Originally posted on my LJ account. HERE.
Disclaimer: I neither know nor own the persons involved. But Adam is WAY better live than the CD, oh, and the plot is allll mine, baby.
There’s something about that moment, right before he hits the stage, knowing that hundreds of pairs of eyes were going to be on his exhibitionist dance, that gets his heart pumping like nothing else. The black lights shroud everything in a pretty little package of mystery, hiding the pockmarks and wrinkles on the aged skin of most of his audience. He doesn’t need to peek to know that most of those crowded in the smoky, dark club beyond his stage were past their thirties—with the white picket fence, a wife and 2.5 kids. Argent wasn’t a place one could afford on a student budget.
It’s a full house tonight as it usually was on Fridays—the only nights he’ll go on stage. Because staying up till three am on Friday’s meant he had all of Saturday and Sunday to nurse his muscles and finish his schoolwork.
The music starts in a low pulse that builds to a throbbing beat. And throbbing is the only word he’d use to describe it. Sex, through music. That’s what Tommy Joe is out to sell tonight as struts out behind the heavy curtains in his six-inch creeper shoes.
He knows he’s hot. With his legs poured into tight ass denim—which by the way, shows off his front and back assets quite nicely—and his chest barely covered by the strip of lurid green cloth bound across it. A cropped black mesh shirt completes his wardrobe and bares an indecent expanse of his flat belly for the entire world to see. He’s wearing far less than the other girls and guys before him, but he’s got plenty of kink to make up for that.
A collar, of thick, heavy leather, rest snugly on his pale, long neck. Four D-rings glint under the hot flashes of strobes. Matching cuffs wrap around his wrists, connected to his neck by double lengths of chain.
So he begins his routine, walking the catwalk that stretches ¾ of the room with an ease and sway more seductive than any runway model. The lights almost blind Tommy as he squats and spreads his knees, grabbing his crotch for good measure. But of course, he doesn’t forget to look deferential and scared. He loves to play pretend, and pretending to be submissive when you know those two hundred men and women panting at your feet would do anything for a night with you, is pretty damn hot.
The hotter he feels, the sultrier his moves get.
Rising from his crouch, Tommy unzips his knee length boots and rubs his groin for good measure; pleased at the anticipatory air he’s receiving. That hand slides upwards, over his abs, under the mesh, to pinch at his spandex outlined nipples. He throws back his head and bends forwards again, making sure his ass is in the air as he peels off his silver creepers. Next is the mesh and the spandex, those come away with a little shimmy and moan.
Over the course of two years, he’s found that the audience loves to see him humiliated and vulnerable. The more he drools, the more he cries, the bigger his tips at the end—the sadist bastards. But this is what pays his bills, and it’s not like anyone he knows would be here anyway.
So he picks up the dildo gag strapped to his pole, tongues it into his mouth, and gives the audience their submissive cock slut. A few minutes of grinding and artificial moaning, and he’s out of the fucking stiff pants. Now, he’s in nothing but a skimpy silver Speedo, wearing the cuffs and collar like they’re second nature, with the small dildo strapped in place in his mouth.
He places his hands up and holds them as if they were truly cuffed above his head, then starts working his butt cheeks around the skim meal pole behind. The pole is close to the stage edge, and fingers brush his calves, occasionally even reaching up to touch his groin. But for Tommy, this is jut a transaction—as dispassionate as going to the bank to cash a check. So he allows it, even adds a little groan and thrust to keep them interested.
Soon enough, it’s time for the underwear to go, Tommy unstraps the dildo and slinks back to centre stage to pick up the scissors lying there. He wastes no time in slipping one metallic edge underneath the elastic, gyrating in a dangerous way to the music. Snip snip, he cuts four inches deep into the material on either side of his hips, causing the front to flap open slightly, giving the voyeurs a glimpse of the treasure beneath. He pretends he’s shy and adopts a scared puppy dog look. Then…
Rip. Oh yeah, now he’s in his birthday suit, making a final walk down the catwalk, with all the bits in between dangling as he moves. It’s only as he turns, that he sees the flash of glitter and ocean green eyes slicing through the dense crowd to a place in the front.
What in the fucking god damn hell was he doing here?
Now the flush in his face and the redness spreading across his neck is real embarrassment, and he’s not just acting scared when he dashes off the stage.
Tommy really is scared.
Madam had an ironclad rule that no customers went backstage, and no one crossed the whip wielding Madam. Which made it all the more impressive to see Adam push his way through the dressing room door. There really wasn’t much Tommy could say, other than gulp—it was a noise, so it was speech in his books—as the six-foot something vocalist stalked towards his chair.
