Title: Dance With Me
Author: Leela (leela_cat)
Pairing/Characters: Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 10x100
Content/Warning(s): None
Author's notes: Written for glam_100, prompt #080: dance party. Many thanks to Valress for the preread, and to my twitter feed to indulging me and sharing their ideas.



The first flash of bright red, a few seconds after he sits down, catches Adam by surprise. It's followed by purple and then more red, and then the thud-thud-thud of bass reverberating through the room.

"And here we go. Check it out, bitches." Johnny slides down in his armchair, resting his head on the low back, and looks up at the ceiling. "There's a dance party going on up there."

Vertigo swoops through Adam, knocking him almost off-balance, even though he's sitting down, until his brain makes sense of what he's seeing. The upstairs dance floor is made of glass.

≈

The ceiling's a checkerboard of glass and black. The see-through square above their heads is big enough to see five, and occasionally six or seven guys dancing.

It's fascinating, somewhere between dizzying and erotic. Heeled boots and shoes, leather and shiny fabrics shimmer in the lights and reflect the colors down through the glass. Long legs slide between each other, curl around each other. Decidedly male bodies grind and writhe, thrust and play.

Just as Adam's started getting turned on by watching strangers, who seem even stranger from this angle, play at sex, Ashley blurts out, "Holy shit, that's T-Bone."

≈

Adam's gaze snaps onto a familiar pair of low-heeled boots, onto black jeans that hang precariously on slim hips and a barely-there ass. Tommy's at the edge of the glass, directly over Adam's head, and all Adam can see of his partner is a muscular leg clad in skintight silvery pants.

The music slows, the bass deepens and seems to throb in Adam's chest, and Tommy's partner moves in. Dark hands curve around Tommy's hips, draw him closer until there's no space between them.

Tommy's not-quite awkward moves turn into a slow grind that Adam can feel in his dick.

≈

Before he can think through what he's doing, Adam's up and on his feet.

"Going somewhere?" Ashley emphasizes her soft-voiced question by stretching her leg out in front of Adam, blocking his way to the circular staircase.

Adam glances upward, in time to see a dark hand slide up Tommy's back to settle at the nape of his neck. It's a gentle move, affectionate rather than possessive, and yet Adam's fingers clench so tightly that his nails dig into his palm.

Holding up his empty glass, Adam says, "Time for a refill."

"Bar's over there." Johnny waves languidly. "Try again."

≈

Instead of answering, Adam tosses his glass at Johnny and jumps over Ashley's leg. He pauses halfway up the stairs to look at the glass square again.

Tommy's arched back, letting his partner hold his weight. Trusting this stranger, this person Adam doesn't know, not to drop him. As Adam watches, Tommy is pulled up, wrapped in dark arms, and spun around.

If he were close enough, he'd be able to hear Tommy laughing.

That thought drives Adam up the stairs. He slips between two women who are chatting near the top and makes his way to the dance floor.

≈

The music is louder up here, the bass more insistent, the dancers impossible to resist. Adam's drawn into a group of four, rolling his hips and letting them touch him, rub against him, even as he tries to find Tommy, tries to work out which square among so very many is the one he was sitting below.

Arms up over his head, Adam rises up on his toes and spins around. Pink-streaked blond hair arcs through the air far to his left in a head-banging move that sends arousal racing down Adam's spine, like a sliding riff of guitar chords.

≈

"Stay," a man whisper-shouts, skimming his hand down Adam's chest.

It's tempting enough, familiar enough, safe enough to make Adam hesitate. He knows this. He knows the push and the pull, the steps of this dance that's guaranteed not to end in a broken heart.

"Not tonight," Adam says. Not ever is what he wants to say, but they're not only his words to speak. They depend on Tommy not walking away this time.

The song ends. There's a moment of silence, broken by voices, by the shuffling of feet, by a turn that leaves Adam looking into Tommy's eyes.

≈

A single drumbeat echoes through the room, then another and another, before guitar, synth, and voice join in. The floor vibrates beneath their feet, encouraging them to join the other dancers.

But Adam's pinned in place by the dark seriousness in Tommy's eyes, by the way that Tommy doesn't move toward him. Not even when the dark hand slips off Tommy's shoulder, and the stranger steps away into the arms of someone else.

It's my move, Adam thinks.

His heart feeling as if it's beating to the driving pulse of the music, Adam holds out his hand. "Dance with me?"

≈

Tommy shifts, tosses his hair out of his eyes, and combs it down with his fingers. "I'm not very good," he says. "I'll probably step on your toes."

"I can teach you."

"You're not exactly the most patient guy around."

"You could teach me."

"Yeah, maybe. Way fucking stranger things have happened in my life."

Tommy's half-assed grin reels Adam in, brings him closer. They're not really dancing, although the music's moving them both.

Slowly, carefully, giving Tommy lots of time to back away, to change his mind, Adam bends down until he can feel Tommy's breath against his lips.

≈

Then someone bumps into Adam from behind, and another guy almost knocks Tommy over. They end up holding on to each other and laughing.

And kissing.

And grinding against each other, lighting sparks of want and need.

He slides a hand under Tommy's shirt, tucks his little finger under the waistband of Tommy's pants and underwear. Tommy curls his hands over Adam's shoulders and rubs against Adam's thigh.

Adam swallows Tommy's words, his breaths.

Everything is music and sparks of want and need, and all Adam can do, all he wants to do is close his eyes and hold on.


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