Broken Open part 7
BROKEN OPEN - PART 7
Author’s note: I changed Mrs. Parsons’ name. When I named her originally, I must have had that name in the back of my head without realizing that it’s the last name of LP, the original drummer. That would be confusing, so now she’s Mrs. Porter. Same sweet old bird, different name.
* * *
“I’m ready,” says Tommy. But he’s not. Not really. Not yet.
They have plenty of fun at the restaurant. Tommy can’t get a burger but he can have a steak and he eats the whole thing and even the vegetables that come with it. He lets Adam pick out the wine because Adam is pretentious like that, knowing about wineries and vintages and shit. They enjoy snickering meanly about the paparazzi who have the entrance staked out. There’s bigger fry here than Adam, and the paps look downright bored to see him with nothing more interesting than his fey little band member. It’s just a plain old ordinary Thursday night, nothing special.
Following dinner, Tommy agrees to go to “The King’s Speech” because after all Adam sat through two John Wayne movies for him. He even kind of likes the movie, in spite of the frou-frou accents, because he can understand how the king dude was shy about public speaking.
He wants to go home with Adam and sleep in the big bed again even though it would include being half-smothered to death by Adam, who seriously is a sleepgrabber, but he thinks it’s more important to have some space, both literal and figurative. Adam’s giving off a weird vibe that Tommy can’t figure out. Since the one-sided sex the other morning, Adam hasn’t started anything in the horizontal tango department. After the John Wayne movies they had a long make-out session but nothing more. Tommy’s pretty sure that Adam still wants to have sex with him, but he seems unsure of something. Tommy definitely wants it but the way their relationship has developed - right from the start - is that Adam beckons and Tommy comes over to him. He trails after Adam like a lost puppy. That sounds kind of pathetic but really, this is how Tommy is. He goes into hero-worship mode and the few people he picks to feel that way about have always been happy to have him there with them. Like Monte, like Adam, they understand that Tommy has a quiet personality, especially in crowds, and he doesn’t doubt that they care about him and want him there, even if outsiders see it some other way. He’s not that great at initiating things, that’s all. Especially with Adam, it’s branded into his bones by now and he’s not sure how to change it.
So he thinks it might be better to spend some time alone, pondering things.
Adam insists on walking him from the car to his apartment door.
“I need tomorrow for Monte and music and shit,” Tommy says quietly, flipping his hair aside, key in the lock, while Adam leans possessively on the doorjamb.
“When’s the next gig?” asks Adam.
“Next week, maybe Monday, Monte’s working it out.”
“I want to come. Just be in the audience and watch you guys play. It would be so amazing.”
“Pretty sure there would be a riot.”
“I’ll go in disguise.”
Tommy flashes on Adam in drag. Oh lord.
“Say yes,” Adam says.
“If I see you looking at me I’ll crack up and then fuck up.”
Adam laughs out loud.
Tommy puts a finger to his lips.
“Oh, right, sorry,” says Adam as he reaches under Tommy’s leather jacket to find the soft thin sweater and rub it against Tommy’s skin. “Ooh, cashmere.”
Tommy looks down at his chest. “It is?” He has no clue; his sister gave it to him for Christmas. Said he needed something other than Metallica and anti-religion tees. The feel of the soft wool against his naked skin is ticklish and erotic all at once.
“I think we need to talk,” Adam says.
Yeah, not gonna happen even with that weird vibe pulsing fiercely in the air between them. To forestall any more words, Tommy lets go of the door handle and aims for a hug, which Adam readily gives, snuggling Tommy against his chest, allowing Tommy to hide his face.
“You fit right here, you know? Better than anyone ever has.” Adam’s hands are sneaking under the sweater, chill on his back. “Am I making you cold? Bet I am,” Adam chuckles softly.
Tommy loves that sound, and also the smell of Adam, and also the kiss that Adam drops on top of his head.
“You’re mine on Saturday, got it?” Adam asks.
Tommy nods.
Adam relinquishes his hold and pushes Tommy gently towards the door. “I’ll be thinking of you every two minutes, you know that, right? Love to Monte and Lisa and the kids.”
“Okay, sure.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Letting me love you.”
Tommy nearly caves in. Monte and music can go to hell, sort of. “Adam, I, um, you know,” he tries. His tongue gets stuck in the words.
“Don’t worry, love.” Adam leans down and gives him a sweet kiss, then turns and clatters down the steps.
Tommy’s left with an impression of something sad in Adam’s face.
* * *
Mrs. Porter is sitting on the bench in the courtyard when Tommy heads out for Monte’s place.
“Good morning, Tommy,” she says with a smile.
“Hi, Mrs. Porter.” Tommy sets down his guitar case and sits next to her for a moment. Walter hops up between them and Tommy ruffles his fur.
It’s a gorgeous morning, dewy and soft-focus. The courtyard has a tree in the middle and plants in pots everywhere. It reminds him of the lemon tree in the yard when he was growing up a few miles from here in a crappy rented house. The residents take turns caring for the courtyard plantings. This is one reason Tommy really loves these old apartment buildings - they’re part of the city’s past, full of history and also green growing things. Which Tommy loves more than he usually admits. If he told his friends that he likes trees, he’d never hear the end of it. But Mrs. Porter and the Plapps and the Garcias and that strange, kind of smelly old dude who lives in the dark corner apartment won’t judge him for it.
