she stirred it?"

Tommy can hear the cocked eyebrow in Adam's voice. He's tempted to look up and see if he's right. But then he'd have to see everything else in Adam's ridiculously expressive face. "Not really. I was drunk, they were asking me questions, she was there offering."

"Why'd you go outside?"

The redirection makes Tommy blink. "Um, cause, I kinda thought I was, maybe, getting in your way. With, um, those other guys and all."

Adam chuckles, a dry crackling sound missing all hints of humor. "You confuse me, Tommy Joe."

"I don't mean to," Tommy murmurs.

"Oh, I don't think you do it on purpose. But, like last night, there's a sense of togetherness between us. I wasn't looking for anything in those other guys because I knew that we'd come back here and pass out together. I was good with that." Adam stops and raises his coffee mug to his lips, then, after two deep swallows, says, "Then I come outside and, ho fuck, you've got an arm around some girl and your lips are spit shiny and," Adam huffs, "and right then I just really wanted to tan your ass."

Tommy swallows hard. The idea of Adam wanting to give him that, wanting to set rules and boundaries that have distinct consequences, sends a thrill through Tommy.

It also scares him shitless.

He'd wanted that before, thought he'd found someone who wanted the same thing, and it turned out horribly fucking wrong. Then Adam adds, "Except tanning your ass isn't an option. It's not my right. No matter what I thought was going on between us, if you don't want it too, it can't be my right," and Tommy's world kinda tilts to the left.

Because, yeah, he can't remember ever really talking this way with Noah. Their personalities had defined their roles – just like, he thinks, has happened with Adam – except that after the first few initial conversations, there had been no negotiations, no discussion. He sure as hell knows that Noah never once based his actions on having Tommy's agreement.

When he'd tried raising his concerns, during a scene or after, on days when they were lazing around and doing nothing, he was told he was being an unruly sub. Not long after the first time Tommy had spoken up, the cock cage had been brought home, beginning Tommy's reconditioning and training.

Then there was nothing to say. He couldn't – wouldn't – go to his friends, not with that. Instead he endured and learned and dealt with it. It helped that it wasn't all bad, that were some things he did with Noah that he'd enjoyed, looked forward to, right until the end.

His mouth opens, wanting to respond, intending on making some lighthearted quip, anything to ease the tension building in the room. Somehow though, his brain shorts out and he ends up saying, "Noah and I kinda fell into it. Neither one of us knew what the hell we were doing and… and…"

"And it went out of control?"

Licking his lips, Tommy nods, drags his cheek, covered in early morning stubble, against Adam's chest. "It definitely did that. I didn't know, I just let him…" Tommy tries to pull away from Adam, tries curling in on himself. Adam's arm around Tommy's shoulders goes tight and strong, holding him place. "I wasn't strong enough to stop it. I… I liked some…" he stammers until, eyes squeezed shut, he shouts, "Fuck!"

"Easy, baby," Adam croons, tugging Tommy in closer, rocking their bodies in a gentle sway. "You don't have to do this, Tommy Joe."

Tommy turns his options over in his head. He teeters on the edge of taking the escape, of killing the conversation before it can go any further. It's damn well the safe option. The other choice is trusting his gut, trusting what Mike saw in Adam that first night, and maybe, possibly, finding something more.

Tommy Joe Ratliff has never been a coward. He's made some fucked up choices, but he's not a goddamn coward. "Yeah," he rasps out, "I do."

And then Tommy opens up and just lets the words tumble out.

"I didn't see it getting worse."

"You wouldn't have," Adam says. "People never do when they're right in the middle of it. They don't notice the little things, the warning signs. It's not until it's a huge thing that can't be stopped, then they finally see it for what it is."

Tommy thinks about the way things were, the scenes and the rules and the demands. Maybe Adam has a point. Maybe. "I wanted some of it. Even when he started some of the shit I didn't agree to, didn't like, I still felt – " loved and cherished and wanted " – important."

"You deserve to be more than important, Tommy Joe." Adam tilts his head down and, lips right against Tommy's ear, says, "You should never settle for less than being pampered and praised and respected."

He shivers, not knowing if it's the words or the feel of Adam's breath ghosting over his ear. "Yeah, well," he replies quietly, "lessons learned, right?"

"Were there any lessons learned?" Adam asks, leaning back against the headboard again.

"Yeah. Mostly after I'd moved in with Mike." Tommy dips his head lower, hiding the blush on his face, the outward appearance of his shame. "I read some, found people to talk to."

"And?"

"I should have stopped him."

"Hey," Adam says, a finger pushing against Tommy's chin, "look at me."

Slowly Tommy forces himself to look up at Adam. "What?"

"It wasn't all on you. There were two of you in that relationship."

"I let him…"

"You trusted him."

Tommy snorts. "And look how well that turned out."

The look in Adam's eyes is one of dawning realization, understanding. "You don't trust yourself, do you?"

Tommy looks away. "Would you, if you were me?"

The silence stretches out and then Adam says, "I'd have to. Otherwise I'd be living a half-life, denying an intrinsic part of myself."

Adam's comment sneak attacks Tommy for hours. While he's trying to eat breakfast, and then when they're snuggling on the couch nursing his hangover, and finally throughout the movie and pizza that is being counted as dinner. He keeps hearing the words – denying an intrinsic part of myself – over and over and fucking over until he just blurts out, "You weren't reading it wrong."

Adam looks at him, confusion all over his face.

He swallows against the tightness of his throat, hoping he isn't fucking up in a supreme way. "When you said there's this thing between us," Tommy clarifies. "You were right."

