bassists are delicious to aliens (Adam/Tommy, NC-17)
Title: bassists are delicious to aliens
Author: etharei
Fandom: Glam RPS
Pairing: Adam/Tommy
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~5,000
Summary: 'if he were a man-eating plant, he’d have, like, toxins and shit to keep the prey from fighting too hard' A touching tale of the aliens-made-them-do-it variety.
Disclaimer: I don't own the individuals mentioned herein, and no profit was made in the writing or posting of this piece of fiction.
Notes: This pairing needs more aliens-made-them-do-it fic! Dedicated to my darling blue-soaring. If you like it, please consider helping her get her tooth fixed - she will write you fanfic for a donation! She's one of my favorite writers ever; even if you can't spare anything, do check out her work.
bassists are delicious to aliens
First clue Tommy gets that something is not right is a hard, encircling pressure around his middle, then something holding down his wrists. While he’s always up for a little bit of sleep-cuddling, he knows he’d gone to bed sober and alone, a sad excuse for a rockstar. Anyway, there’s something about the grip around his wrists that feel a bit... spiny.
Then he opens his eyes and bites down on his lips to keep from loosing an undignified scream. Well, he maybe whimpers a little bit.
He silently thanks all his stars and developing internet addiction that he sleeps with his phone next to his pillow. He turns his head, spots the worn iPhone case perched near the edge of the bed. He forces his breathing to stay steady, and stretches his head out towards the phone. Catches it by his cheek, holds his breath when it slips a little as he pulls it back from the edge, but he successfully slides it to his shoulder.
Now what? He doesn’t dare move his hands, not even twitch if he can help it. He considers just shouting for help, hope somebody hears him. But if loud noises piss off the- the things creeping all over his bed…
Tommy twists his head around and jabs his chin at the iPod screen. It flickers on. Fuck, the password. He uses his nose on the keypad. His thick, fat nose that keeps pressing the wrong fucking button. Fuck, fuck, oh shit. His body instinctively tries to turn over to make it easier, and those things tighten around his torso. He definitely whimpers this time.
Neck muscles protesting, he keeps working at the password, resolutely not thinking about the dry rough slide up his bare arms, weaving over his legs. He’s utterly convinced that this is it, his expiration date is looming and it’s gonna be the weirdest fucking exit in the history of small-time musicians, so he stares dumbly for a second when his iPod background glows serenely up at him.
He doesn’t really think about, beyond Adam is on speed-dial and Adam will know what to do. The phone rings. And rings, and rings, and it would totally be his luck for Adam to have forgotten to recharge his phone again.
So his “Oh thank fucking God,” when Adam answers with a bleary “Tommy?” may sound a little bit panicked.
“Adam, there’s something in my room, I can’t really explain without you seeing it, but I really need to you come here, like right the fuck now,” babbles Tommy. He remembers that Adam even has a copy of his room key, just this thing they’d started doing, great job subconscious.
“What?” Adam grunts. “Tommy Joe, I swear I saw you head to your room completely sober only a few hours ago.”
Clearly Adam hadn’t heard a word he said. “Can you just fucking come to my room? Need help, Adam, please.” Is it his imagination or is it getting hard to breathe?
Adam mutters under his breath, but Tommy can hear the sounds of him getting up and stumbling around his room. “This better not be a prank, Tommy Joe, or I’m so going to kick your ass.”
“Fine, fine,” says Tommy quickly. He’s wondering if there’s a way to keep Adam on the phone, because he can’t move anything below his chest now and if there’s a bad time to be stuck with only his own thoughts for company, this would be it. But before he can figure out how to ask without sounding crazy, the line goes dead. A small sob cracks through, Tommy blinks up at the ceiling, the only place he can look without having to see the impossible shit going down in his room.
He doesn’t realize he’s zoned out until he hears a loud “Oh holy shit!” He blinks and tries to shrug off the odd heaviness that’s fallen over him, but it’s got him good and tight like those things have his body. Maybe they’re the same thing.
Adam’s voice. Adam’s yelling his name. He should answer. “’M here, Adam.”
“Tommy? He’s moving, but it’s almost to his neck. We have to do something!”
“Just give me a second!” Neil. What’s Neil doing in his room? “I was hoping I’d never have to use this phone number. Adam, sit your ass down. Call Monte, maybe Taylor.”
“Already did. Tommy?” Adam’s voice only cracks like that when he’s close to losing it. Maybe Tommy should have called someone else. “Tommy, can you hear me?”
“Okay, what’s the emerge- what the fucking fuck?” the way Taylor’s voice jumps up would have Tommy giggling any other time. But he can’t pull enough air in.
“I think he can hear us. Tommy? Can you, I don’t know, shake your head or something?”
Tommy does. His brain is suddenly made of lead, so it’s more like lolling. “Can hear you.”
“Shit, I’m never going to bed sober again.”
“What the fuck is it?”
He’s drifting off again, but something tells him that this is bad, he needs to stick around. He clings to consciousness, tries to follow all the noise and sift for words.
“... looks like a kind of plant, actually,” says Monte. Solid, unflappable Monte. “I think I see chunks of pottery near the window.”
“Wait, a fan gave him this potted plant as a gift,” says Taylor. “I had to help him carry it because he had a bunch of other gifts. Thought it looked cool because it was all black and shiny and stuff. This must be it.”
“A killer plant,” says Monte with a huff. “Not even Madonna got this.”
“It’s so fucked up.” There’s a weirdly gleeful tone to Taylor’s voice. “A killer alien plant. Because I’m not, like, a horticulturalist or biology expert or whatever, but I’m pretty sure Earth plants can’t turn into a giant man-eating pile of vines normally, not without people hearing about it.”
Somewhere, a door opens and closes. “So I just called an old friend,” drifts in Neil’s voice, further away than the others, “who would know about these kinds of things, don’t ask, and she says- Adam, what the fuck are you doing?”
There’s a bunch of shouting, but Tommy’s attention fixes on a warm weight over his face. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, and opening them again feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done, but the familiar blue-green gaze that meets him is a fucking awesome reward. “Adam.”
“I’m here, Tommy,” whispers Adam. He looks weird, tense and scared and angry all at once. His hand slips down to Tommy’s neck. Tommy can see part of Adam’s arm, observes a brief clench of muscle and something shifting, and suddenly Tommy’s pulling in the biggest breath of his life.
“Motherfucker,” gasps Tommy. His eyes widen and he stares at Adam. “Wait, why are you this close to me? Adam, get the fuck back!”
Adam ignores him, eyes caught on Tommy’s body. Tommy’s gaze flicks down to see a handful of… vines, he supposes, if it’s a plant, held tight in Adam’s grip. The shiny black limbs aren’t struggling, exactly, not in the flailing way they do in movies. They’re just pulling away from Adam, strong and inexorable. After a moment, Adam lets out a pained grunt and the vines escape the clutch of his fingers, settling back on Tommy’s body.