“Are you going to meet your friend?”
Tommy hates to admit it but he’s startled. “Which friend?”
“The tall handsome man with black hair.”
“Oh. No.” She’s more observant than he’d given her credit for. “I’m going to practice for a club date next week.” He pats the Gibson’s case. “Adam isn’t involved with that.” Although he thinks it would be nice to have Adam in the audience, no joke. Drag or not. It would be worth a few fucked-up chords.
“Is he your special friend?” Mrs. Porter asks kindly.
Wow. Way more observant. “Um, no, I mean, yeah. Maybe. Not like that, or. He’s pretty special.” Tommy grimaces inside. He handled that badly. Walter circles and settles next to him so he focuses on the cat to avoid Mrs. Porter’s gaze.
“No need to say anything more, Tommy. I’m very happy for you.” She pats his hand where it rests on Walter’s back.
“Did you,” Tommy starts, stops. “Mr. Porter?”
“He passed a few years ago. Two days before our forty-ninth wedding anniversary, he had a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry,” Tommy mumbles. He knows what it’s like being on the receiving end of the sorry for your loss comments, and it sucks.
“Thank you, dear. I wish he could be here still, but that’s life.”
“Forty-nine years is a long time.” Longer than my whole life, Tommy thinks. It would be amazing to have the same person to love for more than all the years he’s been alive.
“And every year of it was wonderful,” she says. She brushes at her housedress. “Don’t let Walter and me keep you from your guitar practice.”
* * *
Lisa feeds him early lunch and then sends him and Monte to the garage with a bag of potato chips and IBC root beers. Monte’s pretty sure it will be Monday for the gig.
His phone text-beeps in the middle of a song; he ignores it but once the song is done he takes a peek. It’s Adam, just some middle-of-the-day nonsense about what he’s doing, but it makes Tommy smile.
“How’s life?” Monte asks, hunching over his guitar and watching Tommy.
Tommy nods thoughtfully. “Good.”
“You’ve been spending time with Adam.”
Tommy tucks his hair behind his ear. He tries to look nonchalant. “Yeah. I have.”
“Something you need to tell Uncle Monte?”
Tommy sighs. “Did he say something to you?”
Monte shrugs and smiles.
“Are you mad at me?” asks Tommy.
“Course not. So long as everyone’s happy, I’m happy. In fact I’m thrilled.”
Tommy plucks at the Gibson’s strings.
“So things are good?” Monte prods.
“Jeez, Monte, why don’t you just ask flat out?” Tommy says, but he’s starting to laugh. “Do you do this with all the guys he, uh… oh.” Tommy stops.
Monte reaches over and claps Tommy’s shoulder. “I don’t know those other guys very well. You, I know. I care about you. And about Adam. That’s pretty much it.”
“Thanks,” says Tommy. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“How?”
“Me, doing this. I’m just not, you know. It’s different.”
“Only you know. So long as it’s good.”
“You don’t think it’s weird?”
“Nope. There’s an exception to everything and I think maybe Adam is yours.”
“You talked with him,” says Tommy. “About me. Fuck.”
“Adam’s a talker. He needs to talk things out.”
“I hope he didn’t say anything bad,” Tommy tries to joke.
“Nope. All good,” Monte assures him. “Just know that if you need to talk, you should do it. Don’t keep it in if you’re thinking it feels weird. You’re pretty deep, man, you play it close to the vest. Let it out in the fresh air now and then.”
Tommy laughs, this time a nervous laugh. If it were anyone but Monte, he would have wanted to run away fast.
“Sometimes, when it’s about love, you have to be more open. You have to give more of yourself. You can’t be so wrapped up inside, here,” Monte taps his finger on Tommy’s forehead, “no matter how much you want to be. That make sense?”
Tommy nods, choking down any words that might want to jump out of his throat.
“It’s okay to keep some secrets because nobody’s perfect, and everybody has a right to privacy, but you gotta give a bit more of yourself than maybe you’ve been willing in the past.”
What the fuck is Monte trying to tell him? Tommy’s head is spinning. “But you don’t need to know more than you know about me, do you?” he asks.
“Well,” Monte says, grinning, “you’re a very good-looking man - even I can see that and if I couldn’t, the women at our gigs have made it pretty obvious. But I don’t want in your pants.”
Tommy nearly gags with laughter on that thought. He simply cannot picture Monte and a guy together. Monte is ramrod straight.
“Should I take that laughter personally?”
“Probably. But then I’m hurt you don’t want in my pants.”
Monte sighs like it’s killing him to put up with the kids these days. “We good?” He holds out his fist.
Tommy bumps it. “Bro for life,” he says.
That’s enough with the talking, it’s time for some rock and roll. There’s no one like Monte for playing gigs and watching bands. They go out for dinner and then head to Spaceland. There are three local bands playing, two of them pretty decent and one not so much. Monte introduces Tommy to several of the musicians afterwards. They seem pretty impressed that Tommy plays with Monte and also with Adam. So that’s nice. Tommy gets halfway sloshed, but they stay out long enough that the buzz dies down enough to drive home safely.
