FIC: Those You Can Always Trust (RPF, Adam Lambert/Cassidy Haley, NC-17)
So I feel like I should give fair warning that this journal is pretty much going to be all fic all the time for the next couple weeks. I've got seven previously-anon ontd_ai kink meme stories that I want to post somewhere other than there, plus my J2 spn_meanttobe fic and, if I'm lucky, two more stories for kink bingo before the end of the month to fill out a line. (And if I'm very lucky, four more stories for cliche_bingo, but that seems a little unlikely. Maybe one or two, though.)
So yes, much fictional content and little actual life content for the next while. Not that I'm having much actual life content, it would just be: unemployed, blah blah blah, bad weather, blah blah blah, drank a lot of coffee. So you're not missing much.
To start off the deluge, one of the stories from the kink meme. (They were meant to be ficlets, but every damn one of them ended up 1000+ words.) If you don't know who Cassidy Haley is, he's one of the people behind Skingraft and his debut EP was just released to iTunes. And also, most relevantly to this story, an old friend of Adam's. :)
Disclaimer: No disrespect intended to any of the persons depicted herein, who I hope are all living happy and fulfilled lives with their partner(s) of choice. This is purely fictional, and not in any way intended as an accurate representation of reality.
Those You Can Always Trust
RPF. 1,200 words. NC-17. Adam Lambert/Cassidy Haley. Contains: leather, bondage, frottage.
There's something to be said for friends who'll come pick you up drunk on a street corner at three in the morning and take you home with them, no questions asked. Adam has a surprising number of them, and he's not sure if that says more about his life, or his friends.
It's not actually home in this case, but a nearby studio space crammed with lace and fabric, dressmaking dummies and metalworking tools, and over it all the heady smell of leather.
"Do you need coffee?" says Cassidy after flipping a light switch, illuminating half the room. "I can make a fresh pot but you'll have to drink in the kitchenette."
Adam collapses onto a bench in front of a table of pencil sketches and grommets and leather lacing and shakes his head. "I think I'm sober," he admits, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Or close enough, anyway. Just come here."
Cassidy takes his silk scarf off and throws it over a chair then straddles the bench next to Adam. "So what do you need, then?"
"Just talk to me," he says, scratching a corner of one of the sketches with a royal blue fingernail. Sometimes, being newly single out in the clubs is more than any amount of vodka can help him handle. "What are you working on?"
Cassidy gently takes the sketchbook out from under his hand and sets it down in front of himself. "Oh, this. I started work on this when I was at the Met last summer," he says. "You can't see it, but all of this here, and this around the edge here, is going to be done in gold." Cassidy's the kind of person who just knows what Adam needs sometimes, and instead of asking questions he just keeps talking, telling him everything there is to know about this latest piece.
As he talks, Adam takes his hand, plays with his fingers a little then starts weaving a length of leather lacing in and out of them, winding it twice around his thumb before moving to his wrist, and on up his forearm. Cassidy keeps talking until Adam reaches his elbow and tugs the leather taut.
"What do you really need?" he says.
"I don't know," says Adam, tying off the leather lacing right where it is then leaning down to lick one of the spaces in between, a pale bit of skin on the inside of Cassidy's forearm. "This, maybe." He looks up through his lashes and Cassidy is smiling, just a little.
"Well, it's better than a rebound, anyway," he says. "You know I'll still be your friend in the morning."
"I promise not to come on your sketches," says Adam, licking his way over the lacing back to Cassidy's wrist.
"Yeah, I've heard that before," he says and slides down the bench till he's practically in Adam's lap. The comment is definitely not unearned. "Or the antique lace?"
"Or the antique lace," says Adam. "Or the shears. Actually, I'm not getting anywhere near the shears."
Then Cassidy swings a leg over him, straddling his lap, and Adam realizes the only thing he's going to be coming on is his own pants. He grabs hold of the end of the leather lacing again and uses it to pull Cassidy's arm up behind his head, thanking God or someone for gifting him with such very flexible friends.
"You'd better be going somewhere with that," says Cassidy, and Adam doesn't know where it's going, not exactly, but he starts winding the remaining lacing around Cassidy's other wrist, up his other arm, and ends up binding his forearms together behind his head with the last of the leather. He can't lick it anymore but now Cassidy's muscles are taut, his white t-shirt just riding up over the waistband of his jeans, and Adam likes him just like this.
They don't do this often, this friends with benefits thing, only when one of them needs it, but it's good. It's always good.
He grabs hold of Cassidy's hips and pulls him closer, grinds their groins together then slides his hands up just under his t-shirt to settle against warm, bare flesh. Cassidy doesn't need any more encouragement than that to start rocking against him, slow and undulating, his whole body rippling with the motion.