At least none of the vines are making for Adam. “You’re a fucking idiot,” says Tommy, just because. He watches for a few seconds to make sure, but the plant seems to be treating the noble idiot looming over his bed like another piece of furniture. Yay for him. Tommy throws up a wan smile. “Looks like it likes me better.”
Adam clearly doesn’t find anything funny in the situation. “Don’t worry, Tommy, we’ll get you out.” Tommy nods - what else can he do? He can already feel the lassitude returning, the dangerous numbness. He doubts it’s just oxygen deprivation; if he were a man-eating plant, he’d have, like, toxins and shit to keep the prey from fighting too hard. Probably a skin-to-skin thing.
Next thing he knows, pain is shooting up his body. He shouts, pushes out noise even though he barely has air for it. The pain stops as abruptly as it had started. Tommy blinks through tears in his eyes, to find Adam’s hands framing his face and Adam murmuring soothing sounds into his hair.
In the distance, he can hear Monte talking, “so cutting him out is no good, the plant might kill him out of self-defense.” Anything beyond a certain distance is blurry, but Tommy thinks he can see the shapes of the others huddling in the hallway for a conference.
“It’s okay,” he whispers to Adam. But after that he’s out of words, between his brain feeling muggy as fuck and not really being the type to lie. “Adam. Please. Look at me?”
Adam’s eyes are shining, traces of his eyeliner scattered like freckles gone rogue. His face breaks at whatever he sees in Tommy’s expression, and Tommy only now feels pissed off at whoever had given him the plant, because sweet, beautiful Adam doesn’t deserve this shit. “Tommy. Don’t worry, okay? We’re gonna find a way to get you out of this. Just stay with me.”
Tommy makes a vague noise. It’s already hard to concentrate. His ribs feel like concrete, and under them his heart is sluggish, trying to pump treacle.
Adam calls his name whenever he drifts off, and Tommy knows he’s not able to hide how much harder it is to come back each time. There are pleas for the others to hurry, more phone calls made, more shouting. He thinks Neil says something about specialists coming, but they have thousands of miles to cover. Tommy knows they won’t make it, at least for him.
When he’s not even sure the words coming out of his mouth make sense anymore, Tommy tells Adam to get everybody out of the room, in case the killer alien plant decides to look for a new meal right after. He’s relieved when Adam moves away, though he would have liked to have Adam nearby when… oh well.
Stupid man-eating alien plant.
As dying goes, it’s not actually all that bad. Easier than falling asleep, faster than drinking holes into his liver. He hopes the alien plant chokes on it. He hopes it starves after eating his scrawny ass.
And then something is snagging the slow submersion he’s got going, pulling him back to the surface. There’s a weird moment when he can’t quite figure out which is the light and, well, the light. But then his senses pick up - a taste, scent, touch, whatever, he just knows it’s Adam - and it’s brighter than a beacon, harder than an anchor.
He comes to and tastes Adam on his lips, breathes him in. He thinks, I shouldn’t be able to breathe this hard, and Adam kisses him again, wet and salty and desperate. He can only kiss back, relishing the point of heat where their mouths are joined, the rest of him feeling like he’s made of concrete. It distantly occurs to him that he may now be eaten alive while totally awake, but he can’t stop kissing Adam, has never wanted to, and it hurts to wish now that he’d ever let it end.
A long while later, the two of them take a breather with their lips still touching, and Tommy finds that the warmth from their mouths has spread over his head and partway down his neck. He still feels drowsy, but it’s the sweet kind of drowsy that comes after making out for hours and hours.
“They’re looser,” he mumbles.
“What?” asks Adam. He pulls back, blinks. Tommy shifts a little, to show that he can, because he hadn’t been able move a muscle before. The vines are still wrapped around him, but the ones on his neck have moved back down to his chest, and they aren’t creeping and shifting as energetically as they’d been earlier.
Adam looks between Tommy and the vines, expression considering. He leans in and kisses Tommy again, gentle and thorough, but instead of deepening it, he slips away and mouths a trail down Tommy’s jaw, down to his neck. He licks at the emerging stubble there, making Tommy shiver, grazes his teeth down the quivering line of his throat. He noses at Tommy’s collarbone before fastening his lips to the soft skin above it, and starts sucking, hard and sharp.
Tommy lets out a surprised noise and instinctively jerks his arms up to grab Adam’s head. The vines around his wrists only let him get as far as lifting up from the mattress. His body, clearly confused by whatever the fuck is going on but possibly equating Adam’s presence with some kind of bondage play, burns off more of the killing languor with a burning rush of need.
“Wait, where’s everyone?” he asks through quickening breaths. Adam’s hands move from his face down to his shoulders, slides to splay fingers over Tommy’s chest, slow and deliberate, and Tommy knows he’s not imagining the way the vines are retreating from his touch.
“Outside, like you said,” answers Adam, before biting and sucking another part of Tommy’s neck.
Now that Tommy knows to listen for it, he can hear a distant loud thumping, and muffled shouts. “You locked them out?” Now that he can actually breathe, it’s a lot easier to reach the next thought. “Wait, you locked yourself in with a man-eating alien plant.” Okay, the anger in his voice would be more effective if his voice isn’t hitching from what Adam is doing to his neck.
“I can get out whenever,” says Adam breezily, like they’re talking about switching channels on the TV. “But you seriously did not expect me to leave you in here alone, Tommy Joe.” There’s a nip, an extra hard dig of teeth into abused skin, making Tommy shiver all over. Yeah, okay, Tommy should have known better. But he’d rather hurt Adam’s feelings than put him next on the menu for their strangle-happy alien.
He sees more than feels Adam’s body move over him, still partly numb. “Wait, what. What are you doing, you crazy bastard?”
Adam doesn’t bother answering, mouth busy marking up Tommy’s neck and shoulders like they have all the time in the world, like there aren’t slick dark vines creeping and curling all around them. More of the wiggly limbs slip away at Adam’s approach, but they stay on the bed, coiling up out of touch, plus a few thick ones that remain stubbornly looped around Tommy. And Adam, instead of running away like a normal person, is climbing into bed with him.
“Fuck, no, get away from me,” Tommy almost shouts. He tries to make a point by moving his head and neck away from Adam’s roving lips. It’d be more convincing if the rest of his body isn’t arching up into Adam’s warmth. “Adam, if you get yourself killed, I’m seriously gonna kick your ass all over the afterlife.”
Tommy is trembling by the time the fucking loyal idiot is fully on the bed, stretched out over Tommy’s body. Adam moves back up to capture Tommy’s lips, and despite cussing every other breath, Tommy kisses him so hard their teeth clack.
