Drive You 'til You Feel the Daylight: Six
Adam cleans them up, and Tommy goes limp and lets him manipulate his limbs doll-fashion as Adam wipes him down. Adam teases him for a lazy brat, but kisses Tommy's hands and his belly and his cock and his mouth as he washes them, then cuddles up to him and kisses his face, his forehead and his closed eyes and his nose and the line of his jaw, little droopy lovey kisses that make Tommy feel like he's being covered up with affection, precious and adored.
"You've never done that before," says Adam eventually. He's counting Tommy's ribs with his fingers, up and down.
Tommy shakes his head. "Not that." After a moment of reflection he says, "I wasn't bad?"
"You were amazing," says Adam, heartfelt. "You' re so good, the way you let me touch you, you know?"
"I like it when you touch me," says Tommy. He's said it before, but he feels it bears repeating.
Adam smiles, a quirk of the lips, and rubs a hand over Tommy's chest. "But that's not the first time you've been with a man," he says.
Tommy blinks at him, his brain slow to catch up. He can feel his face getting hot. "I guess not," he says slowly.
And Adam doesn't say anything, just looks at him with this patient, calm expression until Tommy feels like squirming under it, all his lassitude and contentment burning away. He turns his face away, and Adam tsks and strokes his hair.
"I don't mean it like that, baby," he says. "But I feel like, maybe earlier in the summer, you were feeling a bit experimental."
Tommy shrugs. Adam's warm embrace, so comforting a moment ago, suddenly feels like a trap. He kind of thought he'd be wearing pants for this conversation.
"Not exactly," he says.
Adam sighs, and pulls away a little. "Okay."
Tommy wriggles free and sits up, pulling the blankets to cover himself some so he can face Adam properly. "I mean, it wasn't like I'd suddenly decided to experiment with guys," he says. "It wasn't like I'd suddenly decided anything, really. It all just sort of happened."
Adam props himself up on an elbow, and takes Tommy's hand - no, his wrist, a move that's become habitual by now without Tommy noticing. Tommy stares down at it, realises that Adam's still asking, he's been asking all along, for Tommy to trust him with this.
"I don't know how to tell you," he says in a small voice.
Adam looks stricken, vulnerable. "Is it that bad?"
Tommy shakes his head, swipes his hand over his leaking eyes. "I just want to make everyone happy," he says. "I wanted to make them feel good."
There's a pause. "Everyone," says Adam without inflection. "Tommy?"
He doesn't uncover his face. "A lot of people," he says. "It was a long summer. Do you want a list?" May as well get the worst out of the way; he's hurting Adam, hurting himself, but there's no stopping now.
"Did they hurt you?" says Adam. "You were - there were bruises. I saw them. You were so sad that day."
"No, I wanted that," says Tommy. "I asked for that." He looks at Adam again, finally. Adam's pale, wide-eyed, his mouth set and small. "They were careful," he says, awkwardly.
"I didn't realise," says Adam. "I thought - maybe once or twice?"
Tommy shakes his head. "But this is different," he says. "This, you and me - it's different, I swear."
Adam swallows. "Yeah." But he's pulling away. He rolls out the other side of the bed, pulls on some sweats, and Tommy clutches fists in the blankets.
"I don't understand," says Adam. "I just - can you explain it differently, maybe, because I don't think I'm getting it." But he doesn't look at Tommy, stands up and walks towards the minibar.
Tommy shoves his shaking hands under his bare thighs, fairly longs for a pair of pants. He's too sick-nervous to move, though. "I don't know how to explain it," he says. "I just wanted to help, I wanted to do something nice, and then it was this great big thing. But it felt good." He stares fixedly at the coverlet. "Making them feel good."
Adam pours a drink, something dark-amber and doubtless expensive, and stares at it. "Them," he says. "Do I want to know who 'them' is?"
"It's not their fault," says Tommy. "I offered. I wanted to."
Adam makes an odd wheezing noise and doubles over at the waist. "Jesus," he says, and tosses back whatever he's drinking like it's the cheapest rotgut tequila in town.
Silence falls.
Tommy's vision is blurring and his breathing's gone choppy and he's scared, horrible tight feeling in his chest like he's gonna be sick or pass out. Adam leans on the bar with whiskey spilling over his fingers and his hair hanging in his face, and the silence stretches on and on.
Shaking, Tommy pushes back the covers and gets out of bed. "I think I should not be here right now," he says, struggling to keep his voice steady.
Adam makes some sort of noise, maybe a sob, and nods his head. It takes a few minutes for Tommy to find his clothes and dress, shaky fingers fumbling on the buttons, and he knows he misses a few layers, but he has to go. He has to walk almost right past Adam to get to the door, and Adam doesn't move, doesn't face him.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" says Tommy desperately. "We can talk some more then, right?"
Adam's whole spine twitches, and a gesture that might have started out as a nod ends up as a violent flinch.
Tommy makes it all the way to the elevator before the tears blur his vision so bad he can't walk.
&&&&&
He calls Lane from the hotel lobby. He doesn't want to talk to anybody right now, and she won't ask awkward questions. She tells him he's rooming with Monte, and shows up a few minutes later with a room key.
"On my fucking day off, as well," she says, but he must look wretched because there's no force behind it, and she sort of pats him on the shoulder before she loads him back onto the elevator.
Monte's Skyping with his wife, barely looks up when Tommy enters, and he mumbles something about needing a nap and crashes straight into the bed that's still made.
He doesn't nap. He's done nothing but sleep and have sex for the past twenty-four hours, and he couldn't sleep right now if you beat him with chloroform. Instead, he stares at the wall and replays that fucking conversation over and over until he thinks he's gonna scream.
Monte leaves for dinner, and Tommy drags himself into the bathroom and showers, then stands under the shower spray and cries, fucking again, big heaving nasty sobs that wipe him out.
His phone's buzzing on the nightstand when he comes out, and he shoves it in the drawer without looking at it. There's something on TV, some mindless cooking show in French or something, and stares at it with his eyes stinging.
Monte comes back after a while, so Tommy figures it's late in the evening sometime.
"Y'alright?" Monte asks, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.
Tommy nods; he must look pretty fucking awful. "Tired. Homesick. Not built for this weather," he says, and Monte shrugs and nods and doesn't press. Monte's awesome. He's never asked anything more of Tommy than to be the best musician he can, and it's very relaxing to be around him.
"The others were askin' after you, at dinner," he says. "Seems they thought you'd be with Adam until we left."
Tommy wipes his nose on his sleeve. "Nope."
"I didn't tell 'em," says Monte. "Adam wasn't there, so I guess they'll think whatever."
Tommy nods. "'preciate it."
The conversation lapses then, until Monte comments on the cooking show on the TV, and Tommy says something about meat jelly, and they pass time with inanities until Monte goes to sleep.
Tommy retrieves his phone, rejects all the missed calls and messages with a swipe of his thumb, and plays Solitaire until his eyes cross. Then he hunkers down under his blankets and waits for morning.
&&&&&
They're back on the bus the next day, a short hop to the next city. Adam's already up in his bedroom with the door shut, and when Tommy slinks onto the bus behind Monte, eyes hidden behind the biggest fucking pair of sunglasses he could find, the surprise in the air is palpable.
He still doesn't feel like talking, so he pulls out his black blanket and hoods up in the corner of the couch; that blanket's the clearest signal he's got for 'leave me the fuck alone' and everyone knows it.
