Fic: Small
title: Small
pairing: Tommy gen, vague Adam/Tommy
rating: R
words: 904
warning: anorexia, health/body image issues, angst
summary: For the Glam_Kink prompt: Every time Tommy feels things are getting out of control in his life, he stops eating. I'd like the focus to be on how slim and frail he looks.
disclaimer: Very untrue. Don't google yourself. Don't pass this along to anyone involved.
a/n:
on ao3
The first time he stops eating, it's an accident. He gets caught up in practicing, soundchecking, dressing, putting on makeup, playing, partying--and when he lurches back to the buses, he nearly passes out on the steps. Adam catches him by the arm, steadies him. "You alright?"
Three drinks has never hit Tommy that hard before. He thinks back on the day, tries to remember his meals, and can't think of anything since the doughnut at breakfast. "Just tired," he tells Adam, and lets Adam walk him to his bunk.
The next time, it's deliberate. The schedule is crazy, and it's easier to just not think about meals. Tommy grabs a sip of Adam's protein shake in the morning, then throws himself into work. His stomach doesn't even protest until close to showtime, and then he's so focused on the nervous butterflies that the hunger pangs are easy to ignore. He drinks water onstage, then vodka afterward, and he's a little dizzy by the time everyone else hits their bunks, but he tells himself it's just the alcohol.
After that, it's easy to fall into a habit. Whenever there's too much to do, Tommy just stops worrying about food. With their schedule, the busy days come frequently, and it's not long before Tommy's noticing a change in his appearance. The babyfat in his face disappears, and then the beer belly he can never quite get rid of with sit-ups disappears as well. He's never been overly concerned about his weight--he's always been naturally sort of thin and small--but now he steps onto Adam's scale every morning, just to see. He's not trying to lose weight, he just wants to keep track. But it's still a nice surprise when the numbers drop.
He takes to snuggling in beside Adam at every chance he gets. It makes him feel smaller by comparison, especially tucked under Adam's arms, with Adam's broad chest and thick, muscular thighs pressed against his back. He pulls Adam's arm around his shoulders, wraps his fingers around Adam's wrist, and puts their hands together. Tommy has long fingers, but Adam's hand is wider, and his wrist feels thick in Tommy's grasp. Not like Tommy's own wrists, which Tommy can circle easily with his fingers. Adam laces their fingers together.
"You're bony, you know that?" he asks, laughing, and nudges Tommy's shoulder away from his ribs. "You're so tiny, I feel like I'm gonna break you."
"You're not doing anything to me," Tommy replies. He feels the same way, though. Adam could break him. Adam's stronger than he looks, and he's bigger than he looks too. He's tall and broad and muscular, and still soft in all the right places. Tommy kisses Adam's forearm. It's thick enough that he can't feel the bone underneath. Not like his. He puts their arms side by side.
"Damn, Tommy," Adam whispers. "You're skin and bones."
He is, but he likes it. He likes the way he looks next to Adam. He'll never be slender like the boys Adam likes, smooth and firm and still tiny as fuck. But he can be thin, and he can be short, and he likes the way his collarbones jut out from under his t-shirts. He likes how his shoulders are sharp, now; dangerous. He likes standing in front of the mirror and not seeing a shadow on the lower curve of his belly. He likes that there isn't a curve anymore.
Adam stands behind him one morning. Tommy's gaze shifts from the shadows of his ribs up to Adam's face in the reflection. He smiles. Adam doesn't. Tommy likes the way he looks with Adam behind him, so tall and strong and thick, and himself so small and slim. He puts a hand on his hip, slides it down to his pelvis. His belly is totally flat, now, even sunk in a little so his hipbones stand out. Adam likes boys with sharp hipbones.
Adam touches his hipbone. His hand nearly covers Tommy's whole side as he slides it around. "Tommy," he murmurs. "What are you doing?"
"Lookin' at myself in the mirror. You should know, you do it often enough," Tommy teases.
"What are you doing to yourself, Tommy?" Adam asks quietly. His expression is solemn, careful, and he still doesn't smile.
"Nothing."
"Have you eaten today?"
Tommy ate yesterday. Breakfast. A scrambled egg. Totally a meal. He's not hungry yet. They'll be busy until tomorrow, anyway. No time for meals. He doesn't answer Adam's question. He thinks Adam might not like his answer.
"Tommy--"
"You do it too," Tommy snaps. "Don't lie. You eat those stupid little salads that you hate, and you ride that stupid bike all the fucking time, and you make those stupid protein shakes. You do it too."
"I don't do this, baby," Adam murmurs.
"Well, you're not me, and I do this." Tommy lifts his chin. He likes how sharp it is, the shadow it leaves on his throat. Adam likes sharp boys with high cheekbones and jutting hipbones and boys who can fit under his arm. He cracks a smile. "Don't you like me, now?"
"I liked you before," Adam tells him.
"But I'm better now. I'm smaller."
Adam kisses the side of Tommy's head, where his hair is shaved short. "You're not the same person, Tommy. I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner."