At least, he’d managed to scramble into his clothes so he wasn’t facing his pseudo-brother buck-naked. Adam, a year younger than himself, met Tommy through their parents and soon became like an adopted son. Therefore, it wasn’t a surprise that the Lamberts were assigned to be Tommy’s guardians after his parents had died in a freak boating accident. That had been some four years ago, when Tommy had been 17, and Adam, 16.
Four years and a failed college attempt later, the rising star singer still felt it was his right to loom over Tommy around like an older brother. That was not cool. Tommy was legally an adult now—which was more than Adam could say. Yet the younger man towered over him in both height and build. Which, despite Adam’s opinion, did not make it okay for him to treat Tommy like a younger sister. But the world was a fucking unfair place.
“Whatever you wanna say, I don’t want to hear.” Tommy grunted out the corner of his mouth, steadfastly refusing to look the younger man in the eye. He didn’t have to turn around to know the intimidating figure that Adam cut against the backdrop of effeminate male strippers. Even when decked out in full on glam, there was no way one would ever mistake the singer as anything but 100% male. Seeing him in his bad boy get up…was enough to send most men into heart palpitations.
Through the mirror, as he worked at removing the makeup from his face, Tommy caught glimpses of dark wash jeans and a tight black shirt over a fitted leather jacket. The blond envied his friend-slash-brother-figure for being able to breath grace and confidence in almost any situation.
Right now, he had bigger worries to think about. He was pretty sure that prickling at the back of his neck was Adam doing his best to glare holes into his skin. And if he didn’t want to get caught up in another blow up, he’d have to do a hell of a job heading the black haired man off.
“Listen,” Tommy swivelled in his chair so that he faced Adam, “I know what you’re going to say, so I’ll save you some breath. I’ve been doing this for over two years now, and I’m not gonna quit. So go home. Don’t you have something better to do with your time? Neil and your manager are probably shitting themselves right now for losing track of you.”
Damn if Tommy Joe Ratliff wasn’t a pretty little thing, perched all high-and-mighty in his curved chair. And damn if that perky little ass wasn’t gonna get what it deserved tonight. To think his kitten had been flaunting it in public for years…
“Tommy Joe, if you wanted attention so bad, you only needed to ask.” Adam drawled in his sultriest voice. He watched the blond man’s back stiffen and those slim, fined boned fingers halt in their motions. Yeah, he knew what his voice could do to Tommy—had known since their high school adaptation of Hedwig, and the Angry Inch. It had been particularly amusing to watch Tommy dash for the bathroom every time Adam started practicing his lead at home. Albeit, the gyrations and spandex hadn’t exactly been part of the script…
By the defensive hunch of his back, Adam suspected Tommy to be gearing up for a spat. Well, he wasn’t exactly all that pleased with the situation either. The little blond had better give a good explanation, or this scene was going to turn ugly real fast, real soon.
“Tommy.” His voice hardened in reprimand.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the other…dancers…file out quietly. Good thing too, ‘cause he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep things in check until he got Tommy home.
Finally, the smaller man swivelled around, his deep amber eyes flashing irritably. “What? I told you what you I wasn’t going to quit, so fuck off. It’s my life and you’re not my dad.”
“No, but you clearly need someone to keep you line.” In a burst of speed, Adam was close enough to touch, his legs pressing against Tommy’s, his arms caging the blond in the chair. “And correction, babe; it maybe your life, but this body is mine.”
One long, black tipped finger traced the curve of Tommy’s clenched jaw, and trailed down to hook the open collar of his thin V-neck shirt away from his chest. The light, deceptive touch hid a world of anger and betrayal. Adam’s gut was roiling from resentment and his brain seethed at the thought of all the men who’d seen Tommy posing naked these past years—when he had yet to. Until tonight, that is.
Since moving in to the university dorms, he was able to monitor Tommy’s coming and goings. It didn’t take long to notice the small blond disappearing every Friday night, not coming back till the next morning. He never could’ve imagined that Tommy was working such a risqué job.
And Tommy had the nerve to wonder why Adam was pissed.
Storm eyes. A revolving mass of green and grey and deep, deep blue was all Tommy could think about before the riptide swirling in Adam’s eyes pulled him in. Fury and confusion and even a touch of pride creased the sun kissed skin of Adam’s brow. Ink black hair fell into kohl lined eyes, and Tommy itched to brush them out of the way.
TPO, Tommy, TPO. This was definitely not the time, place or occasion.
He opened his mouth to suggest they go back to the dorms. But, Adam never gave him the chance to request.
