Chapter Text
"So, what do you do here?" It's Tommy's second time to the club, but this time, it isn't for a video shoot. It's for real, he and Adam are out together. After the kiss at the AMA's, yeah, okay, Tommy had never kissed a guy before, let's just get that out there. Not like that, at least. Let's just not talk about the part where, after the show, back at the hotel, Tommy had spent some serious time on his back on his bed, eyes screwed shut in silent shame that he's jerking off because of Adam. The way his mouth just kind of crashed into Tommy's had left him breathless and soft, stunned and wanting more. Wanting more what? He has no clue.
"We dance. Or we ... have a drink. Or we go back there." Adam nods toward the hallway in the back that takes them back to a series of doors that open up to small, dark rooms that smell, always, of sex. This is one of the clubs that he and Brad used to go to. Underground, dark with music that throbs against their skin. Tommy's small, pretty, not-so-straight, Adam suspects, and fits nicely right under his arm. "C'mon." He guides him to the bar and orders two Grey Goose martinis. The music is loud enough that he has to lean close, mouth pressed to Tommy's ear. "Do you like it?"
Just like that, Tommy's hard; it's the warm burr of Adam's voice against his skin, and for a flash of a second, he can picture Adam's teeth tugging his helix piercing, sucking his earlobe, whispering hard orders to him. Oh. He tips his martini back, quick as anything, and sets the glass on the bar. Okay, he knows, it's not a shot, but the burn of alcohol in his stomach distracts from the tight fire in his hips. He's not gay. He's barely even bi. Why this, now?
No answer? All right, then. Unless the downing of the martini is an answer, which it is. He raises a hand to get another one delivered and he easily wraps his hand around the back of the boy's neck, stroking the soft skin there as he looks around, feigning disinterest, hips rocking a little. They seem to bump against Tommy's every so often. What a coincidence.
Tommy keeps his head down, bobbing it to the beat, and it feels like Adam's hand is hot. Or maybe Tommy's neck is hot. Or the place is hot, way hotter than it had been when it was filled with directors and extras. No biggie, he hasn't known Adam that long, but they've hit it off really well. Tommy Likee. Christ. He tucks his bangs behind his ear and hazards a glance up at Adam, who looks cool and gorgeous and completely at ease here. "What's back there?" Upnodding at the same hallway Adam had pointed out. He knows what's back there, but Adam doesn't- he wouldn't. He wouldn't seduce Tommy, jeez.
It isn't seduction when both parties are willing. Or if it is, it's a game. It's ... fun. A tease. A game that Adam loves actually. Taught when he'd been with Brad, when, even though he was older, he was so much less sophisticated. "Back there?" He asks, following Tommy's gaze before he turns his chin to look down at him. "Playrooms." Tommy's new martini is delivered and Adam picks it up, holding it out for him to drink from.
Oh god. Everything just went gay and Tommy's not quite sure what to do. Then it hits him so hard that for a second, he has trouble focusing his eyes. Tommy leans forward, as good as gold, and catches his lower lip against the rim of the glass, waiting for Adam to pour. One moment, his eyes are on the olive, because that's safe, but then they flick up to Adam's, blue and black, the day lined with the night. Say yes. Say... I'm good.
He is good, and Adam's smile says that as he tips the glass up to let Tommy sip - not gulp - at the drink. It's good vodka for fuck's sake! When he sets the glass down, he runs his thumb along Tommy's lower lip, then that thumb is put into his own mouth and he licks at it, eyes never leaving Tommy's face. "Good."
It takes a second for Tommy's central nervous system to reboot before his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. He imagines he can taste Adam's skin. "What's happening? What are you doing to me?" It was a curiosity, that's all, and the shame that comes alongside wanting Adam this bad only makes the rest of his body feel hot, too. "Are we going to play?"
"Do you want to play?" Adam asks, mimicking Tommy's tone. "I'm just spending time with my new friend." Who went nicely limp when he was kissed. Who doesn't mind having his ass grabbed. "If you say yes, that you want to play, there are some rules we have to agree on." Safe, sane and consensual, always. He leans in again, mouth a few millimeters from Tommy's mouth. "Do you want to play?" Throaty this time, just for the boy.
