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Glam_100 drabbles - 2012

Chapter Text

Adam's curled up under the covers. It's dark in their bedroom. Even the neon glow from the various electronics has been shut down by a temporary, but absolute, lack of light that can only be from a power failure.

Holding his breath, he listens carefully, checks the odd timbre of inhale and then exhale again and again. The quiet purr of not-quite snoring reassures him that he's the only one awake.

He rests his cheek against warm bare skin. Then, in halting phrases, words, occasionally nothing more than single syllables, he spills his secrets to the only person he trusts.

Chapter Text

Her hand on the doorknob, Sophie hesitates. The playroom belongs to her boys, and she doesn't usually enter uninvited. But she's too freaked out, after almost getting sideswiped on the freeway, to be alone right now.

They're sitting close together, deep into their jam. Tommy's playing something sinuous, seductive, matching the complicated rhythm set by Isaac on a hand drum.

Sophie's drawn to it, to them. She lies down, resting her head on Isaac's leg and her hand on Tommy's knee. They don't miss a beat, a chord. Their music resonates through her, holds her, and she starts to relax.

Chapter Text

Tommy rarely watches himself. Not when he's alone in the dark, curled up in bed with the lights off, using headphones so Mike can't hear him. And never when he's off in his own world.

Tonight, though, it's like an addiction. He keeps replaying the end of the YouTube video from Ellen, can't stop examining the pictures Ashley tweeted.

The proof's right there in front of him. Undeniable.

And now that he's seen himself, really seen himself, Pandora's box is open. He can't go back, can't recreate the separation between who he wants to be and who — what — he is.

Chapter Text

"Tommy Joe Ratliff, get your skinny, flea-bitten ass in here!"

Startled out of his nap, Tommy raised his muzzle and stretched. He thought for a moment, but couldn't come up with anything that he could possibly have done wrong. So he settled his head back down, curled up tighter, and closed his eyes.

"I'm not joking," Adam yelled.

Tommy squirmed and put his paws over his ears.

"Now, Tommy! I'm not fucking joking."

Damn it! Tommy yawned and stretched again. Discontent wrung a grumbling whine out of him as he rose to his feet and padded away from his sunbeam.


To Tommy's dismay, Adam was in his office, hunched over his laptop, picking at his nail polish.

Fuck, Tommy said, although it came out as a growl. Whatever it was, he'd clearly done it wrong.

Adam's attention snapped from the laptop to him. "Human, if you don't mind. We need to talk about this."

Tommy resisted. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to snooze in a sunbeam. But Adam gave him the I'm your alpha, and you will do it look and Tommy shifted in a ripple of muscle and fur that left him standing naked in the doorway.


Adam's gaze swept over Tommy, sharpening and heating as it paused at his hip and focused on the ridged scarring of his claiming mark. "You told me nothing happened while I was in New York," he said.

"I barely even left the house." Unable to remember anything he could possibly have done wrong, Tommy went over to lean against Adam's chair.

"You didn't need to leave the house for this one," Adam said, wrapping an arm around Tommy, fingers pressing into Tommy's bare hip. "I know you're used to being yourself around here, but couldn't you have tried thinking first?"

"Oh Christ." Tommy looked at the picture of his cat stretched out in Adam's backyard. "Where the hell was he? Up a tree?"

"Or flying overhead in a helicopter."

They both stared at the screen for a couple of seconds then Adam admitted, "We got lucky. None of the gossip sites are picking it up. Everyone thinks the cat is fake."

Relief had Tommy sagging into Adam's side. "Thank fuck."

Adam still looked serious though as he turned his chair and brought Tommy between his legs. "If you want to keep your cat a secret? You're doing it wrong, baby."

Chapter Text

Another bar, another band on stage, another bunch of strangers who think they know Tommy from seeing him play with Adam, or following him on Twatter. Such is his life, and he's not complaining. Except when he does.

His glass is empty, but he picks it up anyway. Tipping his head back, he licks out the last of the Jack. It's not enough. He needs a lot more to properly appreciate being alone again.

Rubbing his fingertips over the scarred table, he turns to ask if someone'll run the gauntlet for him, but his so-called friends have abandoned him.



Tommy waits a few minutes, or maybe it was only seconds. Giving his so-called friends far too fucking long to return to the table. He wraps a hand around the inky monsters on his arm, closes his eyes, and grounds himself.

When everything that matters is safely behind an I don't give a fuck, so fuck the hell off wall, he pushes himself upright. Some celebration this turned out to be. Hell, he's barely feeling the Jack.

Still, that's one of the few fucked up things in his life he can easily fix. He just needs another drink or three.


Tommy's at the bar, trying to drag the bartender's attention away from a couple of women who are at least as drunk as Tommy wants to be, when someone stands behind him. Too goddamn close behind him.

"Do you mind?" Tommy asks, bracing his hands on the counter. It takes everything he's got to resist the urge to turn around and deck the guy. And it's a guy, Tommy's sure of it, although he can't explain how he knows.

One of the women screeches with laughter, but the dude doesn't flinch. Instead, he moves closer.

Fists clenched, Tommy swings around.


"No!" Tommy plants his hands on Sauli's shoulders and shoves. The asshole rocks in place, but only his stupid hat moves. Fucking gym rat and his fucking muscles.

"Yes." Grabbing Tommy's hands, Sauli holds them in place. "We will talk." Then he offers one of those silly smiles that always makes Tommy want to celebrate life — or wipe it away with a slap or a kiss or some damn thing.

Tommy tugs, trying to get his hands free, but Sauli curls his fingers and tightens his grip.

"Don't do this." Tommy bites his lip to hold in the word please.


"Did you think we wouldn't notice?" Sauli says, all reproachful and big-eyed. His energy shines so brightly in the dim bar that Tommy can't believe no one's recognized Sauli.

Tommy shakes his head. In his experience, trying to explain only succeeds in digging him deeper in the shit.

"Come." Sauli turns and starts walking towards the door, still holding onto Tommy's hands, pulling him along.

Feet dragging on the floor, Tommy makes a half-hearted effort to resist. He loses that battle when he spies Mike standing near the door, looking smug.

"Traitor," Tommy mouths at Mike, but he stops fighting.


Sauli's car, far less recognizable than Adam's, is illegally parked outside. The bouncer nods at Sauli, who releases one of Tommy's hands and gives the dude a thin wad of folded bills.

For some mind-blowing and unknown reason, Tommy waits while Sauli does it.

They're almost at the car when Tommy hears a woman in line calling out his name in a questioning lilt, as if she's not quite sure it's him. His heart speeds up and he ducks his head. Thank fuck, he's in the car behind its darkened windows before the flash goes off. An escape worth celebrating.


Belted into the passenger seat, Tommy stares out the window. He's feeling twitchy, the kind of restless that always ends with him doing something stupid.

"Oh my god, Tommy."

Closing his eyes against the ache that Adam's voice opens up in his chest, Tommy slouches down in his seat and shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. He's been set up, and he knows it. Fucking Mike. Fucking Adam. Fucking Sauli.

Tommy's resentment evaporates when Adam leans over the back of his seat and drapes an arm over his shoulder and Sauli places a hand on Tommy's thigh.


The rest of the drive home happens in silence. Both Adam and Sauli keep touching Tommy, as if they're worried he'll disappear. Not a ridiculous idea, Tommy admits.

Instead of driving into the garage, Sauli stops in front of the house.

His restlessness transformed into passivity, Tommy waits for Sauli to get out, walk around, and open his door. He waits again for Adam to unfold himself out of the back seat.

They stand there for a second, in a lopsided triangle, then Adam says, "We're home," with that same silly grin he had when they celebrated Tommy moving in.


Once inside, faced with the truth of their lives, the truth he'd tried to escape, Tommy tilts his head until his fringe falls over his face and sucks his lower lip into his mouth.

"Tommy?" Sauli sighs his name.

A finger under Tommy's chin, Adam raises Tommy's head. "I thought you were happy," Adam says. "With us."

Tommy shrugs.

They wait patiently, wrapping him in their arms. Sauli lays his head on Tommy's shoulder. Adam caresses Tommy's back, plays with his hair.

"It was the Grammys," Tommy finally admits. "You were accepting the award, thanking Sauli for making everything possible."


"It was like—" Tommy chokes on the I didn't exist that had him grabbing his guitars, tossing shit into a duffel bag, and heading for Mike's.

But Adam and Sauli hear it anyway. They hold him, murmuring that they love him. Insisting that he's always with them — in their well-hidden matching tattoos and in their hearts.

Their ridiculous words make Tommy shuffle uncomfortably and draw color to his cheeks.

"Stay," Adam says.

Sauli echoes, "Yes, stay."

"Christ, what you do to me." Tommy holds on to them, returns their kisses, and knows they understand his answer.

That's something worth celebrating.

Chapter Text

Isaac's laughing so hard it takes him several tries to tweet the picture and another three to hit Send. "Done," he finally says.

Peeking out from under the facecloth, Tommy smirks at him. "Forgot how to use your phone?"

"Just distracted by the beauty spread out before me."

"Shit that comes out of your mouth." Tommy snorts and flips bubbles in Isaac's direction. "Just get your ass in here before the water's too cold."

Isaac's laughter fades. Words flit through his mind. How he doesn't lie to Tommy. All the things Tommy doesn't know about himself. But Isaac remains silent.


The answer, Isaac decides, is to show Tommy what he sees, what his friends and fans see when they look at him.

Placing his phone on a shelf, he walks over to the bathtub and kneels on the mat. From an abundance of caution, knowing how Tommy moves when his insecurities rise, Isaac places the bottles behind him.

At the clinking of glass on tile, Tommy takes off the facecloth and tosses it on the low cabinet next to the tub. "You aren't joining me?"

"Hush," Isaac says, putting a finger over Tommy's lips. "Let me do this for you."


Ignoring the look of confusion on Tommy's face, Isaac takes a moment to just look at him. Tommy's straightened up enough that his hip's hidden beneath the bubbles and his left arm is under the water. But his right arm is still dangling out of the tub, and he hasn't curled in on himself in the way he does when he's trying to hide.

With no better ideas, Isaac starts with Tommy's right hand. He slides his own underneath, supporting it. He bends down and kisses each of Tommy's fingertips.

"So strong," Isaac says. "Perfect for making beautiful music."

Shifting uncomfortably, Tommy sloshes the water in the tub. "Calloused to shit. Fucked up nail polish. And my knuck—" He stops mid-word, inhaling audibly, when Isaac sucks his forefinger into his mouth.

The roughness of Tommy's skin, the way it scrapes over Isaac's lips sends a shockwave of lust through Isaac. He presses his tongue upward, digging Tommy's nail lightly into his palate, then draws the finger slowly out of his mouth.

He kisses it again and then looks into Tommy's wide, shocked eyes. "Listen to me," Isaac says. "Have I ever lied to you?"

Tommy shakes his head.

"They're beautiful."

Isaac raises Tommy's hand and nuzzles the palm. Then, drawing away, he traces each line with his tongue. "You're full of life, love, and heart. It shows on your hands, in everything you do."

"I..." Tommy's voice trails away when Isaac glances at him. His hand twitches as if he's fighting the urge to pull it away.

All Isaac can do is reinforce his message.

"You love." Isaac drags his lips along the heart line and down to Tommy's wrist. "You live." He kisses his way back up the life line. "You create music from the depths of your soul."

"You fall into the music." Isaac sucks on the webbing between Tommy's thumb and forefinger. He's almost panting. Each touch of his lips to Tommy's skin sends fire washing through him.

"Fucking hell, Isaac." Tommy shifts again, moving the bubbles, and this time Isaac sees the head of his hard dick bobbing just under the surface of the water.

Turning Tommy's hand over, Isaac bites lightly on each knuckle. "I love your fingers," he says. "Long enough to reach every string, every fret, every note. Long enough to press deeply inside me, to light me up, to touch my soul."

"So gorgeous." Isaac rests his mouth against the fingernails with their chipped polish and closes his eyes. His throat aches with words he never knew he was holding inside. Words of need, want, and love.

Isaac hears water splashing, Tommy's skin squeaking against the tub, and then another, equally calloused and smooth hand touches his cheek.

"That's you," Tommy says softly. He tugs his hand out of Isaac's grasp and cups Isaac's face. "You're so gorgeous."

Then Tommy kisses him. His lips are soft and firm, his stubble rough and tickling, and Isaac can do nothing but kiss him back.

Chapter Text

It's been years since Adam's hooked a tail on his belt loop before going on stage. Tommy's got flesh-eating bugs squirming around his gut as he watches Adam do it. He fucking knows it means there's an unmated alpha werewolf on the hunt somewhere nearby, and he's the prey.