Adam's face becomes a crazy mash-up of emotions: satisfaction, lust, happiness, arousal, all painted with pure out and out smugness. Tommy'd laugh if the whole damn thing wasn't making his stomach turn inside-out.

As it is, he still can't help but smile, not when he's this close to a happy Adam. He can't resist him now the way he could back in October at the band audition, when Adam was just a pretty smile.

"That's it," Adam says, tracing a thumb over Tommy's lips. "Let me see that smile. You always keep it hidden, buried beneath that mask of indifference."

The comment makes Tommy blush. And smile even more. Fucker.

A soft chuckle escapes Adam, high and lighthearted. "I seriously thought I was reading everything wrong."

Tommy shakes his head. Adam may not have been reading him wrong but that doesn't mean it changes anything at all. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Not looking for anything tonight, Tommy Joe. Not tomorrow, or even next week." Adam twines his fingers with Tommy's locking their hand together in a fierce grip then holds them up, forces their joined hands into Tommy's line of sight. "But this? It's where I want to end up."

Oh.

It's the second time in less than twelve hours that Tommy is floundering for words, completely speechless.

Tommy wakes up before Adam, stretching and turning, rolling until he's comfortable on his side and looking at his bedmate. He has no idea what the fuck is going on. They talked. They both acknowledged the attraction building between them. Then Adam acted like nothing had changed. Two days later is still acting like nothing has changed.

The kisses are friendly, the touches very fucking limited. He makes sure Tommy eats and has the right clothes for the weather, is in bed at a reasonable hour. But he was doing all of that shit before.

And it's not that Tommy is complaining. Not really. It just has him off his game. He expected – feared that – something was going to change, that Adam was going to change, the minute he confessed to being… fascinated by, with, Adam.

Slowly he reaches a hand out and traces a finger over Adam's face, his brow, the cut of his cheekbone, his lips. Tommy wonders what it would take to push Adam to anger, to make his face contort and his gentle reprimands turn mean. Because Tommy is pretty sure if it can be done, he's the one who could do it.

He pulls his hand back and sighs. He never wants to see that side of Adam, even if it means not seeing much of this other side either.

Rolling onto his back, Tommy shuts his eyes and forces himself back to sleep.

Tommy pushes the sheaf of papers to the side and grabs a coffee mug. He should have gotten the fuck out of the bed the first time he woke up. The extra hour was just enough to piss him off. Lost in his funk, he startles, sloshing coffee everywhere, when Adam says, "Those are for you."

"What?" Tommy asks, voice raspy and sleep-filled.

Adam quirks a grin. "The papers, they're for you. Well, us, but that set is for you."

Brain engaging, Tommy drags the small stack – one, two, three … nine page stack – of papers back to him. And promptly chokes on his coffee. He scans the first page again, then the second. "What the fuck?"

"You've never seen a BDSM checklist before?"

He looks over to Adam. The man is being serious. "Um, no. Seriously, it's like pages of kinks. Why would I… " The penny finally drops, Tommy blames the unholy lack of sugar and caffeine for it taking so long. "Oh."

Setting his coffee aside, he picks up the papers and gives them his full attention. "I'm supposed to, like, rate these things?"

"I've got one too." Adam replies. "Thought this way might be easier for you, that way you can let me know stuff without having to rehash everything with words."

A wave of gratitude sweeps through Tommy. This will be easier. Not to mention it'll force Tommy to look at himself, to honestly evaluate scenes and situations and tools. "Thanks," he mumbles, eyes zipping over the remaining pages, eyebrows raising and lowering as he runs across some shit that he's never even heard of, shit that, given his years with Noah, he should have heard of before.

"We'll still have to talk it out, Tommy Joe," Adam warns. "My list too, they'll both have to be discussed."

"Yeah," Tommy says, looking up at Adam, apprehensive. He's not looking forward to that part very much at all.

"But this gives us a good starting point, yeah?" Adam says, hope sparking in his eyes.

Tommy snorts. It's way fucking more than a starting place for him. Way fucking more. It's either the beginning of a complete fucking meltdown or a way for him to finally get his shit together. "Yeah," he replies, "a starting point."

Tommy meets Neil two hours into a four hour rehearsal. He's hot and sweaty and tired. The last thing he wants is to play nice with the new guy. Even if it is Adam's brother.

Thirty minutes after meeting him though, he's ready to bundle the dude up and take him back to Adam's, just turn over the second bedroom to him. Because through the weeks, Tommy hasn't once witnessed anyone working Adam's nerves the way Neil is managing to and if Adam doesn't lose his shit after twenty-four hours with his brother, Tommy's willing to entertain the notion that Adam probably won't be the type to smack him around either.

The fact that Neil is fucking hilarious is just a bonus.

Adam takes one look at Tommy and sighs, "You want him to stay at our place, don't you?"

Tommy ignores the way Neil's eyebrow wings up, ignores the muttered "Our place? Did I miss a family announcement?" and gives Adam a kiss on the cheek.

He figures Adam can tell Neil about their living arrangements later, when Tommy can escape the conversation. It took him long enough to work it out for himself, to realize that he really could leave when he wants to, that ultimately sleeping beside Adam was his choice. There's no way he can explain it to someone else.

Between parties and rehearsals and interviews and Neil, Tommy only gives the list of doom a few passing moments, checking off the easy things, the things he knows he likes, and scratching through the ones that make his stomach hurt just to think about. He's still left with a ridiculous amount of shit he needs to sit and ponder, some that he has to research because, really, what the actual fuck is a violet wand even?

