Title: A Sword in the Hand
Author: Leela (leela_cat)
Characters: Adam/Tommy (Highlander 'verse)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9x100
Content/Warning(s): None
Author's notes: Written for glam_100, prompt #034: Crossovers. Many thanks to aislinntlc for the beta.


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."

0(////)|===========>

"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."

0(////)|===========>

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?

0(////)|===========>

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.

0(////)|===========>

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.

0(////)|===========>

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.

0(////)|===========>

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.

0(////)|===========>

"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.

0(////)|===========>

"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.