Fic: I'm On My Time by Danny, PG-13, Adam/Cassidy
Fic: I'm On My Time
By: Danny
Word count: 1510
Rating: PG-13
Pairing or major characters: Adam/Cassidy
Warning: Mild drug use.
Notes: Originally posted to the ai_kinkmeme.
Summary: Adam and Cassidy in the dressing room at Skingraft.
"That sounded good," says Cassidy. The notes are still fading out of the air, his guitar strings making the air around his palm prickle.
Adam grins at him, and then wrinkles his nose. "Won't have you doing harmony on the album, though, and it isn't gonna be acoustic, either. You sure it's cool for me to hang out here?"
Cassidy can't honestly be expected to contain the sarcasm, so he lets it fly. "No, rock star. Get the fuck out and into the crowd of paparazzi. The dressing closet of my design studio is too fucking good for the likes of you." It's actually more of a storage-slash-dressing closet, because the rent on this place is for the address, not the square footage. There are no clothes here, thank God, or they'd be melting. There's just makeup and tables and chairs, and boxes stacked right to the top of each wall.
Adam puts his feet up on a crate of spare mannequin parts, draws a tin out of the pocket of his jeans and picks a joint out of it. He kisses the air in Cassidy's direction, a sweet and glossy picture. "Fuck you too, sweetheart. You want?"
Sighing, Cassidy leans his guitar against the wall. "Well, so long as you're hotboxing the place, you better fuckin' share, yeah." He comes over to sit next to Adam, but the couch is the size of a postage stamp, so Cassidy sits on the arm instead. Without a word, Adam puts an arm around his waist and hauls. Cassidy tumbles back across his lap, laughing. "Do I look like a groupie?" he demands, picking the joint out of those black-tipped fingers.
"Please," Adam sighs, rolling his eyes as he flicks his lighter and holds it. "My groupies put my picture in their lockers next to the Jonas Brothers. Believe me, they'd be hard to mistake for you."
Cassidy draws sticky smoke into his chest. It feels like sleep, he often thinks, like he just woke up from a pleasant dream in the afternoon and he has nowhere to be. "I didn't thank you yet," he says, waving a hand. "For the... the instant internet success." He's laughing, he doesn't know how to say it without it sounding ridiculous.
Adam laughs too. "Can you believe that even happened? You have a Twitter army now."
They giggle together, curled in the chair, over the insanity that is Adam's command over thousands of people. "I wouldn't give you the keys to my car," Cassidy tells him.
"They fucking gave me a car!" Adam hoots, his head falling back against the back of the couch.
It's nice, this. Saving an old friend from the oh-so-bothersome problem of being accosted by the adoring press corps. Feeling no pain, the weed's lassitude settling in his mind, Cassidy finds himself thinking back to the few times he and Adam almost. He wouldn't, he's not usually that kind of guy about his friends, but you think about things like that when you're stoned.
Besides, it's not like everybody they know doesn't do it. Now that Adam's on the cover of fucking Rolling Stone, everyone who knew him when he was starving and stupid only talks about two Adam-related things: how awesome reflected fame is (which they of course disguise as contempt; oh yes, it's so much bother now), or how they almost had sex with him.
"We're good friends," Cassidy says tentatively, curling a little toward him. "Aren't we?"
Adam puts an arm around his shoulders, warm and heavy with leather. He's always wearing leather now, nothing quite so fey as he used to do sometimes. "Of course we're friends," Adam says, dragging off the joint and licking resin off his lips as smoke curls from his nose like dragon's breath.
"Shotgun," Cassidy suggests, curling his hand around the back of Adam's neck as his eyes get heavy lidded. The hair there is soft and feathery on his fingers. "Let's make it last."
Adam lifts an eyebrow at that, but he tightens his arm and brings them together. Cassidy holds his lapels to get near, and when Adam touches their mouths together to blow the smoke into his mouth, Cassidy can't resist touching his tongue to Adam's lip.