He hasn't made the time to sit down and browse the web, reading and trying to put himself on the receiving end of the kink, and think. It's a lot to go through, especially when the only actual hands on experience he has with a Dom is Noah. And, really, he doesn't want to imagine Noah doing anything to him.

Then they're on their way to Chicago and have three and a half hours on a damn near empty flight and Tommy's thinking, ho fucking hell, he really should have looked at that list a little better because Adam has that look in his eyes and is gonna want to talk about some of it right the fuck now. Especially since they're alone and no one else is around for like, rows in either direction and even then the people are asleep.

Adam proves him right as soon as the drinks are distributed. He lucks out though, because Adam says, "I figured I'd go first, yeah?"

Tommy swallows a healthy measure of Jack. "Sounds good."

"Partner swapping, well, really, sharing of any kind, is like a major hard limit of mine." Adam cuts a sideways glance at Tommy and shrugs. "I'm a bit of a possessive bastard."

He doesn't know what exactly he was expecting but this, this blatant in your face kind of discussion is not it. It startles a chuckle out of Tommy. "Yeah, okay, I can get behind that. That's definitely something I'd have had to think long and hard about before agreeing to."

"I am kinda into people watching though," Adam adds, nervousness bleeding through in his voice.

Tommy swallows hard, heat trilling down his spine and flashing out over his nerves. He can get behind that too evidently. "Part of that possessive bastard thing, isn't it? Just want everyone to know? Long as you're right there with me, I can see it."

That gets him one of Adam's smiles, not the ones he gives the public or even the full-blown things that steal Tommy's breath. But the easy, gentle, pleased smile that totally tells him he just said the perfectly right damn thing. It makes his gut warm and his heart turn over an extra time in his chest. He keeps quiet, hoping that Adam will take the hint and pick up the slack again.

"Pain." Adam tosses out the single word, turning to face Tommy with one eyebrow cocked.

His nose scrunches up. "Not that I know about, but, um, maybe?"

Adam leans in close and his breath, tinted with the scent of gin, ghosts Tommy's cheek. "Spanking? The thought of being over my knee with my hand warming your ass…"

"Unfair." Somehow he gets the word out without mangling it completely, an amazing feat when he considers how hard his dick just got. "And that's not pain. Shit like whips, and crops… that kind of shit is a maybe. I mean, I dunno, okay."

Adam cants his head to the side. "You've never? I mean, I assumed with some of the stuff that you said, that your ex was pretty heavy-handed."

"He was," Tommy replies, the happy warm feeling rushing right out of his gut. Thinking about the time his lip was busted and face bruised so bad he had to call off from work, Tommy says, "He didn't use anything like that though. He was more of a hands-on guy."

Face going pale, Adam draws back. "You have to know I'd never, that physical violence isn't my thing. You do know that, right?"

Tommy gnaws his bottom lip and then, peeking through the fall of his bangs, says, "Didn't know for sure, yeah. But, seeing as you haven't belted Neil, was kinda leaning that way."

Snorting, Adam shakes his head. "Good thing you didn't see us last time we had a family Thanksgiving dinner. I think the final total was a few cracked ribs and two broken chairs." He holds his hand out to Tommy, palm up, and, after Tommy laces their fingers together, says, "Neil is about the only person I've ever hit, barring childhood scuffles when I was like five or something."

Keeping his eyes on their hands, Tommy says, "I want to believe you."

"Then do," Adam whispers, squeezing Tommy's fingers tightly. "Then do."

More shit is on the 'not gonna happen' side of the list by the time they're wheels down in Chicago. And they haven't even touched on chastity devices and shit, the stuff that Tommy knew straight off he wasn't gonna want to do. It's all the rape fantasy, face slapping, anything that objectifies Tommy, forcing him into a role of nothingness, kind of stuff. Tommy argued some of Adam's calls, not because he's hot to try it but because a relationship is all give and take, right? So far it feels like Adam's doing all of the giving.

Grabbing their carry-ons from the overhead, Adam says, "Look, baby, this isn't a permanent thing, like we decide something today and that is that. Later on, either one of us wants to come back and renegotiate something, we will."

Tommy blinks. And nods. And realizes that right now he has no clue about any of this, that Adam is so far away from what Noah was he needs to stop thinking they're even on the same planet, that maybe he just needs to wrap his fingers around Adam's belt loops and hold on for the ride.

There's too many people on the flight back for either of them to be comfortable with private discussions. It's not until they're back at Adam's, one joint burnt and another being passed between them with Adam holding out a sandwich for Tommy to bite, that Tommy, in a fit of drugged out openness, says, "I like the way you order my dinner for me when we're out, or like," he waves at the sandwich, "just feed me."

Adam quirks a grin. "I like doing it, like taking care of you."

Tommy chews and swallows, the one bite of turkey and swiss making him realize that he really is hungry. "That why you've been laying out my clothes too?"

Blushing, Adam nods. "Kinda. It's nice looking over and seeing you in something I picked out. Especially when we're in the middle of some talk show thing where I can't just reach out and touch you."

"Wish you could," Tommy mumbles. Then, when Adam cocks a brow, adds, "Those things make me antsy."

"Maybe, in time, but right now, it's too close to the stir up from the AMAs."

Tommy shakes. "I don't think we should, like ever. That's business, man."

Adam nudges the sandwich against Tommy's lips, waiting until he's decimating another mouthful to say, "Do not believe that business is ever more important than your needs. There will be times when discretion is needed, times when we both have to make compromises. But, we are not going to make it two separate worlds, one where we're lovers and one where we're co-workers. If you're gonna be mine, Tommy Joe, you're mine all the time."