Needing distraction, Tommy chews on his lip and focuses on tuning his guitar yet again.

"Stop worrying," Adam tells him. "The tail's just a warning. I'm not expecting any trouble."

Tommy might have believed him, if the possessive hand that landed on the back of his neck hadn't contradicted Adam's words.


Three songs in and Tommy's hyperaware that there's an unfamiliar werewolf a few rows back, directly in front of him. He can feel the weight of the alpha's unrelenting attention.

"I'm gonna kill Adam if he doesn't stop changing shit on the fly," Terrance mutters as he dances behind Tommy.

Bouncing sideways so Terrance doesn't clip the headstock of his guitar, Tommy blinks as he almost runs into Adam. Who's supposed to be on the opposite side of the stage.

Adam slinks around Tommy, sniffs Tommy's hair, and licks up his neck, broadcasting his claim and a challenge to everyone.


"Fever," Adam murmurs, flipping his hand in the signal for a setlist change, and heads over to tell the others.

Tommy doesn't bother asking why Adam's digging "their song" out of the vault. He just pokes at his pedals, avoiding Isaac's What the fuck look and ignoring Terrance and Brooke's cursing. It's not his fault Adam's got his alpha up and the new dancers don't know the moves.

Not that Adam gives a fuck about the dancers. He's grabbing Tommy's shoulder, spreading a hand over his throat, humping him from behind. Wagging his tail and ass at the other alpha.


The rest of the concert flies past in a blur of being touched, felt up, and grabbed. Adam pulls Tommy's hair, fits his hand to Tommy's throat, and drapes himself all over Tommy. Shit that was way easier to handle when Tommy was playing bass.

He only fumbles the strings once, missing the bridge behind Better Than I Know Myself when the rogue alpha makes it to the front row and reaches for him.

Dude is enormous. And hairy! Growling, Tommy stomps on the asshole's hand. He's got an alpha, goddamn it. He's not letting a wannabe fuck that up.

Applause is still echoing through the venue as Tommy racks his guitar and races off stage. He's about to jump down the shallow stairs when the rogue alpha steps out from the shadows.

"Tommy Joe Ratliff." The alpha's voice is raspy from too many cigarettes and too much booze. "I, Marcus Kormen, claim—"

"I'm already claimed," Tommy says at the same time as Adam growls, "No, you fucking don't. He's mine."

Adam tries to push Tommy behind him, but Tommy resists. So Adam settles for pressing up against Tommy's back, looming over him, resting his hand on Tommy's claim mark.

"I have the right to challenge." Kormen moves to the bottom of the stairs. He's tall enough that his eyes are level with Tommy's, but all his attention is on Adam.

"You're not pack," Adam says dismissively. "You can't challenge me."

"I'm making my own pack."

"Not with my mate."

"You think you can keep him?" Kormen laughs. "A spoiled rich boy like you?"

Adam's growl vibrates through Tommy, and he splays a hand over Tommy's chest.

Baring his teeth at Kormen, Tommy leans into Adam, rests his head on Adam's shoulder, making a display of his submission to Adam.

Kormen and Adam aren't paying much attention to Tommy. They're too busy snapping, snarling, and fucking posturing like D-list celebrities on the red carpet.

"Jesus fuck!" Tommy stamps his foot. "You can't challenge Adam without me expressing some kind of interest in you. And this is my interest." Turning his back on Kormen, Tommy kisses Adam.

Adam's teeth are sharp, his nails are pointed claws, but he immediately focuses on Tommy and their kiss.

When they finally stop, Tommy's got a leg wrapped around Adam's thigh, and Adam's got his hand on Tommy's ass. Kormen is nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

It was a simple thing that changed everything, created from a rain-slick stage and a dancer who tripped. He careened into Tommy, and Tommy went flying, unable to get a grip on the wet flooring with his creepers.

The moment hung in the balance. A second ticked by like an eternity as Tommy watched the edge of the stage, the wires, the stacks of speakers get closer and closer.

He could hear Adam yelling, felt a hand grab the back of his shirt. He heard the thin fabric tear. His strap-locks pinged. His guitar fell.

And then it was over.


Tommy landed with a bone-jarring thud, caught by a guy who looked as shocked as he felt. Relief rushed through Tommy, leaving him dizzy.

"I've got you." The guy sounded like he was reassuring himself.

"Oh my god!" Adam was kneeling on the edge of the stage. Sauli, the band, and everyone else huddled around him. "Tommy? You okay?"

"I broke my guitar."

The guy snorted. "Fucking lucky that's all it was." Then he lifted Tommy up to Adam as if he weighed nothing.

"Wait," Tommy said. "Thank you!" Giving into impulse, Tommy cupped the guy's face and kissed him.


"You're fine," Adam said, clutching Tommy tightly. Sauli knelt beside them and stroked a hand down Tommy's back.

"I am," agreed Tommy, looking mournfully at the pieces of his Cobain Jag, "but my guitar..." he trailed off unable to finish the thought.

"Fuck your guitar," Adam growled, and Sauli muttered words in Finnish that Tommy was glad he couldn't understand.

"Oh hey," Tommy said. "I'm probably bruised to shit, but that's all."

"You kissed him," Adam murmured.

"He saved my ass."

Adam scowled. "My ass."

"Ours," Sauli corrected him.

And then they were holding him, as if nothing else mattered.

Chapter Text

Tommy's spread out on the bed, hair tangled, looking pale and wanton against the dark sheets. His arms are stretched out to either side, fingers digging into the mattress. His lower lip is white from being bitten, but he still hasn't made a sound.

Resting back on his heels between Tommy's legs, Adam runs his hand down Tommy's thigh and considers. The bet had been fun at first, but now Adam's determined to wring every possible noise out of him.

The twitch of a muscle as he caresses Tommy's pelvis with his fingers gives Adam an idea, and he smiles.


Balanced on his hands and knees, Adam leans down and trails the tip of his tongue across Tommy's stomach. Skin and muscle ripple beneath his touch. He pauses above Tommy's dick and licks a line around it.

Tommy's taste and scent spark down Adam's spine. When Tommy shifts his hips, it's hard to resist sucking on Tommy's dick, but Adam distracts himself by dipping his tongue into Tommy's belly button.

Teeth biting harder into his lower lip, Tommy arches up against Adam's mouth.

"You like that?" Adam asks, and then he blows on Tommy's damp skin.

Tommy's breath hitches audibly.


Adam stretches over Tommy, carefully matching their bodies so that Tommy's dick is pressed against Adam's hipbone. Grabbing Tommy's wrists in one hand, he pins them above Tommy's head.

Curling his upper body, resting his weight on his elbow, Adam whispers into Tommy's ear, "I want you."

Goosebumps prickle Tommy's skin, and Adam shivers.

"Only you." Adam catches Tommy's industrial piercing between his teeth and gives it a gentle tug. When that doesn't gain him the usual moan, he sucks on the cartilage, runs his tongue around the whorls. He nips at the lobe and its piercings.

"Ahhhh," Tommy breathes.


"Keep them there," Adam says before releasing Tommy's hands. Then he slides down, rolling his hips and keeping light pressure on Tommy's dick. Precome turns what could have been a near-painful drag of skin into a glide.

Tommy's throat works as Adam grazes his teeth over Tommy's collarbone. Adam sucks and nips, taking his time to lave each small red circle above the prominent wing of bone before moving on to raise another.

Adam loves this, the feel of Tommy's skin beneath his lips, the way Tommy writhes under him.

Loves how it draws a barely audible whimper from Tommy.


The first touch of Adam's mouth on one of Tommy's nipples makes Tommy jerk and bite into his lower lip so hard that he draws blood.

Smiling against Tommy's chest, Adam slides his hands beneath Tommy's shoulders. He traces the crinkled skin of a nipple with his tongue. Delicate swirls that make Adam's throat ache with the desire for more, but he forces himself to keep his touch light.

As Adam uses his teeth to tug on Tommy's skin, Tommy's back arches and the headboard creaks a protest.

Tommy pushes up into Adam's mouth; this time he makes no noise.


"Bastard." Adam punctuates the word with a roll of his body that sends a shudder through Tommy and drags a sigh of exhaled air out of him.

Adam splays a hand over the base of Tommy's throat. With each slow, deliberate undulation, Tommy's dick bumps over Adam's ribs. Fighting his own desperate urge to speed up, Adam uses his mouth to tweak and roll Tommy's nipple.

Eventually Tommy begins to push into Adam's movements until the rub of his dick against Adam's skin is slick and damp. Until he's shaking and clutching at Adam.

Then Adam stops, and Tommy groans.


Releasing Tommy's nipple, Adam raises his head.

Tommy glares back at him through his fringe. His lower lip is reddened and split, marked with indentations from his teeth.

"You won't win," Adam says.

The challenge in Tommy's eyes makes it clear that he's not conceding an inch.

Adam moves and goes to kneel between Tommy's legs, pushing them further apart, baring Tommy's ass. He rubs his nose against the base of Tommy's dick and breathes him in. Unable to resist any longer, Adam runs his tongue over Tommy's balls, feels them, tastes them.

Tommy's mouth opens on an incoherent syllable.


When Adam drags his lips from balls to tip, Tommy's dick feels hard and hot. The precome is bitter and sweet, and everything Adam has been craving. The flavor bursts through him and he closes his mouth over the head and sucks. An aching need for Tommy makes him forget everything else for the moment.

Then Tommy whimpers, and Adam has to fight the urge to look at him again. Instead, he presses a knuckle into Tommy's perineum and sucks again. Light suction, hardly enough to be felt.

Tommy shakes and bucks up into Adam's mouth, and Tommy moans. Loudly.


The sound goes through Adam like lightning, holding the promise of everything he wants and needs. Win or lose, he no longer cares.

Straddling Tommy's leg, Adam runs his thumb through his own precome and rubs it against Tommy's asshole. He steadily increases the pressure until Tommy mutters, "Fuck it," and pushes down.

Tommy rocks, fucking himself on Adam's thumb, fucking up into Adam's mouth. Words and sounds spill from Tommy's lips. Adam sucks harder, teases Tommy's dick with his tongue, grinds his own dick against Tommy's leg.

They move faster and faster, finally coming together on one long note.

Chapter Text

"What happens on tour, stays on tour," Kevin says, clearly confused. "That's the same as every other band."

Rocking back in his chair, Adam sighs. He'd had hopes that this guy would be different. "In my band that rule applies every hour of every day, no matter where we are."

"Private secrets, public lies?"

"Public silence. We protect each other. Nothing's leaked without everyone's consent. Not even pictures."

Kevin's fingers run across the keyboard as he thinks. Eventually, he grins. "As long as I don't have to hide the bodies."

Adam snickers. "No need. I've already got people for that."

Chapter Text

"It's not that hard. All you have to do is say, 'Adam, I guess it's finally time to tell you...' whatever it is." Adam sits on the bed next to Tommy.

Nothing's ever that simple. Back bowed, refusing to curl into Adam's side, Tommy picks at his black nail polish and flicks the bits onto the hotel room floor.

"It won't change anything between us."

Chewing on his lower lip, Tommy raises his head. "You can't know that."

"I've seen the scars, baby." Adam's hand follows the curve of Tommy's shoulder blade, of the ridges that had once been wings.


Tommy drops his head down, tugging on his fringe and regretting the decision to cut the front. That the point was to prevent him from hiding behind his hair doesn't make it any less annoying right then.

"I'm not human," he finally blurts out.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Not an angel either," Tommy says. "Or a devil."

"One of the more things in heaven and earth." Adam strokes Tommy's back again. Although who he's trying to comfort, Tommy's not sure.

"Heaven." Tommy makes a face. Then, when Adam tries to tug him closer, he adds, "And don't fucking say something sappy."


"Wouldn't dream of it."

The smile, the affection, underlying Adam's words cuts through Tommy like a knife. He begins to fidget, pulling on his clothes, running his hand through his hair, picking at the seam of his jeans like it was the guitar he's desperately missing.

"Stop." Adam catches Tommy's hands in his.

"I don't know how," Tommy says. "It's been so long, so hard, and I still miss them every fucking second of the day. It hurts to move, to breathe."

Adam pulls him close, his strength overcoming Tommy's token resistance. "You flew."

"And then I fell to earth."


"They weren't white," Tommy says, because he doesn't know where else to start. "The feathers were grey, edged with black. They were everything to me."

His back twitches. Muscle memory and phantom pain reminding him of what he's missing.

Adam stays silent, listening. He moves one hand, leaving it warm and reassuring on the nape of Tommy's neck.