Taylor comes and sits by him, twisting his hands together nervously, but he doesn't talk, so Tommy ignores him, hunches deeper into his blanket.
"Sorry," says Taylor after a while, in a low voice. "I was a brat."
Tommy shrugs at him. Taylor's little snit has mostly been forgotten, for the obvious reasons, but it seems to be bothering him. "S'all good," he says.
"Okay," says Taylor, and he sits next to Tommy and doesn't say anything else. After a while, Tommy shifts and unbends a little, and tilts over so he can lean against Taylor, and Taylor turns so Tommy can be more comfortable. It's not exactly snuggling and Tommy will still snap at anyone who tries to talk to him, but it's something.
He dodges Adam that afternoon as best he can, but he needn't have made the effort; in soundcheck, Adam is distantly polite to everyone and doesn't address Tommy directly at all. Tommy doesn't know whether to be relieved or not; he thinks not. He feels kind of sick.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Sutan asks, in a quiet moment before they have to start gearing up.
Tommy shakes his head, and Sutan tuts and hugs him, even though Tommy stays stiff and unyielding. "Eat something, Tommy," says Sutan firmly. "I know you just want to be left alone, but I will hound your ass if I catch you making yourself sick."
Tommy shrugs him off, but when Cam shows up a while later with a couple of wrapped sandwiches, he takes one and lets her sit by him while he eats a careful half of it. She nudges her shoulder against his, companionable and undemanding.
"You okay?' she asks, and he shrugs and shakes his head and flinches. She nods. "You need anything?" Shakes his head. "Want me to kill someone for you?" That startles a laugh out of him, and she presses her hand to his shoulder, eyes warm with sympathy. "You know we're all in your corner, babe."
He blinks at her. "That's not," he says. "It's not, like, a contest."
"Just sayin'," she tells him.
But apparently it is like a contest, because over the course of the afternoon, Tommy notices a certain... frostiness. He's sitting in the green room, curled up in the corner of the couch with the dancers doing warmups on the floor and Isaac reading a magazine next to him and Cam writing something in a notebook at the table. It's quiet and companionable, and then Adam comes in, talking on his phone, and it's like the temperature actually plummets. Every head turns towards the door, and Adam's stride falters as he takes in the cool, blank glances of his team.
His mouth falls open a little, and then whoever's on the phone says something, and Adam shakes his head and backs out, and the moment's over.
"Guys," says Tommy. "Don't be mean to Adam, okay?" Various expressions of disgruntlement are turned on him. "No, I'm fuckin' serious. He didn't do anything wrong, leave him alone."
"We worry about you," says Brooke.
"Well, don't," says Tommy, suddenly mad. "I'm not a kid, and this isn't some 'me or him' bullshit, okay? Adam and my issue is Adam and mine. Butt out."
There's an awkward silence, and then Taylor raises his hand. "Can I be mad at him because I'm jealous you like him better?"
Tommy tugs his blanket tighter around him. "Okay. But as soon as you hook up with someone else, no more."
It breaks the tension, a little. Sasha slaps him on the ankle and wrinkles her nose at him, and the dancers go back to their stretches, and Isaac texts his wife and Cam starts humming a melody under her breath, glaring at the notebook. Songwriting, then.
He doesn't get to talk to Sutan before Adam gets there first, but while the local opening act is wailing away on stage, Sutan pulls him into a closet, looking solemn.
"What did he say?" says Tommy. "Is he still mad?"
Sutan shakes his head. "You guys have to talk," he says. "I don't know what happened, baby, and he wouldn't tell me much. I think he's trying to protect you."
"Protect me from what?" Tommy frowns, and Sutan arches one shoulder.
"I have a theory, but - look, you need to talk to him, okay? He's not mad at all, I think. He's upset and scared and really confused."
"What?" says Tommy. Sutan is making no sense; why would Adam be scared? Scared of Tommy, or scared for some other reason? Why is Adam trying to protect him, and from what? "I don't get it," he says, and Sutan pulls an unhelpfully sympathetic face.
There's no time for follow-up, sadly, as Tommy scrambles into his stages clothes and out on stage, off-balance and freaking out inside. Adam does his usual thing in the opening act where he stomps around the stage and gropes at Tommy, and Tommy lets him, goes as limp and tractable as possible, concentrates on not fucking up his playing rather than the heat and breadth of Adam behind him.
But then it comes to Fever, and Adam is standing at the top of the stairs and Tommy is suddenly terrified, for real. They don't often talk about this part of the stage play, and Tommy is usually happy to go along with whatever Adam wants, but today is different. His heart is pounding as Adam descends the stairs, and he feels frozen. Adam's voice is close, and Adam's hands turn his face up, and Tommy shuts his eyes, unable to look at him and Adam swoops in to kiss him.
But it's not what he's expecting. Adam's mouth on his is unspeakably tender, gentle, just a breathless little touch of a kiss that makes Tommy's knees actually buckle.
He doesn't open his eyes until Adam's gone, and Tommy has to fumble to take the bass beat away from Cam, slinking back to his corner, and the rest of the show passes in a blur, except the press of Adam's hand as he introduces Tommy to the screaming crowd he barely notices.
He can feel Sutan's eyes on him afterwards, but he dodges everyone and crawls into his bunk and tries to sleep.
&&&&&
He wakes early, too early, still dark as the bus rumbles along. A glance out the window shows the darkness lit with the regular flicker of fluorescents; they're in a tunnel.
"Be in England by morning," Neil tells him, yawning. The blue light from his laptop washes him out in the darkness of the bus. "Couple more shows. Wham, bam."
Tommy slides into the booth opposite him, puts his chin on his folded arms. "That soon," he says. "Didn't realise we were so close to the end."
Neil rolls his shoulders. "I'm counting down the days. Gonna take my paycheck and go travelling."
Tommy squints at him. "We've been travelling for months. I'm gonna take my paycheck and not come outta my room for as long as possible."
Neil bobs his head serenely. "That's you and me, bro. I can't be on the same continent with you losers for a while."
"You love me really," says Tommy, but he can't get over it. Tour's almost over. A couple of days, days, and he's gonna be out of this confusing morass of personalities and loyalties and expectations he's built for himself, he'll be back home.
He stares out the window as the bus emerges into the cold English dawn. "You okay?" Neil asks, but it's absent, there's no subtextual questions.
"Fine," says Tommy. "Just thinkin'."
They have a show in London, and a show in a different city, he can't remember, and then a show in Scotland - Tommy is still a little fuzzy on how England works, but he thinks Scotland is, like, separate - and then that's the end. They'll go home.
Tommy spends the day doing what he does best: huddling. He grunts at conversational attempts, avoids direct eye contact, and dodges Sutan like he owes him money. It works really well until about lunchtime; everyone scatters to go find non-bus-food and Sutan somehow follows Tommy and traps him in the corner of a pub with a meat pie and a pint of beer.
"I will," says Tommy before Sutan can say anything. "I'll talk to him, I will, but just. Give me time."
Sutan frowns. "Oh, honey. I know you're scared."
"I'm not." He is, though, but not how Sutan means. He knows he didn't explain it right to Adam, but what if he does explain it properly and Adam understands everything and still doesn't want him? Tommy doesn't exactly want to flay off his skin and lay himself bare only to get rejected again. "Screw him, anyway," he mumbles, and Sutan sighs, all long-suffering patience.
"Obviously I can't make you do anything, but would take some advice?"
Tommy shrugs, which seems to irritate him.