Tommy likes the way that sounds. Likes it a lot. Like, probably, too fucking much.

"Are you two together, or what?"

Tommy splutters, half his drink coming out of his nose, and glares at Neil. Of course the fucker waits until Adam is away doing promo shit to start the interrogation. Of course, he does. "What the fuck, man?"

Neil throws a hand up in mock surrender. "Just asking. I was thinking you two are an item and then thinking maybe not. I've roomed with Adam before, something is different between you guys." Neil's eyes flash hard for a second. "I don't want my brother to get hurt."

Shaking his head, Tommy chuckles. "You're a marshmallow inside, aren't you? You snark and snap at everyone trying to hide that gooey center."

"No reason to get insulting about shit, Tommy."

"We're working on being together," Tommy says, willing to give Neil the truth about it. "I come with… baggage."

"You think Adam doesn't?" Neil snorts, then takes a long draw of his beer. "Look, I don't want the details – I don't ever want the details – just remember that Adam, he goes out of his way to not push, to let things happen the way the universe –" Neil rolls his eyes on that one, making Tommy chuckle again "– wants them to. Sometimes he's too easy about what he wants."

"I'm not out to hurt your brother, man."

"Yeah, well, try not to do it accidentally either."

Tommy nods, taking the words to heart. Then diffuses the chick moment by saying, "Marshmallow."

He ducks the pillow Neil tosses without spilling a drop of his Jack.

"When's Adam coming back?"

Tommy glares at Mia, wanting to tell her to fuck off for mentioning Adam when he isn't in town. Taking another swallow of beer, he shrugs. "Whenever Lane says he's done. Soon though, his birthday is in a couple of days."

Mia nods, trying for the innocent look. She fails spectacularly. "Been spending a lot of time with him, must be weird now with him on the other side of the planet."

"I know I didn't pay a lot of attention in school, but pretty sure Canada is not the other side of the planet." He's totally not gonna tell her how much of a girl he's being, knowing exactly where Adam is all the time and how long it'll take to get to him. Mia would be all over that shit and then telling it to everyone the next time she got her drunk on.

"Asshole," Mia replies, grinning. "You like him."

Tommy shrugs, not denying it. Seems kind of pointless to even try. "And?"

"Nothing," Mia says, eyes sparkling. "I like him too."

Tommy looks at the clock. They've been talking for over an hour when he finally gets the balls to say, "Don't ever try to put me in a cock cage, yeah?"

"Tommy?" Adam's voice, skewed by the tinny quality of service, reeks of concern. "Is this something we need to talk about when I'm home?"

He shakes his head. Then remembers Adam can't see that. "No, I wouldn't be good with that. This is better, easier. You need to know but… I've never told anyone, it's kinda hard to talk about. Just let me get this out, okay?"

"Okay." Adam's sigh echoes through the distance and Tommy knows Adam is not pleased with the hundreds of miles between them. "No cock cages. Wanna tell me?"

"Reconditioning," Tommy whispers. One word in and he's not sure this was a good idea after all. "Noah, he, um, used them to teach me my place. Cock cages and like, milking my dick dry."

"Your place?" It's the first time Tommy hears something that he could classify as true anger in Adam's voice. Angry for Tommy, not at him. It's something Tommy's never experienced before but, after being the object of someone's anger, can see the difference right away.

It makes his heart thud even louder in his chest.

"Um, yeah, he like, said I was unruly, that keeping me caged and empty would bring me to heel." He's thanking everything out there that he did this over the phone. He's embarrassed enough, ashamed of his past and what he let happen. No fucking way would he have been able to handle those bright blue eyes staring into his soul right now.

"To heel?" Adam says. Then, shocking the fuckall out of Tommy, softens his voice and adds, "Thank you for telling me, Tommy Joe."

"You're, huh, um, you're welcome?" Really, what else can he say to that?

"I know that couldn't have been easy to do, baby." Adam sounds so sincere that Tommy ducks his head and blushes. "Your strength, it amazes me."

He's wrecked from the conversation, actually wishing Adam was beside him, arms open and inviting. Curling himself into a small ball, he turns the conversation to something easier. "So," he says quietly, "your brother can be an ass sometimes."

Adam barks out a harsh laugh, his voice still full of anger and hurt even as he follows Tommy's lead in the conversation. "Yeah, I know. But Mom and Dad insisted on keeping him."

Tommy is watching from the bedroom window when the cab drops Adam off. He's there because it's better than waiting at the front door like some lovesick idiot. Adam's only been gone a few days, it's not like he's coming back from the war or some shit. Not even like they've been together for years or something. Hell, they haven't even kissed properly.

That is something Tommy wants to change. Like today, right now, as soon as Adam stops being polite to the cabbie and gets his ass inside. He wants to kiss Adam, to be kissed by Adam. He's wanted it for a while, fucking needed it last night, after their phone call.

He just doesn't know how to say it, what to do to make Adam realize it.

"Tommy Joe?" Adam's voice rings through the hall. "You here, baby?"

Pushing off the window, Tommy turns just as Adam comes into the bedroom, leaving his bag by the door. He's so nervous he's vibrating. For the first time in a long time, though, it's a good kind of nervous, one that has butterflies dancing under his skin. "Hey, was just looking outside."

"Uh huh," Adam says, a wary look in his eyes. "You okay? You look like you're gonna bounce out of your skin."

"I am. Just, kinda," Tommy lets the words fall off with a sigh. This is ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, he walks – marches – over to Adam and leans in and pushes up to his toes, pressing his lips to Adam's. He's always been better with actions instead of words.