"I was wild, reckless. Caught up in the joy of riding the thermals, of soaring up to the clouds and dropping down to the earth. Of making sounds and waves from air. I didn't understand that others couldn't follow where I led."


"They were children. Barely old enough to be flying without someone watching over them."

Leaning against Adam's chest, Tommy rests his ear over Adam's heart, listens to the beat that has become the bass line of his life.

"Did you know," he says, when he can talk again, "that when the wind is just right, and you flutter your wings in exactly the right way, you can make music?"

"No," Adam whispers. The yearning, the desire for something he'll never hear laces his voice.

"I was lost in it. Rising and falling, chasing the currents. Playing the air. Fucking around."


"Music's a full body experience," Adam says, "when you're doing it right."

"Fuck yeah." A half-smile curves Tommy's lips, and he swallows down the ache in his throat.

After a moment of nearly unbearable silence, Tommy continues, "They followed me. Two boy chicks and one girl. I didn't see them, didn't know they were there, but I should have. That's what the Tribunal decided."

Adam tightens his grip on the back of Tommy's neck, but he doesn't say anything.

"I can still hear them some nights." Tommy closes his eyes. "Their screams. The frantic beating of their wings. Their landing."


Adam pulls Tommy into his lap, wraps him in his arms, holding him loosely enough that he could escape if he wanted to.

"I wasn't much more than a kid myself." Tommy presses the words into Adam's shoulder. "Fucking off instead of working."

Sliding his hands beneath Tommy's t-shirt, Adam rubs a thumb over each of Tommy's scars.

Hesitant, Tommy raises his head, looks into Adam's eyes. To his relief, there's no trace of pity or forgiveness.

"You saved one of them." Adam makes it a statement, not a question.

Tommy sighs, kisses Adam, tastes his acceptance like a benediction.

Chapter Text

"What in the fuck happened?" Adam stood in the center of the room and glared at the members of his inner pack. As his attention focused on them, they averted their eyes or cowered back into their chairs.

Tommy was the only one who didn't back down, which didn't help Adam's mood.

A growl vibrating through his chest, Adam snarled, "Isaac? Can you explain this?" He dug his fingers into the ruff at the back of Tommy's neck.

Isaac winced but didn't say anything.

Absently scratching behind Tommy's ears, Adam sighed. "I need a guitarist tomorrow night. Not a wolf."


It's not Isaac's fault, Tommy wanted to say, but he could only rub against Adam's leg, leaving hair all over his pants. Adam lifted his fingers off Tommy's head; Tommy butted Adam's thigh with his head and whined. That shit wasn't on. Didn't Adam know he needed to be touched?

"We found him like that," Kevin said. "This afternoon."

Tommy wound around Adam's legs and sat down in front of him, putting himself between Adam and Kevin.


The snap in Adam's voice had Tommy whining again. He didn't want Adam to be mad. He wanted more grooming, damn it.


"Where?" Adam repeated, with as much patience as he could manage.

Finally, Neil stepped forward. "Tommy was curled up on your bed with his nose in your pillow."

"You went into my room? Fuck, Neil, that's my space. We had a deal."

"We needed to find Tommy."

"I can't deal with that now. " Adam flicked a hand at Neil and then looked down at Tommy. "Why can't he change back?"

"You don't know?" Moving slowly, Neil stretched a hand toward Tommy.

Crouching down, Adam pulled Tommy against him.

"Think about it." Neil stepped back. "Even you're not that stupid."


His lip curled to reveal one long fang, Tommy watched Neil retreat back into the loose semi-circle of pack members. Then he turned and licked along Adam's jawline. He tasted of cologne and sweat and just fucking good.

"Ugh." Adam slid a hand between Tommy's muzzle and his own face. "Do you have to?"

Your wolf likes it. Tommy pulled back and looked into Adam's eyes. Want you, he thought as hard as he could.

The only effect was that Adam dropped from a crouch to kneeling. Tommy laid his head on Adam's thigh and breathed in his mate's scent.


"His fur's softer. He's already changing," Cam said, interrupting Adam's thoughts. She'd moved to sit on the floor next to Tommy and was stroking his side.

Before Adam could ask for an explanation, Tommy whuffed and nudged her arm with his nose. No touching, Adam thought, yanking Tommy away from her, batting her hand away, and growling.

Cam smiled. She patted Adam's shoulder then got up and walked out.


Too tight! Tommy whined and struggled in Adam's hold. It hurts!

"Be still," Adam snapped.

Tommy licked the side of Adam's face in apology, and Adam covered Tommy's muzzle with his hand. It felt like rejection.

What the fuck? Tommy dug his claws into Adam's leg and shoved, getting free so fast that he slid backwards over the hardwood floor into Terrance. Who reached down to steady him.

The next thing Tommy knew, he was on his back with Adam stretched over him.

"Get out," Adam ordered.

As the others obeyed, Tommy sighed and tucked his head into Adam's neck. Finally!


Adam pushed himself off Tommy and into a sitting position. He ran his thumb up Tommy's nose and over his forehead, slowly, meditatively.

Every instinct in his body, in his wolf, that had been clamoring for attention calmed as the word, Mine, flashed through him.

"Oh," Adam murmured. He lifted his hands, stared at them, rubbed them together. His fingertips tingled. How could he have forgotten what his mom had taught him?

The sound of claws scrabbling on hardwood brought Adam out of his trance just in time to see Tommy dash out the patio doors into the backyard.



Tommy ran. From his confusion, from his inability to tell Adam what he wanted. From Adam's rejection and the way it made Tommy want to crawl on his belly until Adam got it.

He raced through the backyard and into the trees. There was cool grass under his paws, and his claws tore into the dirt with every step; it felt so good.

His nose twitched as he sorted through the different scents. Plants, raccoon trails, none of them tempted him, none of them smelled quite right.

Goddamn it! Slamming to a halt, Tommy threw back his head and howled.


The sound, the pain, galvanized Adam. He jumped to his feet, shedding his clothes and shifting into his wolf as he pursued his mate.

My mate. Adam added his own voice to the music Tommy was creating. He crashed through the underbrush, not slowing down until he could see Tommy. Adam growled an order to stay as he leapt, but Tommy ran away again.

With a snap of his teeth, Adam gave chase. He moved faster, finally catching up as Tommy tried to turn away from the wall that marked the boundaries of pack property.

Gathering his strength, Adam pounced.


Tommy hesitated as he heard Adam howl. Less than a second later, he was flattened to the ground by Adam's weight. Held in place by Adam's sharp teeth digging into his ruff.

It was almost over. A thrill sparked through Tommy. Fuck yeah, he thought.

Adam's answering growl reverberated through him, reassuring Tommy that Adam had understood this time. Tommy stretched his neck, gave Adam the access, the encouragement he needed.

Another growl and then Adam shook Tommy lightly by the ruff, biting down harder. Until Adam's teeth finally, finally sank through thick fur and skin, and Tommy was claimed.


The taste, the scent of his mate surrounding him, Adam found himself lying in the backyard, curled around an equally naked and human Tommy. "Hey?"

Tommy twisted, displaying the bite at the base of his neck. "Hey."

"My room," Adam said, standing up and scooping a protesting Tommy into his arms.

"I can walk."

"I know."

Pack members scattered as Adam strode inside. Neil was at the front door when they reached the stairs.

"I'm outta here," Neil said. "Text me when it's safe again."

"That'll be never," Tommy said.

Adam laughed and then kissed Tommy as he headed upstairs.

Chapter Text

"Fuck, Sauli. Yeah, just like that." Adam licks his lips; wanting, needing.

"You... too." Sauli's voice cracks as Adam slips down in the chair, legs spreading further, putting himself on display. " A little twist over the head? Like I do for you."

"So good, baby."

"Faster. Need. Please." Sauli's breath hitches between words. He's so close to the edge, Adam can taste it.

"Yes," Adam hisses. He's fighting to keep his eyes open, to keep his own hand moving. Faster, harder—

Until Sauli's head goes back.

Until the screen blinks and the Skype window goes black.

And Adam screams.

Chapter Text

Tommy stops playing when Adam misses his cue. "What's up?"

"They'll just pick it apart," Adam says. "Crow when I forget words. Find stupid mistakes. Complain when I change something."

"I wouldn't know anything about that." Tommy slashes his pick over the strings.

"You're playing what I want, how I want. Fuck everything else."

"Yes, sir!" Tommy flips him off.

"Asshole." They're silent for a moment, then Adam says, "Hey, no one's complained about the noise yet."

"Awesome." Tommy smirks. "We should totally take advantage."

Within seconds, they're jamming again, filling the hotel suite with sound, lost in the music.

Chapter Text

Flinging the mic stand away, Adam turns his back on the audience, on Sauli, and stalks offstage. There's a moment, a fade-to-black, before Adam's on stage again, hands at his sides, singing.

So fucking intense. Staring down from their TV screen.

Sauli hooks a leg up over the back of the couch. He's got two fingers in his ass, his other hand on his dick, and his eyes on Adam.

Moving to the music, quick slides of his hand, faster twists of his fingers. His breath hitches, comes in gasps of air.

His hips stutter as the video loops again.


Sauli's so damn close. He's riding the beat, surrounded by Adam's voice. He pushes down on his fingers, squeezes his dick, closes his eyes. Almost there—

The video stops, leaves him hanging in silence.

Until slick fingers thrust into him, trapping his fingers inside.

And Adam sings, "No trespassing, that's what it said."

Sauli moans, arches into Adam's touch, stretches his legs further apart.

"No trespassing? Yeah, my ass," Adam murmurs against Sauli's stomach.

Then Adam's fingers press deeper. He sucks on Sauli's dick, still singing, the words vibrating through Sauli.

And Sauli cries out, wordless, incoherent, as he comes.

Chapter Text

The sounds, the words, the music aren't enough. Adam wants more, needs more. The ache grows, minute after minute, song after song.

He doesn't want it to control him, but he has no choice. It drives him to his knees, sends him crawling across the floor. He begs and pleads, bends over backwards, arches his body, slides his hands up and down, showing what he has to offer.

And when the shift happens, he feels them join him. Has to spread his legs, thrust his hips, welcome them.

Their screams, yells, singing along: such a beautiful release, inside of him.

Chapter Text

English words are tricksters, vanishing when Sauli needs them. He bites his lip, tries to focus, but it's impossible. He presses a little deeper into Adam, only the tip of his cock, and pulls another incomprehensible something from him.

Sweat trickles down Sauli's face. He wants to draw this out, but Adam steals his control just by clutching at the headboard, back arching, legs wrapped around Sauli's hips.

Finally, Adam manages a mangled kovempaa, and Sauli can thrust. Hard. His cock is deep inside Adam. He's staring into Adam's eyes. And he realizes it's time to teach him rakastan sinua.

Chapter Text

Tommy woke up to complete darkness. His mouth tasted worse than ass, and his tongue felt thicker than cotton wool. He was on his back, staring up at where the ceiling would be, if he could see anything.

He went to rub his eyes, but only managed to move his hands a few inches before steel bands dug into his wrists.

His heart sped up. Bile burned the back of his throat, almost choking him when he tried to breathe.

"Don't worry, pretty kitty," a man whispered. "You're not alone."

Tommy swallowed down a scream. Alone would have been better.

Chapter Text

The sword glints in the overhead light. Tommy runs his thumb over the pommel, resisting the urge to free the bright steel from the dark leather of her travel case.

"Sorry, baby. You know I don't like this any more than you do." Sighing, he closes the lid and begins locking up his lifeline to safety. "Modern airports are a fucking pain in the ass. It's not like I'd take the head of the fucking pilot, even if he was an immortal." He pauses, and his mouth twists into a smirk. "Well, not before the plane's on the ground anyway."


"Why are you still here?" Adam asks, his handler/manager, whoeverthefuckheis, hovering behind him. "Everyone's at security."

"Just checking my shit."

"But that's—" Adam gestures at the swordcase leaning against Tommy's guitar, letting his hands speak the words he's clearly lost. "And, you know, tour."

Tommy might've laughed if he weren't about to trust his life to a goddamn airline with a rep for losing luggage. Then again, he really fucking likes Adam, so he has to say something.

"Got it covered," he says, holding up his paperwork. "Seriously, dude, stop freaking out. This is so not the hardest part of flying."


After three autographs, five pictures, and one over-enthusiastic fan who brings security down on their asses when the manager-dude tries to get between her and Adam, they're finally heading for security. Escorted, of course, by the airport cop. It would've been a complete drag, if the cop hadn't taken them around the long lines.

It's totally an effect of being Adam Lambert. And Tommy can't help wondering what he's gotten himself into. How the fuck is he going to run under the radar of modern life when he's on stage, on camera, next to this man who shines so brightly?