"Don't be a moron," says Sutan. "Don't lose out on something just because it's hard. You're worth fucking well more than that." He stands, impossibly tall over Tommy. "Talk to him."
&&&&&
In the end, it's Adam who makes the first move. In the backstage chaos after the London show - after another desperately sweet, earnest kiss - Adam grabs his sleeve. "Can we talk later?" he asks, face glittering in the dim light, hair falling in his eyes. "Come up to my room, after the show?"
Tommy nods dumbly, and thinks he must imagine the gratitude on Adam's face.
The hotel is fucking swank, all gilt and marble and bellboys with little round hats on. The concierge is absurdly obsequious, and Tommy wonders if it's Adam that's getting the respect, or if anybody with money enough to stay here would do.
Adam's in the penthouse again, of course, and he gets an entirely separate elevator to himself, so Tommy can't even be fucking subtle about the fact that he's going back to Adam's room. He trudges into the elevator under the knowing eyes of at least half a dozen people, plus the damn bellboy with his stupid, stupid hat, and slouches against the wall.
The suite is ridiculously opulent, of course, but Adam stares around it with a faint frown, like the deep carpet and designer leather couches and fabulous view are all in the way of something.
"So," says Tommy, once Adam's stood by the door staring at the room like he's forgotten something for what feels like forever. "Here I am."
Adam blinks at him, and a nervous little smile curves his mouth. "Yeah. Thanks. I wasn't sure if you'd want to talk to me."
Tommy shrugs, his gut churning. "Guess we gotta talk about this sometime," he says, aiming for casual and falling short.
Adam nods. "Come sit down," he says. "Do you want a drink?"
"Whiskey," says Tommy. "Actually, no, just soda or something if you have it." He sinks into the couch and it takes him a minute to catch his balance, and then Adam sits down beside him, a careful foot of space between them, and hands him a chilled bottle. He sets it down on the table without drinking, twists his fingers together in a nervous tell he can't seem to help.
"I don't," says Adam, and then seems to change his mind, shaking his head a little. "I've been thinking about what to say. It's all I can think about, you know."
Tommy nods, stares at his hands.
"I think I reacted badly," Adam continues. "I mean, I know I did. I wasn't really expecting any of what you said, but I should have listened better. So I'm sorry for that." He pauses, like he's giving Tommy a chance to talk, but Tommy says nothing. "Right. So. If there's anything you want to talk about, I'm totally willing to listen now. I swear I won't freak out again. I just - it was like, I had this whole idea in my head, of you, and how it would be, us together. So I guess it threw me some."
"Sorry," says Tommy softly.
"No," says Adam, "no, that's not what I mean, please look at me." Tommy does; Adam's face is open and sad and earnest. "I mean, I totally shouldn't have put those expectations on you, you know? I wanted to take care of you, but that doesn't mean I get to expect you to be, all, whatever."
"Whatever?"
Adam's face scrunches up in frustration. "Okay. I wanted to be your first," he confesses. "I had this whole - this damn fantasy about you, ever since we first met, about how - anyway. I guess I was upset, but it wasn't fair for me to be upset at you for it."
"Oh," says Tommy, taking this new idea and examining it. "I thought - I dunno." He swallows. "I was so scared to tell you. I thought you'd hate me or something."
"No!" Adam squeaks. "Fuck, no, I could never. It was, it was my thing, my stupid - and I was fucking jealous, okay, I admit it, because I had no idea any of this was going on, and I couldn't help thinking, like, why didn't you come to me? Or even tell me, if you didn't - didn't want me?"
Tommy breathed out. "It was complicated." Adam nods encouragingly. "Like, I didn't just wake up and go, yeah, sex with dudes, now who should I pick?"
Adam reaches out and takes his hand. "I know. I figured, once I'd cooled down a bit."
"I would have told you," says Tommy. "But." He doesn't have a good finish for that, so he falls silent, and Adam rubs the back of his hand with a thumb.
"Did you think the other stuff would freak me out?" he asks gently, and Tommy jerks his gaze up to Adam's. Adam touches his wrist - doesn't hold it, like he doesn't think he's allowed now, but touches it with enough deliberateness that his message is clear.
"No." Tommy pulls his hand away. "No, that was - unexpected. That happened kind of later." He frowns. "It was, like, a different thing. Or maybe it was the same thing. With me, like, wanting to please people." He rubs his nose, kind of embarrassed.
"Oh, honey," says Adam. "I was so worried when I realised, you know? I was scared you were hurting yourself, or letting someone hurt you. I don't mean that. I'm not saying this right." He covers his eyes, briefly, and Tommy can see how weary he is. "I mean. I didn't know. It was like this whole side of you I'd never seen, this whole thing you'd kept hidden from me and I thought," he looks up at the ceiling here, rolling his eyes, "I was jealous, again. I thought, nobody else could take as good care of you as me."
Tommy's heart crashes against his ribcage, and he can feel his cheeks heating. He's wondered whether Adam would ever want that, if maybe Adam would help him find that side of himself, but he sure as hell hadn't counted on it. "You would," he croaks, and Adam seizes his hand and kisses it.
"Oh, god, Tommy," he breathes. "I couldn't stand it. Maybe it makes me an ass, but I just - I hated the idea of you needing that, and not having anybody to turn to, of letting a stranger do that, when I would do anything -"
Ah.
He squeezes Adam's hand gently. "Hey. You know how you said you would listen?"
Adam blinks at him. "Yeah?"
Tommy takes a deep breath. " I need to tell you this, okay? And I want - I'm telling you this because I'm a little bit fucking in love with you, and you need to know this."
"You're - oh." Adam's eyes light up at Tommy's declaration, but his expression goes wary again afterwards. "I'm listening."
"I haven't been sleeping with strangers," he says. He has to turn his head and look at the wall, not Adam. "I haven't been letting strangers tie me up or any of what you're thinking."
Adam's hand tightens on his. "I don't understand," he murmurs.
"It was Sutan. He tied me up. But it wasn't his idea; it was Liz's idea. Allison wanted to use handcuffs, but Sutan wouldn't let them."
Adam makes a low noise; Tommy still can't look at him.
"It didn't start out as what it was," he tries to explain. "It was something nice I did for the girls, sometimes, every so often. I'd go down on them. That was all. Just, you know, giving them head, like giving them a backrub."
"The girls," says Adam.
"Sasha, Brooke, Cam," says Tommy. "Allison that one time, and Liz while we were still in America, and Val once or twice. And then Taylor." Adam startles with surprise but doesn't say anything, to Tommy's relief. "It was after he broke up with his girlfriend, he was just so fucking sad all the time, and I wanted him to be happy. So I. And then, um, Terrance."
He dares a look at Adam. Adam is staring at their joined hands, and Tommy can see lines of tension at the corner of his mouth.
"Sutan figured it out when he got back from doing that other thing," says Tommy. "And he - I think he realised pretty fast how it could get out of control. More than I did. So I guess he kind of took charge." He swallows. "The night - the night Alli's crew left us, when you went to bed early. That's when they tied me up, that's where the bruises came from."
He looks up, trying to evaluate Adam's reaction. The next bit is going to be harder. "I'd never felt anything like that before. They- fuck. Tied me up and just, they just used me. I wanted them to." He slips his hand free of Adam's; it's shaking. He tucks his hair behind his ear. "I liked it," he croaks. "I didn't know that I would but I did. And after that it was different, like, I couldn't help feeling like I was doing it for some sick thrill. Even though I wasn't getting off on it, except maybe that made it worse, like, what kind of freak."