Adam pushes the t-shirt up as far as it will go, twisting it tight just above his pecs, just under his armpits, and binding it there with a metal-toothed clip. Then he grabs another length of leather lacing and begins winding it around Cassidy's torso as he moves, just tight enough to dent the flesh, criss-crossing it over itself and framing his nipples in perfect diamonds. When he runs out this time he tucks the end in loosely, plants his hands back on Cassidy's hips and rocks against him hard as he leans in to lick the leather and skin.
Cassidy hisses and arches his back, the leather biting into him a little harder. Adam sinks his teeth in, just lightly, and wishes for a moment that he could just bend him over the table right now and fuck him senseless, but he'll work with what he's been given.
His pants are tight, way too tight, and with every roll of his hips, with every grind of Cassidy's clothed cock against his, the seam rubs against his cock like calloused fingertips, like a musician is jerking him off, like Cassidy's hands are in his pants and not bound behind his head.
He slides his own hands up, over Cassidy's sides, over his bunched t-shirt, tracing the leather binding his arms before lacing his fingers with Cassidy's.
"Are you--?" he whispers, and immediately gets a "Yes, yes," in return before he can even finish the question. He grips Cassidy's hands tighter and tangles one leg around Cassidy's to pull them together even closer and he can feel the sudden pulse as Cassidy begins to come even before he hears the gasp, even before he sees it on Cassidy's face.
He imagines the wetness seeping through Cassidy's jeans, seeping through his own pants to coat him, and presses in hard and fast, rocking them practically right off the bench before his own orgasm hits so hard he can feel it in his spine.
He's still trembling, overcome with orgasm and the intensity of the moment, when he lets Cassidy lean in and give him a soft kiss, closing his mouth over Adam's lower lip and tugging gently.
A few moments after that, when he can feel his own fingertips again, he licks his lips and blinks a few times and quickly begins to remove the bindings, first unwinding the lacing from Cassidy's torso and then from his arms, leaving the long pieces of leather in a twisted coil on top of Cassidy's sketchbook.
"Feel better?" Cassidy says when Adam's finished unlacing him, pulling his t-shirt back down and rubbing his arms briskly to restore circulation. In some places there's still a faint red line to mark where the lacing had been.
"No," says Adam, and rests his forehead against Cassidy's shoulder, blinking hard.
Cassidy's hands come around behind him, loosely embracing him as they slowly stroke up and down his spine. "You will," he says, and coming from him, Adam actually believes it.
So yes, much fictional content and little actual life content for the next while. Not that I'm having much actual life content, it would just be: unemployed, blah blah blah, bad weather, blah blah blah, drank a lot of coffee. So you're not missing much.
To start off the deluge, one of the stories from the kink meme. (They were meant to be ficlets, but every damn one of them ended up 1000+ words.) If you don't know who Cassidy Haley is, he's one of the people behind Skingraft and his debut EP was just released to iTunes. And also, most relevantly to this story, an old friend of Adam's. :)
Disclaimer: No disrespect intended to any of the persons depicted herein, who I hope are all living happy and fulfilled lives with their partner(s) of choice. This is purely fictional, and not in any way intended as an accurate representation of reality.
Those You Can Always Trust
RPF. 1,200 words. NC-17. Adam Lambert/Cassidy Haley. Contains: leather, bondage, frottage.
There's something to be said for friends who'll come pick you up drunk on a street corner at three in the morning and take you home with them, no questions asked. Adam has a surprising number of them, and he's not sure if that says more about his life, or his friends.
It's not actually home in this case, but a nearby studio space crammed with lace and fabric, dressmaking dummies and metalworking tools, and over it all the heady smell of leather.
"Do you need coffee?" says Cassidy after flipping a light switch, illuminating half the room. "I can make a fresh pot but you'll have to drink in the kitchenette."
Adam collapses onto a bench in front of a table of pencil sketches and grommets and leather lacing and shakes his head. "I think I'm sober," he admits, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Or close enough, anyway. Just come here."
Cassidy takes his silk scarf off and throws it over a chair then straddles the bench next to Adam. "So what do you need, then?"
"Just talk to me," he says, scratching a corner of one of the sketches with a royal blue fingernail. Sometimes, being newly single out in the clubs is more than any amount of vodka can help him handle. "What are you working on?"
Cassidy gently takes the sketchbook out from under his hand and sets it down in front of himself. "Oh, this. I started work on this when I was at the Met last summer," he says. "You can't see it, but all of this here, and this around the edge here, is going to be done in gold." Cassidy's the kind of person who just knows what Adam needs sometimes, and instead of asking questions he just keeps talking, telling him everything there is to know about this latest piece.