“Maybe it’s, like, something to do with sex. Like pheromones, or something,” mumbles Adam against Tommy’s lips. Tommy’s skin is still numb where vines are in contact with it, but Adam’s hands sweep slowly up and down his body, the lightest touch like a bloom of heat. He calmly pushes off the vines that will move and pets the skin around the vines that won’t. “They seem kinda stoned right now.”
“Your love is my drug.” Tommy giggles, unable to help himself.
Adam makes sound, a mix of a snort and a sob, and buries his face in Tommy’s shoulder. He stops keeping his body raised, spreads out on top of Tommy despite the vines still in the way now pressed between them. Tommy can definitely feel him now, all heat and softness and weight. Tommy had gone to bed in his boxers, but Adam probably put on a shirt for the walk to his room, and the rub of well-worn cotton on Tommy’s skin is the best feeling ever, next to Adam’s bare skin.
“Fucking alien plant is not getting you,” Adam mutters, breath hot on Tommy’s skin. There’s a slight tremor to his frame that Tommy only now reads as anger. “’M not letting you go that easy, Tommy Joe.”
And Tommy has no fucking clue what to say to that. His first instinct is to wrap his arms around Adam, except hey, still trapped by alien plant, so he buries his face in Adam’s hair. Adam surges up, very narrowly missing Tommy’s chin, and kisses all the air out of his lungs.
It’s a relatively small movement, but it drags Adam’s stomach over Tommy’s crotch. And it’s the most fucked up situation ever, Tommy was kidding when he claimed he can get off anywhere; his dick, though, clearly has messed-up priorities. Tommy feels it twitch in interest, and that’s all the spark his weird-ass libido needs, with Adam’s kisses pouring down like pure, A-grade fuel.
He can tell Adam notices the shift in the kind of noises he’s making, not to mention his dick thickening under his boxers, and vaguely worries about being called on his freakiness, Adam stomping off in disgust that he can be turned on while alien vegetation is trying to eat him. But, of course, this is Adam, who lets out a soft, breathy noise and strokes fingers over Tommy’s bulge.
From the outside, it’s probably one of the least sexy situations Tommy’s ever been in. It’s impossible to totally ignore the vines digging into his ribs, the slither and rasp of vines moving all around them. Yet Tommy is dying, in a completely different way from earlier, hot need stringing his body tight as live wire. He tells himself he can feel the vines getting even more drugged-out, and realizes it’s kinda true. And, more importantly, he can see the darkening of Adam’s eyes, those full lips going slack. Everything that’s been teasing Tommy for months, and now there’s no stage to pretend on, all excuses sounding really, really stupid amidst the tangle of black vines.
Adam pulls his shirt off, and Tommy is running one hand down the soft hair on Adam’s chest when he realizes he’s got one hand free. He doesn’t let himself slow down, doesn’t think about it. It takes a little longer for the hold around his other wrist to slip limply off, and when it does, he loops his arms around Adam’s neck to pull him back down, press more of their bodies together.
Don’t think, don’t think. It’s almost painful, to go from numbness to every cell fucking burning with life, and he lets it sink into him, welcomes Adam’s heat like ink piercing fragile skin. He loses time, like before yet not at all the same thing. His boxers are next to go, and the rest of Adam’s clothes, because next thing he knows they’re sliding together skin-to-skin. A vine flicks his foot. Adam leans in and murmurs soothing words into his ear, all sweet and heartfelt like Tommy’s always imagined.
“Oh yeah?” whispers Adam, “you’ve been thinking about this? About you and me? Tommy Joe, have you been fantasizing?”
That makes Tommy laugh, a small sound shivering out of him. “Duh. You keep waving that big cock around,” Adam laughs, like he’s delighted someone’s noticed his giant dick, and he starts grinding said dick right over Tommy’s, “and kissing me and shit, anyone would wonder.”
“Wonder, huh?” Adam licks over Tommy’s parted lips, trails kisses along his jaw. “’s that all you’ve done?”
The rub of Adam’s dick is amazing, the mess of precome all over Tommy’s balls and belly absolutely hotter than anything his wet dreams have come up with. The only thing to do is spread his thighs further, sling one leg over Adam’s hip to increase the pressure. Beautiful sounds spill from Adam’s mouth, and Tommy arches up, moaning for more, Adam, fucking fuck me even though the nearest condom and lube are in his bags, half a room and a stoned man-eating alien plant away.
“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” says Adam, like a promise. He pulls Tommy’s stick-sized excuses for legs up onto his shoulders. Tommy has a moment to think, he’s gonna do me raw, doing absolutely nothing against it, and then Adam lines up their dicks and wraps his gorgeous strong fingers around them and “oh shit, oh, oh.” It’s a good thing Tommy’s not exactly worrying about his cred or anything, because Adam jacking them both off should not hit him as hard as it does, or leave him moaning and whimpering like this is the dirtiest thing ever done to him.
“Holy shit, Tommy,” gasps Adam, his stare hungry and disbelieving.
The heat inside Tommy builds and builds, but it’s not quite enough, he wants more of Adam, “want you inside me,” he groans, grasping at Adam’s shoulders.
“Baby, I want to so much, you don’t even know,” says Adam. “Wait, wait.”
The hand that had been keeping Tommy’s leg on Adam’s shoulder slides from calf to knee, then up Tommy’s thigh, slipping behind and fondling an ass cheek and dipping between. “Yes, fuck,” urges Tommy, “stick it in me, come on.”
Adam draws a few teasing circles around Tommy’s hole, then brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks on them while holding Tommy’s gaze. Tommy stares at the slight shine on the skin of those fingers, lets out a soft moan when Adam brings them back to his ass.
The first slide of Adam’s finger is still rough, spit not really a good replacement for lube, and the angle is off and he can’t get the whole finger in, but the push and drag is exactly what Tommy needs. Adam’s other hand stops moving, changes to a tight grip, and his hips start thrusting, in time with the movement of his finger in Tommy’s ass, even though the arm attached to the hand on Tommy’s ass is caught between Adam’s hip and Tommy’s ass. It should be awkward and it’s so fucking hot, just with a part of one finger, that Tommy’s pretty sure Adam’s actual cock will fucking kill him.
“’m so fucking okay with that,” he says happily.
Adam gives him a questioning look. Tommy grins lazily at him, basking in the pleasure roiling through his body. He belatedly realizes that he could, like, lend a hand, and wraps both hands around their cocks and Adam’s hand, making a tighter channel for Adam to thrust into.