Adam sucks in a breath like he's going to protest, and Tommy throws up a hand; he can't do this if Adam interrupts now. "And then you," he says, "you looked at me like I hung the fucking stars up, and the way you - your fucking hands on me." He's losing coherence, his voice is thickening; he's going to cry again. "And I wanted it to be different with you, and it was different, you know? You were so fucking perfect. So I fucking give it all up. I'll do whatever you want. I can't undo this summer, and I wouldn't, because I made a lot of people fucking happy and I'm not ashamed of it, but now, I'll do anything you ask. Even if you want me to go away."
He rolls to an uncertain stop as he runs out of words to say, his chest heaving like he's been running. Tears are welling out of his eyes and his nose is running, so he wipes it on his sleeve and immediately wishes he hadn't. He feels tiny and absurd and all wrong-angled, a road-filthy little punk-rocker crying in a lush hotel suite, begging - begging - to be loved, and Adam is just sitting there like some untouchable god not saying anything.
After what feels like utterly agonizing minutes of no sound but Tommy's harsh breathing and sniffles, Adam makes a little choked-off noise and suddenly Tommy is engulfed in the fiercest hug he's ever been in. Adam hauls him into his lap and wraps his arms around Tommy and holds him, and Tommy buries his damp face in Adam's neck and hangs the fuck on.
It peters out after a while, Adam rocking him gently, and Tommy goes limp against Adam's chest, catching his breath. Adam hasn't said anything, but the physical contact has eased the most pressing of Tommy's fears: he isn't going to lose Adam. Even if Adam doesn't want him, they'll still be friends, Adam's not going to drop him by the wayside after tour's over. Tommy presses his face into the soft fabric of Adam's sweater, listens to Adam's shuddering breaths.
Adam's hand comes up to cradle the back of his head. "Baby," he says, and his voice is so raw and soft that Tommy jerks up to look at him. Adam's - he's not crying, not exactly, but his eyes are red and his chin is trembling and Tommy made him look like that.
"Sorry," he whispers, rubbing a thumb on Adam's cheek, but Adam shakes his head.
"No, don't. Don't be. I'm glad you told me, I am." He smiles, just a little. "I'm glad."
"And?" says Tommy.
Adam's brow creases, and Tommy's stomach drops. "I don't know," says Adam. "I'm sorry, I just - this is so big, it's so much more than I thought." He cups Tommy's cheek. "What you're offering, I mean."
He kisses Tommy, the kind of light, friendly kiss they've been sharing all along. "Is that bad?" asks Tommy.
"No," says Adam. "It's just... big. It's important." Another kiss, gentler and deeper. "I need time," he murmurs. "I need... I need not to be on this tour, I need not to be so tired I want to cry all the time, I need to have you happy and not freaking out and desperate, don't look like that, baby, please."
Tommy duck his head so his hair covers his face. "It's ok," he says. "I can wait." His fingers twist in Adam's shirt, unwilling to let go.
"Will you stay with me?" says Adam. "Please? I want you here."
"Whatever you want," says Tommy. "Anything."
Adam sighs. "Just stay."
They stay on the couch for a while, until they're both drooping with tiredness, and then go into the bedroom. Adam tosses Tommy a pair of sweats and a henley, and Tommy changes without going into the bathroom, beyond embarrassment, watches as Adam's freckled skin is revealed and put away again. Then Adam turns out the light and they crawl into bed and Tommy finds Adam in the dark, curls up against him, and sleeps.
&&&&&
"The thing is," says Adam, "I would do just about anything to make you happy."
Tommy stretches and rolls over, blinking. Adam's sitting in the chair by the window, a steaming cup on the sill. "Hmm?" he says, sleep still slowing him down.
Adam looks over, smiles. In the clear morning, he looks very tired and drawn, purpling under his eyes even after a night of sleep. "I'm going to say yes," he says. "It feels like I've been waiting for you forever, so."
Tommy smiles at him, relaxing back into the pillows. "After tour."
Adam nods, sips his coffee. "After tour," he replies, and tilts his head back. "After we both sleep for a week and get the road off us."
"Go grocery shopping," Tommy yawns.
"Spend the day in sweatpants watching Next Top Model," says Adam wistfully.
"Sleep," says Tommy. "Sleep a lot."
"I like your thinking," says Adam. "I always knew you were a smart guy." He abandons his coffee and comes over, flops on the bed by Tommy. "We have to leave in an hour."
Tommy makes a face. "I have to shower," he says. "Also, I don't know where my clothes are."
"I can call down and have them sent up," says Adam. "Can I kiss you?"
"Answer's always gonna be yes," says Tommy, and tilts up for it; Adam's undemanding mouth, his coffee-breath, his morning stubble. "You got coffee," he mumbles. "Share."
Adam laughs. "Shower first, you. You're starting to turn a bit rank."
So Tommy hauls himself out of bed and showers, and by the time he's done and is wandering about the suite in a towel, his luggage has been delivered, along with breakfast, and they sit opposite each other on the bed and eat pancakes and eggs and Tommy ignores his coffee for the pink organic guava-breakfast smoothie crap Adam's ordered. Adam lets him taste it, and then Tommy refuses to give it back and the taste is still in his mouth when Adam kisses him, as they're leaving.
&&&&&
The tour ends with a crash, an explosion of glitter and lights and the pyrotechnics Adam somehow managed to finagle, huge jets of flame and fucking fireworks and hugs piled high to the ceiling. Tommy goes to sleep in a puppy-pile of affection on the bus floor and wakes up on an LA tarmac with a flight attendant telling him it's time to deplane, and Mike looks at him vaguely and says "Aw, yeah, you're back. I forgot."
And Tommy is home.
Really home, like, in his too-small room with faded band posters on the walls and the cupboard door that never shuts right and the sheets that haven't been changed and the roommate that grunts when you poke him, like one of those tickle-me-elmo dolls but emo. And cooking for himself, and driving, like, Tommy was pretty absent minded before but six months of being herded and driven wherever have turned him into a total space cadet and he backs into a pole and almost burns down the kitchen and floods the laundry room trying to wash his sheets and has a total fucking breakdown in the basement and calls Adam.
"Breathe, honey," Adam advises him, sounding way too serene considering the meltdown Tommy's having. "It's okay."
"I know it fucking is," Tommy snaps. He leans against the wall of the laundry and stares gloomily at his ruined shoes. "I just - fuck, man. I don't know what to do. I miss you. Like, tour, I miss tour, but I miss you."
"I miss you too," says Adam. "I'll have to bring you to Paris one of these days, properly. It's amazing. The food, oh my god."
"But you'll be back soon?" Tommy knows he sounds petulant.
"I leave the day after tomorrow, and I'll be home the day after that." There's a smile in Adam's voice. "I can't wait."
"I'll see you soon, then," says Tommy.
He goes and visits his mother, driving carefully. She's pleased by the weight he's put on, by the stories he tells her about Europe. Telling her about Adam happens almost by accident - "So, uh, Adam and I are gonna" - but she seems pleased by that as well, pats his hand and says Adam will have to come for dinner sometime.
And Tommy goes back home, and there are clean sheets on his bed and he manages to cook some pasta with setting anything on fire and feels amazingly accomplished doing so. Liz calls, and he arranges to meet her for lunch in a week or so, then thinks about it and texts Sasha and Allison to see if they want to come too.
Then he flops down on the couch by Mike and they play Left For Dead for a while, and Tommy revels in the do-nothing, need-nothing ease of it.