Adam laughs. Right into the half-kiss, low in his throat, Adam just gets a case of the giggles.
"What?" Cassidy demands, pushing him back against the couch. His eyes are closed, he's laughing so hard, and even though it's kind of insulting, it's still kind of funny. "My God," Cassidy breathes, pressing a hand to his chest to play horrorstruck. "The admiration of millions of women has turned you straight. I always knew it could happen if they focused their power! Oh, Gods of Glam, deliver us from the pussy!"
"Stop it, God, you're gonna fuck up my makeup," Adam giggles, touching the backs of his fingers under his eyes to take away the tears without smudging.
"Glory hallelujah," Cassidy deadpans, smiling. "He's saved."
Adam rubs his shoulder, fingers warm against the skin. "I don't know," he says, rolling his eyes. "Maybe we should test me to make sure I'm fully cured."
Cassidy's heart skips a beat. "I thought..."
"I'm high as a kite and I'm being chased by TMZ," Adam says, running his thumb along the edge of Cassidy's hairline. "It's... God, Cass, I can't even tell you. I have bubbles in my chest all day, I can't stop being so happy at fucking everything. When I'm too tired to stand up, I grin like an idiot at anyone who looks at me. Do you know how long I spent trying to figure out a way to kiss you, and now you ask me to shotgun you in the fucking closet? That is the cheapest play there is, man!"
Cassidy licks his lip, can't help the smile. "You wanted to kiss me?" he asks, shifting closer.
"Duh," Adam grins, dropping the joint in their Coke can ashtray. "You're only gorgeous. And if you don't know that, you're not as smart as I thought you were."
It's just a compliment, but Cassidy's never been great at taking those when they're genuine, and he blushes warmly. "So," he murmurs, leaning in. "Show me."
It's very slow. Adam takes his time even getting close enough, his breath whisper soft against Cassidy's lips. It's the barest brush, once, then twice, and then it's real. Gentle, slow, but breathlessly sensual; Adam isn't sweet about it and probably doesn't know how to be. It's slick tongue and the firm press of teeth in slow motion, one hand strong at the back of Cassidy's neck, keeping him right where Adam wants him.
He always took Adam for a shy guy. You'd have to get him started and reassured, Cassidy'd thought, before he'd be confident enough to really hold you down and fuck you. Well, he thinks, as he winds his arms around Adam's neck and tries to squirm closer. Don't judge a book by its ex-boyfriend.
They pull apart just as slow as they started, panting and reluctant to end it. Cassidy slumps against the side of the couch, boneless. "Shi-it."
Adam rubs a hand across his mouth, tugging his lip. "You're not kidding."
"You never said you could kiss like that," Cassidy accuses. "Nobody said."
Adam's mouth curves in a hard line. "I only kissed Brad. What'd you think he'd tell you?"
"He tells us everything else," Cassidy grouses, but he knows it's true. Brad would sooner blow his brains out than give anybody a reason to get near Adam. The stories are just him marking his territory. Well, fuck him. If he wanted Adam back, he should have made a move.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" Adam asks. "I'm recording until nine, but after that maybe, I don't know."
There's the shy guy. Cassidy grins and touches his cheek. "Are you blushing? I can't tell under all the freckles."
"Shut up," Adam grins, shoving his hand away. "Do you wanna go someplace VIP and expensive or do you not?"
"You are high. Take me someplace so exclusive that nobody's even heard of the fucking place and you can't find the entrance. I wanna meet Angelina."
Adam leans close, and Cassidy can feel a buzz along his neck as Adam kisses and laughs at the same time. "Can I tell you something? Without you mocking me to death?"
He tilts his head to the side to allow better access. "Tell me and we'll see."
"It's corny, but you always had the most beautiful smile of anybody I knew."
Cassidy bites his lip so he won't say any of the six mocking things that come into his head. There's a little, well-hidden fairy prince part of his heart that just turned into syrup, and if anybody ever found out he was this much of a sap, he'd never be able to show his face in the goth bars again. So he kisses Adam's cheek and says the only decent thing he can think of.