Soft lips met his with bruising force. Not giving him a second to react, a slippery, wet tongue started prying the seam of his lips open. In that moment of shock, Tommy’s lips went lax, and the foreign tongue invaded eagerly. It was weird. Hot, but weird. He’d kissed plenty of girls in his life—some were mere strangers at a party. But they were gentle. This, this was Adam eating his mouth, and making a pretty damn good attempt to crawl into his throat. It sure as fuck felt like there was tongue touching his tonsils.
And fuck. He was getting turned on. That the simple act of tongue sliding over tongue was able to short wire him brain, was, frankly, as mind blowing as the action itself. He needed to think, and for that, he needed to breath. Tommy moved to pull away.
No deal, apparently Adam’s new plan was to make him pass out from lack of oxygen. One very strong, very big hand dug roughly into his bleached blond locks. Fingers twisted the strands around and gripped him tight to the point of pain. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Ngh.” The groan that tried to escape Tommy’s mouth was practically pornographic. He couldn’t help it. His legs were splayed open from Adam’s insistent press forward, his hands were trapped between their chest, and their groins were dangerously close to grinding together. This had been the feature of his wet dreams and one-handed orgasms for an indecent number of years. But now that it was really happening, he found himself scared shitless, his heart beating in dysrhythmia.
When Adam finally let up, retracting his tongue so only their lips brushed each other, Tommy was heading towards a vegetative state.
“What was that?” He asked, eyes dazed, lips red and swollen.
It wasn’t until a firm grip trapped his hands still, that he realized they’d been unconsciously roaming under the jacket, across the expanse of Adam’s chest.
“That was just the beginning, baby.” Adam’s voice had become a deep baritone, laden with dark intent. “You dug your grave, now you’re gonna spread your legs and lay in it like a good little boy.”
One glance into his eyes, and Tommy knew the singer’s anger hadn’t abated any. If anything, he swore it became more intense. Shivers of anticipation crawled up his spine as he watched Adam watch him, hunger and dominance raging in those sea-change eyes. Christ, when did he become a masochist?
He shook his head, ignoring the hand still clinging to the blond locks. “No. I don’t do this shit. I fuck girls. Not guys.”
“Well, you won’t be fucking anyone for a long time.” Adam’s words were said like a promise. A deliciously sinister promise murmured against the shell of Tommy’s ear moments before that intrusive tongue licked path around it.
The blond’s shivers evolved into a whole body affair, the hair on his neck stood up and goosebumps rose on his skin. The hand in his hair tightened again and jerked his head back to expose his neck. Then, that tongue, that fucking amazing tongue, meandering up his stretched out neck, tracing the pulse to a point under his chin. Biting. Teeth digging into the tender, exposed flesh, bruising imprints into it. Jesus fucking Christ. Tommy felt dampness in his skinny jeans and swore. Either he just peed his pants or precome had leaked long enough to wet the front material. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
Everything was too much, too sensitive, too soon, too…real. He didn’t know what the fuck he’d gotten into—he was sure those moans were his—but he needed to get the fuck out of it with his ass in one piece. Shit! His ass. There was a reason why he was so not into the gay thing. Just the thought of anything…going up there was enough to clear Tommy’s cobwebbed brain.
“Shit. Adam, get the fuck off of me.” Only, it sounded more like: Shit. Aum, ge’ t’fuckoffameh, because his mouth had forgotten how to form proper sounds. And okay, pushing at that chest was like pushing the Great Wall of China. Not productive.
“Uh uhn.” His captor grunted negatively and continued to press in. Geez, any closer, and they’d be in each other’s skin. Now, their crotches were rubbing, and the friction was like a tease. There enough to be noticeable, but not enough to be effective, only enough to be irritating.
Hands dived into the back of Tommy’s jeans, and froze.
“The fuck?!” Well, at least something had managed to divert Adam’s one-track mind for a minute. “You’re not wearing any briefs. Expecting something to happen?” Well, no. Just, no. It wasn’t like he had time to track down a fresh pair before Adam burst in. Given a choice to face the glam singer in underwear or face him in jeans without underwear…Tommy would take option B any day.
Wait… where was—
“H-hey.” That wandering hand was getting dangerously close to uncharted territory. He moved to grab the wrist of that arm and stop the wriggling movement down his pants. But Adam’s spare hand left his hair, to press hard between his shoulder blades, effectively pinning his hands between their bodies. He was literally helpless, barely able to even move his torso, as a long finger slid down the crack of his ass. “A-Adam—”
But before he could continue, Adam—once again—sealed his lips shut. Less violent, but just as firm in it’s command. So he wasn’t to talk was he? Well, tough shit. Tommy didn’t take orders from anyone, especially not a younger man. “Mhmn.”