"So," says Mike, when they stop to get beer. "This tour, you get lots of tail?"
Tommy just blinks at him, then cracks up laughing.
"Dude, you have no fucking idea."
Master Post
Girls Boys Everyone Aftermath Adam Tommy
"You've never done that before," says Adam eventually. He's counting Tommy's ribs with his fingers, up and down.
Tommy shakes his head. "Not that." After a moment of reflection he says, "I wasn't bad?"
"You were amazing," says Adam, heartfelt. "You' re so good, the way you let me touch you, you know?"
"I like it when you touch me," says Tommy. He's said it before, but he feels it bears repeating.
Adam smiles, a quirk of the lips, and rubs a hand over Tommy's chest. "But that's not the first time you've been with a man," he says.
Tommy blinks at him, his brain slow to catch up. He can feel his face getting hot. "I guess not," he says slowly.
And Adam doesn't say anything, just looks at him with this patient, calm expression until Tommy feels like squirming under it, all his lassitude and contentment burning away. He turns his face away, and Adam tsks and strokes his hair.
"I don't mean it like that, baby," he says. "But I feel like, maybe earlier in the summer, you were feeling a bit experimental."
Tommy shrugs. Adam's warm embrace, so comforting a moment ago, suddenly feels like a trap. He kind of thought he'd be wearing pants for this conversation.
"Not exactly," he says.
Adam sighs, and pulls away a little. "Okay."
Tommy wriggles free and sits up, pulling the blankets to cover himself some so he can face Adam properly. "I mean, it wasn't like I'd suddenly decided to experiment with guys," he says. "It wasn't like I'd suddenly decided anything, really. It all just sort of happened."
Adam props himself up on an elbow, and takes Tommy's hand - no, his wrist, a move that's become habitual by now without Tommy noticing. Tommy stares down at it, realises that Adam's still asking, he's been asking all along, for Tommy to trust him with this.
"I don't know how to tell you," he says in a small voice.
Adam looks stricken, vulnerable. "Is it that bad?"
Tommy shakes his head, swipes his hand over his leaking eyes. "I just want to make everyone happy," he says. "I wanted to make them feel good."
There's a pause. "Everyone," says Adam without inflection. "Tommy?"
He doesn't uncover his face. "A lot of people," he says. "It was a long summer. Do you want a list?" May as well get the worst out of the way; he's hurting Adam, hurting himself, but there's no stopping now.
"Did they hurt you?" says Adam. "You were - there were bruises. I saw them. You were so sad that day."
"No, I wanted that," says Tommy. "I asked for that." He looks at Adam again, finally. Adam's pale, wide-eyed, his mouth set and small. "They were careful," he says, awkwardly.
"I didn't realise," says Adam. "I thought - maybe once or twice?"
Tommy shakes his head. "But this is different," he says. "This, you and me - it's different, I swear."
Adam swallows. "Yeah." But he's pulling away. He rolls out the other side of the bed, pulls on some sweats, and Tommy clutches fists in the blankets.
"I don't understand," says Adam. "I just - can you explain it differently, maybe, because I don't think I'm getting it." But he doesn't look at Tommy, stands up and walks towards the minibar.
Tommy shoves his shaking hands under his bare thighs, fairly longs for a pair of pants. He's too sick-nervous to move, though. "I don't know how to explain it," he says. "I just wanted to help, I wanted to do something nice, and then it was this great big thing. But it felt good." He stares fixedly at the coverlet. "Making them feel good."
Adam pours a drink, something dark-amber and doubtless expensive, and stares at it. "Them," he says. "Do I want to know who 'them' is?"
"It's not their fault," says Tommy. "I offered. I wanted to."
Adam makes an odd wheezing noise and doubles over at the waist. "Jesus," he says, and tosses back whatever he's drinking like it's the cheapest rotgut tequila in town.
Silence falls.
Tommy's vision is blurring and his breathing's gone choppy and he's scared, horrible tight feeling in his chest like he's gonna be sick or pass out. Adam leans on the bar with whiskey spilling over his fingers and his hair hanging in his face, and the silence stretches on and on.
Shaking, Tommy pushes back the covers and gets out of bed. "I think I should not be here right now," he says, struggling to keep his voice steady.
Adam makes some sort of noise, maybe a sob, and nods his head. It takes a few minutes for Tommy to find his clothes and dress, shaky fingers fumbling on the buttons, and he knows he misses a few layers, but he has to go. He has to walk almost right past Adam to get to the door, and Adam doesn't move, doesn't face him.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" says Tommy desperately. "We can talk some more then, right?"
Adam's whole spine twitches, and a gesture that might have started out as a nod ends up as a violent flinch.
Tommy makes it all the way to the elevator before the tears blur his vision so bad he can't walk.
&&&&&
He calls Lane from the hotel lobby. He doesn't want to talk to anybody right now, and she won't ask awkward questions. She tells him he's rooming with Monte, and shows up a few minutes later with a room key.
"On my fucking day off, as well," she says, but he must look wretched because there's no force behind it, and she sort of pats him on the shoulder before she loads him back onto the elevator.
Monte's Skyping with his wife, barely looks up when Tommy enters, and he mumbles something about needing a nap and crashes straight into the bed that's still made.
He doesn't nap. He's done nothing but sleep and have sex for the past twenty-four hours, and he couldn't sleep right now if you beat him with chloroform. Instead, he stares at the wall and replays that fucking conversation over and over until he thinks he's gonna scream.
Monte leaves for dinner, and Tommy drags himself into the bathroom and showers, then stands under the shower spray and cries, fucking again, big heaving nasty sobs that wipe him out.
His phone's buzzing on the nightstand when he comes out, and he shoves it in the drawer without looking at it. There's something on TV, some mindless cooking show in French or something, and stares at it with his eyes stinging.
Monte comes back after a while, so Tommy figures it's late in the evening sometime.
"Y'alright?" Monte asks, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.
Tommy nods; he must look pretty fucking awful. "Tired. Homesick. Not built for this weather," he says, and Monte shrugs and nods and doesn't press. Monte's awesome. He's never asked anything more of Tommy than to be the best musician he can, and it's very relaxing to be around him.
"The others were askin' after you, at dinner," he says. "Seems they thought you'd be with Adam until we left."
Tommy wipes his nose on his sleeve. "Nope."
"I didn't tell 'em," says Monte. "Adam wasn't there, so I guess they'll think whatever."
Tommy nods. "'preciate it."
The conversation lapses then, until Monte comments on the cooking show on the TV, and Tommy says something about meat jelly, and they pass time with inanities until Monte goes to sleep.
Tommy retrieves his phone, rejects all the missed calls and messages with a swipe of his thumb, and plays Solitaire until his eyes cross. Then he hunkers down under his blankets and waits for morning.
&&&&&
They're back on the bus the next day, a short hop to the next city. Adam's already up in his bedroom with the door shut, and when Tommy slinks onto the bus behind Monte, eyes hidden behind the biggest fucking pair of sunglasses he could find, the surprise in the air is palpable.
He still doesn't feel like talking, so he pulls out his black blanket and hoods up in the corner of the couch; that blanket's the clearest signal he's got for 'leave me the fuck alone' and everyone knows it.
Taylor comes and sits by him, twisting his hands together nervously, but he doesn't talk, so Tommy ignores him, hunches deeper into his blanket.
"Sorry," says Taylor after a while, in a low voice. "I was a brat."
Tommy shrugs at him. Taylor's little snit has mostly been forgotten, for the obvious reasons, but it seems to be bothering him. "S'all good," he says.