A weird noise comes from Adam, and wow, Tommy can see how close he is, can see Adam’s control straining. His legs slip off Adam’s shoulders, and he lets them sprawl out wide, no need to pretend he’s not begging for it. It’s a great fucking idea, because the slight shift in angle, in the arch of his body, lets Adam’s finger slide in just that bit deeper. Adam pushes in a second finger, stretches him, keeps thrusting, hips and fingers in sync. Heat races up Tommy’s spine and spreads all over his lower body, carries him the rest of the way over the edge; he distantly hears himself shout, the slide of Adam’s cock becoming slicker, but for the most part he’s only aware of the thundering of his heart, everything under his skin tightening and then melting. Adam follows him quickly, a sweet sweaty weight collapsing on top of Tommy.
Before Tommy’s really ready, Adam’s talking to him, voice calm but urgent, “Okay, baby, we gotta move now, come on, up and out of the bed.” Strong hands move him, and Tommy follows easy, like it’s any other night when he’s fallen asleep in Adam’s room. Except he’s shaking, his body is empty as air and he’s not quite back in it. A thick blanket is wrapped around him - no, it’s a towel - and he’s only vaguely aware of the iciness of bathroom tiles under his feet. Adam says something, from which Tommy only picks up stay here, and leaves, and Tommy slides down a wall and curls up into a small ball.
There are noises, some of them very loud and angry. It feels like forever before Adam’s back, pressed against his side. At some point it sounds like Adam’s about to leave again, but Tommy makes a distressed noise, and Adam stays.
Gradually he comes to, becomes aware of the protective loom of Adam’s body, the slick curvature of a bathtub under him. The light inside the bathroom is a soft yellow, thankfully. There’s a lot of noise coming from the other side of the closed door, but it’s only him and Adam on this side.
Well, and Taylor, who’s sitting on the lid of the toilet and watching the door like he’s waiting for the alien plant to burst in at any moment. He looks like he’s ready to wrestle with it if it does, which unexpectedly makes Tommy feel all mushy. He’ll blame it on Adam.
“Hey you,” says Adam quietly. The sound turns Taylor’s head, but he turns back to the door again, giving them their space.
It takes two tries for Tommy to get out a hoarse, “Hey,” back.
“That was... are you...,” Adam looks down. Tommy notices that Adam’s wrapped in a towel, too, though he seems to have put on his boxers.
Normally Tommy would be self-conscious about being naked under his towel, but that’s so far down the list of stuff he’s feeling right now. Adam glances at him, but looks away quickly, like he can’t quite meet Tommy’s eyes. Tommy realizes Adam’s staring at his own hands; it’s no effort at all for Tommy to remember where those fingers have been, and he wonders if they still taste of him.
“I’m sorry,” whispers Adam. He opens and closes his hands. Tommy sees the moment Adam, too, remembers the ways he’d touched Tommy. He looks fucking terrified, which is so wrong when Tommy kinda wishes the tingling in his ass will never fade.
“Idiot,” says Tommy. He leans his head on Adam’s shoulder. It’s a lot easier when he doesn’t have to look at Adam directly. “I fucking owe you my life.”
Adam fidgets, like he does when he still has more to say, but he drapes an arm over Tommy’s shoulder and pulls him close. “I’m not gonna pretend I haven’t been wanting to do that for a long time.”
Oh. “I wasn’t exactly saying no back there.”
More fidgeting. Tommy grunts at the totally unnecessary movement. “You were pretty out of it, that plant drugged you. Plus it was kind of a life-or-death situation.”
“Seriously? You stopped an alien plant from eating me and you’re getting hung up on consent. From me.” There’s a slight shifting from the direction of the toilet seat, but Taylor’s part of the family. Plus, he’d totally back Tommy up.
Adam doesn’t say anything, so Tommy forces himself to raise his head. Adam looks... vulnerable, almost raw, and the way he meets Tommy’s eyes pulls the breath right out of Tommy’s lungs. Fucking Adam and his inability to do anything by half-measures. As if Tommy would have done anything if he hadn't meant all that shit.
“Thank you,” is all Tommy ends up saying, before he closes the inches between them and kisses Adam, slow and deliberate and surer than anything.
~*~
Somehow they’re all bundled out into the buses and on their way to the next city before dawn. It’s a little ahead of schedule, and Cam quietly asks if Adam or Tommy should go to the hospital. Tommy responds with a fervent “No” and Adam has a silent exchange of looks with Neil before shaking his head. Adam is totally unharmed and the worst Tommy will show for is a few strange bruises, and there’s an alien plant being transported by a mysterious convoy to some top secret place they’re not even supposed to know exists. All things considered, Tommy thinks they got off lightly.
“Adam can make sure I don’t have any lasting side-effects from the toxin.” Tommy had been right about that. The nice doctor who’d swabbed and scanned him using some scary-looking equipment had assured him that his body should break down the remaining toxin in a few days.
Sasha giggles. It takes Tommy a moment to figure out why, and by then the rest of the bus - technically Adam’s and the dancers’ but the band had crammed aboard for a short stint, to no one’s objection - is giggling or giving them knowing smiles.
Adam rolls his eyes and mutters, “fucking kids, all of you,” with a fond smile.
Tommy smirks and grabs Adam’s hand. “And now mommy and daddy need to talk in private.” He tugs Adam towards the back. Catcalls and whistling follow them until Tommy closes and locks the door.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” asks Adam, like he actually thinks Tommy got him back here to talk. “We can have a private doctor check you mmmf-”
Tommy decides he likes shutting Adam up by sticking his tongue in Adam’s mouth. He briefly reacquaints himself with Adam’s tongue, a friendly slide hello, then pulls back and pushes Adam to sit on the bed.
“I’ve thought about it,” he announces, “and it would really affect the mood of the show if you get it in your head to start, like, avoiding me or going easy on me or something. So obviously the best solution is for you to,” and Tommy falters, even though he’d rehearsed it in his head and everything, “you know, do it for real.”
It takes Adam a couple of heartbeats to get it. His eyes and eyebrows do a complicated square dance from confused to comprehension to coy. “Tommy Joe.” There’s some serious sunrising going on outside the windows, all the more gorgeous because Tommy is alive and not alien plant chow, but the smile on Adam’s face is a whole lot brighter. “Would you be willing to listen to a counter-offer?”
Tommy sighs, waves his hand magnanimously. “Go on.” He ignores the way his skin still doesn’t feel like it quite fits. If the short kiss is anything to go by, Adam will soon put that to rights too.
“Dinner and a movie first.”
Tommy sighs. “Fine. But we can make out at any time before that. Like now.”
Adam laughs, says “How’s that anything new?” Or tries to, anyway, except Tommy decides they’re done talking and straddles Adam’s lap and kisses the words right out of Adam’s mouth. Adam keeps on laughing, though, and falls back on the bed. Tommy follows him, laughing now too, and chases Adam’s lips, both of them bathed in gentle morning gold.