With his chin tucked down again, Tommy looks at Adam through his lashes, hands at his sides, fingers shaking. Then his eyes flutter closed, that dart of tongue again to dampen his mouth, a heavy swallow. "Yes please. I've never been fucked before, though. I thought I was- but." But. It's easy to see how Adam could make anyone question themselves. "What kind of rules, please?" Please? What?! Really? Think again, Tommy. Then speak. "I mean, what kind of rules... sir?"
Sir? One of Adam's eyebrows arches. Has sweet-faced Tommy played before? "What's your safeword?" He asks, finger tracing along the boy's jaw. "Hard limits? If you don't want to be fucked, there are lots of things we can do instead." I thought I was ... fucked? The idea makes Adam smirk. Seriously, he's so pretty.
Tommy might have never done this before, but he's not dead, Adam Lambert! He reads! He watches porn. He's a guy and that's what guys do. Plus, fetish fashion? Yes please. "I never said no to that," he answers, all hasty and harshly, nervously turned on. "Hard limits?" Oh jeez, Adam expects a list? That's not fair. "I don't know. Normal stuff, I think?" And a safeword, too. Jeez, they should just be dancing instead, right? Or drinking? But Adam has his drink. "Rickenbacker? Is that good enough?" It feels like his blood's thundering through his veins in time to the music, pulsing off of Adam and back onto Tommy.
"Perfect. Mine's Zodiac. Come on." Normal stuff. Adorable! Adam has a martini in one hand, Tommy's hand in his other and he weaves his way through the press of people to that hallway, looking for an open door. Thankfully, there's one he tugs Tommy in first before following, closing and locking said door. It's a little quieter in there, but not much, the music more an echoed thrum than a pulse.
The martini is set down on a small round table next to the very utilitarian bed, next to the bowl of condoms and packets of lube. Smiling, he touches some before he turns around to face the boy. "What made you decide," he asks, "that you might be gay?" With each word, he takes a step closer so that when he's done, he's toe to toe with Tommy, looking down with a smile.
"I thought I was straight," Tommy starts, keeping his head down, his eyes closed. "I was just curious, you know? And now, and this, and you." He waves a helpless hand. "And I was thinking about the AMA's. And the video shoot. You touch me and you kiss me and you talk right in my ear and it's not fair. And it just... feels right to let you." He wonders how many pairs of shoes Adam has. It's such a fucking stupid thing to wonder, but he can't help it! He's looking at Adam's toes, right up against his.
"I talk in your ear so you can hear me." Tommy's chin is tilted up. And even if the boy doesn't look at him, Adam's looking at Tommy. "You can let me do a lot of things, but if you want me to stop, all you say is 'Rickenbacker,'" which, yeah, is a mouthful, "and I stop. Say it, so I know you can."
"Rickenbacker," he parrots. It's his dream-bass, like Lemmy from Motorhead, or Cliff Burton when Metallica smoked metal riffs instead of corporate cock. "I've heard everything you've said within my earshot for the last two weeks. And you still get close. You do it on purpose." It comes out just a little bit surly, Adam Lambert making Tommy Ratliff question his sexuality. What's that about? Maybe Adam'll get angry. His eyes flick up to meet the other man's.
Or maybe he'll find it kind of adorable. And cheeky. The challenge is there, though, in Tommy's eyes. That's what he wants? Adam can do that. He wraps a hand in Tommy's scarf, tugging, hard, so that he's on his tiptoes. Then they're nose to nose and Tommy can feel Adam's breath on his lips. "I do it on purpose. Is that what you wanted me to say? I've been telling everyone you're straight. And single. But you're here with me, aren't you? And you want to be."
Tommy's breath catches, lips parted and face surprised, and he stumbles for his balance for a moment. "Yeah. I think you do it on purpose." Holy god, if Adam were just a bit closer, he'd seriously consider grinding up against Adam's thigh. This is... crazy. This is not real. "I'm single. And I'm here with you, because I want to be. S- sir." He breathes in the non-taste of vodka, a burn and cool at the same time. "I want to be."