"Okay," says Taylor, and he sits next to Tommy and doesn't say anything else. After a while, Tommy shifts and unbends a little, and tilts over so he can lean against Taylor, and Taylor turns so Tommy can be more comfortable. It's not exactly snuggling and Tommy will still snap at anyone who tries to talk to him, but it's something.
He dodges Adam that afternoon as best he can, but he needn't have made the effort; in soundcheck, Adam is distantly polite to everyone and doesn't address Tommy directly at all. Tommy doesn't know whether to be relieved or not; he thinks not. He feels kind of sick.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Sutan asks, in a quiet moment before they have to start gearing up.
Tommy shakes his head, and Sutan tuts and hugs him, even though Tommy stays stiff and unyielding. "Eat something, Tommy," says Sutan firmly. "I know you just want to be left alone, but I will hound your ass if I catch you making yourself sick."
Tommy shrugs him off, but when Cam shows up a while later with a couple of wrapped sandwiches, he takes one and lets her sit by him while he eats a careful half of it. She nudges her shoulder against his, companionable and undemanding.
"You okay?' she asks, and he shrugs and shakes his head and flinches. She nods. "You need anything?" Shakes his head. "Want me to kill someone for you?" That startles a laugh out of him, and she presses her hand to his shoulder, eyes warm with sympathy. "You know we're all in your corner, babe."
He blinks at her. "That's not," he says. "It's not, like, a contest."
"Just sayin'," she tells him.
But apparently it is like a contest, because over the course of the afternoon, Tommy notices a certain... frostiness. He's sitting in the green room, curled up in the corner of the couch with the dancers doing warmups on the floor and Isaac reading a magazine next to him and Cam writing something in a notebook at the table. It's quiet and companionable, and then Adam comes in, talking on his phone, and it's like the temperature actually plummets. Every head turns towards the door, and Adam's stride falters as he takes in the cool, blank glances of his team.
His mouth falls open a little, and then whoever's on the phone says something, and Adam shakes his head and backs out, and the moment's over.
"Guys," says Tommy. "Don't be mean to Adam, okay?" Various expressions of disgruntlement are turned on him. "No, I'm fuckin' serious. He didn't do anything wrong, leave him alone."
"We worry about you," says Brooke.
"Well, don't," says Tommy, suddenly mad. "I'm not a kid, and this isn't some 'me or him' bullshit, okay? Adam and my issue is Adam and mine. Butt out."
There's an awkward silence, and then Taylor raises his hand. "Can I be mad at him because I'm jealous you like him better?"
Tommy tugs his blanket tighter around him. "Okay. But as soon as you hook up with someone else, no more."
It breaks the tension, a little. Sasha slaps him on the ankle and wrinkles her nose at him, and the dancers go back to their stretches, and Isaac texts his wife and Cam starts humming a melody under her breath, glaring at the notebook. Songwriting, then.
He doesn't get to talk to Sutan before Adam gets there first, but while the local opening act is wailing away on stage, Sutan pulls him into a closet, looking solemn.
"What did he say?" says Tommy. "Is he still mad?"
Sutan shakes his head. "You guys have to talk," he says. "I don't know what happened, baby, and he wouldn't tell me much. I think he's trying to protect you."
"Protect me from what?" Tommy frowns, and Sutan arches one shoulder.
"I have a theory, but - look, you need to talk to him, okay? He's not mad at all, I think. He's upset and scared and really confused."
"What?" says Tommy. Sutan is making no sense; why would Adam be scared? Scared of Tommy, or scared for some other reason? Why is Adam trying to protect him, and from what? "I don't get it," he says, and Sutan pulls an unhelpfully sympathetic face.
There's no time for follow-up, sadly, as Tommy scrambles into his stages clothes and out on stage, off-balance and freaking out inside. Adam does his usual thing in the opening act where he stomps around the stage and gropes at Tommy, and Tommy lets him, goes as limp and tractable as possible, concentrates on not fucking up his playing rather than the heat and breadth of Adam behind him.
But then it comes to Fever, and Adam is standing at the top of the stairs and Tommy is suddenly terrified, for real. They don't often talk about this part of the stage play, and Tommy is usually happy to go along with whatever Adam wants, but today is different. His heart is pounding as Adam descends the stairs, and he feels frozen. Adam's voice is close, and Adam's hands turn his face up, and Tommy shuts his eyes, unable to look at him and Adam swoops in to kiss him.
But it's not what he's expecting. Adam's mouth on his is unspeakably tender, gentle, just a breathless little touch of a kiss that makes Tommy's knees actually buckle.
He doesn't open his eyes until Adam's gone, and Tommy has to fumble to take the bass beat away from Cam, slinking back to his corner, and the rest of the show passes in a blur, except the press of Adam's hand as he introduces Tommy to the screaming crowd he barely notices.
He can feel Sutan's eyes on him afterwards, but he dodges everyone and crawls into his bunk and tries to sleep.
&&&&&
He wakes early, too early, still dark as the bus rumbles along. A glance out the window shows the darkness lit with the regular flicker of fluorescents; they're in a tunnel.
"Be in England by morning," Neil tells him, yawning. The blue light from his laptop washes him out in the darkness of the bus. "Couple more shows. Wham, bam."
Tommy slides into the booth opposite him, puts his chin on his folded arms. "That soon," he says. "Didn't realise we were so close to the end."
Neil rolls his shoulders. "I'm counting down the days. Gonna take my paycheck and go travelling."
Tommy squints at him. "We've been travelling for months. I'm gonna take my paycheck and not come outta my room for as long as possible."
Neil bobs his head serenely. "That's you and me, bro. I can't be on the same continent with you losers for a while."
"You love me really," says Tommy, but he can't get over it. Tour's almost over. A couple of days, days, and he's gonna be out of this confusing morass of personalities and loyalties and expectations he's built for himself, he'll be back home.
He stares out the window as the bus emerges into the cold English dawn. "You okay?" Neil asks, but it's absent, there's no subtextual questions.
"Fine," says Tommy. "Just thinkin'."
They have a show in London, and a show in a different city, he can't remember, and then a show in Scotland - Tommy is still a little fuzzy on how England works, but he thinks Scotland is, like, separate - and then that's the end. They'll go home.
Tommy spends the day doing what he does best: huddling. He grunts at conversational attempts, avoids direct eye contact, and dodges Sutan like he owes him money. It works really well until about lunchtime; everyone scatters to go find non-bus-food and Sutan somehow follows Tommy and traps him in the corner of a pub with a meat pie and a pint of beer.
"I will," says Tommy before Sutan can say anything. "I'll talk to him, I will, but just. Give me time."
Sutan frowns. "Oh, honey. I know you're scared."
"I'm not." He is, though, but not how Sutan means. He knows he didn't explain it right to Adam, but what if he does explain it properly and Adam understands everything and still doesn't want him? Tommy doesn't exactly want to flay off his skin and lay himself bare only to get rejected again. "Screw him, anyway," he mumbles, and Sutan sighs, all long-suffering patience.
"Obviously I can't make you do anything, but would take some advice?"
Tommy shrugs, which seems to irritate him.
"Don't be a moron," says Sutan. "Don't lose out on something just because it's hard. You're worth fucking well more than that." He stands, impossibly tall over Tommy. "Talk to him."