"Pick me up at ten."
By: Danny
Word count: 1510
Rating: PG-13
Pairing or major characters: Adam/Cassidy
Warning: Mild drug use.
Notes: Originally posted to the ai_kinkmeme.
Summary: Adam and Cassidy in the dressing room at Skingraft.
"That sounded good," says Cassidy. The notes are still fading out of the air, his guitar strings making the air around his palm prickle.
Adam grins at him, and then wrinkles his nose. "Won't have you doing harmony on the album, though, and it isn't gonna be acoustic, either. You sure it's cool for me to hang out here?"
Cassidy can't honestly be expected to contain the sarcasm, so he lets it fly. "No, rock star. Get the fuck out and into the crowd of paparazzi. The dressing closet of my design studio is too fucking good for the likes of you." It's actually more of a storage-slash-dressing closet, because the rent on this place is for the address, not the square footage. There are no clothes here, thank God, or they'd be melting. There's just makeup and tables and chairs, and boxes stacked right to the top of each wall.
Adam puts his feet up on a crate of spare mannequin parts, draws a tin out of the pocket of his jeans and picks a joint out of it. He kisses the air in Cassidy's direction, a sweet and glossy picture. "Fuck you too, sweetheart. You want?"
Sighing, Cassidy leans his guitar against the wall. "Well, so long as you're hotboxing the place, you better fuckin' share, yeah." He comes over to sit next to Adam, but the couch is the size of a postage stamp, so Cassidy sits on the arm instead. Without a word, Adam puts an arm around his waist and hauls. Cassidy tumbles back across his lap, laughing. "Do I look like a groupie?" he demands, picking the joint out of those black-tipped fingers.
"Please," Adam sighs, rolling his eyes as he flicks his lighter and holds it. "My groupies put my picture in their lockers next to the Jonas Brothers. Believe me, they'd be hard to mistake for you."
Cassidy draws sticky smoke into his chest. It feels like sleep, he often thinks, like he just woke up from a pleasant dream in the afternoon and he has nowhere to be. "I didn't thank you yet," he says, waving a hand. "For the... the instant internet success." He's laughing, he doesn't know how to say it without it sounding ridiculous.
Adam laughs too. "Can you believe that even happened? You have a Twitter army now."
They giggle together, curled in the chair, over the insanity that is Adam's command over thousands of people. "I wouldn't give you the keys to my car," Cassidy tells him.
"They fucking gave me a car!" Adam hoots, his head falling back against the back of the couch.
It's nice, this. Saving an old friend from the oh-so-bothersome problem of being accosted by the adoring press corps. Feeling no pain, the weed's lassitude settling in his mind, Cassidy finds himself thinking back to the few times he and Adam almost. He wouldn't, he's not usually that kind of guy about his friends, but you think about things like that when you're stoned.
Besides, it's not like everybody they know doesn't do it. Now that Adam's on the cover of fucking Rolling Stone, everyone who knew him when he was starving and stupid only talks about two Adam-related things: how awesome reflected fame is (which they of course disguise as contempt; oh yes, it's so much bother now), or how they almost had sex with him.
"We're good friends," Cassidy says tentatively, curling a little toward him. "Aren't we?"
Adam puts an arm around his shoulders, warm and heavy with leather. He's always wearing leather now, nothing quite so fey as he used to do sometimes. "Of course we're friends," Adam says, dragging off the joint and licking resin off his lips as smoke curls from his nose like dragon's breath.
"Shotgun," Cassidy suggests, curling his hand around the back of Adam's neck as his eyes get heavy lidded. The hair there is soft and feathery on his fingers. "Let's make it last."
Adam lifts an eyebrow at that, but he tightens his arm and brings them together. Cassidy holds his lapels to get near, and when Adam touches their mouths together to blow the smoke into his mouth, Cassidy can't resist touching his tongue to Adam's lip.
Adam laughs. Right into the half-kiss, low in his throat, Adam just gets a case of the giggles.