.end
Author: etharei
Fandom: Glam RPS
Pairing: Adam/Tommy
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~5,000
Summary: 'if he were a man-eating plant, he’d have, like, toxins and shit to keep the prey from fighting too hard' A touching tale of the aliens-made-them-do-it variety.
Disclaimer: I don't own the individuals mentioned herein, and no profit was made in the writing or posting of this piece of fiction.
Notes: This pairing needs more aliens-made-them-do-it fic! Dedicated to my darling blue-soaring. If you like it, please consider helping her get her tooth fixed - she will write you fanfic for a donation! She's one of my favorite writers ever; even if you can't spare anything, do check out her work.
bassists are delicious to aliens
First clue Tommy gets that something is not right is a hard, encircling pressure around his middle, then something holding down his wrists. While he’s always up for a little bit of sleep-cuddling, he knows he’d gone to bed sober and alone, a sad excuse for a rockstar. Anyway, there’s something about the grip around his wrists that feel a bit... spiny.
Then he opens his eyes and bites down on his lips to keep from loosing an undignified scream. Well, he maybe whimpers a little bit.
He silently thanks all his stars and developing internet addiction that he sleeps with his phone next to his pillow. He turns his head, spots the worn iPhone case perched near the edge of the bed. He forces his breathing to stay steady, and stretches his head out towards the phone. Catches it by his cheek, holds his breath when it slips a little as he pulls it back from the edge, but he successfully slides it to his shoulder.
Now what? He doesn’t dare move his hands, not even twitch if he can help it. He considers just shouting for help, hope somebody hears him. But if loud noises piss off the- the things creeping all over his bed…
Tommy twists his head around and jabs his chin at the iPod screen. It flickers on. Fuck, the password. He uses his nose on the keypad. His thick, fat nose that keeps pressing the wrong fucking button. Fuck, fuck, oh shit. His body instinctively tries to turn over to make it easier, and those things tighten around his torso. He definitely whimpers this time.
Neck muscles protesting, he keeps working at the password, resolutely not thinking about the dry rough slide up his bare arms, weaving over his legs. He’s utterly convinced that this is it, his expiration date is looming and it’s gonna be the weirdest fucking exit in the history of small-time musicians, so he stares dumbly for a second when his iPod background glows serenely up at him.
He doesn’t really think about, beyond Adam is on speed-dial and Adam will know what to do. The phone rings. And rings, and rings, and it would totally be his luck for Adam to have forgotten to recharge his phone again.
So his “Oh thank fucking God,” when Adam answers with a bleary “Tommy?” may sound a little bit panicked.
“Adam, there’s something in my room, I can’t really explain without you seeing it, but I really need to you come here, like right the fuck now,” babbles Tommy. He remembers that Adam even has a copy of his room key, just this thing they’d started doing, great job subconscious.
“What?” Adam grunts. “Tommy Joe, I swear I saw you head to your room completely sober only a few hours ago.”
Clearly Adam hadn’t heard a word he said. “Can you just fucking come to my room? Need help, Adam, please.” Is it his imagination or is it getting hard to breathe?
Adam mutters under his breath, but Tommy can hear the sounds of him getting up and stumbling around his room. “This better not be a prank, Tommy Joe, or I’m so going to kick your ass.”
“Fine, fine,” says Tommy quickly. He’s wondering if there’s a way to keep Adam on the phone, because he can’t move anything below his chest now and if there’s a bad time to be stuck with only his own thoughts for company, this would be it. But before he can figure out how to ask without sounding crazy, the line goes dead. A small sob cracks through, Tommy blinks up at the ceiling, the only place he can look without having to see the impossible shit going down in his room.
He doesn’t realize he’s zoned out until he hears a loud “Oh holy shit!” He blinks and tries to shrug off the odd heaviness that’s fallen over him, but it’s got him good and tight like those things have his body. Maybe they’re the same thing.
Adam’s voice. Adam’s yelling his name. He should answer. “’M here, Adam.”
“Tommy? He’s moving, but it’s almost to his neck. We have to do something!”
“Just give me a second!” Neil. What’s Neil doing in his room? “I was hoping I’d never have to use this phone number. Adam, sit your ass down. Call Monte, maybe Taylor.”
“Already did. Tommy?” Adam’s voice only cracks like that when he’s close to losing it. Maybe Tommy should have called someone else. “Tommy, can you hear me?”
“Okay, what’s the emerge- what the fucking fuck?” the way Taylor’s voice jumps up would have Tommy giggling any other time. But he can’t pull enough air in.
“I think he can hear us. Tommy? Can you, I don’t know, shake your head or something?”
Tommy does. His brain is suddenly made of lead, so it’s more like lolling. “Can hear you.”
“Shit, I’m never going to bed sober again.”
“What the fuck is it?”
He’s drifting off again, but something tells him that this is bad, he needs to stick around. He clings to consciousness, tries to follow all the noise and sift for words.
“... looks like a kind of plant, actually,” says Monte. Solid, unflappable Monte. “I think I see chunks of pottery near the window.”
“Wait, a fan gave him this potted plant as a gift,” says Taylor. “I had to help him carry it because he had a bunch of other gifts. Thought it looked cool because it was all black and shiny and stuff. This must be it.”
“A killer plant,” says Monte with a huff. “Not even Madonna got this.”
“It’s so fucked up.” There’s a weirdly gleeful tone to Taylor’s voice. “A killer alien plant. Because I’m not, like, a horticulturalist or biology expert or whatever, but I’m pretty sure Earth plants can’t turn into a giant man-eating pile of vines normally, not without people hearing about it.”
Somewhere, a door opens and closes. “So I just called an old friend,” drifts in Neil’s voice, further away than the others, “who would know about these kinds of things, don’t ask, and she says- Adam, what the fuck are you doing?”
There’s a bunch of shouting, but Tommy’s attention fixes on a warm weight over his face. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, and opening them again feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done, but the familiar blue-green gaze that meets him is a fucking awesome reward. “Adam.”
“I’m here, Tommy,” whispers Adam. He looks weird, tense and scared and angry all at once. His hand slips down to Tommy’s neck. Tommy can see part of Adam’s arm, observes a brief clench of muscle and something shifting, and suddenly Tommy’s pulling in the biggest breath of his life.
“Motherfucker,” gasps Tommy. His eyes widen and he stares at Adam. “Wait, why are you this close to me? Adam, get the fuck back!”
Adam ignores him, eyes caught on Tommy’s body. Tommy’s gaze flicks down to see a handful of… vines, he supposes, if it’s a plant, held tight in Adam’s grip. The shiny black limbs aren’t struggling, exactly, not in the flailing way they do in movies. They’re just pulling away from Adam, strong and inexorable. After a moment, Adam lets out a pained grunt and the vines escape the clutch of his fingers, settling back on Tommy’s body.