He sleeps in late.
In the morning he turns on his cell and finds ten text messages from Adam.
Morning sunshine!
What’s up buttercup?
Come help me get ready for the housewarming partay
R U awake
Tommy Joe!
i just called to say… i love you
Stop by Trader Schmo’s and pick up orange n razzberry stix
And beer
lots of beer
will reimburse
Well, that takes care of his day. Tommy showers and shaves and gets dressed. His first stop is McDonald’s for lunch on-the-run, then he dutifully picks up everything Adam requested and lots more.
He has to use the key to get in because Adam doesn’t answer the door. It’s not easy because he’s trying to carry everything in at once - four six-packs and three grocery bags. He sets his stash on the kitchen island and goes into the yard, where Adam is stringing up Chinese lanterns on a cord of mini-lights that’s tangled in the beams of the roof overhang.
“Looks cool,” says Tommy.
Adam jumps off the step stool and envelopes Tommy in a vise-like grip, lifting him off his feet. “Hi, honey,” he says, letting Tommy back down and kissing him hello. Tommy blushes and leans up to kiss Adam’s neck right underneath his ear.
“Monte’s going to do the grilling,” says Adam. “He told me it’s a man’s job. Ha. I can just be the host.” There’s a fancy stainless steel grill and a round brick fire pit. This is a total party house and party yard.
“What should I do?” asks Tommy.
Adam puts an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and squeezes. “You’re my number one assistant, your only job is to stick with me and enjoy yourself. But until party time, you can help me make a salad.”
Tommy needs some instruction but once he’s chopping carrots and bell peppers, he gets into the swing of it. He and Adam move around the kitchen together, getting paper plates and plastic cups out and stacking them on the island, stowing beer in the refrigerator to make sure it stays cold. Now and then Adam catches Tommy’s hand for a small squeeze. It’s friendly and domestic and amazing. At one point while Adam’s out of the room, he checks the freezer and finds it well-stocked with ice cream. Probably for the party.
Allison shows up in the late afternoon to help Adam set up a play area for children in the big room near the kitchen. Tommy one-arms a hug because he’s in the middle of making Mama Lambert’s famous guacamole in the food processor. “Hey, girl, looking good.”
“You, too, but your hair’s getting long. Damn, look at the size of that TV.”
“What can I say?” says Adam. “Size queen.”
“Knew it,” Tommy mutters.
Once things are nicely set up and the sun is lowering in the sky and Adam is busy making a mix-tape for the party on iTunes, Allison gets a pair of sharp scissors from the kitchen and leads Tommy to the powder room. He sits on the closed toilet seat while she trims the long hair carefully.
“It needs to follow the line of your jaw,” she says. “This is how it looks best.”
“Don’t mess it up.”
“Hey, my cousin runs a salon, I know what I’m doing! Look.” She motions for him to stand up and look in the mirror over the sink. “See? Wow, girls would kill for your bone structure.”
Tommy doesn’t see it. It’s a face, with hair hanging down.
“Want me to curl it? I bet Adam’s got a curling iron somewhere.”
Tommy laughs. “No thanks, I’ll save that look for concerts.”
“Without makeup you look like a kid.”
“Yeah, well, you look like a kid all the time, baby girl.”
Allison looks at him expectantly. “And?”
“Okay, a pretty baby girl, happy now?” Tommy says. Girls.
The doorbell rings.
“Let’s go help!” cries Allison, bouncing out of the room.
* * *
Everybody comes, from kids on the carpet playing with trucks and dolls to Adam’s parents and brother. Tommy doesn’t count but it seems as though there are sixty people there, at least. A 5000-piece puzzle is spread out on the dining room table so that anybody can stop by and work on it awhile. The music is heavy on Beach Boys and Eddie Cochran. Hamburgers and veggie burgers and hot dogs and corn on the cob cook on the grill as the sun sets. The fire pit is lit up and the lanterns sway in the evening breeze, looking vaguely magical. Children run around the yard, playing tag and shrieking.
“Keep ‘em away from the pool,” Monte admonishes. He’s wearing a You Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs apron so Taylor and Terrance and Cam all kiss him on the cheek while Lisa takes pictures.
Lisa and Monte’s daughters have brought a box of Barbie dolls, so for nearly half an hour Tommy ends up on the granite-colored shag rug with them, pretending the dolls are secret agents. Monte comes in at one point, grill duties having shifted to Neil. Tommy’s on his second margarita and Monte’s on his second gin-and-tonic, so neither notices when the girls move away to play with Lincoln logs and it’s just the two of them, Monte and Tommy playing Glamberts with the dolls. It’s a good thing that they aren’t caught by Neil or Jillian or someone who’d never let them live it down.
Headache Blackout shows up all together, like they came in their band van. They’re stoked because they did make some new fans the other night. Mr. Rhythm eats five hamburgers and drinks several beers which don’t seem to have any effect on him. He appoints himself as pool guard and lets the children poke at his big round belly and explore the tats all over his beefy arms. Jillian and Heath are in a corner of the patio, getting to know the Blackout’s guitarist.