"What?" Cassidy demands, pushing him back against the couch. His eyes are closed, he's laughing so hard, and even though it's kind of insulting, it's still kind of funny. "My God," Cassidy breathes, pressing a hand to his chest to play horrorstruck. "The admiration of millions of women has turned you straight. I always knew it could happen if they focused their power! Oh, Gods of Glam, deliver us from the pussy!"
"Stop it, God, you're gonna fuck up my makeup," Adam giggles, touching the backs of his fingers under his eyes to take away the tears without smudging.
"Glory hallelujah," Cassidy deadpans, smiling. "He's saved."
Adam rubs his shoulder, fingers warm against the skin. "I don't know," he says, rolling his eyes. "Maybe we should test me to make sure I'm fully cured."
Cassidy's heart skips a beat. "I thought..."
"I'm high as a kite and I'm being chased by TMZ," Adam says, running his thumb along the edge of Cassidy's hairline. "It's... God, Cass, I can't even tell you. I have bubbles in my chest all day, I can't stop being so happy at fucking everything. When I'm too tired to stand up, I grin like an idiot at anyone who looks at me. Do you know how long I spent trying to figure out a way to kiss you, and now you ask me to shotgun you in the fucking closet? That is the cheapest play there is, man!"
Cassidy licks his lip, can't help the smile. "You wanted to kiss me?" he asks, shifting closer.
"Duh," Adam grins, dropping the joint in their Coke can ashtray. "You're only gorgeous. And if you don't know that, you're not as smart as I thought you were."
It's just a compliment, but Cassidy's never been great at taking those when they're genuine, and he blushes warmly. "So," he murmurs, leaning in. "Show me."
It's very slow. Adam takes his time even getting close enough, his breath whisper soft against Cassidy's lips. It's the barest brush, once, then twice, and then it's real. Gentle, slow, but breathlessly sensual; Adam isn't sweet about it and probably doesn't know how to be. It's slick tongue and the firm press of teeth in slow motion, one hand strong at the back of Cassidy's neck, keeping him right where Adam wants him.
He always took Adam for a shy guy. You'd have to get him started and reassured, Cassidy'd thought, before he'd be confident enough to really hold you down and fuck you. Well, he thinks, as he winds his arms around Adam's neck and tries to squirm closer. Don't judge a book by its ex-boyfriend.
They pull apart just as slow as they started, panting and reluctant to end it. Cassidy slumps against the side of the couch, boneless. "Shi-it."
Adam rubs a hand across his mouth, tugging his lip. "You're not kidding."
"You never said you could kiss like that," Cassidy accuses. "Nobody said."
Adam's mouth curves in a hard line. "I only kissed Brad. What'd you think he'd tell you?"
"He tells us everything else," Cassidy grouses, but he knows it's true. Brad would sooner blow his brains out than give anybody a reason to get near Adam. The stories are just him marking his territory. Well, fuck him. If he wanted Adam back, he should have made a move.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" Adam asks. "I'm recording until nine, but after that maybe, I don't know."
There's the shy guy. Cassidy grins and touches his cheek. "Are you blushing? I can't tell under all the freckles."
"Shut up," Adam grins, shoving his hand away. "Do you wanna go someplace VIP and expensive or do you not?"
"You are high. Take me someplace so exclusive that nobody's even heard of the fucking place and you can't find the entrance. I wanna meet Angelina."
Adam leans close, and Cassidy can feel a buzz along his neck as Adam kisses and laughs at the same time. "Can I tell you something? Without you mocking me to death?"
He tilts his head to the side to allow better access. "Tell me and we'll see."
"It's corny, but you always had the most beautiful smile of anybody I knew."
Cassidy bites his lip so he won't say any of the six mocking things that come into his head. There's a little, well-hidden fairy prince part of his heart that just turned into syrup, and if anybody ever found out he was this much of a sap, he'd never be able to show his face in the goth bars again. So he kisses Adam's cheek and says the only decent thing he can think of.
"Pick me up at ten."