At least none of the vines are making for Adam. “You’re a fucking idiot,” says Tommy, just because. He watches for a few seconds to make sure, but the plant seems to be treating the noble idiot looming over his bed like another piece of furniture. Yay for him. Tommy throws up a wan smile. “Looks like it likes me better.”
Adam clearly doesn’t find anything funny in the situation. “Don’t worry, Tommy, we’ll get you out.” Tommy nods - what else can he do? He can already feel the lassitude returning, the dangerous numbness. He doubts it’s just oxygen deprivation; if he were a man-eating plant, he’d have, like, toxins and shit to keep the prey from fighting too hard. Probably a skin-to-skin thing.
Next thing he knows, pain is shooting up his body. He shouts, pushes out noise even though he barely has air for it. The pain stops as abruptly as it had started. Tommy blinks through tears in his eyes, to find Adam’s hands framing his face and Adam murmuring soothing sounds into his hair.
In the distance, he can hear Monte talking, “so cutting him out is no good, the plant might kill him out of self-defense.” Anything beyond a certain distance is blurry, but Tommy thinks he can see the shapes of the others huddling in the hallway for a conference.
“It’s okay,” he whispers to Adam. But after that he’s out of words, between his brain feeling muggy as fuck and not really being the type to lie. “Adam. Please. Look at me?”
Adam’s eyes are shining, traces of his eyeliner scattered like freckles gone rogue. His face breaks at whatever he sees in Tommy’s expression, and Tommy only now feels pissed off at whoever had given him the plant, because sweet, beautiful Adam doesn’t deserve this shit. “Tommy. Don’t worry, okay? We’re gonna find a way to get you out of this. Just stay with me.”
Tommy makes a vague noise. It’s already hard to concentrate. His ribs feel like concrete, and under them his heart is sluggish, trying to pump treacle.
Adam calls his name whenever he drifts off, and Tommy knows he’s not able to hide how much harder it is to come back each time. There are pleas for the others to hurry, more phone calls made, more shouting. He thinks Neil says something about specialists coming, but they have thousands of miles to cover. Tommy knows they won’t make it, at least for him.
When he’s not even sure the words coming out of his mouth make sense anymore, Tommy tells Adam to get everybody out of the room, in case the killer alien plant decides to look for a new meal right after. He’s relieved when Adam moves away, though he would have liked to have Adam nearby when… oh well.
Stupid man-eating alien plant.
As dying goes, it’s not actually all that bad. Easier than falling asleep, faster than drinking holes into his liver. He hopes the alien plant chokes on it. He hopes it starves after eating his scrawny ass.
And then something is snagging the slow submersion he’s got going, pulling him back to the surface. There’s a weird moment when he can’t quite figure out which is the light and, well, the light. But then his senses pick up - a taste, scent, touch, whatever, he just knows it’s Adam - and it’s brighter than a beacon, harder than an anchor.
He comes to and tastes Adam on his lips, breathes him in. He thinks, I shouldn’t be able to breathe this hard, and Adam kisses him again, wet and salty and desperate. He can only kiss back, relishing the point of heat where their mouths are joined, the rest of him feeling like he’s made of concrete. It distantly occurs to him that he may now be eaten alive while totally awake, but he can’t stop kissing Adam, has never wanted to, and it hurts to wish now that he’d ever let it end.
A long while later, the two of them take a breather with their lips still touching, and Tommy finds that the warmth from their mouths has spread over his head and partway down his neck. He still feels drowsy, but it’s the sweet kind of drowsy that comes after making out for hours and hours.
“They’re looser,” he mumbles.
“What?” asks Adam. He pulls back, blinks. Tommy shifts a little, to show that he can, because he hadn’t been able move a muscle before. The vines are still wrapped around him, but the ones on his neck have moved back down to his chest, and they aren’t creeping and shifting as energetically as they’d been earlier.
Adam looks between Tommy and the vines, expression considering. He leans in and kisses Tommy again, gentle and thorough, but instead of deepening it, he slips away and mouths a trail down Tommy’s jaw, down to his neck. He licks at the emerging stubble there, making Tommy shiver, grazes his teeth down the quivering line of his throat. He noses at Tommy’s collarbone before fastening his lips to the soft skin above it, and starts sucking, hard and sharp.
Tommy lets out a surprised noise and instinctively jerks his arms up to grab Adam’s head. The vines around his wrists only let him get as far as lifting up from the mattress. His body, clearly confused by whatever the fuck is going on but possibly equating Adam’s presence with some kind of bondage play, burns off more of the killing languor with a burning rush of need.
“Wait, where’s everyone?” he asks through quickening breaths. Adam’s hands move from his face down to his shoulders, slides to splay fingers over Tommy’s chest, slow and deliberate, and Tommy knows he’s not imagining the way the vines are retreating from his touch.
“Outside, like you said,” answers Adam, before biting and sucking another part of Tommy’s neck.
Now that Tommy knows to listen for it, he can hear a distant loud thumping, and muffled shouts. “You locked them out?” Now that he can actually breathe, it’s a lot easier to reach the next thought. “Wait, you locked yourself in with a man-eating alien plant.” Okay, the anger in his voice would be more effective if his voice isn’t hitching from what Adam is doing to his neck.
“I can get out whenever,” says Adam breezily, like they’re talking about switching channels on the TV. “But you seriously did not expect me to leave you in here alone, Tommy Joe.” There’s a nip, an extra hard dig of teeth into abused skin, making Tommy shiver all over. Yeah, okay, Tommy should have known better. But he’d rather hurt Adam’s feelings than put him next on the menu for their strangle-happy alien.
He sees more than feels Adam’s body move over him, still partly numb. “Wait, what. What are you doing, you crazy bastard?”
Adam doesn’t bother answering, mouth busy marking up Tommy’s neck and shoulders like they have all the time in the world, like there aren’t slick dark vines creeping and curling all around them. More of the wiggly limbs slip away at Adam’s approach, but they stay on the bed, coiling up out of touch, plus a few thick ones that remain stubbornly looped around Tommy. And Adam, instead of running away like a normal person, is climbing into bed with him.
“Fuck, no, get away from me,” Tommy almost shouts. He tries to make a point by moving his head and neck away from Adam’s roving lips. It’d be more convincing if the rest of his body isn’t arching up into Adam’s warmth. “Adam, if you get yourself killed, I’m seriously gonna kick your ass all over the afterlife.”
Tommy is trembling by the time the fucking loyal idiot is fully on the bed, stretched out over Tommy’s body. Adam moves back up to capture Tommy’s lips, and despite cussing every other breath, Tommy kisses him so hard their teeth clack.