The flight's a goddamn nightmare. Seriously. Tommy's never turned his nose up at modern technology. Internet for the win, for fuck's sake. But being up in the air? Is for the birds, fucking literally.

Still, he can survive it. He got through the fucking inquisition, after all. Pulling his hood over his head, he plugs in his headphones, turns up the tunes, and pretends that he's drumming his fingers in time to the music.

He's definitely not missing his sword or feeling the weight of Adam's questions all the way from first class. Or the buzz of last night's quickening.


He makes it all the way to the hotel, almost to his room, before Adam cracks.

Jittery from the flight, from the two immortals he sensed as they travelled through the city, Tommy hugs his sword, still in her case, to his chest. He wants to free her, curl his hand around her hilt, feel her solid reassurance.

He's about to get off with everyone else, when Adam grabs his bicep.

"Oh no," Adam says, pulling him back into the elevator. "You're coming with me."

Fucking traitors, Tommy thinks, as he watches the others walk away without a backwards glance.


Once in Adam's suite, Tommy leaves his guitar and duffel by the door and heads for the bar. He empties a couple of mini-bottles of shitty but drinkable whiskey into a glass and places it on the counter next to the case.

He's got the locks undone by the time Adam's gotten rid of the flunky and has joined him.

"Show me." Adam's intake of breath when Tommy opens the lid is audible. There's a pause before Adam says, "Oh my god. You brought a sword. On tour."

"Everywhere, dude," Tommy says, bracing himself for the inevitable avalanche of questions.


Instead, Adam runs a finger down the center of the blade. "She's beautiful," he says.

"Yeah." Brushing Adam's hand away, Tommy frees his sword from her confinement. He steps back and twirls her a little, needing her weight pulling on his muscles, to fucking know she's with him. "She's my favorite lady."

It's not much of an explanation, but it's enough. Adam gets that look of sheer joy on his face, the same one he gets when the music is going just right. This close up, with the sheer joy of it focused on him, it takes Tommy's breath away.


"You're immortal?"

"Yeah." Tommy's sitting cross-legged, facing Adam on the couch. He's fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie, ridiculously aware of the tiny hole in his left sock. "Until, you know, someone comes along and cuts my head off.

"No fangs?" Disappointment laces Adam's voice. "Not a vampire?"

"No such thing, dude."

"Well, shit."

Tommy nods solemnly. "Totally bites."

"Daylight, though," Adam offers, "and you get to eat garlic."

"Life would suck without them."

Adam groans.

The seconds stretch out, making Tommy's fingers itch for his sword again. Then Adam licks his lips, and everything between them snaps tight.


"I kissed you," Adam says.

"I remember." Tommy's stomach does that same swoop. He bites his bottom lip, attempting to conquer the weird dizziness.

"On TV, too. Although—" Adam fits his hand to Tommy's neck, sending a shiver through him "—that might not have been the best idea. Aren't you supposed to keep a low profile?"

"Nah, I've got it covered." Tommy leans forward until Adam's hand presses into his adam's apple, sending a quickening-like buzz swirling through him.

Then Adam licks Tommy's lips, and Tommy opens up for him. And everything he's gotten himself into seems worth the risk.

Chapter Text

Tommy isn't an idiot, no matter what some people think. As far as he's concerned, anyone who judges him on his shit spelling or his pink hair or his accent gets what they deserve. That being said, he does have his moments of being hit over the head by truths he's been ignoring, and this is one of them.

Fuck Isaac and his fucking bare chest fetish anyway. Who the hell wants to let fans see the nakedness beneath the cover-up?

Straightening up, Tommy forcibly moves his attention back to stage front, to Adam, who's charming the crowd as usual.


Afterwards, while Adam's being courted by the soul-sucking vampires with their cameras and mics, by the famous and wanna-be famous, Tommy heads for the open bar. He's beyond ready to take his jacket off, but not here, not in front of their avid eyes.

"Tommy!" Isaac catches him by the sleeve, strong hand gripping firmly enough that Tommy can't slip away.

Damning himself while he does it, Tommy pauses and turns to Isaac. "Getting a drink," he says, "then a shower." He waves his free hand at his underarms.

"We need to talk," Isaac says, and Tommy's post-concert high plummets.

"Not here," Tommy says. "Not now."

"Today. Tonight."

Tommy shakes his head. "We were drunk, man. Fucking wasted."

It's not a lie, but it's so damn far from the whole truth that it might as well be. And, from the look on his face, Isaac knows it. Fuck him for that.

Isaac reaches up with his free hand and resettles his hat before removing it. He leans forward and whispers, "Not enough to forget." Then he places his hat on Tommy's head and walks away.

Drowning in Isaac's scent, Tommy turns away from the bar and heads for the showers.

It's a DM tonight, not a tweet, but the invitation is still the same: cards in Brian's room. Tommy's running his fingers around the brim of Isaac's hat, about to accept, when he hears a familiar knock on his door. Before he's so much as thought about whether to pretend he's not there, the door opens.

Isaac's got a room card in his hand and doesn't look even remotely apologetic. He puts out the Do Not Disturb sign, flips the security locks, then walks toward the bed, toward Tommy.

"Now," Isaac says.

Tommy sends Isaac's hat spinning across the room.

Isaac's sitting on the bed before Tommy can drag his eyes away from the hat. He doesn't fucking do talking. He thought Isaac got that. Yeah, he can talk someone's ear off when he's in the mood for it, but that's not the same as fucking talking. At least according to his ex-girlfriends.

Tommy stares at his fingers, which are flexing and twitching with the urge to play, to grab a guitar and jam, to create music so he can hide from this shit.

"Talk to me," Isaac says, and Tommy flinches at the unidentifiable emotional something in Isaac's voice.

They sit there, silent in a way they've never been before. Not since that first day when Isaac was introduced as the new drummer. Tommy was drawn to him then, like Isaac was a fucking magnet. It's the goddamn smile, the way it lights up Isaac and everyone else around him. Tommy's sure of it.

He scratches at a thin spot in his sleep pants. He should buy new ones, he thinks, even as he pulls the threads apart and creates a tiny hole in the cotton.

"No one else knows," Isaac offers, like that makes everything better.

As if.

Disbelief drives Tommy's head up, drags it around, He stares at Isaac. A snort of laughter escapes the lump of words that are clogging Tommy's throat, choking him, and he shakes his head.

"They don't." Isaac's insistent, as if he actually fucking believes what he's saying.

The brush of Isaac's fingers on the back of Tommy's hands finally releases him. He flings himself off the bed and turns on Isaac.

"You are, like, so not that stupid. The next morning Adam fucking tapped me on the ass and sang, 'walk that walk like you don't give a fuck' to me."

Those words finally kill the smile that always lurks at the back of Isaac's eyes, dims his light, and Tommy wants to kick himself. He's fucking everything up, and he has no idea how to stop himself.

"Adam won't tell anyone," Isaac finally says, after too many seconds have passed.

"That's, like, so not the fucking point." Biting his lip, hugging himself, something breaking inside him, Tommy whispers, "You fucked me. Without any goddamn protection, Isaac."

Isaac is on his feet, wrapping his arms around Tommy, holding him up, almost before the realization, the saying it aloud, has sunk in.

"Tell me you're fucking clean." Burying his face in the crook of Isaac's neck, Tommy's half-bent over, feeling awkward as fuck.

"I'm clean."

"Like, you know, lie to me if you've gotta. I'll totally believe you."

"Not lying." Isaac tugs on Tommy's hair.

Relief makes Tommy snap, "Fucking asshole. Don't do that to me again. Like not ever."

"No more barebacking?" Isaac asks.

Tommy almost over-balances when Isaac pulls back and looks into his eyes, not giving him anywhere to hide.

"Shit, no, that's so not what I meant." Shuffling closer, Tommy snuggles in. "No more letting me run away."

Chapter Text

Adam's spread out before Sauli, hands above his head, cuffed to the headboard, legs pulled apart, tethered at the ankles. Bare skin gleams in the fading sunlight coming through their bedroom windows. Adam shifts constantly, minute flexes and twitches of his muscles, not settling down.

Crawling up the bed, Sauli slides a hand along Adam's leg, cataloguing. Hair scratches his palms. It's been too long since Adam shaved.

Too many signs and none of them good.

"Adam. Rakas." Sauli traces Adam's lips with the knifepoint, feels Adam sigh against the steel. "I hear you lost control while I was away."

Chapter Text

Moonlight ripples across the surface of the infinity pool, seeming to run off the edge of the hill with the water. Tommy steps out of the house. He's barefoot, as required at the full moon, and when his feet touch the cool grass, he shivers with each halting step.

"We waited," Sauli says, holding his free hand palm out towards Tommy.

"You cut it close." The rebuke in Adam's voice makes Tommy smirk.

"I'm not late. You're still here." Tommy steps into place, holding up his hands, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from their palms.


Tommy bows his head, closing his eyes. Part of him is still fighting the decision he made only a few hours earlier. He'll be pack at the end of this night, omega to Adam's alpha and Sauli's beta. Fuck if he knows what that means, being pack.

"Pack," Tommy whispers, feeling out the word. He can't wrap his head around it, wouldn't be here if he had a choice, but no one will let a blooded omega remain free. If only he'd kept his claws to himself last month. If only—

"Family," Sauli responds, cutting off Tommy's train of thought.


"We won't force you, even now. You can still run. We'll hold on for as long as we can."

The effort it takes Adam to make the offer is clear, but Tommy is sure that he means it. His voice wraps around Tommy, seductive with power and truth.

Tommy takes a breath, and the scent of something alien, something different makes his nostrils twitch and his sinuses itch. It's Adam and Sauli, he thinks, alpha and beta.

Pack! Run! The memory of his father's voice murmurs through Tommy's mind, and he blinks, trying to ease the burning in his eyes.


"How—" Tommy has to stop and clear his throat, of the fear and shit that's clogging it up. "You'd just chase me, fucking catch me in an eyeblink."

"No." The lines on Adam's forehead deepen; the skin around his eyes tightens. "We spend the pack moon at home."

"Pack is not force, not captivity," Sauli says. "Not for us. We do not want you if you aren't willing."

Sauli's accent, everything that's different about him, is reassuring in a way that Adam's California-grown attitude isn't. Tommy's drawn to him, begins to believe that Sauli can protect him against Adam's instincts.


A breeze comes up, swirls around them, ruffles the surface of the pool and their hair, surrounds Tommy with their scents. He breathes deeply, draws them in, and tries to sort through the tales his dad told him about alphas. Tries not to curse again at the fate that had made him a fucking omega.

Not bottom of the pack, his dad once told him, but property of the alpha. Owned. Unable to leave.

"Leave now, if that's what you want." Adam's gritting out the words, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

"I can hold him," Sauli offers, "but go."


They would do it. Tommy can tell from the rigidity of their stances. The way Adam looks at Sauli, not at him.

It's so totally beyond his experience. He's blown away by it.

Tommy stares at his own hands. At the scars that mark his fingers from the fight last full moon, when he used his claws to slash open the Burbank alpha's throat rather than submit to his brutality.

Choice is such a fucking relative thing, he thinks. And, yet, it's being offered to him. If he can just get the fuck out of LA tonight, he'll be safe.


"Tommy!" Pain laces Adam's voice, roughens it. "Make a fucking choice, please."

As Tommy watches, Adam's nails grow and thicken, his hands start to transform, but he's holding himself still, waiting. Adam's staring at Sauli as if he's a lifeline. And Sauli, who the fuck knows how, is managing to keep Adam's alpha wolf in check.

"Please stay," Sauli says, and his gentle smile fucking drives itself into Tommy's chest. "We need you, for balance."

His heart thudding, his mouth dry, Tommy takes the last step forward and he twines his fingers with theirs, feels Adam's claws scrape his skin.


Before he's taken another breath, Tommy is drawn between them. Sauli holds him with his back against Sauli's front, and Adam presses into him.

"Oh," Tommy says. Overwhelmed, he rests his head against Sauli's shoulder, and his knees buckle. Adam and Sauli catch Tommy, support him, bear his weight, as the change overwhelms him.

The pain uncurls from Tommy's spine, but it's so goddamn different from every other full moon that he has no fucking words. There's no ripping agony, no sense of losing himself.

And as his wolf draws the moonlight down, Tommy's howl is doubled, tripled, and claimed.

Chapter Text

Tommy's a total freak for sound. Riffs, chords, rattles, hums, beats, and progressions. He breathes, eats, sleeps, fucking well lives for it.

The soft whoosh of a flogger being swished through the air raises goosebumps on his body. It curls through him like the vibrations from his guitar, makes him ache with anticipation.