"I know." With a shove, Adam lets Tommy go, watching him stagger backward. "Take off your clothes, slowly. Put on a show." He just has to take a step before he can sit in a small hard-backed chair, long legs splayed out wide to account for his erection. "I want to see your body." Tommy's tiny, lithe body. All of it.
Nodding, Tommy squares his jaw and throws his shoulders back. This is a performance, and he's used to performing. He brushes at his bangs a little, making sure they're in place, and glances toward the door where he can still hear the beat of the music. When Tommy turns back, he means to look at Adam's face, but instead, his gaze catches on the front of his pants, on the hard line of his cock. Chipped black-polished nails scratch down his own stomach, flattening out when they reach his hips, and then it's a slide up, showing an inch of skin at a time. It feels like he's panting. It feels like he's high. This isn't real.
That's life, though, the amazing moments; they don't feel real. Like when Adam kissed Tommy; not choreographed, caught up in the moment, in the way that Tommy just looked like he went soft as he waited. Adam's eyes, bright in the dark of the kohl, follow the strips of pale skin, his jaw pushed forward again. He wants. But he won't push. Let Tommy put on his show.
The muscles in Tommy's stomach move as he breathes in quick pants, and then he strips the shirt off over his head. Just the one, because what the fuck. He's stripping for Adam Lambert, but it isn't like he planned for this! Tattoos mark skin that's nearly as pale as his hair are shown when his hands come down again, dropping the shirt on the floor at his feet, and his fingers flick at his belt buckle. Anxiety comes in waves, alternating in hot competition with instinctive desire, and when Tommy pushes his pants down his hips, he knows Adam can see the damp spot on his shorts, just above where the head of his cock is.
"Fuck." When those pants end up around those ankles, Adam stands up, covering the distance in one and a half of his strides, where he can grab one of Tommy's wrists and pull him in and up, mouths meeting with a ferocity enough to bruise, his other hand sliding down the boy's back, right under the elastic of his boxer-briefs, cupping and kneading a pert, tight ass.
Defiant and cocky when Adam's not touching him, it's like Adam's mouth, his hands, his fucking presence makes Tommy sort of feel like his joints aren't working properly, and once again, his hands fall uselessly to his sides, mouth opening against Adam's. For all the times he's wondered what it might be like, this is not it. It's a million times hotter, fiercer, more intense, and when Adam grabs his ass like that, the only reaction his body comes up with is to lift his hips against Adam's thigh. Tommy groans into Adam's mouth.
Perfect. Good. Good boy. (And yeah, Adam knows that Tommy's a few months older. Deal.) The boy's small enough that all Adam has to do is turn, and when he lets go, Tommy goes sprawling on the bed. It's easier that way, see, for Adam to pull his boots off, his socks too, then the pants come off. All there's left is Tommy's boxers, the jut of his cock obviously; it makes Adam's mouth water. "Grab the headboard and don't let go until I tell you to." And with that said, he reaches for the top button of his shirt.
Tommy can hear blood rushing in his ears. That's what it is, right? Not his brain melting? Because he likes his brain, he needs his brain, even though it feels a little bit like it's gone on vacation right now. Adam's smirk makes him hot; his sneer is powerful enough that Tommy can't look at him when he's making that face. Now, he can't look at Adam at all as his fingers close around the cheap wood. Don't let go. He can't look because Adam's taking his clothes off, and Tommy's not sure he could handle the look on Adam's face right now, no matter what it might be. "You've been dying to do this, haven't you." See? When Adam's not touching him, he can be tough. Sort of tough. The idea of making Adam angry flashes through him again.
That's beginning to become clear. Safety - relatively - in distance. Adam will give Tommy that. For now. His smirk deepens as he stares right back, watching Tommy look at him indirectly as he pulls his shirt from his pants, undoing it and letting it fall down his arms, catch briefly on his wrists before he tugs it away and over a chair. It's not sexy, but his boots take some work to get off and he bends to do that, but when he rises again, it's only halfway so he steps out of his boots and crawls onto the bed in a smooth movement. "Don't let go of the headboard," he warns, bending to graze his teeth along the inside of Tommy's thigh. Yeah, he's wanted to do this. Dying? That's a bit extreme.