“Maybe it’s, like, something to do with sex. Like pheromones, or something,” mumbles Adam against Tommy’s lips. Tommy’s skin is still numb where vines are in contact with it, but Adam’s hands sweep slowly up and down his body, the lightest touch like a bloom of heat. He calmly pushes off the vines that will move and pets the skin around the vines that won’t. “They seem kinda stoned right now.”
“Your love is my drug.” Tommy giggles, unable to help himself.
Adam makes sound, a mix of a snort and a sob, and buries his face in Tommy’s shoulder. He stops keeping his body raised, spreads out on top of Tommy despite the vines still in the way now pressed between them. Tommy can definitely feel him now, all heat and softness and weight. Tommy had gone to bed in his boxers, but Adam probably put on a shirt for the walk to his room, and the rub of well-worn cotton on Tommy’s skin is the best feeling ever, next to Adam’s bare skin.
“Fucking alien plant is not getting you,” Adam mutters, breath hot on Tommy’s skin. There’s a slight tremor to his frame that Tommy only now reads as anger. “’M not letting you go that easy, Tommy Joe.”
And Tommy has no fucking clue what to say to that. His first instinct is to wrap his arms around Adam, except hey, still trapped by alien plant, so he buries his face in Adam’s hair. Adam surges up, very narrowly missing Tommy’s chin, and kisses all the air out of his lungs.
It’s a relatively small movement, but it drags Adam’s stomach over Tommy’s crotch. And it’s the most fucked up situation ever, Tommy was kidding when he claimed he can get off anywhere; his dick, though, clearly has messed-up priorities. Tommy feels it twitch in interest, and that’s all the spark his weird-ass libido needs, with Adam’s kisses pouring down like pure, A-grade fuel.
He can tell Adam notices the shift in the kind of noises he’s making, not to mention his dick thickening under his boxers, and vaguely worries about being called on his freakiness, Adam stomping off in disgust that he can be turned on while alien vegetation is trying to eat him. But, of course, this is Adam, who lets out a soft, breathy noise and strokes fingers over Tommy’s bulge.
From the outside, it’s probably one of the least sexy situations Tommy’s ever been in. It’s impossible to totally ignore the vines digging into his ribs, the slither and rasp of vines moving all around them. Yet Tommy is dying, in a completely different way from earlier, hot need stringing his body tight as live wire. He tells himself he can feel the vines getting even more drugged-out, and realizes it’s kinda true. And, more importantly, he can see the darkening of Adam’s eyes, those full lips going slack. Everything that’s been teasing Tommy for months, and now there’s no stage to pretend on, all excuses sounding really, really stupid amidst the tangle of black vines.
Adam pulls his shirt off, and Tommy is running one hand down the soft hair on Adam’s chest when he realizes he’s got one hand free. He doesn’t let himself slow down, doesn’t think about it. It takes a little longer for the hold around his other wrist to slip limply off, and when it does, he loops his arms around Adam’s neck to pull him back down, press more of their bodies together.
Don’t think, don’t think. It’s almost painful, to go from numbness to every cell fucking burning with life, and he lets it sink into him, welcomes Adam’s heat like ink piercing fragile skin. He loses time, like before yet not at all the same thing. His boxers are next to go, and the rest of Adam’s clothes, because next thing he knows they’re sliding together skin-to-skin. A vine flicks his foot. Adam leans in and murmurs soothing words into his ear, all sweet and heartfelt like Tommy’s always imagined.
“Oh yeah?” whispers Adam, “you’ve been thinking about this? About you and me? Tommy Joe, have you been fantasizing?”
That makes Tommy laugh, a small sound shivering out of him. “Duh. You keep waving that big cock around,” Adam laughs, like he’s delighted someone’s noticed his giant dick, and he starts grinding said dick right over Tommy’s, “and kissing me and shit, anyone would wonder.”
“Wonder, huh?” Adam licks over Tommy’s parted lips, trails kisses along his jaw. “’s that all you’ve done?”
The rub of Adam’s dick is amazing, the mess of precome all over Tommy’s balls and belly absolutely hotter than anything his wet dreams have come up with. The only thing to do is spread his thighs further, sling one leg over Adam’s hip to increase the pressure. Beautiful sounds spill from Adam’s mouth, and Tommy arches up, moaning for more, Adam, fucking fuck me even though the nearest condom and lube are in his bags, half a room and a stoned man-eating alien plant away.
“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” says Adam, like a promise. He pulls Tommy’s stick-sized excuses for legs up onto his shoulders. Tommy has a moment to think, he’s gonna do me raw, doing absolutely nothing against it, and then Adam lines up their dicks and wraps his gorgeous strong fingers around them and “oh shit, oh, oh.” It’s a good thing Tommy’s not exactly worrying about his cred or anything, because Adam jacking them both off should not hit him as hard as it does, or leave him moaning and whimpering like this is the dirtiest thing ever done to him.
“Holy shit, Tommy,” gasps Adam, his stare hungry and disbelieving.
The heat inside Tommy builds and builds, but it’s not quite enough, he wants more of Adam, “want you inside me,” he groans, grasping at Adam’s shoulders.
“Baby, I want to so much, you don’t even know,” says Adam. “Wait, wait.”
The hand that had been keeping Tommy’s leg on Adam’s shoulder slides from calf to knee, then up Tommy’s thigh, slipping behind and fondling an ass cheek and dipping between. “Yes, fuck,” urges Tommy, “stick it in me, come on.”
Adam draws a few teasing circles around Tommy’s hole, then brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks on them while holding Tommy’s gaze. Tommy stares at the slight shine on the skin of those fingers, lets out a soft moan when Adam brings them back to his ass.
The first slide of Adam’s finger is still rough, spit not really a good replacement for lube, and the angle is off and he can’t get the whole finger in, but the push and drag is exactly what Tommy needs. Adam’s other hand stops moving, changes to a tight grip, and his hips start thrusting, in time with the movement of his finger in Tommy’s ass, even though the arm attached to the hand on Tommy’s ass is caught between Adam’s hip and Tommy’s ass. It should be awkward and it’s so fucking hot, just with a part of one finger, that Tommy’s pretty sure Adam’s actual cock will fucking kill him.
“’m so fucking okay with that,” he says happily.
Adam gives him a questioning look. Tommy grins lazily at him, basking in the pleasure roiling through his body. He belatedly realizes that he could, like, lend a hand, and wraps both hands around their cocks and Adam’s hand, making a tighter channel for Adam to thrust into.