Someone turns on the giant television and Tommy finds himself sitting on the sofa between Monte and Neil, with Isaac and the Blackout’s front man on the floor at their feet, all beer’d up, watching a football game. It’s still sort of light outside where Adam is. Tommy waits patiently for Adam to notice what’s going on. It’s takes awhile but finally Adam looks over, through the big glass windows, and sees the manly dudes lined up, their faces illuminated by the glow of the TV. Adam’s eyes go comically wide and in another moment he’s inside the room, hollering, “No football on my TV!” There’s a tussle and a lot of laughing as Adam tries to drag Neil from the sofa. Adam loses due to sheer numbers and the fact that he can’t stop laughing, so eventually he goes off to make drinks - alcoholic and non - and flit around, making sure everyone is having a great time.
Tommy isn’t all that interested in the game, so he trails Adam, cup in hand. They’ve been sharing private smiles and small touches throughout the party. No one notices except maybe Monte and of course Jillian. Adam touches his elbow at one point and leans in. “You’re getting a little plastered, honey.” He nods at the margarita in Tommy’s hand.
Nope, not plastered. Just the right amount, a pleasant buzz. It’s his fourth or something, not that he’s counting although perhaps Adam is. Tommy’s feeling loose and groovy, the world looks pretty. Adam’s prettier. He can’t imagine how he got to have Adam. He’s having a good time with his friends and Adam’s friends and everyone but he’s also waiting for when they’re all gone and he can have Adam to himself. He’s been getting a lot of Adam to himself these days but he wants more, he’s selfish like that. He can admit it. Adam’s long, lean thighs look good in tight jeans, and so does his ass. And if there’s a tiny muffin top, Tommy just finds that cute.
“Want you,” he says in a small voice, mashing his face against Adam’s shoulder.
Adam looks around quickly.
“Is that wrong?” asks Tommy, worriedly.
Adam shakes his head. “No, just, my family’s here and lots of little kids. I don’t want to corrupt anyone, Neil least of all.”
“Okay, I’ll be careful,” Tommy says, walking away in a not-very-straight line. He heads outside where some people are still hanging around the fire, jackets on. The last of the children are being shooed indoors since it’s fully dark.
Mr. Rhythm saunters over to Tommy and belches in his face. “I love you, man,” he says, wrapping Tommy in his arms. Mr. Rhythm is waaaaaay bigger than Adam, but he smells like beer and he’s straight. Straighter than Tommy, anyway. So.
“Fuck off,” Tommy giggles, squirming out of the hug.
“You’re my cuddle bug,” Mr. Rhythm argues.
“No’m not,” says Tommy.
Neil steps up. “Dude, you are huge.”
Mr. Rhythm winks. “That I am.”
“You could throw Tommy over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” Neil says.
“Shut up, fucker,” Tommy laughs, accidentally spilling the rest of his drink on the grass. “Oh shit.”
“Give me that,” says Neil, taking the cup. “You’re hopeless.”
Tommy laughs so hard that he stumbles and his ass hits the ground.
“Total lightweight,” Neil says, shaking his head sadly.
Mr. Rhythm crouches and grasps Tommy’s ankles.
“Nooooo!” Tommy cries, the drawn-out sound fading into more giggles.
Mr. Rhythm stands up, lifting Tommy upside-down by his ankles, so high in the air that Tommy can’t even touch the ground, although he’s stretching his arms as much as he can. Everything in his pockets starts falling out, keys, change, a stick of gum, random guitar picks, and one awkward condom package. The blood is pounding in his skull but even so he can’t help snickering to himself. His shirt is slipping down and he feels cold air on his nipples. Apparently he’s the general entertainment right now, because he hears catcalls and laughter and suggestions that Mr. Rhythm drop him on his head (that was Neil, who will pay for it later).
Then the patio door opens and Adam’s voice booms out. “Hey, put my boyfriend down!”
All the talking and laughing stop, just like in a movie where somebody says something shocking.
“Whatever you say, man,” Mr. Rhythm says agreeably, dumping Tommy in an undignified heap on the grass.
Ouch. Tommy opens his eyes and sees Adam’s face hovering over him. “Your brother is a bitch,” Tommy says. “Just want you to know that.”
Adam hauls him to his feet. “We’re going inside, right this second. Hold off, Mom, let me put Tommy to bed first.”
To bed. That sounds awesome. Adam’s big comfy bed, with big comfy Adam in it, too. Naturally he falls asleep instantly and wakes up a groggy mess well after midnight. The pandemonium from earlier has quieted. He goes to the bathroom to piss and look at his bleary-eyed face in the mirror. Yoicks.
The party’s down to Adam’s family and Monte. Lisa must have taken the girls home while he was asleep. They’re sitting around the dining table, talking and drinking and pretending to work on the puzzle.
“How are you feeling, Tommy?” Leila asks.
Tommy slips into the chair next to her. “Okay. I had a nap, I think.”
“You needed it,” she says. “I’m going to make you some tea.”
“He won’t drink it,” says Adam, with a fond smile.