Tommy's answer is little more than a very undignified squeak, muscle jerking under Adam's mouth. "Okay. Okay. I won't, I promise." He can feel the reflective warmth of Adam's skin against his, and Tommy closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the pillow. Has he ever wanted something this much? Is this what his first time had felt like? That sort of ripping, needy excitement that feels as though if it takes any longer, he'll embarrass himself. For a second, he almost laughs: he's almost thirty, and he's comparing this to something that happened half a life ago. But this is just as new, as scary and hot, and add to that, completely unfamiliar. He flexes his fingers against the headboard.
There are a series of small red marks along the inside of Tommy's thigh by the time Adam raises his head. Inhaling, he can smell Tommy's arousal, how sharp it is, how musky. He doesn't touch, however, lowering his head again to breathe puffs of breath over the barely-visible line of hair that runs from the boy's belly button down. Then it's traced with his tongue.
It makes Tommy groan, and his neck arches. Adam can hear the pop of two of his knuckles as his hands squeeze the headboard-bars. He feels his cock jerk in his shorts, the groan ending in a hiccup when Adam's mouth is like, a handful of hair and a jerk of elastic and fabric away from being on his cock. Oh god. He'd never do that, though, not when he's part of the biggest break of his life being in Adam's band, and Adam's doing this to him. "Thank you," he whispers, toes curled. "Sir."
Very nice. Adam give him a smile, resting his weight on one hand as he hooks a finger under the waistband of Tommy's briefs. So cute. Nothing fancy. Damp. Hiding an erection that Adam really wants to see. Lifting up the elastic, he ducks his head to peer in. Ooh. Tommy gets another grin and Adam asks, "do you want me to suck your cock?"
"Is that a trick question?" Tommy answers in a question of his own, because is Adam serious? What guy doesn't want to have his dick sucked? But he sees Adam's smile and the muscles in his stomach contract as he tries to keep his hips settled on the bed. "I'd really like that. Please. Thank you?" What would Adam look like if he was fucking Tommy? That's a question that's shoved away as quick as it's born.
It's not an unreasonable question. Besides, it's not like Adam goes around sucking everyone's cock. He's good at it, too, which probably isn't surprising. "I'll suck yours then you'll suck mine." Even still in his leather pants, Adam rears back on his knees, showing the Glambulge (a term that makes him seriously laugh). Tommy can see what he's getting into that way. Then he can reach for Tommy's undies, pulling them down (finally!) and away. "Shit, you're pretty."
He lifts his hips, nodding. Adam'll suck his cock, then he'll go down on Adam. Oh Christ. And again, his gaze is caught on the Glambulge, and the thought of Adam kneeling above him, fucking his mouth tears his eyes away, back up to Adam's face, and Tommy's face is burning again, across the bridge of his nose and touching the tops of his ears. "Thank you." A knee bends so, hesitantly, he can push the top of his foot against Adam's crotch.
"Cheeky. You can touch when I say you can." Adam pushes Tommy's foot away. The blush is nice; it shows that Tommy's not quite as sure as he makes himself sound. When their eyes meet, though, he smiles - doesn't smirk or sneer, but smiles - fingertips tracing over the curve of Tommy's cock. "I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby. You have no idea." with that, he bends and a second later, his tongue flicks out along the slit, and Adam gets his first taste; tangy, bitter, before holds Tommy's cock at the base and licks it in long broad swipes, slowly, teasing.
"Shit," Tommy groans between clenched teeth. Adam's in just as cool control here as he is when they perform, confident enough in himself that he can do whatever he wants and be a fucking star. Carefully, he lifts his head to look down at what Adam's doing. It's a bad idea, and Tommy doesn't quite realize this in time, before his eyes focus on Adam's mouth, his tongue, how each lick feels like a string being pulled. "'course I've got no idea," he husks. "Never done this. Jeez."