It takes Adam a second to catch on and then his hands slide around Tommy's shoulders, one going up to cup the back of Tommy's hair and the other pressing in against Tommy's back, pulling him closer and closer until they're flush against each other and Tommy just fucking melts into Adam, trusting him to hold them both up.

A groan echoes between them, skittering from Adam to Tommy and then back again.

Adam licks at the seam of Tommy's mouth, coaxing his lips apart, and then licks again into Tommy's mouth, stealing Tommy's taste and replacing it with his, marking Tommy just as surely as if he had an ink-filled tattoo gun or a branding iron.

Then Adam's fingers curl through the short hairs capping the back of Tommy's scalp. The warm, stinging pain mashes together with the burn in his lungs and Tommy decides that this was the best idea ever.

He's never been kissed liked this. Never so thoroughly owned by such a simple thing.

And when Adam pulls away, breaks the seal over Tommy's mouth to drag his lips over Tommy's jaw and throat and collar bone, nipping and sucking and marking, Tommy hauls in a great gulp of air, his head spins, rocking a high like he hasn't had in a long time, and his lungs grasp greedily at every scrap of air. He tilts his head back, exposes more of his neck to Adam's mouth, and whines, high-pitched and thready.

The lips on his neck disappear and Tommy blinks his eyes open, finds Adam right fucking there staring at him. "This is a good look for you, Tommy Joe," he murmurs. "Eyes blown, lips all red and pouty… a very good look, indeed."

And then he kisses him again.

Tommy's lips are swollen and hot, sore to the touch. But his head is clear and quiet. Peaceful in a way that it hasn't been in months.

"That was a surprise," Adam says, leaning in and dragging his lips over Tommy's neck and his cheek, back to his mouth again. Possessing and claiming.

Tommy takes a breath, then asks, "Surprise?"

Adam shrugs. "Been hoping for you to feel comfortable enough to do that for weeks."

"But you didn't, you haven't…" He lets it go, confused and not sure how to say it.

"When you come to me, it has to be because it's what you want." Adam pulls Tommy in against his chest. "I made no bones about what I wanted. I'm just willing to wait until we're on the same page with it."

"And what page is that?"

"Body, heart, and soul." Tommy can feel the weight of Adam's eyes deep inside. "I want it all Tommy. I'll give it all in return, but I have to have it all."

Tommy swallows hard, then leans in for another kiss, a realization settling on his shoulders.

Domination isn't something Adam plays at, it's simply who he is.

By the time they move the party to the suite upstairs, Tommy is miles beyond buzzed, less than a block away from truly drunk. It's been a long day. A long day without Adam. There've been too many people around him for hours, all of them wanting a piece of Adam, and he's at the end of his goodwill, ready to snap off at the next person that bumps into him or throws an arm around his shoulder or, fuck forbid, tries to lean in and kiss him again.

All he wants is everyone to get the fuck out and let him have five minutes alone with Adam. Five goddamn minutes. He doesn't think he's asking too much. Doesn't care if he, in fact, is.

"Tommy Joe," Adam whispers, suddenly standing at Tommy's side. "You okay, baby?"

His first instinct is to say yes, to do whatever it takes to make sure Adam enjoys his birthday. Then Tommy really looks and sees that Adam isn't asking to be nice, he's seriously concerned about Tommy, and he shakes his head. "Not really. Too many people. Maybe I should just call a cab..."

"Please don't," Adam says, his arms slipping around. "It's down to people you know. No strangers, people that you can tell to fuck off and not worry about it going any further, not worry about their feelings getting hurt."

Tommy looks around the room. Brad and Scarlett and Lee. Monte and Lisa. Danielle. "I just need a few minutes of fucking quiet."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Adam's lips quirk in a drunken, sloppy grin. "I can arrange that."

With a hand in the small of Tommy's back, he steers them out to the balcony, tugging Tommy close as soon as they step over the threshold. Then, lips pressed against Tommy's ear, Adam whispers, "You know, no one in there is gonna give a fuck if you sit in my lap or at my feet or if you give them all the bird and sneak away to the bedroom and pass out. They've been my safety net for years, they'll be yours if you let them."

"Adam." It's a groan and a whine and fucking plea. He wants that. That thing he saw between Adam and Monte at the audition, that total acceptance kind of friendship. And without even knowing, Adam is offering it to him. Offering him a place where he can be himself, where the way people treat him, the way they look at him, isn't colored by the stain of Noah, of Tommy battered and bruised and at his worst.

He's offering a place for Tommy to finish healing. Something that, no matter their intentions, Mike and Mia and Dave can't give him. Can't because they'll always remember how bad it had been, will always try to pick the pieces up for him instead of with him. They got him away, got him back on his feet. For that he will be forever grateful.

Now he needs to stand on his own. Make his choices and his way, knowing that if he stumbles there is something, someone there for him to lean on while he catches his balance again.

"I…" He stops himself. He can explain it all to Adam later. Tomorrow or the next day. Maybe when they're in Cabo. Instead, he tilts his head back and says, "Kiss me?"

"Any time at all, baby," Adam says, his hands coming up and cupping Tommy's face, thumbs pressing in hard beneath Tommy's chin.

That's the way Brad finds them minutes later, Tommy held fast in Adam's grip, his mouth being plundered without reserve. Brad's low whistle breaks through the heat of the kiss, pulling Tommy back to the surface like a shock of cold water.

Flushing bright red, he nods and smiles when Brad bumps his shoulder and says, "You lucky fucking dog, you."

He knows how lucky he is and it's more than Brad could ever conceive.