"But--"
"I want my Tommy back."
fin.
pairing: Tommy gen, vague Adam/Tommy
rating: R
words: 904
warning: anorexia, health/body image issues, angst
summary: For the Glam_Kink prompt: Every time Tommy feels things are getting out of control in his life, he stops eating. I'd like the focus to be on how slim and frail he looks.
disclaimer: Very untrue. Don't google yourself. Don't pass this along to anyone involved.
a/n:
on ao3
The first time he stops eating, it's an accident. He gets caught up in practicing, soundchecking, dressing, putting on makeup, playing, partying--and when he lurches back to the buses, he nearly passes out on the steps. Adam catches him by the arm, steadies him. "You alright?"
Three drinks has never hit Tommy that hard before. He thinks back on the day, tries to remember his meals, and can't think of anything since the doughnut at breakfast. "Just tired," he tells Adam, and lets Adam walk him to his bunk.
The next time, it's deliberate. The schedule is crazy, and it's easier to just not think about meals. Tommy grabs a sip of Adam's protein shake in the morning, then throws himself into work. His stomach doesn't even protest until close to showtime, and then he's so focused on the nervous butterflies that the hunger pangs are easy to ignore. He drinks water onstage, then vodka afterward, and he's a little dizzy by the time everyone else hits their bunks, but he tells himself it's just the alcohol.
After that, it's easy to fall into a habit. Whenever there's too much to do, Tommy just stops worrying about food. With their schedule, the busy days come frequently, and it's not long before Tommy's noticing a change in his appearance. The babyfat in his face disappears, and then the beer belly he can never quite get rid of with sit-ups disappears as well. He's never been overly concerned about his weight--he's always been naturally sort of thin and small--but now he steps onto Adam's scale every morning, just to see. He's not trying to lose weight, he just wants to keep track. But it's still a nice surprise when the numbers drop.
He takes to snuggling in beside Adam at every chance he gets. It makes him feel smaller by comparison, especially tucked under Adam's arms, with Adam's broad chest and thick, muscular thighs pressed against his back. He pulls Adam's arm around his shoulders, wraps his fingers around Adam's wrist, and puts their hands together. Tommy has long fingers, but Adam's hand is wider, and his wrist feels thick in Tommy's grasp. Not like Tommy's own wrists, which Tommy can circle easily with his fingers. Adam laces their fingers together.
"You're bony, you know that?" he asks, laughing, and nudges Tommy's shoulder away from his ribs. "You're so tiny, I feel like I'm gonna break you."
"You're not doing anything to me," Tommy replies. He feels the same way, though. Adam could break him. Adam's stronger than he looks, and he's bigger than he looks too. He's tall and broad and muscular, and still soft in all the right places. Tommy kisses Adam's forearm. It's thick enough that he can't feel the bone underneath. Not like his. He puts their arms side by side.
"Damn, Tommy," Adam whispers. "You're skin and bones."
He is, but he likes it. He likes the way he looks next to Adam. He'll never be slender like the boys Adam likes, smooth and firm and still tiny as fuck. But he can be thin, and he can be short, and he likes the way his collarbones jut out from under his t-shirts. He likes how his shoulders are sharp, now; dangerous. He likes standing in front of the mirror and not seeing a shadow on the lower curve of his belly. He likes that there isn't a curve anymore.
Adam stands behind him one morning. Tommy's gaze shifts from the shadows of his ribs up to Adam's face in the reflection. He smiles. Adam doesn't. Tommy likes the way he looks with Adam behind him, so tall and strong and thick, and himself so small and slim. He puts a hand on his hip, slides it down to his pelvis. His belly is totally flat, now, even sunk in a little so his hipbones stand out. Adam likes boys with sharp hipbones.
Adam touches his hipbone. His hand nearly covers Tommy's whole side as he slides it around. "Tommy," he murmurs. "What are you doing?"
"Lookin' at myself in the mirror. You should know, you do it often enough," Tommy teases.
"What are you doing to yourself, Tommy?" Adam asks quietly. His expression is solemn, careful, and he still doesn't smile.
"Nothing."
"Have you eaten today?"
Tommy ate yesterday. Breakfast. A scrambled egg. Totally a meal. He's not hungry yet. They'll be busy until tomorrow, anyway. No time for meals. He doesn't answer Adam's question. He thinks Adam might not like his answer.
"Tommy--"
"You do it too," Tommy snaps. "Don't lie. You eat those stupid little salads that you hate, and you ride that stupid bike all the fucking time, and you make those stupid protein shakes. You do it too."
"I don't do this, baby," Adam murmurs.
"Well, you're not me, and I do this." Tommy lifts his chin. He likes how sharp it is, the shadow it leaves on his throat. Adam likes sharp boys with high cheekbones and jutting hipbones and boys who can fit under his arm. He cracks a smile. "Don't you like me, now?"
"I liked you before," Adam tells him.
"But I'm better now. I'm smaller."
Adam kisses the side of Tommy's head, where his hair is shaved short. "You're not the same person, Tommy. I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner."
"But--"
"I want my Tommy back."
fin.