At least Adam’s still smiling. Something feels off, though.
“So Adam tells us you’re a twosome,” Eber throws in awkwardly.
Oh, that. Tommy tries to look like he didn’t hear anything. He knows (from the mirror) that he looks pretty crappy right now and they might believe he’s still too out of it to track their conversation.
“You told everyone you’re straight,” Eber continues, pouring himself a shot from the open bourbon bottle and downing it fast.
Tommy kind of wants some bourbon himself right now. He never said he was straight; Adam said that.
“It’s not acceptable in my book to fool around with guys just out of curiosity,” Eber adds. “It took my son a long time to feel comfortable being himself. So I would like to know what you think you’re doing.”
“Not now, Dad,” says Neil.
Thank you, Neil. Tommy decides he won’t make Neil pay after all. He stares down at the table, wishing he’d stayed in the bedroom.
“Time to head out,” Neil continues. “Dad, you coming?”
“I just like to know what’s happening in my kids’ lives,” Eber says.
“Dad,” Neil says firmly.
Chairs scrape back. Adam walks them down the hall to the door, where Tommy can still sort of hear them, the three Lambert men talking quietly yet urgently amongst themselves.
“It’s time for me to go home, too,” says Leila. “I’m too old to stay up this late.” She gets up. Tommy hears Monte stand to give her a hug. She stops next to Tommy and gives him a kiss on the exposed cheek. “You’ve got my vote, Tommy. For the record.”
“Thank you,” Tommy says because what else do you say to that. He stands up abruptly and gives her a quick hug. “It’s not, um, I’m not… you know.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” she says. “Adam’s a grownup and he can make his own decisions. He made a good one as far as I can see.”
When Adam’s family are all gone, Adam comes back and sits next to Tommy in Leila’s chair. “You okay?” he asks, leaning over to try to catch a glimpse of Tommy’s face.
“I feel kind of shitty,” Tommy says. “My stomach.”
“You didn’t eat enough,” says Monte, back in his chair, leaning his chin on his hands. “Normally you’d have a couple of burgers minimum. I didn’t see you visiting the grill.”
“I was having fun, I guess I got distracted.”
“You’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
“Want me to drop you off at your place?”
Tommy sits up straighter. “Um?”
“No,” says Adam decisively.
“You sure?” asks Monte. “Tommy?”
“I’ll stay.”
“Okay, then.” Monte gets up. “I’ll let myself out,” he tells Adam. Tommy hears them back-patting, then feels Monte’s hand on his shoulder. “Night, bro.”
“Bro,” says Tommy, the corners of his mouth turning up into a tiny smile. “You’re the best.”
The front door closes and the lock snicks into place. Adam moves around the house, turning out lights. He stops next to Tommy. “Bed?”
Tommy is feeling rather awake now but he gets up and lets Adam take his hand and lead him to the master bedroom.
“Need to use the bathroom?”
Tommy shakes his head.
“Give me a minute,” Adam says.
Tommy can hear Adam’s electric toothbrush through the door. The toilet flushes. When he comes back out, Tommy is under the covers and Adam definitely notices the discarded clothing on the floor.
Was that the wrong thing to do, get naked? Tommy’s still not sober. But he thought Adam would want that. Tommy’s ready. For anything and everything. Adam’s waited long enough. Tommy decided that about two hours ago.
But Adam’s just standing next to the bed, still wearing clothes. “I think I owe you an apology.”
“Everyone knows now, huh?”
“They do. Do you mind?”
“No.” And he doesn’t really. He’s wanted Adam a long time and that sounded like some kind of declaration out in the yard. It’s not like it could stay a secret.
“I should have asked you first,” Adam says.
“I don’t care.”
Adam clicks off the bedside lamp, throwing the room into darkness. Then Adam walks away. Walks away.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Tommy grumbles.
Adam pauses in the doorway. “I’m going to sleep in the guest bedroom.”
“What? Why?”
“Honey, you’re still at least two sheets to the wind.”
“So what?”
“I’m not going to take advantage of that.”
Tommy is so dumbfounded that he can’t answer, and Adam apparently takes that to mean it’s fine.
“Night, baby, I’ll see you in the morning,” he says and then he’s gone.
Tommy lies there for what seems like hours, his mind on non-stop repeat, trying to figure out where he went wrong. Did he take too long to put out? Should he have professed undying love days or weeks ago? Should he have kissed Adam months ago? Should he have realized what he was feeling back in Australia or Japan or somewhere and just jumped into Adam’s lap?
Or is it Adam’s fault for misreading Tommy? What is the guy’s fucking damage? How could Adam not see how he was confusing Tommy with all the touches and kisses and hugs and whispered endearments? Is Tommy expected to be a fucking saint?
Or - here comes the devil’s advocate voice again - maybe it’s his own damn fault after all. Did he forget to say how he felt out loud? Maybe if he’d said it out loud - fuck me, Amadeus - Adam would have stayed. Doesn’t Adam understand how hard it’s been for Tommy? Tommy’s a guy, he’s got a Y chromosome, he doesn’t do chick-flick-touchy-feely, he’s strong and silent. Okay, a pygmy version of the Duke, but still.