Roxy and Sutan are fucking nuts. At least they made the two hour flight from L.A. to Cabo interesting. Tommy doubts the flight attendant dude will ever be the same though. He's still chuckling when Adam drops an arm around his shoulders and gives him a big, carefree smile. "Hiya, baby."

"Your friends are crazy. You know that, right?"

"Not just his friends, pretty boy," Sutan drawls. "Your skinny little ass is stuck with me now."

Tommy snorts and shakes his head. Sutan is full tilt madness. "I can live with that."

"We'll see if you're still saying that after I have my way with you."

Tommy looks over his shoulder at Roxy, eyes going wide. "Your way?"

"Yeah, honey," Roxy says, gum snapping in time with her hips as she walks by, "It's like my test. You man enough for a corset?"

Rolling his eyes, Tommy looks at Adam, "What the hell did you get me into?"

"Apparently a corset," Adam replies, all kinds of happy oozing off him in waves. "Hey, you gonna put a skirt with that?"

Roxy's you know it gets lost in the sounds of laughter, Tommy's included.

Tommy stretches and rolls over, grimacing at the taste in his mouth. How he isn't hung over is beyond him. He stumbles free of the covers and then has to find the bathroom by feel. The hangover is there, it was just lurking in the background, obviously still asleep.

He leaves the light off, the bright slash of sunlight coming in through the tiny window is more than enough light, and works the handles on the shower. Steaming the rest of this shit out of his system sounds like a plan. That and maybe a Bloody Mary with breakfast.

He feels a little bit better, like he'll actually live, when he steps back into the room, a towel around his waist and his hair dripping everywhere.

"Ugh," Adam groans and pulls the covers over his head. "How are you even up?

Tommy chuckles softly. "Someone told me we had touristy things to do today and I had to be up."

"Someone needs to be shot, making plans for this early in the morning."

Snorting, Tommy tugs the sheet off Adam's body, openly enjoying the span of Adam's back, all pale skin and freckles. "That someone better drag his ass out of bed and shower before Roxy shows up."

Glaring blearily over his shoulder, Adam groans, "Oh, fuck, I forgot about her."

"Wouldn't let her hear you say that, babyboy." Tommy taps Adam's foot. "Come on, big man. I'll order breakfast while you're in there."

"Mimosas and fruit, please," Adam mumbles, leaving the bathroom door wide ass open behind him.

Tommy shakes his head. Adam is just so… open. About everything. He wants to be envious of it, to want it for himself. Then he realizes that over the past few months, he's come a long way in his own right. For fuck's sake, he pranced around more than half the hotel in a corset and skirt last night.

The look in Adam's eyes – all heat and desire, a primal, most basic want – quelled Tommy's first shock of nerves, made it easier to stand straighter and own the outfit Roxy insisted he wear. After that all it took was a fast look in Adam's direction whenever Tommy started second guessing himself.

Given time, he'll eventually be there, be that man he wants to be.

He's smiling when he orders breakfast, adding a side of bacon for himself. Because, really, unlike Adam, he's a carnivore.

After a day on wave runners, Tommy is more than happy to spend the afternoon and evening by the pool. Sitting beneath an umbrella, drinking some fruity thing that Adam picked out, muttering, "At least this way we get some vitamin C with our tequila."

Sometime between drinks three and five, not long after they all migrate from the pool to the deck off his and Adam's room, Sutan and Roxy drift away, taking Taylor with them. Tommy thinks he really needs to thank them for that, for stepping back and giving him and Adam some time alone in paradise.

"I ordered some dinner, baby," Adam says, voice quiet and thick. "Gonna have to let me up in a minute to open the door for room service."

Tommy rolls his head back and looks up at Adam. He's hungry, but he's enjoying the shit out of sharing a chaise with Adam, the sea breeze tickling their sweaty skin enough to be comfortable. "We eating out here?"

"Or inside, either way is fine."

"Here," Tommy says, mumbles really, drowsing in and out while Adam pets his hair. The sound of the waves, the smell of the salt air, Adam… it's something he wants to gorge himself on while he can.

When the knock, followed by the soft call of room service comes, Adam nudges Tommy's shoulder, then pushes to a stand. "Hold my spot, yeah?"

Tommy's lips curl at the edges. "Yeah."

Adam is back a quick minute later with a plate full of finger foods. Quartered sandwiches, melon pieces, cheese cubes. He knows right then that Adam plans on feeding him. Anticipation spirals up Tommy's spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

And, when he slides forward for Adam to sit down, he does what's natural. He keeps going until he's on his knees, the hard, sand covered concrete biting into his knees. The pain is worth the look on Adam's face. So worth the wide eyes narrowing and going dark, mouth dropping slightly open and his tongue darting out, wetting, highlighting the freckles on his bottom lip.

"Tommy Joe." It sounds like a fucked up combination of plea and demand, promise and threat.

It goes straight to Tommy's dick.

Then Adam turns and grabs a cushion from the chair and tosses it to the ground. "On that, baby. No hurting yourself."

Tommy's cheeks heat with a blush as he pulls the pillow to him. "Thank you."

His voice is breathy soft, a direct opposite of the gravely drawl of Adam's.

Adam sets the plate on the table and drops down, squatting right in front of Tommy. "Are you sure, Tommy Joe?"

His gut tightens, a small piece of him still filled with fear and worry, afraid that he's making the same mistake only on a bigger scale. Then he looks, really looks at Adam. The truth, the sincere concern for Tommy, in his eyes helps Tommy control the doubts.

"Yes," Tommy murmurs, then he lowers his eyes and lets himself embrace the feel of submitting again.

"So motherfuckin' pretty," Adam says, reaching out and scratching his fingers through Tommy's hair. "Look up, baby."