As he talks, Adam takes his hand, plays with his fingers a little then starts weaving a length of leather lacing in and out of them, winding it twice around his thumb before moving to his wrist, and on up his forearm. Cassidy keeps talking until Adam reaches his elbow and tugs the leather taut.
"What do you really need?" he says.
"I don't know," says Adam, tying off the leather lacing right where it is then leaning down to lick one of the spaces in between, a pale bit of skin on the inside of Cassidy's forearm. "This, maybe." He looks up through his lashes and Cassidy is smiling, just a little.
"Well, it's better than a rebound, anyway," he says. "You know I'll still be your friend in the morning."
"I promise not to come on your sketches," says Adam, licking his way over the lacing back to Cassidy's wrist.
"Yeah, I've heard that before," he says and slides down the bench till he's practically in Adam's lap. The comment is definitely not unearned. "Or the antique lace?"
"Or the antique lace," says Adam. "Or the shears. Actually, I'm not getting anywhere near the shears."
Then Cassidy swings a leg over him, straddling his lap, and Adam realizes the only thing he's going to be coming on is his own pants. He grabs hold of the end of the leather lacing again and uses it to pull Cassidy's arm up behind his head, thanking God or someone for gifting him with such very flexible friends.
"You'd better be going somewhere with that," says Cassidy, and Adam doesn't know where it's going, not exactly, but he starts winding the remaining lacing around Cassidy's other wrist, up his other arm, and ends up binding his forearms together behind his head with the last of the leather. He can't lick it anymore but now Cassidy's muscles are taut, his white t-shirt just riding up over the waistband of his jeans, and Adam likes him just like this.
They don't do this often, this friends with benefits thing, only when one of them needs it, but it's good. It's always good.
He grabs hold of Cassidy's hips and pulls him closer, grinds their groins together then slides his hands up just under his t-shirt to settle against warm, bare flesh. Cassidy doesn't need any more encouragement than that to start rocking against him, slow and undulating, his whole body rippling with the motion.
Adam pushes the t-shirt up as far as it will go, twisting it tight just above his pecs, just under his armpits, and binding it there with a metal-toothed clip. Then he grabs another length of leather lacing and begins winding it around Cassidy's torso as he moves, just tight enough to dent the flesh, criss-crossing it over itself and framing his nipples in perfect diamonds. When he runs out this time he tucks the end in loosely, plants his hands back on Cassidy's hips and rocks against him hard as he leans in to lick the leather and skin.
Cassidy hisses and arches his back, the leather biting into him a little harder. Adam sinks his teeth in, just lightly, and wishes for a moment that he could just bend him over the table right now and fuck him senseless, but he'll work with what he's been given.
His pants are tight, way too tight, and with every roll of his hips, with every grind of Cassidy's clothed cock against his, the seam rubs against his cock like calloused fingertips, like a musician is jerking him off, like Cassidy's hands are in his pants and not bound behind his head.
He slides his own hands up, over Cassidy's sides, over his bunched t-shirt, tracing the leather binding his arms before lacing his fingers with Cassidy's.
"Are you--?" he whispers, and immediately gets a "Yes, yes," in return before he can even finish the question. He grips Cassidy's hands tighter and tangles one leg around Cassidy's to pull them together even closer and he can feel the sudden pulse as Cassidy begins to come even before he hears the gasp, even before he sees it on Cassidy's face.
He imagines the wetness seeping through Cassidy's jeans, seeping through his own pants to coat him, and presses in hard and fast, rocking them practically right off the bench before his own orgasm hits so hard he can feel it in his spine.
He's still trembling, overcome with orgasm and the intensity of the moment, when he lets Cassidy lean in and give him a soft kiss, closing his mouth over Adam's lower lip and tugging gently.
A few moments after that, when he can feel his own fingertips again, he licks his lips and blinks a few times and quickly begins to remove the bindings, first unwinding the lacing from Cassidy's torso and then from his arms, leaving the long pieces of leather in a twisted coil on top of Cassidy's sketchbook.
"Feel better?" Cassidy says when Adam's finished unlacing him, pulling his t-shirt back down and rubbing his arms briskly to restore circulation. In some places there's still a faint red line to mark where the lacing had been.
"No," says Adam, and rests his forehead against Cassidy's shoulder, blinking hard.
Cassidy's hands come around behind him, loosely embracing him as they slowly stroke up and down his spine. "You will," he says, and coming from him, Adam actually believes it.