Now Tommy’s getting mad. How dare Adam do that? How dare he walk away when Tommy is all ready and everything. He sits up in the dark. Fuck Adam. He climbs out of bed, wrapping the sheet around his waist. There’s enough light to see his way out of the door and into the hallway, the sheet trailing after him like a princess-y train. What with sheets that fit such a big bed, it’s no wonder there’s enough fabric here to open a store. He finds the proper guest bedroom because the door’s open and Adam is snoring faintly. What, the bastard fell asleep?
Tommy marches into the room as loudly as he can in bare feet and wrapped in 600-count linen sheets, which get caught under the door and there’s a ripping sound. Oops. Oh well, Adam can afford new sheets.
He glares at the sleeping Adam. “Wake up, fucker!” he shouts.
Adam shifts and snuffles. It’s so damn cute Tommy can’t stand it.
“Wake the fuck up!” he repeats, jostling Adam’s shoulder.
Adam blinks his eyes open. “Huh? Tommy?”
“No, I’m a burglar.”
“What are you doing up?”
“Up? I was never down. I can’t fall asleep. Unlike some people.”
“But, sweetie -“
“You told Monte that I should stay and then you make me sleep alone.”
Adam sits up, still bleary with sleep. “You weren’t sober.”
“I’m still not. Not totally anyway.” Now that he thinks about it, a drink would be useful right about now. What’s the charm in sobriety when one is expecting a nice solid bumfuck? It seems like a little booze in the system would be a good thing in that situation. “Maybe you should have let him take me home,” he adds darkly.
“I wanted to take care of you.”
“That’s what I was hoping for.”
“Not in that way, silly.”
“Yeah, that way. I’m not going back to the other room so shove over.”
This bed’s not as big as Adam’s, but it’s still big enough for the both of them. Adam shuffles over a bit and Tommy plops beside him on the mattress.
Adam sighs deeply. “I want you here. It’s only that I thought you should have space, not feel like you have to do anything.”
“When did I ever say someone was forcing me?”
Adam turns his head to Tommy. His eyes glitter in the dark. “C’mere,” he says, and Tommy goes readily. Adam grabs him and tugs him in close, wrapping him up in long arms and legs, just how Tommy likes it. “It’s just, it’s.” Adam seems oddly tongue-tied. “I’m beginning to think you don’t want this.”
Tommy freezes. Did he just lose Adam? “You’re wrong,” he says, rough-edged, scared.
“Am I? It’s okay if you don’t.”
“You’re wrong. Why else do you think I get in your bed, geez.”
Adam sighs. “I’m in love with you, baby, I can’t help myself. I’m selfish; I’ll take everything you have to give, or even more than you want to give.”
“Jesus, what the fuck do I have to do to convince you. I’m not faking orgasms, I want you. Right now.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to sleep with me. I’ll love you no matter what.”
What the ever-loving fuck? Is Adam trying to get rid of him? The leftover booze in his belly is roiling around something fierce. “Fuck yes, I’m sure.”
Adam isn’t listening. He drones on in that kind voice, “Maybe you’re not ready for this, or maybe you thought you were but you aren’t.”
“Adam,” Tommy says warningly, fear bleeding into anger. “I don’t talk that much, do I?” He extracts himself from Adam’s embrace and sits up abruptly.
“No, but that’s -“
“So if I do talk, you should shut up and listen!”
“Oh.” Adam sounds surprised. As well he should.
“I said I want it and you need to just believe me, you bossy bastard.”
“Oh. Okay.” Adam sits up and clicks on the bedside lamp. “Tommy, I believe whatever you tell me.”
Tommy blinks. Light still doesn’t feel that great on his eyes. He shades them with a hand and leans into Adam’s shadow.
“So is this a good time to talk?” Adam adds.
“No!” Tommy blurts out. Dumb old Adam. “Fuck me, rock star, I don’t wanna talk, I wanna get fucked.”
Adam places a hand in the middle of Tommy’s chest and tenderly but firmly pushes him back to the bed. He climbs halfway over Tommy and plants his elbows on either side of Tommy’s head. “Tommy, I don’t want to fuck you,” he says gently.
Tommy squeezes his eyes closed. What more could possibly go wrong? He managed to fuck it up, like he knew he would. Adam doesn’t want him anymore. When he feels Adam’s lips on his he feels like crying. He wants to shove back and tell Adam to leave him alone. Bastard.
“I want to make love to you,” Adam says, oblivious to the maelstrom of Tommy’s thoughts.
Huh? That’s almost worse than what Tommy was thinking two seconds ago. So fucking cheesy. God, it’s awesome.
“But you’re kind of under the influence still,” Adam continues.
Tommy’s head is ping-ponging back and forth with these about-faces. “What? Come on, don’t make me wait.”
“What part of love-making don’t you get?”
“All of it! Fuck me now, damn it.”
“And you call me bossy. Lights on or off?”
“Off.”
Adam reaches out and turns off the lamp. “Good night, Tommy love.”
Oh what the fuck. Tommy exhales loudly. “I hate you,” he says, trying to roll onto his side under the assumption that he’s supposed to be making like a little spoon again. He’s not going to do it graciously, that’s for fucking sure.
