leela_cat: Adam Lambert at Sirius XM - thoughtful pose (Adam - thoughtful)
leela_cat ([personal profile] leela_cat) wrote in [community profile] glam_100 on August 3rd, 2013 at 09:01 pm
Prompt #093: Air
Title: Air Signs
Author: Leela ([personal profile] leela_cat)
Pairing/Characters: Sutan/Adam
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 15x100
Content/Warning(s): Breathplay
Author's notes: Written for [community profile] glam_100, prompt #093: air. Many thanks to @MyPrivateAffair and @aislinntlc for the preread.

Adam's mostly a top. He's never lied about that. He rarely bottoms, and there are very few people for whom he'll hit his knees. But there are times when the ache beneath his skin grows beyond his ability to ignore, when he feels incapable of being, of breathing, of singing for one moment longer.

This is one of those times.

Worse, really, because Adam's had weeks of meetings, studio sessions, of this and that and the other, and all the things that come with being a singer in the middle of making an album and negotiating with a new label.

He's at his own party when things reach the point where he wants to scream out his frustration, curl up into a ball and cry because he can't remember how to ask for what he needs. Hell, he's not sure he knows how to string syllables into words.

An hour later, his hands shake when he goes to refill his drink. He flattens them on the surface of the bar and takes a deep breath, then another and another. When he's sure he won't fly apart, he abandons his glass and heads for the balcony.

Hopefully it's less crowded outside.


Only a few steps from the sliding glass doors, Adam stops and turns toward the voice. It's someone's date for the evening, maybe? Hopefully not a gatecrasher, Adam hates dealing with the shit that comes with unwanted guests.

"Cool party, man."

"Glad you're having fun."

The guy sways over and, raising his phone, throws an arm around him. It takes everything Adam has not to recoil. Instead, he shapes his mouth into his best photo-op smile.

"My friends are gonna fucking expire when I instagram this," the guy says, staring at his phone as he leaves without another word.

A high-pitched drunken laugh comes from near the front door, catching Adam's attention. The guy is joining a large crowd of acquaintances and strangers that's heading out.

The party's over. Adam's living room, his apartment, is no longer crowded with people. The music's faded into a quiet rise and fall of sound. His friends, his family by choice, are the only ones left.

It's safe.

He's safe.

Relief washes over Adam, wrings him out and makes his knees buckle. He half-stumbles, half-leans backwards, and lets the wall hold him up for a few seconds. Then he goes to sit down.

Tommy smiles at Adam, as he walks past where Tommy's sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, talking with Ashley and Brian. The tilt of Tommy's head says he's up for whatever Adam needs.

Adam blows him a kiss, and Tommy makes a show of catching it and pressing it to his lips. Flipping him off, Adam keeps on walking.

Scarlett and Lee make a similar, silent offer from where they're curled up on a couch with Carmit and her partner, and Adam turns them down too. He can't explain why; he just knows they can't help him.

Sutan is sprawled elegantly in Adam's favorite chair, long legs tucked underneath him. They're friends, and occasionally more than friends, and Adam's sinking to his knees and resting his head against Sutan's leg before he realizes that this is where he was going, that this is who and what he needs.

Without pausing his conversation with Markus, Sutan slides his hand into Adam's hair. His long fingernails scratch Adam's scalp and raise goosebumps on Adam's skin.

Adam closes his eyes and just leans into Sutan's touch. He doesn't have to talk, decide, or think; for now, he can simply be.

They stay like that for a while. Sometimes Adam sips from a bottle of water that Sutan hands him, or eats a canapé he's given, but mostly he sits and listens to his friends talk.

At some point, as if a signal was given, one that Adam missed, everyone else gets up and says goodbye. Sutan squeezes the back of Adam's neck, preventing him from rising and seeing them out.

No one comments on it though, not even as a joke. They just let themselves out with promises to see each other again at Lee and Scarlett's barbeque next weekend.

After the front door closes, and is locked from outside with a loud click, Sutan lifts his hand from Adam's neck and strokes his hair. Uncurling from the chair, Sutan slides down to the floor and sits next to Adam.