Each sharp flick of the flogger arrows down his spine, lodges in his balls, wraps around his dick, leaves him wanting, needing more.

And each snap, each slap of leather against his skin drives the music into him, pushes him deeper into himself, until he finds peace.

Chapter Text

They're sitting on the floor. Tommy's wearing socks; Adam and Sauli are barefoot. The TV flickers in the background, image paused on a woman with her mouth open, caught in mid-scream. They'd stopped so that Adam could answer the phone.

As soon as Adam disconnects the call, Sauli shifts until his back is to the TV, to the memories of a time when he watched too many late night movies.

He strokes a hand down Adam's arm, trailing his fingers along the path created by the freckles. Then he traces the ink on Tommy's arm. So different from Sauli's own.


Sauli looks down at his own arms. Bright ink on one, a few freckles dusting the other, and no sign of the tiny scars he expects to see. He clenches his fists, digging his nails into his palms as the urge to scratch at them rises inside him.

How could something like that heal, he wonders, leaving no scars to remind him not to repeat the same mistakes. How can he still see them?

"I need more ink."

It's not until Adam asks, "Sauli? Baby?" and Tommy says, "Me too," that Sauli realizes he said those four words out loud.


Fear swamps Sauli in a rush. His heart speeds up, and for a moment, he can smell the harsh sweetness of brown powder dissolving into bubbling water, of his life cooking away.

He lowers his head and squeezes his eyes shut. The instinct to run, to hug his arms around himself, is broken by the gentleness of Adam's touch on the nape of Sauli's neck. By the way Tommy wraps his hand around one of Sauli's and holds on as if he understands.

"Nothing's that bad," Adam says.

Sauli laughs, a wet hiccup of a sound. "You have no idea."


"I see lines," Tommy says. "Red with blood like the spatters of ink on my arm."

"What?" Sauli blinks his eyes open and tilts his head, not quite understanding.

Tommy shrugs diffidently and ducks behind his bangs. "Tried cutting once or twice, but it didn't really help with the pain."

"What do you see?" Adam's voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. He caresses Sauli's arm.

Sauli clears his throat, pausing as he tries to find words in English for the pictures in his head. "Many tiny marks," he finally says, "like the pricks of a pin. Inside my arms."


"They healed," Sauli adds, when he finds himself caught between Adam and Tommy. "I didn't think they would go away like that. As if nothing happened."

Adam brushes his lips over Sauli's temple. "None of it goes away," he says. "The scars just move inside."

"That's like totally hokey." Tommy makes a face. "We're going to have to cut you off Lifetime. Cold turkey, dude."

Tommy curls into Sauli. Adam leans against the couch, holding both of them. And Adam and Tommy start bickering, trading increasingly ridiculous insults.

The past falls away, and this time Sauli's laugh is almost normal.

Chapter Text

"Damn it. I'm going to miss the parade." Adam threw the rainbow cloak across the room. It landed on top of the platform boots he'd fallen off that morning. "This sucks."

"Yep." Brad nodded. "It does." He pirouetted, making his own cloak flare. "I'll be thinking of you. Every step of the way, as I dance with all the cute boys."

Adam scowled. "You don't have to be such a bitch about it."

"Oh, darling, of course I do." Brad perched on the bed and kissed Adam on the forehead.

"Hate you."

"Me too."

Pouting, Adam rolled away from Brad.


The bedroom door bounced off the wall with a bang, and Brad sang out, "Hello, poutful one."

"Fuck off," Adam muttered. He shifted and his sprained ankle sent a sharp ache up his leg.

"Oh, don't be like that." Brad sailed across the room, shedding clothes and glitter as he moved. Curlicues and swirls had been painted over his face, neck, and chest in rainbow colors.

"Why not? I didn't get to strut my shit at Pride. I got to sleep and watch TV."

"But, honey, I come bearing gifts." Brad batted his eyelashes. "Time for you to have fun."


"Gifts?" Adam stared at Brad, who was standing by the bed, completely naked, with one hand behind his back. "How afraid should I be?"

"Oh you." Brad tutted and flapped a hand at him. "As if I'd do anything bad to you." He paused and gave Adam a considering look. "Well, nothing bad that you didn't want."

An image of the crop that Brad had found in a garage sale a couple of weeks earlier flashed through Adam's head, and arousal slid thick and heavy down his spine to settle in his balls.

"How—" Adam cleared his throat. "How bad?"


Brad gave Adam a bright smile as he yanked the covers off the bed, leaving Adam naked and exposed.

Before Adam could think of how to respond to that, Brad climbed onto the bed, angling so that Adam couldn't see behind him. He settled on Adam's good leg, his ass warm against Adam's thigh.

"Brad? Honey? What have you done?"

"I've brought you a rainbow," Brad said, and then he brought his hand out from behind his back with a flourish.

Adam flinched as Brad coated Adam's chest and stomach with thick liquid. "Oh my god. Cold."

"Not for long."


The room filled with the mingled scents of strawberry, orange, lime, and other fruit. He went to run his finger through the liquid, but Brad rapped the back of his hand.

"No, no, no." Brad raised up on his hands and knees. "This is all mine. Hold onto the headboard or I'll stop." Then he licked a hot, damp stripe up from Adam's belly button.

Adam's head went back, and he gripped the brass posts. A groan escaped him as Brads tongue swirled over his nipples. A suck, a gentle bite, and Adam was arching up into Brad's mouth. "Please?"


Brad's mouth was everywhere. Liquid splashed down again and again. The cool quickly replaced by the warmth of Brad's mouth. The softness emphasized by a sharp nip of Brad's teeth.

Bending the knee of his good leg, Adam rolled his hips up into Brad. "Love rainbows," he gasped.

"So good." Brad slithered up Adam's body.

A kiss filled Adam's mouth with flavor. Sweet grape and sour lime. He licked his way past Brad's lips, feeling Brad's cock against his own. It was sticky and slippery, as Brad squeezed their cocks, jacked them, and released them, lifting his weight off Adam.


"Fucker." Wanting, needing, Adam fought not to pull Brad back down, lick the smirk off Brad's face.

"You should be so lucky." Brad blew him a kiss. Then, tossing the squeeze bottles away, he bent over and slid his mouth down Adam's chest, over his stomach. He paused above Adam's sticky, damp cock and blew lightly.

A shiver went through Adam, curling his toes, raising goosebumps on his skin. "You absolute shi—" He stuttered to a halt when Brad dipped his tongue into the slit of Adam's cock.

And when Brad sucked the tip hard, Adam growled, "Oh my fuck."


Brad slipped a hand under Adam's ass, rubbed a finger over his cleft, teasing, as his mouth moved up and down Adam's cock.

Unable to stop himself, Adam let go of the headboard with one hand and reached down to tangle his fingers in Brad's hair. He bucked up into Brad's mouth, his cock bumping over Brad's tongue, into the back of his throat.

Again and again. Faster, harder. Until Adam was lost in the slurping sounds, the scents of sex and fruit, the hot and the wet and the blindingly sharp sizzle that arced through him as he came.


"I fucking love rainbows." Pulling Brad upwards, hugging him tightly, Adam kissed him. Tasting himself, tasting everything they were.

Brad's cock was soft and damp against Adam's skin, and his smile was bright and fierce. "Love you, too."

After a few seconds, they looked around and laughed.

"Oh my god, these sheets." Adam ran a finger over a purple stain next to his hip. "Is this even going to come out?"

"I brought Pride home," Brad said. "You can clean it up."

"But I'm hurt."

Brad sighed and settled against Adam's side. "Tomorrow," he said, and Adam kissed him again.

Chapter Text

The video is old, tucked away on a flash drive that Tommy found in a worn-out backpack. To his surprise, the file plays on his semi-new laptop, after he clicks through the mandatory complaints about compatibility issues.

It's Adam from a few years back, strutting his stuff across the stage in Moscow, singing with Queen.

Sitting up, Tommy pops the setting to full-screen and cranks up the sound.

Dude's totally the fucking shit. Was then and is now.

He presses pause when Adam sinks to his knees, barefoot. It was another life, another identity, and yet—

"Miss you," he whispers.


The next night, he's buying coffee at the store on the corner when Adam's voice comes from the screen above the register. He's on the red carpet, surrounded by a forest of mics. Tommy's about to move on when a shouted question stops him in his tracks.

"Mr Lambert, Adam, what's with the curse on the guitarist position in your band? I hear your last one refused to sign on for another tour."

Guilt flushing through him, Tommy punches up the volume in his earbuds and races out the door.

It's not like he'd wanted to leave, for fuck's sake.


A week later, Tommy's half a world away. He's in a club, sucking up a hickey on the neck of some dude, when the music fades into one of Adam's hits. One that Tommy played guitar on.

"Fuck." Tommy pulls off. He's still hungry, but he's lost his appetite.

"What the hell," the twink says, pressing up against him, rubbing his erection against Tommy's hip. "Things were just getting good here."

Shaking his head, Tommy walks away, ignoring the unimaginative insults being thrown at his back. He's walking past the DJ booth when he hears a familiar, "Oh my god."


Tommy fades into the shadows and looks around. His heart thuds once, which is a fucking strange feeling these days. He focuses, separating out the threads of a hundred conversations, and eventually locates Adam.

"Don't even joke about it," Adam is saying. "It's been years, and I still get tweets from fans about Tommy. I don't even know what I fucking did." There's a pause before Adam mutters, "Shit, I need a fucking drink."

Adam's pain stabs into Tommy, twines with his own, and leaves him breathless and aching. He'd done the right thing. He'd had to leave.

Hadn't he?


Leaving would've been the smart thing to do, but Tommy stays. He keeps to the shadows, watching Adam, listening to his pain, until Tommy's soul feels raw and he's drowning in guilt.

He follows Adam and his friend — boyfriend? — through the rain-wet streets to their hotel. A silent shadow, protecting them from a mugger they never see or hear.

The lobby is bright, too many lights for Tommy to hide, so he hovers outside and watches them go up in the elevator. Five people and two floors.

He should leave, find another country, but he presses the elevator button instead.


The penthouse is card-access only. Tommy heads back downstairs, books a suite, and a few minutes later, he's on Adam's floor. A slow walk takes him to the doors at the far end.

Adam's singing is faint, quiet, faraway. The song is one that Adam didn't include on his latest album, one he'd been working on when Tommy left.

Eyes closed, Tommy listens; his fingers twitch, picking at chords he's never stopped playing.

It was a really fucking stupid idea, he decides, pushing away from the wall.

He's halfway to the elevator when a door opens and Adam says, "Tommy?"


Tommy freezes in place, ducks his head, and stares at the tips of his boots. He could run, be heading down the stairs before Adam has had time to blink, but he can't move. Can't think. Can't make up his mind.

"Don't go." Adam's moving slowly, as if he's afraid to spook Tommy.

Eventually, though, Adam's close enough for Tommy to feel the heat of his body, to hear the thump of his heart, to smell the perfume of his blood.

"I shouldn't have come," Tommy says. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step forward, away.

"Don't go," Adam repeats. "Please."


"Don't," Tommy says, clenching his fists against the hunger that's rising inside him. For blood, for music, for Adam.

"Tell me why then. Tell me what the fuck I did wrong."


"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not. I won't. Ever. I promised."

Adam's hand is warm on Tommy's shoulder, tentative in a way that Adam has never been with him. His touch drags a sigh from Tommy, and he sags back against Adam.

"I've gotta go," he says. "Before it's too damn late for both of us."

"It's already late."

Adam's barely holding him, but Tommy can't break free.


The wine Adam offers Tommy when they're back in his suite is nearly the color of blood. Tommy cradles the glass in his hand for a moment, sniffs its contents, and discards it on a small table. Adam's heartbeat providing a bass line to Freddie's voice, Tommy heads for the window.

"They thought you'd been murdered." Adam comes to stand next to him.

"They're fucking idiots." Tommy stares at their reflections in the window. His is blurry around the edges, but it's there.

"You called them. Cleared everyone."

"I'm not a complete asshole."

Adam smiles. "I wanted to kill you."


Licking his lips, Tommy feels the tips of his fangs scrape his tongue. "I was fucked up enough back then that I might've thanked you."

Adam stares into his eyes through the glass. His hand rises in a pleading gesture and then falls again. "Whatever happened, whatever you did, I would have helped you."

"Yeah, I know." Tommy wraps his arms around himself. Stupid to come here, he thinks, with dawn only a few hours away. He takes a step back and another, starts to turn.

This time Adam grabs him hard, spins him around, and just stares at him.


"Oh, Tommy." Adam draws him close, hugs him the way he always did, tucking Tommy's head in the crook of his neck.