Adam’s hands stop him, put him back in place. Adam’s lips are on his eyelids, his cheeks, his chin.
“Adam, what -“
“Hush, love. Keep your eyes closed.”
Adam’s hands cradle his face and then they are kissing, soul-satisfyingly deep. Oh thank gawd. Tommy rubs his hands along Adam’s sides, eliciting a moan; circles his arms around Adam’s back, hitches one leg over Adam’s thigh.
“Hold on, baby,” Adam says. “Turn over for me.”
“Why?” Tommy doesn’t want that, he wants to see Adam. It’s dark in the room but there’s light from the big windows.
“It’s easier the first time,” Adam says quietly. “Turn over, baby.”
He physically rolls Tommy over, pulls up his hips, and puts a pillow underneath. Tommy feels absurd. Who could feel okay with their ass in the air? He buries his hot face in another pillow and hangs onto it for dear life. Adam’s hands massage his neck and shoulders, and then Adam kisses his neck right at the hairline where it’s so sensitive. Tommy shudders involuntarily.
“Baby,” Adam whispers.
“Not a baby,” Tommy mumbles.
“My baby.”
Tommy feels Adam’s hands stroke up and down his arms, then his back. Kisses trail along Tommy’s knobby spine all the way down to the top of his exposed ass. He’s heard about rimming, hell, he’s seen it in a gay porn video, and suddenly there’s a tongue licking his hole and then cool air and the sensation makes him vibrate nearly out of his skin. He’s not going to scream but jeeeeezus christola. Maybe he did scream.
Adam kisses his ass cheek and gets off the bed. “Hold that thought, I’ll be right back.”
“Adam!”
“Don’t move,” Adam instructs from the doorway.
Tommy rolls off the pillows and onto his back.
Adam comes back and he looks disappointed. “I said don’t move.” He drops Astroglide and a condom packet next to Tommy, then peels off his boxers and shirt and crawls onto the bed.
“It felt weird,” Tommy says, arm over his eyes. “Can’t we do it like this?”
Adam gently pulls the arm away and down. “Later we can. Trust me, it’ll be better the first time if you turn over.” He strokes Tommy’s throat with his hand, kisses his jaw line. “I know it feels awkward but I’ll make it so good for you.”
Tommy looks at Adam. He trusts Adam even if his ass doesn’t. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Okay.” It is what it is. This is what Adam wants. He turns over; Adam helps reposition him on the pillows, pushes his knees apart, runs hands down his back. Then the hands are gone and there’s the pop of a tube being opened, and then cool gel on his hole and he shivers.
“Sorry, cold,” says Adam.
A finger goes in and wow, that’s a strange feeling. Not painful, just strange.
“Is it okay?” asks Adam.
Tommy nods vigorously. The stretching sensation isn’t at all bad, especially when Adam leans over him, the other hand caressing his arm, long strokes from elbow to shoulder and back.
Adam play-bites the nape of his neck. “You’re pretty everywhere, Tommy Joe. Your skin is so smooth. Pale. I’m going to get you some black lace panties, you’d look amazing.”
Tommy’s not so sure. He’s not into girlie underthings. Maybe Adam will forget later that he said that. Then there’s more stretching which Tommy assumes is another finger. It’s still not bad, except when he remembers it’s his asshole and Adam’s fingers are in it.
“You feel good, honey.” Adam licks up his spine. “Does it feel okay?”
“Yeah,” Tommy mumbles.
The fingers pull out and Tommy grunts a little. He was just getting used to it. He hears the crackle of foil and the tube cap snapping open again. Suddenly there’s something against his ass again and it ain’t fingers. Adam’s hands are on his hips.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s not.” Although it kind of is. He was right, that thing is a fucking tight fit. He concentrates on not fainting or anything equally disgraceful. Adam makes it easier by pausing, letting him get used to the feel of it, leaning over his back and surrounding him with Adam-scent which is very comforting. “Okay, I think you’re supposed to actually do some actual fucking,” Tommy growls. Now or never.
“Bossy,” Adam says on a sigh and a giggle.
Hands are digging into Tommy’s hips - he can almost make out the whorls of Adam’s fingertips. That’s the booze talking but still. He expects he’ll find fingerprint-shaped bruises tomorrow. Adam does move, slowly, sensually, sliding in and out. It hurts less and if he still had any doubts, his dick is taking an interest. In spite of the chill in the air and all the exposed naked skin, he’s getting sweaty where Adam is plastered against him, the insides of his thighs, the small of his back, his shoulder blades. “You can go faster,” he half-whispers, half-pants.
Adam reaches around and gets Tommy’s dick in his big hand, jacking in time with his increasingly enthusiastic thrusts, whispering sweet, stupid things against the back of his neck. Even the sound of his breathing is sexy. Tommy feels like he’s climbing a mountain and thank god for that pillow under his hips because his thighs are shaking with the effort of not just going flat to the mattress under Hurricane Adam and his mad fucking skills. When he comes it feels incredible, and when it’s over Adam is still rocking him into next week, moaning softly, whispering oh my god Tommy with a delicious raspiness and then stopping, going taut, groaning like he’s about to die.