Jeez. How adorable is that? (In a flash that's gone just as quickly, Adam is reminded of Kris. Anyway.) Adam grins again. He will make Tommy stop making those kinds of comments. And he'll do it like this. Palm against his balls, Adam sucks down on Tommy's cock. All the way down, right to where he can feel the head against the back of his throat, and he swallows then, before he starts to bob, hard and fast. His goal? Speechlessness.
The rungs creak when Tommy yanks on them, surprised by the sudden dive of Adam's mouth. He's not supposed to move his hands, Adam had told him that much, and he's hanging onto that direction like it's a fucking life ring. Don't let go, don't let go. Tommy doesn't even know where to look now, at Adam's mouth, at his fingers on Tommy's skin, the wall, the ceiling? Should he listen to the music to distract him just a little bit? Little sounds are jerked out of him at every pull of Adam's mouth, every push of his tongue, and finally, Tommy just closes his eyes.
There. That's better. Adam slows down, then, to savor, you see, letting his teeth scrape up the length of Tommy's cock before flattening out his tongue as he bobs down. The boy has an awesome cock. His hand slides a little lower, finger rubbing at Tommy's hole as Adam's other hand flattens out on his chest, spanning it. Maybe, he thinks, he can feel Tommy's heart beat.
Tommy would be surprised if Adam couldn't feel it, when it's beating like a hammer. He lets out a short sound that means to be an apology when his hips jerk up, an involuntary reaction to having someone's fingers that close to his ass. Close? Adam was deliberately touching him there, and after a shuddery exhale - one, two three - his hips settle against the bed again. "Please do that again. I'm sorry." His words are slurred and indistinct, ending in a groan as stubby fingernails bite into the heels of his hands when he squeezes the headboard again.
That's much better. Lifting his head, Adam makes sure that Tommy's looking at him when he licks his finger and that he's looking at him when Adam rubs at that hole, pressing at it, nearly pushing inside, but not quite. "Is that what you want? You want me to fuck your ass?" Shit. The idea makes his cock twitch and he presses the heel of his other hand to his crotch for a moment of relief.
"Jeez." Tommy's toes curl again, because when Adam presses, it feels like there's a hundred billion nerve endings that decide to screech out a high E all at the same time. It makes his own cock jerk, leaking against hip where it feels hot-cool-damp now that Adam's using his mouth for talking instead of sucking. "Yes? Please?" If it means Adam'll keep rubbing. It feels like an itch under his skin, hot and aching to be stretched open. It's a good thing most of his rational brain is off; to think about the ease that Adam's done this with would scare the shit out of him.
"Good boy." There's a dark tinge to Adam's grin, then, a feral quality to it. He reaches for a sachet of lube and even as he's opening it, he bends down, wet kisses pressed along the length of Tommy's cock. He smears his fingers and this time, he doesn't rub again, he presses and can feel the tightness start, around the very tip of his finger, first, then up to his first knuckle just like that. The jut of Tommy's hip is too attractive and he nips at it to distract, even as he pushes into the second knuckle.
This time, Tommy whines, head thrown back again, muscles in his arms standing out as he grips the headboard. He feels his body tighten against the push of Adam's finger, and he makes himself breathe, relax as much as he can. But Adam is a fucker, biting him to send electricity shooting across his body, tightening him up again at exactly the same time he pushes his finger. It's weird, it's really, really weird, but somehow, there's promise behind it, promise that Tommy would never have guessed. Yeah, the curiosity came from the idea of, if two girls can get each other off that hard because they know how girl-bodies work, would it be the same with guys?
Apparently, yes.
"I just wanna be good at it," he rushes, just before his hips jerk up again. "I just wanna be good at it."
"You're already good at it," Adam tells him, voice a near-purr. And he's about to get better, honestly, because with a few more - just a little push - Adam should be able to crook his finger and hit right there. Not a trolley stop so much as a 'hey, come here.' And even as he's hitting Tommy's prostate, he rubs his hand over Tommy's cock, digging in a little right at the head to give him something to rut against.