"Adam. Fuck. Don't." The words sound strange, almost lisped, because Tommy's fangs dropped.

"You're hungry." Adam makes it a statement not a question.

"You're not freaking out."

To Tommy's shock, Adam fucking laughs. A bright chime of sound that curls through Tommy and makes him want. The way it always did.

"You're okay." Adam pets Tommy, tugs on his too-long, too-dark hair, traces his cheekbone with a thumb. "You're here."

Then he pulls back and punches Tommy, hard.


Tommy lands on his ass, missing the coffee table by inches. There's blood in his mouth, from where one of his fangs punctured his tongue. Swallowing, he rubs a hand over his jaw, tests it, wincing when he feels the bone heal itself.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that." Falling to his knees, Adam crawls over to sit next to him.

"Really?" Tommy looks up at Adam through his eyelashes. "No fucking idea?"

"Maybe one or two?"

Tommy smiles, then raises his hand and brushes his hair out of his eyes. "Damn, I've missed you."

"Me too."


Freddie's singing, "but life still goes on," when Adam kisses Tommy. At first, it's soft and sweet, unlike any other kiss they've shared, on stage or off. Then he licks into Tommy's mouth, fits a hand to Tommy's throat, and Tommy opens up to him.

Adam's grip, his mouth, are like coming home, like discovering a precious surprise. Aching need rises in Tommy as Adam ends the kiss.

"You," Adam says, happily.

"Fuck, yeah."

Tommy crawls into Adam's lap, presses against him, and when Adam drags his tongue over Tommy's fangs, Tommy sucks on the sweet, high taste of life.

Chapter Text

Adam was standing outside the restaurant, trying to ignore the paps as he signed one last autograph and posed for one last picture, when he heard it.

Wheels screeching, brakes squealing, someone yelling.

A thump.

A bang.

A crash.

A single thought in Adam's mind.


Dropping whatever the fuck he'd been holding, Adam ran towards the pile of crumpled metal, caught between a barrier and the car that had slammed sideways into it.

Metal that had once been a car.

Their car.

Where Sauli had gone to sit and wait for him, away from the paps and the fans.

Shaking off the hands grabbing at him, Adam found a car door and reached for the handle. Yanked at it, then yanked harder when it didn't open.

Calling out Sauli's name. Praying to something he'd never really believed in. Praying to anything, anyone who'd listen.

He fought not to be pulled away, yelling at them, crying.

"Just fucking help me."


"Gotta fucking get him out of there."

Then there were more hands. Strong hands. Gentle hands. Familiar hands.

A voice he knew and loved.

And, as he clung to Sauli, Adam almost believed in more than he could see.

Chapter Text

The scent of cedar fills the air, sharp and comforting. Water drips onto hot stones and sizzles into steam. Tommy closes his eyes and stretches out, tries to relax on a wooden bench that's almost too warm for comfort.

Heat surrounds him, fills him. Sweat rolls down his face, pools in his belly button.

Shifting, he places his feet flat against the wide slats and runs his hand over his dick. The gentle feather-like stroke jolts through him like lightning.

It's a new moon, and the yearning that started at the full moon is cresting. He can't fucking pretend anymore.


Tommy's been feeling like this for days. Dizzying spirals of heat curl through him and lick at his nerve endings. They're cooler when he's alone, with friends, or practicing with the band, then warmer and warmer and even fucking warmer when he's with Sauli and Adam.

He shifts again, licks his lips, and breathes in air made prickly with heat.

He tightens his grip on his dick, squeezes.

But it totally isn't what he needs. He needs Adam and Sauli. Needs their touch and their support and all the things that they've held back, waiting for him, giving him space.


A deep breath fills him with more heat. He closes his eyes and goes back to stroking his dick lightly, reveling in the feelings, the ache that spreads through him like wildfire. Sauli and Adam loom in his memory, their carefulness with him, their understanding of his need to make his own place in the pack.

Do I ask? Tommy's swimming in uncertainty, near to drowning in his ignorance about what a pack omega's supposed to do.

And the want is searing him. "God damn you and your fucking patience," he yells. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"


Just asking the question opens something up in Tommy. The ache expands, moving beyond his skin, bringing an answering need back to him.

Tommy pants for breath, feeling like the oxygen has been burned out of the air. An odd crooning escapes from his throat. He almost claps a hand over his mouth to stop it, then arches his head back and calls.

Two voices, raised in wolfsong, twine around each other, moving closer every second, answering him.

No longer alone, the need rising hotter and hotter, Tommy grits his teeth and resists the urge to get to his knees.


"So strong," Sauli says, running his hand over Tommy's hair as he sits on the bench at Tommy's head.

Settling between Tommy's legs, Adam pushes them further apart and rubs his cheek against Tommy's thigh. "Still fucking fighting," he says and then leans down and nips at Tommy's hipbone.

Arousal skitters and sparks along Tommy's nerves, drawing him tighter and tighter. He presses his hip into Adam's mouth, wanting more, needing more. He starts to say something and Sauli is there, bending over and sucking on Tommy's lower lip, licking away his words.

He's strung between them, aching, wanting, needing.


Adam traces a path across Tommy's stomach with tongue and teeth, and then buries his nose at the base of Tommy's dick. His fingers, slick with lube, slide from Tommy's balls to his ass, and he presses a finger inside Tommy. Rocking upward, Tommy pushes down on Adam's finger.

Again Sauli steals Tommy's words with his mouth, his tongue. He whispers to Tommy in Finnish as he rubs, twists, and tweaks Tommy's nipples.

Dizzy heat swoops through Tommy. He reaches for Sauli as Adam twists his finger and adds another. He's full, stretched to burning, and it's still not enough.


Then Adam has three fingers inside Tommy, long and thick, crooking just so, and he's nuzzling the base of Tommy's dick.

Fire and heat wash through Tommy. He looks up into Sauli's eyes, opens his mouth, and gives voice to his need with "Fuck" and "Yes" and "More." Repeating them over and over, until his legs are spread wide, resting on Adam's shoulders, and Sauli is straddling his chest.

Tommy sticks out his tongue, almost but not quite touching Sauli's dick. The air tastes of Adam and Sauli, of cedar and lube, of heat and the thick headiness of arousal.


They stay like that for a long moment, poised on the brink.

Then Tommy says, "Yours." To make his point totally clear, he licks the tip of Sauli's dick and rubs his ass against Adam's. "Mine."

"Yes," Adam growls.

Sauli adds something in Finnish that Tommy doesn't understand.

And then they're in him, on him, pinning him down, holding him up. Thrusting harder and harder, as Tommy writhes between them.

They drive him higher and higher. The heat rises. Up and up. Until their howls are thicker than the steam and Tommy comes, falling into them, taking them, accepting them.

Chapter Text

The first week, Sauli wanders around smiling like a crazy man. He starts to think in Finnish again. Exclamations of wonder and appreciation fly through his mind as he goes to his favorite restaurants, eats his favorite foods, enjoys the sights, sounds, and smells that always meant home to him.

He buys souvenirs for his lovers, their family and friends in LA, cheap trinkets with a story he can tell.

It's in Hyvinkää, as he's soaking in his parents' hot tub, that an unexpected realization steals the breath from his lungs

This place, this house, this country, is not home.

Tommy's housesitting for Adam and Sauli. At least that's what he'd say if someone asked. Not that anyone ever does. The few friends who don't know the truth know better than to ask.

He leaves the TV on in the living room, playing one of the stupid reality shows that Sauli adores. In the family room, he cranks up the pop shit Adam was listening to before he left, remembers how they sang along and danced like complete idiots.

Eventually, he grabs his guitar and heads upstairs into the bedroom, lonely and wondering why he doesn't really feel at home.

Singing with Queen is just about the best high Adam's ever experienced. It's worth having to spend so much time in London without Sauli and Tommy. He's learning so much from Brian and Roger, finding himself in ways he never imagined.

In his free time, he wanders around London, discovers odd things that speak to him of his lovers, of his family and friends, and then has to buy a new suitcase to fit it all.

And after the shopping, the interviews, the performances, the seemingly endless meetings, he goes back to an empty hotel suite to dream of home.

Everything comes together when Tommy stumbles into Adam's suite. His hair is sticking out in more directions than usual, and his scruff is getting decidedly beard-like. He looks as exhausted as Adam and Sauli feel.

None of that matters though. Neither does the thud of Tommy's suitcase knocking over a lamp, nor the green juice that Sauli spills over an expensive coffee table and carpet.

All that matters is the reassuring murmur of their voices, speaking in English and Finnish, the warm comfort of kissing each other.

This, they realize as they curl around each other in bed, is home.

Chapter Text


The word spills out as Adam walks through the door. He's come right from the airport, exhausted, overworked, angry, and in shock. Instead of going home, he's at this fucking hospital, stumbling to a halt beside the bed, staring at his Tommy and getting nothing back.

Ashley shushes Adam, and then she comes over to run a comforting hand down his back. "You can sit on the bed. It won't bother him."

Keeping his own voice down, Adam asks, "What the fuck happened?"

"I didn't give him blood," she says, not answering. "Thought you'd want to do that yourself."


Like the rest of the hospital, this room stinks of chemicals, foul blood and fear. It's only when Adam rests his head on Tommy's chest, careful not to put any weight on it, that he can smell Tommy, hear his heart beat.

"Just fucking tell me," he says when he straightens up, clasping Tommy's free hand, the one not attached to an IV.

The wrongness has Adam wanting to hurt someone. Tommy's been quiet before, but never this still. He's always pale, but never this white. Adam itches to pull out the tubes, disconnect the wires, to take Tommy home.


"It was a crazy woman who kept yelling about saving the world from vampires, and saving you from the fires of hell. And apparently Tommy," Ashley says, perching on the opposite side of the bed. "Cops said she was with the Fellowship of the Sun a while back."

Raising Tommy's hand, Adam rubs his cheek over the knuckles.

"You need to take care of this." Ashley brushes Tommy's bangs out of his face, tucks them behind his ear.

Tommy just lies there and lets her do it. Seeing him makes Adam's fangs drop into place, and he snarls at her.


"You don't have to Make him, if that's what you're worried about."

Ashley's comment pulls Adam out of a semi-trance. He stares at her over Tommy's wrist, tip of his tongue still pressed against the pulse point. A nick of the fragile skin, a taste of Tommy's blood would have told him the same thing.

She rolls her eyes at him and pushes to her feet. "Fine. I'm going to the cafeteria to let everyone know you're here. And then I'll get a doctor to sign Tommy out."

Pausing, she adds, "Just be done by the time I get back."


When the door closes behind her with a snick, Adam turns back to Tommy. He finds himself looking into bloodshot brown eyes.

"It's not her fault," Tommy croaks. "Stop fucking thinking that it was."

"I wasn't—"

"You totally were. Give it up, Lambert."

Adam makes a face at him. "No way."

"Hah." Tommy struggles to sit up, gritting his teeth against the pain. Air wheezes through his lungs, loud and painful. It makes Adam want to break something, to wrap Tommy up in cotton wool and keep him somewhere safe.

He's pretty sure Tommy would kill him for it though.


"You're drinking my blood." Adam doesn't make it a question. He knows his limits, and he won't — he can't — take a chance on Tommy not recovering from this.


Adam blinks. All the arguments that he doesn't need are choking him.

"What?" Tommy snorts and then says, "Fuck, I shouldn't have done that."

"I thought you'd—"

"Argue with you? Refuse on the grounds of some fucking humanity that doesn't mean shit to me?" Tommy turns over his hand in Adam's loose grip and twines their fingers together. "I'm not stupid, and I sure as shit don't wanna die. Now gimme!"


Adam kisses him, tasting Tommy, tasting the death that's hovering around him, and then reaches over and rips out the IV. Something starts beeping as he bites into his own wrist, gets louder as he presses it against Tommy's mouth.

And then Tommy sucks.

It's been so long, too long. Adam had forgotten the rush. His toes curl in his boots, and he has to cling onto the bed for support as Tommy drinks, as they bond. Adam's head goes back, and he moans.

He can feel Tommy. All of him. Feel the want and the love and the need.


"God damn. That's fucking amazing," Tommy says, and then he's kissing Adam, pulling Adam down on top of him. He tastes like Adam's blood.

Adam licks into him, cutting Tommy's lip with his fangs. He sucks on that, on Tommy's blood. So hot, so human, it's like a fucking drug to Adam.

"If you don't mind."

The voice is dry and male, and it goes through Adam like a bolt of lightning. He rolls over, coming to a crouch on the bed, placing himself between Tommy and the intruder.