When Adam doesn't move, Sutan places a finger under Adam's chin and looks searchingly into his eyes.

It takes everything Adam has not to look down or away and to let Sutan see inside him.

The kiss Sutan brushes over his forehead is so gentle that it almost breaks him. "Never ever let it get this bad again," Sutan murmurs.

Hope, need, and desperation leave Adam with only one word, "Libra."

It's a sign, one that they agreed upon years before when they played regularly, with and without others. One that Adam hadn't even remembered until it spilled from him.

Sutan's eyes widen. He puts his hand in the center of Adam's chest and pushes him backward until he's lying on the floor. "Are you sure?"

"Libra," Adam repeats. This time it feels as if the word is being punched out of his chest with all the air in his lungs. He draws in another breath and says, "Please, sir?"

Sutan rests more of his weight on the hand that's splayed on Adam's chest, pressing on Adam's ribcage. Each inhale feels like an effort, each exhale like a relief.

His other hand at the waist of Adam's jeans, Sutan says, "Give me your safeword."


"Use it if you can." Sutan pops the button. "If you can't—"

Hope and need rush, hot and painful, through Adam.

"—squeeze my hand."

The sound of Adam's zip moving downward is almost obscene. He shifts, lifting his hips to help Sutan push down his jeans and underwear. Then he's bare-assed against the hardwood floor.

Adam hardly has time to mourn the loss of Sutan's weight off his chest, because Sutan is stripping them both, quickly, efficiently, and then moving them. Before Adam's brain has quite taken in what's happening, Sutan is sitting against the couch, and Adam has his back against Sutan's front.

"Stretch out your legs," Sutan says.

When Adam does, Sutan puts his own legs over Adam's, holding him in place.

One of Sutan's hands, slick with spit and precome, curls around Adam's dick, the other wraps around his throat.

Adam holds his breath.

"If you don't breathe, I'll stop."

Adam exhales.

Sutan tugs on Adam's dick and lightly squeezes his throat, not quite hard enough to cut off his air. "Hold on," Sutan says.

A bolt of arousal flashes through Adam, as hot and heavy as Sutan's dick against his ass, and Adam moans.

He does as he's told though, wrapping a hand around each of Sutan's forearms, feeling the flex of muscle as Sutan tugs and squeezes.

Again and again.

Harder. Tighter.

Until Adam's panting between squeezes, thrusting up into Sutan's hand.

Then Sutan moves his hand on Adam's throat, presses against his Adam's apple, and takes his breath away.

Sparks are flashing behind Adam's eyes. His lungs burn. His face flushes red. He wants and he needs, and he arches into the circle of Sutan's hand around his dick.

Sutan relaxes his grip, and Adam exhales, inhales. Sharp and shuddering. The air is cool, soothing in his lungs.

For a few seconds, then Sutan's hand tightens again.

It's a pull, tug, twist, squeeze, and release to a beat that matches the pounding of Adam's heart. But even as he wants it, needs it, Adam can't let go. He tries to control it, to hold his breath and anticipate Sutan.

Until Sutan changes the rhythm, drumming his fingers on Adam's dick, dipping his thumbnail in and out of the slit, squeezing and releasing Adam's throat almost too quickly for Adam to do much more than gasp for air in between.

Finally Adam gives in, gives up control, falls into the white-hot, not-quite-pain of breath and no-breath.

Then Sutan presses his nail in a little bit more, tightens his grip on Adam's neck, and holds.

And Adam's lost in the thundering of his pulse, in the rush of his orgasm, in the sound that unwinds from the depths of his soul.

Afterwards, Sutan cleans Adam up and takes him to bed where he curls up in Sutan's arms. An occasional tear trickles down Adam's face, but mostly he just feels happy and free.

Sutan rests his cheek on Adam's hair. Holding Adam close, he strokes a hand up and down Adam's back. He murmurs words like, "darling," and "so good," and "love."

The weight of expectations and responsibility, the constraints of living his life in the public eye are feather-light. Adam is too comfortable to move.

Not yet anyway.

He smiles and closes his eyes. The world can wait until tomorrow.

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