"Ohmygodohmygod!" It's surprised, and one of Tommy's hands comes down to smack Adam's palm away from his dick, because if he starts rubbing up into it, he's not sure how to make himself stop. "Sorry." A helpless expression on his face, his fingers go back to where they were, where they were directed to be. Tommy's reasoning is right there in the wet streak across Adam's palm. "I just- I don't know what to do."
"Just lie there, baby," Adam soothes, hand wrapped around his cock, not moving. "Just lie there. You're so good. You're so good, okay?" And without warning, he pushes his finger in the rest of the way and starts to thrust it. "Don't let go of the headboard." Shit, Tommy's tight and hot around his finger and it makes him want. It's been weeks! Shit. Even before he and Drake broke up, it'd been a while. So this is gonna feel amazing.
Tommy nods, biting back his sounds, knees falling to the sides and heels digging into the mattress with a squeak of springs. "Huh. How long?" Adam's hand is around his cock, his finger in Tommy's ass, and there's a throb of pulse there that Adam can feel with both of his hands. The pound of blood, of desire and want and need, even if Tommy can't consciously realize it yet. Sweat makes the hollow of his throat shine, makes Tommy's collarbones stand out.
"You're not ready yet." Tommy hasn't seen Adam's cock yet, but he will. But if he's going to be impatient? That tells Adam he can move faster, though not more recklessly. He works that one finger for a little bit more, then adds another. After that, another. He teases Tommy's cock, not letting him get too close to coming. So, finally, even though that's not really enough, Adam pulls free and leans back. "Don't move." The arch of his brow tells Tommy that he's not kidding. Getting to his feet, he finally strips off his pants and his boxers and that's when Tommy gets the first view of Adam's cock, all nine inches of it as he walks over to get a condom and put it on.
Don't move? No problem. Tommy's not even sure that he can breathe properly at this point, feeling wide open in completely strange ways, feeling hot and tight, scared. That is going to be in him. That. And he'd been wondering what Adam would look like if they fucked, and here it is. Tommy's breath stutters out, watching Adam's fingers slide down the length of his cock, rolling the condom on. Okay, yeah. He wants it. "Yes, sir."
"You'll suck my cock another time," Adam decides, seeing as he's got the rubber on already. He knees his way onto the bed, tugging Tommy's hips up so he can rub his dick against that slick hole and he smirks this time. "Remember to breathe, okay? It'll feel a little tight, but just breathe; your body will loosen up around me, I promise." And with that, he takes a deep breath of his own and starts to push in.
Hold onto the headboard. Breathe. Suck his cock another time. Okay, Tommy would say, but all he can do is nod, caught like wildlife in that headlight-smirk. It goes from hot to tight to ouch, and Tommy turns his head to the side to hide his face against his arm. Breathe, his body will loosen up. Breathe, it'll feel so good. One of Tommy's legs comes up, the heel of his foot brushing against Adam's hip.
"Easy." Instead of one long thrust, Adam uses small ones, hand around his cock as he works him open. He watches that this time, how Tommy's body takes him in a little at a time, instead of his face. Humming a bit under his breath, he rocks his hips. It makes him, oddly enough, think about Bowie, so that's what he's humming.
Adam's looking down and Tommy's face is hidden, and he asks, blurry, "How does it look? How does it feel?" Is it good? Adam's humming Bowie for Chrissake; Tommy admires his cool, when he feels like he's on fire, himself. It makes his skin feel tight, hands fisted, toes curled, body arched tensely upward, and for a second, when Adam pushes a little more, he wonders if his dick was hard before, when it hurt. If it wasn't then, it is now, suddenly, almost painfully, like a cramp, or brainfreeze after a visit to 7-11 in the middle of the night. "Ah-!"
"Good boy." Adam pulls Tommy's legs up his chest and wraps one arm around them so that his other hand can take Tommy's cock again, pulling on it as he rocks in deeper. "It looks amazing and feels so good. You're so hot and tight." He's nearly the all the way in now and it feels like it's been ages; his lower back aches with the dammed-up desire to push. "Gonna fuck you good, baby. Make you come so hard."