The doctor is tall and balding, and he's apparently not amused.


It still takes too long to get Tommy out of the hospital. There're too many forms and too much waiting, but eventually they're in the car, and Isaac's speeding down the roads, trying to beat the sunrise.

Fucking sun, Adam thinks, as he wraps himself around Tommy in their large bed.

"Stop thinking," Tommy mumbles into his pillow. "Got enough problems sleeping as it is."

"Not today," Adam says. He drops a kiss on the top of Tommy's head. And then, surrounded by Tommy's scent, lulled by the rhythm of the music running through Tommy's dreams, Adam falls into sleep.

Chapter Text

One last tweet and Tommy locked his phone to save the battery. The hotel room was completely dark without that tiny amount of light. Shivering, he slid down in the bed and pulled the covers up almost over his head.

Tommy pressed a kiss into the warm skin of Brian's chest. "Off the grid always sounds better than it really is, you know."

"Gotta use your imagination. Feel your way through the darkness." Brian rolled on top of Tommy. "The power won't be out forever."


"Yeah." Brian rolled his hips sweet and slow, sliding their dicks together.

"Fuck yeah."

Chapter Text

Adam wraps his hand around the base. It's long and thick, makes his mouth water. He drags his tongue up, starting from just above his hand, swirls it around the top.

So good. So damn good. After being away for so long, he'd almost forgotten how much he loved this.

Licking a strip up the other side, moaning with pleasure, Adam sucks on the top.

He looks up into Tommy's eyes, filled with want and need.

Deliberately, slowly, Tommy leans forward and licks into Adam's mouth, stealing the taste.

And homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream drips down Adam's hand.

Chapter Text

Tommy worries. It's not so much a thing as what he does. And right now, he's totally worrying about Adam.

Everything should be great. Like 'nailing a riff on the first try' great. Sauli got a visa and he's moved here, and Adam's working on his second album. But Adam's got dark rings around his eyes, and he's dragging his ass everywhere. He won't explain either. Just waves people off when they suggest he needs to take a holiday or sleep for a couple of years.

So Tommy worries, because Adam's his friend and he needs him to be happy.


"I'm fine," Adam says, giving Tommy a one-armed hug and a kiss on his temple. "Just busy with the album. Way too many late night conference calls. It's going to be awesome though."

"Yeah, awesome," Tommy mutters as Adam moves away and slides in between Sauli and Danielle. Adam rubs at his eyes, stifling a yawn, and Tommy's stomach sinks.

That's just not how Adam fucking is at a party. He's the one who brings this shit to life, singing with the music, encouraging people to dance or to grab their instruments. Not this fucking quiet dude Tommy hardly recognizes.


In the end, though, it's Sauli who pushes Tommy into doing something.

Three hours into the party and Tommy's way past his limit of people. He's got his Guild and a bottle of some fancy ass beer. Bowie's on the stereo, singing about Cat People, and Tommy's working the harmony.

Sauli's curled up on the couch with Alisan, his hands and face so expressive that Tommy can almost figure out what they're talking about. Then Sauli licks his lips and he leans into Alisan, nuzzling her.

Before Tommy can blink, Adam's right fucking there, dragging Sauli away and out of the room.


Within seconds, Scarlett's sitting next to Alisan and they're obviously talking about Adam and Sauli. Fuck talking, Tommy thinks. It's way past time he found out what the hell's going on.

No one looks his way as he lays his guitar in its case and gets to his feet. Still, he heads for the kitchen first, empty bottle in hand, because he knows Adam will fucking kill him if he brings anyone else into whatever's going on.

As he ducks upstairs, Tommy doesn't let himself wonder why he's so sure that Adam won't be pissed off with him.


By the time Tommy reaches their bedroom, he's burning up with the need to know. The door isn't quite closed, so Tommy leans against the wall next to it and listens.

"It's supposed to be me. Only me," Adam is saying. "That's what we agreed."

Sauli curses in Finnish, words he's been teaching Tommy. "It's not working, rakas. You know that."

"Sauli, baby," Adam says, half-prayer, half-desperation, and all love. "I can't."

"You have to. This way, what we're doing, it's killing you."

Tommy swallows the lump in his throat and it lodges in his chest, making his heart ache.


There's silence for a moment, a change in their breathing, and Tommy can see them kissing when he closes his eyes. The way they just fucking lean into each other, become each other's world.

"You can't go to clubs," Adam says. "This isn't Finland. The paps would break me."

Sauli's response is too quiet for Tommy to hear.

"You think?" Adam's hope is tangible, nearly painful.

Tommy covers his face with his hands, presses back against the wall, fights the urge to go in there and comfort them.

"I don't know." Sauli's voice sounds closer. "What do you think, Tommy?"


Sliding his hands down slowly, Tommy finds himself looking into Sauli's eyes. "Umm," he says, because there's no fucking way to pretend he needed the bathroom.

"Not here." Adam grabs Tommy's wrist, pulls him into the bedroom.

The door closes with a solid snick, shutting out the music and voices from downstairs. A satisfied smile spreads over Sauli's face, lights his eyes.

Tommy realizes he's been had. "You planned this?"

"No," Adam says.

"I hoped." Sauli rocks back on his heels, strokes the ink on his own arm. "I've seen the way you look at Adam, at both of us."


"I don't—" But Tommy does and he totally knows it. He just hasn't wanted to.

"It's not what you think," Adam says.

Sauli looks at Adam, who stares down at his hands and fiddles with his rings.

Silence builds between them, and it's annoying as fuck. "What is it then?"

"Okay." Adam darts a glance at Sauli, then at Tommy. Shrugging, he gives them a half-smile. "Just... you tell him, okay?"

Moving on instinct, Tommy goes over to Adam. He slides his arms around Adam's waist, rests his head on Adam's shoulder, and hugs him. "Whatever you need," he says.


Sauli joins them, fitting himself behind Tommy. "In my language," he says, breath brushing against Tommy's ear, "there are so many words for what I am. In English, you have only one: vampire."

The word shocks through Tommy, and he flinches. Adam and Sauli tighten their hold on him.

"Listen," Adam says, "Please." He twines his fingers with Sauli's, holds onto Tommy's waist.

"I said I would." Tommy's way too close to being in shock to be insulted. "It's simple, yeah? Sauli's a vampire. He's, like, taking too much blood from you, and you don't want him feeding from strangers."


"It's not quite that simple." Adam frowns, looking unhappy. "If it was just the fucking blood, I'd deal."

Running through all the stories about vampires leaves Tommy confused. He thought he knew everything there was. "Then what?"

"Sex." Sauli's lips touch the steel rings in Tommy's ear. "Without that—" Sauli mutters in Finnish. "Shit, I don't have the words. Stupid English."

"The blood doesn't work," Adam says, "without whatever sex adds to it. We've tried, and he's come close to starving."

Tommy bites his lower lip, worries it, and then lays his head back on Sauli's shoulder. "Yes," he says.

Chapter Text

"Tommy, Taylor, random drag queen... who's the creeper in the pink shirt?" Sauli peered over his laptop at Adam.

Feeling like he was about to step off a cliff, Adam put down his phone. "Who?"

Sauli made a disgusted noise. "Seriously, Adam. How could you dump Tommy for that shirt?"

"What? I never—"

"Also, why Walk of Shame? Better to say Walk of No Shame? Wearing the same clothes on TV the next day."

"Walk of—" Adam blinked at Sauli, his mind racing through years of memories. When had he picked up someone in a pink shirt?

"This cannot be right." Sauli put his laptop on the table with a thud, interrupting Adam's attempts to remember. "Have I turned your life to boring?"

"Boring? You?" Adam shook his head. "What kind of shit is that?"

"That..." Sauli dissolved into Finnish, speaking too rapidly for Adam to catch more than a syllable or two.

As Adam reached for the laptop, which was flashing Rumor Has It... in virulent pink and black, Sauli jumped on him and pushed him back on the couch. Reaching up, Adam smoothed the deep vertical line that had appeared between Sauli's eyebrows.

"Baby, what were you reading?"

Instead of answering, Sauli crawled onto Adam, settling down with a leg on either side of Adam's hips, curling on top of him. Adam opened his mouth to say something, and Sauli kissed him. He licked into Adam's mouth, bit at his lower lip, sucked on his tongue, and stole every word in Adam's head.

Adam made an incoherent noise, licking at Sauli's lips, and wrapped his arms around Sauli. Tried to reassure him with his whole body.

But Sauli sat up, pushed away from him. Sauli's ass rested on Adam's dick. His weight sent shockwaves of want through Adam.

"Not boring," Sauli repeated. He rotated his hips, rubbing his ass slowly over Adam's dick.

"Oh, baby, so not boring." The worn sweats Adam was wearing slid up and down, and the shockwaves became lightning bolts. "Never," panting out the words, Adam bucked up, wanting more, "boring."

A sly smile curved Sauli's lips, and his eyes lit up. He slipped his fingers between Adam's sweats and t-shirt and toyed with the hairs that trailed down from Adam's belly button. He pulled on a few of them, and Adam's need grew. An ache started at the back of his throat.


Adam reached for Sauli, wanting to press him down harder, feel him even more, but Sauli caught Adam's wrists and pushed them down at his sides, trapping them under Sauli's knees.

"No," Sauli said. "No touching. I'm doing this."

And Sauli arched above Adam, sliding his hands up under his own shirt, lifting it off and throwing it away. He ground down on Adam's dick, hard and fast, and shoved his own sweats down. Sauli's dick was damp at the tip; he gave it a rough tug.

Licking his lips, his fingers flexing with the need to touch, Adam writhed.

His hips rolling, every movement of his ass taking Adam closer to the edge, Sauli began to jerk himself off.

Unable to touch, to taste, Adam groaned as just watching, just feeling, was too much. Words spilled from him. "Fuck, baby, please. I need. Touch. Please." Words almost as incoherent as his need.

Then Sauli's other hand, the one not touching his own dick, squeezed the head of Adam's dick. Sauli pushed his thumb into Adam's slit, rubbed, and it was too much.

Adam's back arched, he cried out, and he came as Sauli's release striped his chest and lips.

Chapter Text


"Daddy. Daddy. Daddy."

Tommy stopped a few steps away from luggage claim, ignoring the asshole who cursed him out. His heart and mind racing, he looked around. They never met him. They couldn't. They fucking shouldn't.

A whirlwind of pink and purple flung herself at him, interrupting his thoughts. Kara jumped up, and he automatically let go of his luggage cart and caught her. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pressed tiny, sticky hands into either side of his face and kissed him with equally sticky lips.

He smiled and his heart soared. She smelled liked popsicles and sunshine.


"Missed you, Daddy," Kara said. "You went away with Uncle Isaac forever."

"Missed you too, pumpkin." He kissed her strawberry blonde hair. "Did you have fun while I was gone?"

She bounced in his arms, grabbing at the straps of his backpack. "We went to Disneyland, Daddy. And Dad and Isi and me went on all the rides. Even the ones that make you look funny. We did Buzz Lightyear twice, and I blasted all the robots. Like this."

Kara leaned back, making funny noises, and "shot" at Tommy. He tightened his grip so she didn't fall onto the cart.


As Tommy moved Kara onto one hip, he saw Leila coming towards them and all his questions flooded back. Why would she bring Kara to the airport? She knew better, knew what was at stake. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Before he could say anything, Leila hugged him and whispered, "In the car."

"Yeah, okay." Tommy checked on Isaac, who had his arms around Sophie.

"Stop worrying," Leila said.

Kara bounced again. "Dad and Isi are waiting."


"Later," Leila said. She reached out to take Kara, but Kara shook her head and grabbed at his neck.

"No," Kara screamed. "Want Daddy."


"Daddy?" A woman screeched. "Oh my god, that's Tommy. With Adam and Sauli's kid."

"Fuck," Tommy muttered.

"That's a bad word." Kara patted his mouth and sang, "Daddy's in trouble."

"Come on." Leila took over the luggage cart. "Let's get out of here."

"Tommy!" A teenage girl shoved something at him. "Can I have your autograph?"

"Don't want, Daddy." Kara started crying.

"Is she really your daughter?" This time it was a pap, with a camera. "Are the reports true?"

Both arms wrapped around Kara, her tears soaking his hoodie, Tommy ignored the questions and followed Leila toward the doors.


Outside, Leila paused and looked around before heading for an empty space at the curb. A familiar minivan pulled in just as she reached it. Neil jumped out of the driver's seat. The side door slid open.

"Get in," Leila said. "Neil and I will handle your stuff."

Glancing at his guitars on the cart, Tommy hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, but—

Then Kara sniffed and rubbed her nose on his chest, and a camera clicked, and a guy yelled, "Tommy, just one quick question."

