Title: The Early Bird
Author: Leela (leela_cat)
Pairing/Characters: Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff
Rating: R
Word Count: 6x100
Content/Warning(s): Voyeurism
Author's notes: Written for glam_100, prompt #083: masturbation. Many thanks to @aislinntlc for the preread.


"You're early." Mike stands in the partly open front door and looks at Adam as if he's grown a new head.

After a beat or two, when it's clear that Mike's going to keep on staring at him instead of letting him in, Adam says, "Interview was cancelled. If it's a problem, I could..." He trails off, gestures toward his car.

Mike's expression twists, becomes shadowed with thought before he smiles. "Oh, hell no," he says, opening the door wider. "Come on in."

Once Adam's got his shoes off, Mike waves him on.

"Tommy's in his room. Go on back."

▼

Purple Haze fills the hallway outside Tommy's room with Hendrix's guitar and voice. Adam hesitates, licking his lips. For the first time in ages, he can taste the sweetness of smoke, the harshness of whiskey, the bliss of Amsterdam.

As if he's under a spell cast years earlier, Adam turns the knob and slips into the room.

Tommy's on the bed, eyes closed, feet planted wide, knees bent, exposing his balls, his ass, his hole. He's got one hand wrapped around his dick. His other hand is above his head, fingers flexing, like he's trying to hold onto the wall.

▼

Heat races through Adam with every breath of the incense-laden air and gathers, heavy and needy, in his dick and balls. He should back out, go away, let Tommy know he's there.

But he can't. Fuck his life, he just can't. Not seeing Tommy like this.

Adam reaches down, intending to adjust himself, but ends up popping the buttons and sliding his hand into his briefs.

Touching his dick, feeling need prickle through his belly and up his spine, Adam leans against the door, legs shoulder-width apart. His thumb brushes over the head of his dick, and the prickling intensifies.

▼

"Ah," Tommy breathes, almost silently, and his head goes back, baring the length of his neck.

Running his tongue over the palm of his own hand, Adam imagines it's Tommy's skin, his warm lickable skin.

Adam tugs on his dick, using slow and easy strokes, trying to slow down the tightening in his belly, the orgasm threatening to hit him fast and hard.

"Yes. Fuck. Oh, fuck." Tommy's hips rise, and he fucks up into his hand. The muscles of his ass quiver, clench down on nothing.

With a shuddery breath, Adam's grip tightens and his hand skids over precome.

▼

The music stops and starts again. Hendrix growls. His guitar vibrates through the room.

"Just... fucking... like... that." Tommy's hand starts moving faster, and Adam automatically matches his rhythm, his speed.

Up and down, and up again, with a twist at the top. Precome isn't enough; the slight drag of Adam's nearly dry hand adds to the feeling, to the want and need flashing through him like lightning.

Until Adam's dick is thick and hard, his balls drawing up tight and aching. Until Tommy comes with a muffled "Fuck me," and his eyes flick open.

Adam freezes, watching, barely breathing.

▼

"Don't stop," Tommy says, his voice roughened by the harshness of his breathing.

"I should—" is all Adam can manage. He feels like an asshole, standing there with his hand on his dick.

Tommy stretches, lifts himself up on one elbow. Looking directly into Adam's eyes, he brings his other hand to his mouth, curls his tongue around one finger, and licks his own come.

It feels like Tommy's licking Adam's dick, wrapping his tongue around it. Hot and wet, and stealing Adam's breath, sending him flying up and up, until he's lost in his own release, in Tommy's eyes.


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