Tommy lets go of the headboard without even thinking about it, but it's to stuff his hands under his head beneath the pillow, fist his fingers in something that'll give, instead of hard wood. He keens in his throat, pushing up into Adam's hand, then down onto his cock. "I don't know," he mouths. "I don't know, I don't know." How it can feel like this, how he made the decision to do this in the first place, how the balance can shift so sharply between one sensation and another.
What feels like hours later, but is probably only minutes, Adam feels his hips slap against Tommy's and with that, he can start long, full strokes and with that, his head rolls back on his neck and his eyes fall closed and he just ... fucks. And it feels fantastic. It feels so good that he moans, a sound tight in his throat as a rhythm that feels steady and right takes over. Primal. And good.
It makes Tommy breath in long gasps and groans, arching up under Adam once it feels like the control goes from just Adam to evened out between them, and he pulls his legs down from Adam's chest to wrap them around his waist instead. When he tightens them, it pulls Adam in further, and his groan turns into a cry. "Harder," he keens. "Please, please. Harder."
"Fuck, yes." With a groan, Adam falls forward, bracing his upper body on his hands and he snaps his hips in and doesn't stop when he feels and hears that slap of skin against skin. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he realizes that Tommy's going to have a hell of a time walking tomorrow, but that's the end of that thought too. Instead, Adam just moves and the heat that comes with it tinges his skin pink and draws beads of sweat at his hairline. "Shit, you feel good," he rasps out.
"Please-can-I-touch-you?" Tommy tries, because it feels a little bit like he's going to come, except it's in all the wrong places. Not even wrong, really, just different, tight and intense, more in the small of his back than pooled hot in his guts. He's probably a mess, all smeary eyeliner and sweat-stuck hair, but at this point, Tommy can't bring himself to care, nor can he look away from the look on Adam's face. He wants to lick the sweat from his skin.
Pausing just for a half a second, Adam then nods. This isn't about control anymore, anyway. This is about feeling really good. And by shifting a little more, by drawing Tommy's leg up his hip, Adam can bend lower, onto his elbow, and lick his way back into Tommy's mouth, breathing in his sounds and replacing them with his own.
The moment that Adam nods, Tommy's hands are out from under the pillow, clawing down Adam's back to grab his ass and haul him in, pull him closer, trapping his cock between them. "Fuck me," he breathes into Adam's mouth. "Yes, yeah, yeah." He's so close that everything's tight and tense, his kisses greedy and hands grabby. I'm gonna come, he thinks, but can't say. Adam's tongue is in his mouth, his cock in Tommy's body in unrelenting, sick friction. I'm gonna come. When it happens, his clench is so tight that it hurts, and it makes the rest feel that much more intense.
"Oh, shit!" When that tight clamps down around him, Adam can't even help it. He fucks in harder and doesn't stop until he comes too, feeling it from the base of his skull, down his spine and even in his toes that curl in the bed as he milks all of it that he can, eyes slitted in pleasure. There's nothing recognizable that comes from his mouth, just sounds - oohs and awws - as he slows. Gradually, though, he can gasp out, "holy shit, you embraced the gay."
Tommy goes completely limp under Adam, hands falling to the bed, knees falling to the sides, slithery and loose. "I don't even know what that was." Even now, his words are unsteady and broken, and it takes a minute to blink his eyes open and look at Adam. "My ass hurts." Because he's never done this before. Because he's not gay. "Move. Please?" He felt all of it, the grip of his body around Adam, and then following that, the jerk of Adam's cock inside him. Now he's starting to panic. "I gotta rock a piss, okay?"
"I was - fuck." Adam was moving when Tommy said that. Holding the condom on, he pulls out, rolls to his back (ninja-roll! Only not) and peels it off, flicking it in the trash before setting back, an arm under his head, the other on his stomach. "The bathrooms are in the hallway here." Which means Tommy will need to get dressed. He asks, belatedly, "are you okay? I mean ... " He goes for flip and light and isn't sure he gets there. "This didn't have to mean anything, you know."