And then collapsing on top of Tommy like a ton of bricks, ow.
The weight is kind of nice, it grounds him for a couple of minutes. When he realizes his own breathing is getting really shallow he pokes Adam with a bony elbow and Adam rolls them over until they’re spooning. There’s no such thing as being in a bed with Adam and not getting spooned. Tommy figures he needs to get used to this and he’s already halfway there. He never could sleep curled up with someone until Adam.
When Adam pulls out it kind of hurts again but just for a moment, and then Adam’s up and off the bed and back with a warm, damp towel, cleaning them up, which is nice since Tommy’s the girl in this situation and it’s kind of expected that Adam take care of clean-up. This bed being smaller than the one in the master suite, they have to wriggle and shift around to find a reasonably sized dry area for sleeping.
Adam’s curled around him and Tommy’s mind is reconsidering everything. His body feels used, in a mostly good way. He wants to stay here forever, just keep this moment. Because if he could, he wouldn’t have to think about it any longer or deal with the world, now that his whole idea of who he was is so changed from even just a year or two ago. What good is growing up if not to know yourself and stop agonizing over who you’re supposed to be? The growing up seems to have worked for others, maybe it’s just Tommy lagging behind again. Adam seems to know who he is, Monte seems comfortable with himself, Jillian’s never seemed anything but grownup but then, she’s a girl and girls are more together anyway.
Adam exhales contentedly and bites Tommy’s earlobe. “I love you so much, honey,” he whispers, clamping the arm around Tommy’s midsection even tighter.
“Why me?” Tommy whispers.
“Why you what?”
“Why me and not someone else?”
“You mean why do I love you?” Now Adam sounds worried.
Tommy nods against the pillow. “It can’t just be that I’m your so-called type. I’m way far from being the only pretty kitty in L.A.”
“But that’s the thing, Tommy, you are exactly my type. Not physically. I don’t mean that. Even though you are the prettiest kitty anywhere and you’d better not disagree with me on that. I mean emotionally. Spiritually.”
“I’m not spiritual.”
“Oh, you so are, honey. Spirituality isn’t about God or religion, it’s about being part of the universe. Your soul is in your music.”
Tommy’s not convinced but this isn’t the time to argue about that. If Adam wants to insist he has a soul, okay, so long as it can be an atheist soul. “Music is all I can do.” Unlike talented Adam, he thinks.
Adam squeezes him so hard that Tommy thinks his ribs might crack. “Stop it, baby, you are an amazing musician but there is so much more to you. I’ll write a whole list out tomorrow, okay? Right now all you need to know is I’m in love with you because you are Tommy Joe Ratliff and you are the things you do and the way you grew up and the people you love and the generosity in your nature and the sweetness in your soul and the music in your fingertips. And I’ve never ever known anyone like you. So there.”
Adam eases his embrace a bit and Tommy relaxes marginally.
“I could hold you like this forever,” Adam says sleepily.
Tommy loves Adam, too. Like, so much. There’s never been anyone like Adam, not just for him but for all sorts of people. Adam is special in so many ways, he can’t figure out why Adam thinks there’s anything special about him. He’s pretty good with the guitar, not gonna lie, but he’s no genius. What’s special about being nice to people? That doesn’t make him stand out from the crowd. Nothing about him makes him stand out, not really. He doesn’t understand Adam. He appreciates Adam… just doesn’t understand. He wants the love that Adam gives him but he’s not sure what to do with it. He trusts Adam is being honest but he’s having a hard time believing that Adam will still feel this way in another year. Adam’s life is amazing, Adam is totally amazing, and people around the world are falling all over him, so how is Tommy from Burbank going to be able to keep up, to compete with all of that? The answer is, he can’t. He wasn’t made for this. With a girl, at least, he could give her some kids and be a good provider like Monte is for Lisa and the children. But with Adam it’s not so easy to become parents, there’s no blazed trail to follow, and anyway Adam’s always going to be lots richer and won’t need Tommy for a sugar-daddy. He can’t figure out what the hell he can give Adam that’s worth so much that Adam will stay with him.
* * *
Two hours later Tommy wakes up suddenly. It’s still dark outside. He’s immobilized by Adam, unsurprisingly: half-smothered under the weight and bound around by arms and legs. Tommy wonders how Adam can sleep like that. Lately he’s been wondering how he can sleep like that.
There’s an odd twinge in his ass, bringing back thoughts of getting fucked. His brain is off on a binge now - he’s been fucked. Taken it up the ass. For awhile there he was even biting a pillow. It’s like every bad cliché ever of the jokes that boys and men use to taunt others who are different. Because he’d been small and pretty and had hated athletics, he’d been called cocksucker and faggot and queer. He wasn’t those things except for a brief period when he gave the gay a whirl, but he didn’t care if fucktards called him names. They were fucktards, end of story. Sticks and stones.
But now, it’s for real. It feels like there’s a stamp on his forehead that says I got fucked.
He extricates himself from Adam’s grip and goes to the master bedroom to find his clothes. He gets dressed in the dark and flees.
Next part