He got into the van. Neil slammed the door closed behind him.


Scrambling out of Tommy's arms, Kara went over to Sauli. She babbled about nasty people and Tommy saying bad words as Sauli got her into her car seat.

Adam brushed his lips over Tommy's as he pulled him into the backseat. Sauli joined them. Adam slid an arm over Tommy's shoulders, and Tommy found himself snuggled between them.

"What the—" Tommy cut himself off before he swore again. "What's going on? The paps usually leave me alone."

"Get your seatbelts on," Neil said, turning around and making a face at them. "We don't have time for you to mess around."


When they were safely away from LAX, Tommy looked from Sauli to Adam and said, "Tell me."

"Someone sent pics of us to TMZ and the douchebag," Adam said, his voice low and angry. "From backstage at that concert in Helsinki last month."

Kara chanted, "Douchebag, douchebag," but, for once, they ignored her.

Tommy bit his lip to stop himself from swearing

"They're all over TV and the internet," Sauli said.

"Don't bother turning your phone on." Adam sighed. "Twitter is all kinds of insane. The fans are losing their... it."

"What're we going to do?"

"You're going to tell the truth," Leila said.



All these years and he should be used to performing with Adam already, Tommy told himself silently. A troll through Twitter and Facebook between the airport and the Nokia had set off acid butterflies in his stomach that hadn't settled down. Making a face at the mirror, he fluffed up the back of his hair and added more hairspray.

It didn't help. Nothing could help them tonight.

At least Kara was at home with Leila, safely away from the cameras, the fans, and the paps. He didn't think he could've handled it if she was here.


"Fuck." Tommy rubbed at his stinging eye, smearing his eyeliner. "Can't even fucking do myself up tonight."

"Here," Adam took the pencil away and pushed Tommy towards a stool, "let me."

"Adam... I..." Tommy sighed and flopped down, almost sending the stool skittering out from under him. "You should let me go. This is going to fuck up your career," he said, not for the first time. "You'll lose everything."

"No, we won't," Sauli insisted, coming to stand behind Tommy.

Adam put a hand beneath Tommy's chin. "Close your eyes."

Leaning back against Sauli, Tommy did as he was told.


"Gloss." Sauli handed a tube to Adam. "Not that nasty red lipstick."

Adam's grip tightened on Tommy's chin. "Almost done," he said.

The gloss was slightly sticky on Tommy's lips. He pouted them and then pressed them together when Adam was finished.

"Beautiful." Sauli hugged Tommy from behind.

"Both of you," Adam said.

And then Tommy was caught between Adam and Sauli, held tight by them.

"Not letting you go," Sauli said. "Kara's birthday's next month. You're not getting out of it that easily."

Tommy was smiling despite the butterflies eating his guts when he took his place on stage.


Three songs in, Adam turned his back to the audience and walked towards Isaac's drum kit. Obeying the signal for a break, Tommy wrapped his hand around the neck of his guitar to still the strings, to silence the sounds.

The audience settled into a watchful, noisy hum that brought Tommy's nerves back to life. He reached for his glass but Ashley pushed an opened bottle of water into his hand.

His attempt to return Isaac's encouraging smile was a complete failure. Tommy turned around and focused on Adam, who'd returned to stage front.

Now, Tommy thought, and swallowed hard.


Instead of his usual Are you having fun, Adam asked, "So, how many of you haven't seen the pictures?"

A roar of words followed his question. Tommy stepped back, putting the bottle onto Isaac's platform before he dropped it.

"It's not a conspiracy." Adam slotted his mic onto its stand. "I didn't lie to anyone. If I'd been asked, I would have told the truth. But no one asked, until today."

Adam stretched his arms out and waggled his fingers. Sauli came out from stage left, as if he'd been expecting this, and took one of Adam's hands.

Tommy hesitated.


"Go on," Brian said, giving Tommy a rare smile.

Taking a step forward, Tommy paused and just fucking looked at Adam and Sauli. Even after all this time, they made him feel.

And they deserve all of you.

The thought had him lifting his guitar over his head. Jake, the tech, took it from Tommy before he'd even thought what to do with it. Then he walked up, took Adam's free hand, and faced the crowd.

"Since you asked," Adam said, "the answer is yes."

The screams were deafening, the camera flashes blinding, and their kisses made it all worthwhile.

Chapter Text

Tommy curled his hands around the rope connecting his cuffs to the headboard and tugged on them. Firm enough to give him something to hold on to, just prickly enough to lightly irritate his skin and to ground him. He smirked at Adam, giving him his best "go for it, I dare you" look.

"I'll win," Adam said, sounding more confident than Tommy knew he felt. "Eight minutes is more than enough time."

In answer, Tommy glanced over at the clock. The numbers clicked slowly. 12:58... 12:59...

When it gleamed 1:00, Adam murmured, "Say it."

Tommy shook his head. "No."


Seconds, possibly even minutes, ticked by as Adam just sat there. Occasionally, he'd reach out and skim a finger over Tommy's skin, barely touching him, until Tommy's chest, arms and legs were covered in goosebumps.

Muscles twitching, skin shivering, Tommy licked his lips and focused on Adam. He was so intense, so fixated on Tommy, as if Tommy was his entire world in that moment.

A rush of feeling, of arousal twisted through Tommy, settling in his ass, his balls, his dick. Bastard was doing nothing, and already he had Tommy wanting.

"Say it," Adam said.

Tommy shook his head.


The first touch of Adam's mouth, the suck of his lips, the lick of his tongue over Tommy's nipple came as a surprise. Tommy arched up into it, and Adam pulled back and blew.

The cool air on damp, sensitive skin was like an electric shock running along a wire between Tommy's nipple and his dick.

Again and again, from one nipple to the other, moving down to Tommy's stomach, up to his neck, back down again. Adam licked and sucked, wetting Tommy's skin, blowing on it, until Tommy could do nothing but feel.

"Say it."

Tommy muttered, "No way."


A few seconds of peace gave Tommy time to get his shit back together. Then Adam curled up, resting his head on Tommy's stomach, his mouth so close that each breath was a silken caress on Tommy's dick.

Bastard. Tommy twisted his hands until the rope pressed into his wrists and palms, and fucking didn't thrust into Adam's mouth.

Adam placed a hand on Tommy's leg, firm and heavy, possessive in all the right ways. Then he dragged his nails lightly over Tommy's thighs in curving trails that brushed against his balls, sent want aching through him.

"Say it."



Adam straddled Tommy's hips. He shifted position again and again and again, rubbing his ass over Tommy's dick, slowly, deliberately, with only precome for lube, and that wasn't anywhere near slick enough.

"So good," Adam just about fucking moaned. He arched back, raised his ass until it was barely touching Tommy and then ground down slowly, over and over, until every movement dragged over Tommy's dick, pulled on the skin, made Tommy harder and harder. And Tommy had to fucking clutch at the ropes, to curl his goddamn toes, in an attempt to hold on.

"Say it."

"No," Tommy moaned.


Adam's mouth was fucking sinful, his tongue an absolute master, but the scrape of Adam's teeth on Tommy's ass was the goddamn worst.


Each lick from ass to balls, each nip, each sucking kiss, was a fucking promise that had Tommy spreading his legs, opening himself up.

The press of Adam's tongue around the rim of Tommy's hole was a spike of need straight to Tommy's dick. Again and again, until Tommy was writhing, thrusting up and grinding down, faster and faster.

Until Adam stopped, whispered, "Say it," against Tommy's ass.

Tommy bit his lip to hold the words in.


Adam's fingers drummed a light beat over Tommy's dick. Inconsistent, almost but not quite fitting any rhythm Tommy recognized. Pop that Lock meets Enter Sandman meets Is This Love, repeated in different combinations, adding in random percussive notes.

Tommy's breathing sped up and slowed down. His heart raced and thudded. His entire fucking body throbbed to Adam's beat. He twisted and turned. He clung to the ropes, to the prickle of pain from the rough hemp. But it wasn't enough. He fucking needed.

"Say it?" The strain in Adam's voice turned it into a question.

"Fuck," Tommy breathed out, "Can't."


Adam's fingers were slick, and big enough to stretch and burn, create that perfect fucking pain. He didn't start with one, but with two, not giving Tommy any warning as he thrust them roughly inside Tommy's ass.

A strangled groan dragged its way out of Tommy's throat. His hips bucked up and he took the fingers deeper, all the way inside, until the knuckles of Adam's other fingers were pressing against Tommy's hole.

Twisting them, crooking them and pressing against Tommy's prostate, Adam sparked a fire inside him.

"Say it," Adam pleaded.

"Ngh" was all Tommy could manage in response.


And then Adam pulled out, moved away until Tommy only knew Adam was still on the bed because he could feel the mattress shift with Adam's weight.

"Say it," Adam said.

Tommy forced his eyes open, raised his head until he could see Adam, see the sweat that rolled down him, the redness of his lips from where he'd bitten them, the gleam of light on his slicked up fingers and dick. "No?"

Crawling forward, Adam ran his fingers over Tommy's stomach, brushing the head of his dick.

"Say it."

Muscles quivering, biting his lips closed, Tommy shook his head.


Pushing Tommy's legs up and apart, Adam leaned forward. His weight was almost unbearably comfortable, ratcheting Tommy's need up that much higher. The head of Adam's dick pressed against Tommy's hole, spreading the muscles, not quite entering him.

His lips touching Tommy's, Adam said, "Say it."

Tommy gritted out, "Please" and "No."

Resting on his elbows, Adam stared into Tommy's eyes, licked Tommy's lips. His dick twitched, and it was all Tommy could do not to press against it, to try to take it inside him.

"Say it."

"You... fuck, Adam. God...damn you. I can't."

"Say it."

Tommy whined, "Adam."


A twist of Adam's hips dragged his dick away, rubbed his belly over Tommy's dick. Tommy ground up against him and fucking moaned.

Drawing in a sharp, quick breath, Tommy tasted Adam, felt a drop of salt-sharp sweat splash onto his mouth and the tip of his tongue. He wanted to turn his head, to check the time, because he was fucking sure it had been longer than eight minutes, but he didn't fucking care anymore. Stupid goddamn bet anyway.

"Say it?" Adam's plea wasn't much more than air puffing against Tommy's lips.

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.



Tommy shifted restlessly when Adam's fingers trailed over his balls, tugged lightly on the hairs, dragged words out of him.

"—fucking turned my—"

Down and down, Adam's fingers moved, teasing and taunting, sending sharp-edged need curling through Tommy.

"— straight ass," Tommy panted, "into a—"

The last word turned into a groan as Adam fumbled his dick into place and pressed it against Tommy's hole, stretching the muscle just a tiny bit.

Tommy cursed. "Fuck, Adam."

Sighing, Adam rested his forehead against Tommy's. "Baby, please... fucking say it."

Before he could change his mind, Tommy blurted out, "Lustful cockmonster."


Then Adam goddamn fucking finally was inside Tommy with a single thrust that bumped his dick over Tommy's prostate.

Want, need, touch sizzled through Tommy. He tightened his grip on the ropes, dug his heels into Adam's back, and met him stroke for stroke.

Adam chanted, filthy words, encouraging words, begging, pleading, cursing, loving words.

Tommy swallowed every one of them, as he opened up wider, took Adam deeper than ever before.

And when Adam pressed up against him, grinding into him, they came together, and Tommy murmured the words that only Adam ever heard from him.

"Always" and "you."

Chapter Text


It's cold in the stone room where Tommy lives. So cold that trapping his hands under his armpits or between his legs only reminds him that he's freezing.

He shivers in bone-deep spasms that shake his body as he waits in darkness for the few short hours when he's not alone.

It's so cold that he presses into Adam, craving, needing the faint heat he puts out. So cold that the touch of Adam's lips, the bite of his fangs, make Tommy feel warm.

And in the eternity in between he clings desperately to Adam's kiss and his whispered "Soon."



The flogger is soft and silky. It brushes over Tommy's skin, setting off tiny shiver-like sensations across his belly, his pelvis, his ass. He can barely hold on, barely stay upright on the rare occasions that its silken caresses become the snap of a lash and send heat sizzling through him.


Adam presses the word into Tommy's hipbone, the curve of his shoulder and neck, the notch at the base of his throat. Into the red marks streaking Tommy's skin.

Until Tommy's trembling, shivering with need, and Adam's hands on him, Adam's dick inside him, are all he knows.

Chapter Text

By Request has now been moved to Promises in Purple Ink, where the rest of the drabbles in this series will be posted.

This story is a bit of an experiment. It's a serial, told in drabble-sets that are based on glam_100 prompts.