He's answered with a shake of Tommy's head, not a definite no, but a motion that he needs a second to himself. Tommy stumbles into his pants, wincing when he buttons them around his hips, ouch, and he slips through the door and into the hallway. The rooms don't have bathrooms? What the fuck is that? Are these people against privacy? He locks himself in one of the stalls, shucking his pants down to his ankles again, because ho damn, he's sore. And he can think about what just happened. He knows he has to go back to the room; his shirt's still there, Adam's still there. This didn't have to mean anything.
But by the time he gets back, Adam is entirely dressed, hunched over to look into the small mirror on the wall so he can fix his smeared eyeliner and his hair. By dressing, putting himself back together, he can, he thinks, pull himself back together. It's not the first time, it's not the worst time, right? Your soul will be okay. Tommy's shirt is on the edge of the bed, his boots and socks there as well. Adam won't leave Tommy here, but it's clear that something got fucked up. Or fucked. You know. Six of one ....
Tommy sneaks back into the room, it feels like, barefoot and bare-chested, head down and shoulders up around his ears, looking pretty ashamed for running like he's been burned. "Hi." He's careful to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for his shirt first, then his socks. "How much am I gonna hurt tomorrow?"
"Ummm." Wincing a little in sympathy, Adam looks at Tommy through the mirror. "Probably a lot. Sorry." Gone is the Big Bad Dom thing and here's the Adam that Tommy met at auditions. He turns, arms folding across his chest. "... are we okay?"
His head bobs in a nod, and Tommy glances lightning-quick at the mirror to fix his hair, combing his bangs over to the side. "'kay. Thanks for the warning." He shoves his feet into his boots and gets to his feet, looking at Adam. "Yeah. We're okay." Tommy's not so sure that he's okay, but he's not going to let something like this get between his friendship with Adam or being in his band. "Do you, uh. Wanna go? Or what happens now?"
"Are you lying to me?" Come on. Adam might feel like he's face-planted into a bad idea, but he's not one to shy away from it. He walks over, stopping about a foot away from where Tommy stands looking small and yes, he looks fucked out and gorgeous, still. "C'mere." Not for anything kinky or anything like that, but to fold him into his arms, his cheek resting against his fluffy hair.
Tommy's arms end up around Adam's waist, face pressed to his neck. "No, I'm not lying to you. We're fine, okay? It's alright." It's strange to touch Adam with clothes on, when not that long ago, he'd left eight scratches down Adam's bare back before - before they'd -
"Don't tell anyone, okay?" With his head lifted just enough that he can talk in Adam's ear, just as Adam talks to him. "Just... this is between you and me." Is, not was. What's current, not what just happened. "I just don't know what to do yet. And my legs hurt. And my ass." It's obvious he's trying to be casual, make it nothing, but his body language and the way he hasn't moved away from Adam yet say otherwise. "You want to get a beer?"
"I don't like beer." There's a warm martini over on the table, but Adam doesn't move either, rubbing a hand up and down Tommy's back. It's like they're sharing secrets, talking in hushed tones even though no one can hear them. He won't tell; as if he kisses - or fucks - and tells anyway! Please. "... you want to go to my place? I have that whirlpool tub thing. Or ... " And finally, he leans back just enough to see Tommy's face. "Or I can take you home."
Tommy nods before Adam finishes what he says. "Your place," he decides. At least the whirlpool sounds awesome, and maybe he can figure out what's going on in his head regarding one Adam Lambert, who he just had insane sex with. "Beer's not that bad, by the way. It's really good when... after... you know." Again, Tommy doesn't lift his chin to look up at Adam, but he's watching the singer from beneath the fringe of his lashes. The motion of Adam's hand makes him feel oddly like purring. It's comforting. "Yeah, your place."
"Okay." Turning, hand splayed in the small of Tommy's back, Adam opens the door. "Beer's good after sex?" He says sounding as surprised as he is. Who knew? All he knows is that it tastes bad. "I actually prefer Drambuie." They walk down the hallway, through the club, and Adam's hand never leaves Tommy's back.