A weird noise comes from Adam, and wow, Tommy can see how close he is, can see Adam’s control straining. His legs slip off Adam’s shoulders, and he lets them sprawl out wide, no need to pretend he’s not begging for it. It’s a great fucking idea, because the slight shift in angle, in the arch of his body, lets Adam’s finger slide in just that bit deeper. Adam pushes in a second finger, stretches him, keeps thrusting, hips and fingers in sync. Heat races up Tommy’s spine and spreads all over his lower body, carries him the rest of the way over the edge; he distantly hears himself shout, the slide of Adam’s cock becoming slicker, but for the most part he’s only aware of the thundering of his heart, everything under his skin tightening and then melting. Adam follows him quickly, a sweet sweaty weight collapsing on top of Tommy.
Before Tommy’s really ready, Adam’s talking to him, voice calm but urgent, “Okay, baby, we gotta move now, come on, up and out of the bed.” Strong hands move him, and Tommy follows easy, like it’s any other night when he’s fallen asleep in Adam’s room. Except he’s shaking, his body is empty as air and he’s not quite back in it. A thick blanket is wrapped around him - no, it’s a towel - and he’s only vaguely aware of the iciness of bathroom tiles under his feet. Adam says something, from which Tommy only picks up stay here, and leaves, and Tommy slides down a wall and curls up into a small ball.
There are noises, some of them very loud and angry. It feels like forever before Adam’s back, pressed against his side. At some point it sounds like Adam’s about to leave again, but Tommy makes a distressed noise, and Adam stays.
Gradually he comes to, becomes aware of the protective loom of Adam’s body, the slick curvature of a bathtub under him. The light inside the bathroom is a soft yellow, thankfully. There’s a lot of noise coming from the other side of the closed door, but it’s only him and Adam on this side.
Well, and Taylor, who’s sitting on the lid of the toilet and watching the door like he’s waiting for the alien plant to burst in at any moment. He looks like he’s ready to wrestle with it if it does, which unexpectedly makes Tommy feel all mushy. He’ll blame it on Adam.
“Hey you,” says Adam quietly. The sound turns Taylor’s head, but he turns back to the door again, giving them their space.
It takes two tries for Tommy to get out a hoarse, “Hey,” back.
“That was... are you...,” Adam looks down. Tommy notices that Adam’s wrapped in a towel, too, though he seems to have put on his boxers.
Normally Tommy would be self-conscious about being naked under his towel, but that’s so far down the list of stuff he’s feeling right now. Adam glances at him, but looks away quickly, like he can’t quite meet Tommy’s eyes. Tommy realizes Adam’s staring at his own hands; it’s no effort at all for Tommy to remember where those fingers have been, and he wonders if they still taste of him.
“I’m sorry,” whispers Adam. He opens and closes his hands. Tommy sees the moment Adam, too, remembers the ways he’d touched Tommy. He looks fucking terrified, which is so wrong when Tommy kinda wishes the tingling in his ass will never fade.
“Idiot,” says Tommy. He leans his head on Adam’s shoulder. It’s a lot easier when he doesn’t have to look at Adam directly. “I fucking owe you my life.”
Adam fidgets, like he does when he still has more to say, but he drapes an arm over Tommy’s shoulder and pulls him close. “I’m not gonna pretend I haven’t been wanting to do that for a long time.”
Oh. “I wasn’t exactly saying no back there.”
More fidgeting. Tommy grunts at the totally unnecessary movement. “You were pretty out of it, that plant drugged you. Plus it was kind of a life-or-death situation.”
“Seriously? You stopped an alien plant from eating me and you’re getting hung up on consent. From me.” There’s a slight shifting from the direction of the toilet seat, but Taylor’s part of the family. Plus, he’d totally back Tommy up.
Adam doesn’t say anything, so Tommy forces himself to raise his head. Adam looks... vulnerable, almost raw, and the way he meets Tommy’s eyes pulls the breath right out of Tommy’s lungs. Fucking Adam and his inability to do anything by half-measures. As if Tommy would have done anything if he hadn't meant all that shit.
“Thank you,” is all Tommy ends up saying, before he closes the inches between them and kisses Adam, slow and deliberate and surer than anything.
~*~
Somehow they’re all bundled out into the buses and on their way to the next city before dawn. It’s a little ahead of schedule, and Cam quietly asks if Adam or Tommy should go to the hospital. Tommy responds with a fervent “No” and Adam has a silent exchange of looks with Neil before shaking his head. Adam is totally unharmed and the worst Tommy will show for is a few strange bruises, and there’s an alien plant being transported by a mysterious convoy to some top secret place they’re not even supposed to know exists. All things considered, Tommy thinks they got off lightly.
“Adam can make sure I don’t have any lasting side-effects from the toxin.” Tommy had been right about that. The nice doctor who’d swabbed and scanned him using some scary-looking equipment had assured him that his body should break down the remaining toxin in a few days.
Sasha giggles. It takes Tommy a moment to figure out why, and by then the rest of the bus - technically Adam’s and the dancers’ but the band had crammed aboard for a short stint, to no one’s objection - is giggling or giving them knowing smiles.
Adam rolls his eyes and mutters, “fucking kids, all of you,” with a fond smile.
Tommy smirks and grabs Adam’s hand. “And now mommy and daddy need to talk in private.” He tugs Adam towards the back. Catcalls and whistling follow them until Tommy closes and locks the door.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” asks Adam, like he actually thinks Tommy got him back here to talk. “We can have a private doctor check you mmmf-”
Tommy decides he likes shutting Adam up by sticking his tongue in Adam’s mouth. He briefly reacquaints himself with Adam’s tongue, a friendly slide hello, then pulls back and pushes Adam to sit on the bed.
“I’ve thought about it,” he announces, “and it would really affect the mood of the show if you get it in your head to start, like, avoiding me or going easy on me or something. So obviously the best solution is for you to,” and Tommy falters, even though he’d rehearsed it in his head and everything, “you know, do it for real.”
It takes Adam a couple of heartbeats to get it. His eyes and eyebrows do a complicated square dance from confused to comprehension to coy. “Tommy Joe.” There’s some serious sunrising going on outside the windows, all the more gorgeous because Tommy is alive and not alien plant chow, but the smile on Adam’s face is a whole lot brighter. “Would you be willing to listen to a counter-offer?”
Tommy sighs, waves his hand magnanimously. “Go on.” He ignores the way his skin still doesn’t feel like it quite fits. If the short kiss is anything to go by, Adam will soon put that to rights too.
“Dinner and a movie first.”
Tommy sighs. “Fine. But we can make out at any time before that. Like now.”
Adam laughs, says “How’s that anything new?” Or tries to, anyway, except Tommy decides they’re done talking and straddles Adam’s lap and kisses the words right out of Adam’s mouth. Adam keeps on laughing, though, and falls back on the bed. Tommy follows him, laughing now too, and chases Adam’s lips, both of them bathed in gentle morning gold.
.end