&&&&&
In the end, it's Adam who makes the first move. In the backstage chaos after the London show - after another desperately sweet, earnest kiss - Adam grabs his sleeve. "Can we talk later?" he asks, face glittering in the dim light, hair falling in his eyes. "Come up to my room, after the show?"
Tommy nods dumbly, and thinks he must imagine the gratitude on Adam's face.
The hotel is fucking swank, all gilt and marble and bellboys with little round hats on. The concierge is absurdly obsequious, and Tommy wonders if it's Adam that's getting the respect, or if anybody with money enough to stay here would do.
Adam's in the penthouse again, of course, and he gets an entirely separate elevator to himself, so Tommy can't even be fucking subtle about the fact that he's going back to Adam's room. He trudges into the elevator under the knowing eyes of at least half a dozen people, plus the damn bellboy with his stupid, stupid hat, and slouches against the wall.
The suite is ridiculously opulent, of course, but Adam stares around it with a faint frown, like the deep carpet and designer leather couches and fabulous view are all in the way of something.
"So," says Tommy, once Adam's stood by the door staring at the room like he's forgotten something for what feels like forever. "Here I am."
Adam blinks at him, and a nervous little smile curves his mouth. "Yeah. Thanks. I wasn't sure if you'd want to talk to me."
Tommy shrugs, his gut churning. "Guess we gotta talk about this sometime," he says, aiming for casual and falling short.
Adam nods. "Come sit down," he says. "Do you want a drink?"
"Whiskey," says Tommy. "Actually, no, just soda or something if you have it." He sinks into the couch and it takes him a minute to catch his balance, and then Adam sits down beside him, a careful foot of space between them, and hands him a chilled bottle. He sets it down on the table without drinking, twists his fingers together in a nervous tell he can't seem to help.
"I don't," says Adam, and then seems to change his mind, shaking his head a little. "I've been thinking about what to say. It's all I can think about, you know."
Tommy nods, stares at his hands.
"I think I reacted badly," Adam continues. "I mean, I know I did. I wasn't really expecting any of what you said, but I should have listened better. So I'm sorry for that." He pauses, like he's giving Tommy a chance to talk, but Tommy says nothing. "Right. So. If there's anything you want to talk about, I'm totally willing to listen now. I swear I won't freak out again. I just - it was like, I had this whole idea in my head, of you, and how it would be, us together. So I guess it threw me some."
"Sorry," says Tommy softly.
"No," says Adam, "no, that's not what I mean, please look at me." Tommy does; Adam's face is open and sad and earnest. "I mean, I totally shouldn't have put those expectations on you, you know? I wanted to take care of you, but that doesn't mean I get to expect you to be, all, whatever."
"Whatever?"
Adam's face scrunches up in frustration. "Okay. I wanted to be your first," he confesses. "I had this whole - this damn fantasy about you, ever since we first met, about how - anyway. I guess I was upset, but it wasn't fair for me to be upset at you for it."
"Oh," says Tommy, taking this new idea and examining it. "I thought - I dunno." He swallows. "I was so scared to tell you. I thought you'd hate me or something."
"No!" Adam squeaks. "Fuck, no, I could never. It was, it was my thing, my stupid - and I was fucking jealous, okay, I admit it, because I had no idea any of this was going on, and I couldn't help thinking, like, why didn't you come to me? Or even tell me, if you didn't - didn't want me?"
Tommy breathed out. "It was complicated." Adam nods encouragingly. "Like, I didn't just wake up and go, yeah, sex with dudes, now who should I pick?"
Adam reaches out and takes his hand. "I know. I figured, once I'd cooled down a bit."
"I would have told you," says Tommy. "But." He doesn't have a good finish for that, so he falls silent, and Adam rubs the back of his hand with a thumb.
"Did you think the other stuff would freak me out?" he asks gently, and Tommy jerks his gaze up to Adam's. Adam touches his wrist - doesn't hold it, like he doesn't think he's allowed now, but touches it with enough deliberateness that his message is clear.
"No." Tommy pulls his hand away. "No, that was - unexpected. That happened kind of later." He frowns. "It was, like, a different thing. Or maybe it was the same thing. With me, like, wanting to please people." He rubs his nose, kind of embarrassed.
"Oh, honey," says Adam. "I was so worried when I realised, you know? I was scared you were hurting yourself, or letting someone hurt you. I don't mean that. I'm not saying this right." He covers his eyes, briefly, and Tommy can see how weary he is. "I mean. I didn't know. It was like this whole side of you I'd never seen, this whole thing you'd kept hidden from me and I thought," he looks up at the ceiling here, rolling his eyes, "I was jealous, again. I thought, nobody else could take as good care of you as me."
Tommy's heart crashes against his ribcage, and he can feel his cheeks heating. He's wondered whether Adam would ever want that, if maybe Adam would help him find that side of himself, but he sure as hell hadn't counted on it. "You would," he croaks, and Adam seizes his hand and kisses it.
"Oh, god, Tommy," he breathes. "I couldn't stand it. Maybe it makes me an ass, but I just - I hated the idea of you needing that, and not having anybody to turn to, of letting a stranger do that, when I would do anything -"
Ah.
He squeezes Adam's hand gently. "Hey. You know how you said you would listen?"
Adam blinks at him. "Yeah?"
Tommy takes a deep breath. " I need to tell you this, okay? And I want - I'm telling you this because I'm a little bit fucking in love with you, and you need to know this."
"You're - oh." Adam's eyes light up at Tommy's declaration, but his expression goes wary again afterwards. "I'm listening."
"I haven't been sleeping with strangers," he says. He has to turn his head and look at the wall, not Adam. "I haven't been letting strangers tie me up or any of what you're thinking."
Adam's hand tightens on his. "I don't understand," he murmurs.
"It was Sutan. He tied me up. But it wasn't his idea; it was Liz's idea. Allison wanted to use handcuffs, but Sutan wouldn't let them."
Adam makes a low noise; Tommy still can't look at him.
"It didn't start out as what it was," he tries to explain. "It was something nice I did for the girls, sometimes, every so often. I'd go down on them. That was all. Just, you know, giving them head, like giving them a backrub."
"The girls," says Adam.
"Sasha, Brooke, Cam," says Tommy. "Allison that one time, and Liz while we were still in America, and Val once or twice. And then Taylor." Adam startles with surprise but doesn't say anything, to Tommy's relief. "It was after he broke up with his girlfriend, he was just so fucking sad all the time, and I wanted him to be happy. So I. And then, um, Terrance."
He dares a look at Adam. Adam is staring at their joined hands, and Tommy can see lines of tension at the corner of his mouth.
"Sutan figured it out when he got back from doing that other thing," says Tommy. "And he - I think he realised pretty fast how it could get out of control. More than I did. So I guess he kind of took charge." He swallows. "The night - the night Alli's crew left us, when you went to bed early. That's when they tied me up, that's where the bruises came from."
He looks up, trying to evaluate Adam's reaction. The next bit is going to be harder. "I'd never felt anything like that before. They- fuck. Tied me up and just, they just used me. I wanted them to." He slips his hand free of Adam's; it's shaking. He tucks his hair behind his ear. "I liked it," he croaks. "I didn't know that I would but I did. And after that it was different, like, I couldn't help feeling like I was doing it for some sick thrill. Even though I wasn't getting off on it, except maybe that made it worse, like, what kind of freak."