And then, without words passing between them, they have dinner. Adam feeding Tommy, then taking a bite for himself, sharing sips of water, their drinks disappearing as soon as Tommy hit his knees.

The drunk he was building is down to a low buzz when the last bite – a juicy piece of cantaloupe – passes his lips.

"Shower, Tommy Joe," Adam says.

Tommy cants his head to the side in acknowledgment and then rolls to his feet. The hot water is guaranteed to kill the last bit of buzz clouding his mind.

"Baby," Adam calls, bringing Tommy to a stop. "I want to hear you. Your words are mine just as much as your body will be. Always answer me, moan, beg, cry. Yell, if you have to. Just don't go silent. Got it?"

Goosebumps explode over Tommy's arms. "I do."

He doesn't really. Noah wanted him quiet. Invisible unless he was asked something directly. But he will get it. His words are just another thing in a long list of what he's willing to give Adam Lambert.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Tommy overhears Adam say, "Just wanted to let you guys know that we're staying in tonight," and his knees pretty much give way at the thought of what Adam is implying.

Walking towards Adam, Tommy tightens his hold on his robe, worry bursting in him again. He wants this. Wants it so fucking much he can almost taste it. But it still scares him, the shadows of his past colliding with the unknown of actually being with Adam.

He knows, rationally, that Adam is different than Noah. And the words have been nice, Adam saying all the right things to make him feel safe and comfortable. But he needs the proof in the act.

"Don't mess with him too much, Roxy," Adam says into the phone, his hair wet and a towel wrapped precariously around his waist. He'd obviously made use of the bath connected to the second bedroom. "He's young and doesn't know any better."

Tommy grins. Adam has to be talking about Taylor. The kid is nice but definitely a little wet behind the ears. Plus he's the only one on Roxy's 'to be fucked with' list. His own fault, Tommy figures, since Taylor totally rebuffed her attempts to dress him up.

"Tommy's fine, Sutan." Adam rolls his eyes and looks at the ceiling. "No, we're not too hammered to go out. We stopped drinking as soon as you all left."

It takes a lot, but Tommy keeps his giggle quiet, enjoying this peek into Adam and his friends when no one else is around.

"I'm hanging up now, Sutan. Yes, yes, yes. I know. Tomorrow." Adam looks up and sees Tommy standing in the doorway, his body leaning on the door jamb, arms crossed loosely over his chest, and a smirk firmly in place. Adam grins and then shakes his head, sighing. Tommy wishes he could hear what the hell that Sutan is giving Adam. "Look, we'll see you tomorrow and if you knock on my door before noon I will never take you on vacation with me again."

Then Adam drops the phone back into the cradle and looks – fucking stares – at Tommy. A handful of heartbeats later, when the air is tight with sexual tension, Adam says, "We stop whenever you need to, go no further than what we've agreed to."

Tommy licks his lips and nods. "Okay."

Stepping closer, Adam says, "Red, yellow, green. Until I'm sure you're okay. Got it?"

Nodding again, he says, "Red, yellow, and green. Got it."

"You hold out on me and then freak out…"

"I won't, Adam," Tommy promises.

"Tell me what you want, Tommy Joe."

Color tints Tommy's cheeks. "You."

Adam smiles – pleased and smug and pleased – and then, faster than Tommy expects, steps all over Tommy's personal space, pushing right up against him until the door jamb is pressing unforgivingly into his back and Adam's breath is teasing his ear. "And what do you need?"

The easy answer is 'you.' The truthful answer is deeper, much harder to say. Swallowing, Tommy goes with the truth. "Talk to me," he whispers. "I need to hear you, let me see you, and," Tommy stops and swallows, bites back the 'please don't hurt me,' changes it to, "go slow. I want this, Adam, but I don't… I just…"

"I know, baby." Adam reaches out and, taking each one of Tommy's hands in his, uncrosses Tommy's arms, pushes that much closer to Tommy. "Trust me?"

"With my everything."

Adam's grip on Tommy's hands tightens and then falls away. Tommy mewls softly in the back of his throat. "Adam."

"Shush," Adam whispers, one hand curling around Tommy's waist, the other coming up and skating over Tommy's scalp.

It's all the warning Tommy gets before Adam kisses – takes possession of – him. Tommy sighs into the kiss. This is something he knows. Something they've done plenty of over the past few days. The taste, the feel, is familiar and calming and just what the fuck he needed.

Adam is relentless, taking and taking and taking until Tommy is lightheaded and dizzy, the need to breathe is clawing its way through his lungs.

He doesn't want it to ever end.

Adam pulls away slowly, taking the belt from Tommy's robe with him. He pops Tommy lightly on the ass and growls, "Bed, baby."

Tommy steps away from Adam and turns towards the bed. His cock jerking and filling, pulsing in time with his heartbeat, when Adam adds, "And lose the robe on your way there."

He closes his eyes and shrugs his shoulders, lets the robe slip down and off. He gives it a one-handed toss to the nearest chair.

The weight of Adam's inspection, the thorough and complete once over, gives Tommy pause, slows his steps and kicks his heart to racing. Then Adam is behind him, hands tracing over Tommy's spine, dancing lower and cupping his ass, murmuring things like God and perfect and mine and Tommy moans, wanting, needing to give it all up.

"That's it, pretty," Adam says, taking them the final steps to the bed. "Let me have it all, give yourself to me. I promise to protect you and keep you, to pleasure you, take pleasure from you, find it with you."