Right. Maybe he needed to reassess that statement. Later. When he was safely away from this gay sex god, and that finger rubbing between his ass cheeks.
But oh fuck—that felt good.
Adam unlatched their lips and kissed his way to the blond’s ear lobe. Tommy took the opportunity to gasp some fresh air. He needn’t have bothered, because the dark haired singer’s next words took it right out of his lungs again.
“Look at you rubbing yourself against my fingers, soaking your pants like an untrained whore. You want to fuck yourself on my fingers, don’t you, my little slut.”
Adam had retrieved the hand pressing on Tommy’s back and reached between them, pressing insistently on the dampened bulge between the blond’s spread legs. And there were now three fingers over the ring of muscle of his ass.
Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.
“Yeah, I’m your god, remember that, bitch. Next time you I catch you playing exhibitionist games without me, you’ll be on your knees, sucking me off on stage, at every performance I do, until you learn better. Got that?”
The friction from his pants and Adam’s hands was killing him. It was assault from both sides, front and back; there was no escaping. Tommy didn’t even care to think about the humping motions he was instinctively making as he tried to gain some kind of relief.
“P-Please. Adam.” He was begging. Reduced to fucking begging now. But Adam kept the slow, steady rhythm.
“You want to come? You’re like a bitch in heat right now. Blindly rubbing against anything and everything. I should throw you to our customers and let them take you like the hooker you are, fill you up till you’re leaking out of mouth and ass. I bet you’d get off doing it to.”
No. Nooo. What the hell was wrong with his body? He was so fucking hard just from a few dirty words. Tommy shook his head limply, but he knew it was too late, he was too far gone.
“If you want to come, you gotta beg me good. Just know, you’ll be wearing that come in your pants until we get home.”
Tommy really, really didn’t hear much of the last part. All he focused on was “beg” and “come.”
“P-Please…let me come…I need to come…soo bad. It hurts, Adam. I hurt.” It was nothing short of a wanton moan. And Adam must’ve deemed it good enough, for he picked up the pace. Tommy was blinded by the singular urge to hump. He pressed hard against the fingers working at his rear, feeling the point of one dig in and push into that ring of muscle. Every muscle in his body tightened to the point of cramping and then…sounds muffled and all he knew was the hot, hot heat spreading from his cock, up his spine, warming his lower belly like aged whisky. Finally, wetness. A warm, sticky wetness coating the insides of his jeans.
Fucking hell. He’d just come in his pants.
“Tommy Joe. Get your stuff. We’re leaving, now.” The commanding tone brooked no argument.
But Tommy was still boneless and savouring the afterglow of the most memorable orgasms he’d ever had.
Slowly, the fuzzy edges faded and he was forced to return to Earth and reality.
He gingerly slid out of his chair, grabbing the backpack underneath it on instinct.
Ew. He looked like he peed himself. And he felt like that too.
Guilt and disgust warred with embarrassment and, ultimately, satisfaction. His mind was a riot of emotions, and he couldn’t figure out just what he should be feeling.
Tommy moved to grab a few tissues to wipe the inside of his pants. A set of five black lacquered nails dug into his arm, halting his progress. Looking up into burning blue-green eyes, he got the message loud and clear. No, he was not going to be wiping himself off.
Tommy retracted his hand and had the most irrational impulse to cast his eyes down in acknowledgement.
Adam took that as a signal to move out. “C’mon, we’re leaving this place.”
The short blond looked up, alarmed. “B-but…”
It was as if Adam could read his mind, “Yes. You’re going to walk out there in those come-stained jeans. And no hiding it either, you’re to keep your hand at your side. Consider it part of your punishment. Now let’s go!”
It was humiliating. Being led by Adam, through the crowded room of bodies, with his cock so sensitized that every brush of cloth against it made it twitch. Each step brought the cooling sticky mess to squish uncomfortably between his thighs. And those knowing stares at his crotch…that was even worse. Even in the darkened room, filled with the smell of sweat and booze, Tommy saw eyes travelling to his pants like missiles seeking a target.
By the time they had reached the parking lot, and Neil’s Honda, Tommy was biting his lips and ready to cry. Forget about being a man; he’d just lost every sense of himself in the space of half an hour.
“Good boy. I'll finish your lesson when we get home.” Adam whispered, tickling his ears, before pushing him into the front passenger’s seat of the four-door hatchback.