Adam sucks in a breath like he's going to protest, and Tommy throws up a hand; he can't do this if Adam interrupts now. "And then you," he says, "you looked at me like I hung the fucking stars up, and the way you - your fucking hands on me." He's losing coherence, his voice is thickening; he's going to cry again. "And I wanted it to be different with you, and it was different, you know? You were so fucking perfect. So I fucking give it all up. I'll do whatever you want. I can't undo this summer, and I wouldn't, because I made a lot of people fucking happy and I'm not ashamed of it, but now, I'll do anything you ask. Even if you want me to go away."
He rolls to an uncertain stop as he runs out of words to say, his chest heaving like he's been running. Tears are welling out of his eyes and his nose is running, so he wipes it on his sleeve and immediately wishes he hadn't. He feels tiny and absurd and all wrong-angled, a road-filthy little punk-rocker crying in a lush hotel suite, begging - begging - to be loved, and Adam is just sitting there like some untouchable god not saying anything.
After what feels like utterly agonizing minutes of no sound but Tommy's harsh breathing and sniffles, Adam makes a little choked-off noise and suddenly Tommy is engulfed in the fiercest hug he's ever been in. Adam hauls him into his lap and wraps his arms around Tommy and holds him, and Tommy buries his damp face in Adam's neck and hangs the fuck on.
It peters out after a while, Adam rocking him gently, and Tommy goes limp against Adam's chest, catching his breath. Adam hasn't said anything, but the physical contact has eased the most pressing of Tommy's fears: he isn't going to lose Adam. Even if Adam doesn't want him, they'll still be friends, Adam's not going to drop him by the wayside after tour's over. Tommy presses his face into the soft fabric of Adam's sweater, listens to Adam's shuddering breaths.
Adam's hand comes up to cradle the back of his head. "Baby," he says, and his voice is so raw and soft that Tommy jerks up to look at him. Adam's - he's not crying, not exactly, but his eyes are red and his chin is trembling and Tommy made him look like that.
"Sorry," he whispers, rubbing a thumb on Adam's cheek, but Adam shakes his head.
"No, don't. Don't be. I'm glad you told me, I am." He smiles, just a little. "I'm glad."
"And?" says Tommy.
Adam's brow creases, and Tommy's stomach drops. "I don't know," says Adam. "I'm sorry, I just - this is so big, it's so much more than I thought." He cups Tommy's cheek. "What you're offering, I mean."
He kisses Tommy, the kind of light, friendly kiss they've been sharing all along. "Is that bad?" asks Tommy.
"No," says Adam. "It's just... big. It's important." Another kiss, gentler and deeper. "I need time," he murmurs. "I need... I need not to be on this tour, I need not to be so tired I want to cry all the time, I need to have you happy and not freaking out and desperate, don't look like that, baby, please."
Tommy duck his head so his hair covers his face. "It's ok," he says. "I can wait." His fingers twist in Adam's shirt, unwilling to let go.
"Will you stay with me?" says Adam. "Please? I want you here."
"Whatever you want," says Tommy. "Anything."
Adam sighs. "Just stay."
They stay on the couch for a while, until they're both drooping with tiredness, and then go into the bedroom. Adam tosses Tommy a pair of sweats and a henley, and Tommy changes without going into the bathroom, beyond embarrassment, watches as Adam's freckled skin is revealed and put away again. Then Adam turns out the light and they crawl into bed and Tommy finds Adam in the dark, curls up against him, and sleeps.
&&&&&
"The thing is," says Adam, "I would do just about anything to make you happy."
Tommy stretches and rolls over, blinking. Adam's sitting in the chair by the window, a steaming cup on the sill. "Hmm?" he says, sleep still slowing him down.
Adam looks over, smiles. In the clear morning, he looks very tired and drawn, purpling under his eyes even after a night of sleep. "I'm going to say yes," he says. "It feels like I've been waiting for you forever, so."
Tommy smiles at him, relaxing back into the pillows. "After tour."
Adam nods, sips his coffee. "After tour," he replies, and tilts his head back. "After we both sleep for a week and get the road off us."
"Go grocery shopping," Tommy yawns.
"Spend the day in sweatpants watching Next Top Model," says Adam wistfully.
"Sleep," says Tommy. "Sleep a lot."
"I like your thinking," says Adam. "I always knew you were a smart guy." He abandons his coffee and comes over, flops on the bed by Tommy. "We have to leave in an hour."
Tommy makes a face. "I have to shower," he says. "Also, I don't know where my clothes are."
"I can call down and have them sent up," says Adam. "Can I kiss you?"
"Answer's always gonna be yes," says Tommy, and tilts up for it; Adam's undemanding mouth, his coffee-breath, his morning stubble. "You got coffee," he mumbles. "Share."
Adam laughs. "Shower first, you. You're starting to turn a bit rank."
So Tommy hauls himself out of bed and showers, and by the time he's done and is wandering about the suite in a towel, his luggage has been delivered, along with breakfast, and they sit opposite each other on the bed and eat pancakes and eggs and Tommy ignores his coffee for the pink organic guava-breakfast smoothie crap Adam's ordered. Adam lets him taste it, and then Tommy refuses to give it back and the taste is still in his mouth when Adam kisses him, as they're leaving.
&&&&&
The tour ends with a crash, an explosion of glitter and lights and the pyrotechnics Adam somehow managed to finagle, huge jets of flame and fucking fireworks and hugs piled high to the ceiling. Tommy goes to sleep in a puppy-pile of affection on the bus floor and wakes up on an LA tarmac with a flight attendant telling him it's time to deplane, and Mike looks at him vaguely and says "Aw, yeah, you're back. I forgot."
And Tommy is home.
Really home, like, in his too-small room with faded band posters on the walls and the cupboard door that never shuts right and the sheets that haven't been changed and the roommate that grunts when you poke him, like one of those tickle-me-elmo dolls but emo. And cooking for himself, and driving, like, Tommy was pretty absent minded before but six months of being herded and driven wherever have turned him into a total space cadet and he backs into a pole and almost burns down the kitchen and floods the laundry room trying to wash his sheets and has a total fucking breakdown in the basement and calls Adam.
"Breathe, honey," Adam advises him, sounding way too serene considering the meltdown Tommy's having. "It's okay."
"I know it fucking is," Tommy snaps. He leans against the wall of the laundry and stares gloomily at his ruined shoes. "I just - fuck, man. I don't know what to do. I miss you. Like, tour, I miss tour, but I miss you."
"I miss you too," says Adam. "I'll have to bring you to Paris one of these days, properly. It's amazing. The food, oh my god."
"But you'll be back soon?" Tommy knows he sounds petulant.
"I leave the day after tomorrow, and I'll be home the day after that." There's a smile in Adam's voice. "I can't wait."
"I'll see you soon, then," says Tommy.
He goes and visits his mother, driving carefully. She's pleased by the weight he's put on, by the stories he tells her about Europe. Telling her about Adam happens almost by accident - "So, uh, Adam and I are gonna" - but she seems pleased by that as well, pats his hand and says Adam will have to come for dinner sometime.
And Tommy goes back home, and there are clean sheets on his bed and he manages to cook some pasta with setting anything on fire and feels amazingly accomplished doing so. Liz calls, and he arranges to meet her for lunch in a week or so, then thinks about it and texts Sasha and Allison to see if they want to come too.
Then he flops down on the couch by Mike and they play Left For Dead for a while, and Tommy revels in the do-nothing, need-nothing ease of it.
"So," says Mike, when they stop to get beer. "This tour, you get lots of tail?"
Tommy just blinks at him, then cracks up laughing.
"Dude, you have no fucking idea."
Master Post
Girls Boys Everyone Aftermath Adam Tommy