Tommy follows the easy push Adam gives him to the bed, rolling to his back and begging silently for Adam to join him, to cover him. His eyes drop shut when Adam kneels between his legs, leans over and trails kisses and hushed words over his abdomen and his chest, along the sharp edge of his collarbone and, finally, his jaw.

He grabs onto the words Adam is mouthing along his skin, the near silent vows to respect and cherish and own, to support and encourage, to lift him up and keep him above everything else. The words, the feeling and meaning, the truth of them, soak into Tommy, filling the empty spaces and mending the frayed edges, layering over the doubts and the worries, smoothing them into something less chaotic, something Tommy can see and then leave behind, move beyond them with nothing to hold him back.

He whimpers and, in a move borne of desperation, throws an arm over his eyes. It's too much. Adam is too fucking much.

"No, baby," Adam says, forcing Tommy's arm away from his face. He loops the soft terrycloth belt loosely around each of Tommy's wrists – nothing that Tommy couldn't easily break free of if he wants – needs – to, and then, the trailing ends in his fist, Adam pulls, bringing Tommy's arms higher, stretching him until his fingertips brush the ornate headboard. "Don't hide from me. Not ever."

Tommy nods and then, when Adam arches a brow, forces his voice into being. "Okay, yeah."

Adam tugs on the belt again. "Will you keep them here?"

He opens and closes his fists, a rapid-fire movement to counter the sudden rush of shyness slamming through him. Tommy holds onto the edge of the mattress, fingers digging into the sheets. "Yes."

"Good boy," Adam murmurs, bussing a kiss over Tommy's temple.

Then Adam attacks again. The soft words and teasing caresses replaced by the drag of teeth and blunt nails, the slurping wet heat of his mouth as he sucks mark after mark, dotting Tommy's ribcage with a row of tiny bruises.

Claiming.

The word skitters through Tommy's mind and, arching into Adam's touch, he groans. Adam is claiming him, imprinting himself all over Tommy's senses, chasing everything, everyone, else away, replacing it with his scent and his touch and his marks.

He's breaking Tommy in a way that Tommy didn't even know was possible, taking him down to the most very fucking basic form of himself.

And it's devastating in its simplicity.

Tommy jerks and keens when Adam noses his balls, tugs at the hairs surrounding the base of Tommy's cock with his teeth. "I'm shaving you tomorrow."

The words are cold against the wet skin of Tommy's sac, the idea a counterpoint so hot that it makes Tommy tremble. Fucking fuckity fuck. Adam is going to kill him.

In a most wonderful, frustrating, crazy way.

Then Adam circles the head of Tommy's cock with his tongue and, before Tommy can even process what is happening, Adam takes him down. All the fucking way down, his throat swallowing and rippling against Tommy's cockhead.

Orgasm is suddenly right there, spiraling and snapping in his gut, curling his toes and tightening his muscles. And, wiggling against Adam's grip, words – agitated and worried and frantic – spill out of Tommy. "Oh, fuck, stop, Adam, please," and then, wincing, he says something he knows – hopes – will make Adam stop, "yellow…"

Tommy whimpers when Adam eases back, lets Tommy's dick fall from his mouth. He arches a brow in question.

Panting and blushing and so damn horny it hurts, Tommy whispers, "I'm gonna come."

Adam smirks, looks fucking happy that Tommy's about to blow his fucking load without permission. "And?"

The response throws him, makes him start babbling. "You should, I can't before you…"

"Your pleasure, Tommy Joe," Adam says, his voice rough and heavy. "In your pleasure is where I find I mine. Now let me take what I want, pretty."

Tommy's legs fall further apart, giving Adam the invitation that he can't – is beyond being able to – verbalize.

"At your leisure, Tommy Joe."

He shakes as Adam licks up his dick and then pulls it into his mouth. He starts prattling – a litany of nonsense word: yes and good and please and oh, fuck, fuck, fuck – until he runs out of breath and can only shake, muscles bunching and releasing, mind floating, lost to everything except Adam and his very perfect fucking mouth.

Tommy doesn't fight the orgasm the second time. He welcomes it, wallows in the color and taste of satisfaction. Then, spurting his release into Adam's mouth, Tommy comes apart, his walls crashing down around him, leaving him broken and spent, shattered into a million pieces.

He hopes Adam can find them all, can maybe put him back together again.

His throat starts closing against emotion, his eyes stinging with tears. He can hear Adam – praising him, telling him to let go, promising him he's safe and that it's all going to be okay. He can feel Adam hovering over him, tugging at the belt and pulling Tommy's arms back down – rubbing the length of them, massaging his fingers in turn, working out the cramps from holding on so tightly. Somewhere in there he thinks about the fact that Adam hasn't come, realizes that Adam meant what he said, that Tommy really is his priority.

Then Adam has him cocooned in his arms, pulled in tight against his chest, Adam's big hands holding him steadfast and strong.

The tears come in a steady, silent stream. Falling without thought, wetting Tommy's face and Adam's chest. He cries harder when Adam whispers, "That's it, my pretty, pretty, Tommy Joe. Get it out, get him out, make room for me."

Tommy cries off and on, hard, gut-wracking sobs and quiet, barely there leaks of salted tears, until the sun is completely gone from the sky, inky darkness dotted with the hazy white of stars the only thing visible through the small open space in the curtains.

Adam doesn't leave his side once, never lets Tommy pull free of his grasp, never curls away from the scratching clutch of Tommy's fingers digging into his chest.

He keeps his promise.

When the tears have slowed to a stop and Tommy's hitching breath has calmed into something steady and solid, Adam asks, "Better now, baby?"

Tear tracks staining his cheeks, Tommy nods and rasps out, "Thank you."