rivers_bend

Title: Just Send one Postcard
Pairing: Adam/Tommy
Words: 1500
Rating: R
The Obvious: I do not know the people whose public personas are used here and neither believe nor mean to imply this actually happened.
A/N: mmom gives me an excuse to write POV swaps. Sorry about that. This is a companion to Make Yourself at Home.
Summary: Adam wakes up to nine texts, but none of them are from Tommy asking what kind of pervert puts sex toys in the dishwasher. Thank god.



The car is almost exactly half way to the airport when Adam remembers. He was going to empty the dishwasher before he left so Tommy didn't have to do it. So Tommy couldn't do it. What the fuck was he even thinking? For the flash of a second, he considers asking the driver to turn around, but not only would he miss his flight, what the hell would Tommy think if Adam showed back up again, said, "You just sit right there, watch some TV, I'll just be in the kitchen for a minute."

Maybe Tommy won't know what it is. If he does, he'll totally have a sense of humor about it. It's all good. At worst he'll get a story out of it. Oh, hey, remember that time I was housesitting for the gay American Idol who surprise tonguefucked me on national television, and I found sex toys in his dishwasher?

It's Tommy Joe, not Perez fucking Hilton. Everything will be just fine.

Traffic is a bitch, and the lines at the airport are insane, and by the time Adam's sprinting to his gate, he's pretty much forgotten about dildos and adorable bass players.

Toronto is cold and refreshingly wintery, and the guy who picks him up and drives him to his hotel is fucking hilarious, and Adam has no idea what he's doing driving town cars when he could be making a fortune on the comedy club circuit. Except that Adam knows better than most that that's how life is. He calls Lane once he's showered off the plane, and she gives him his revised interview schedule, and he considers going downstairs for food but ends up getting room service and putting on the TV. Just as he's drifting off, he remembers the dildo, wonders if Tommy's found it yet and how he should apologize, but he's out before he can do more than lift a finger toward his phone on the nightstand.

He wakes up to nine texts, but none of them are from Tommy asking what kind of pervert puts sex toys in the dishwasher. Thank god. Although he could kind of do with a break in the suspense. He could always text Tommy, of course, but he doesn't.

The next morning he's up by six to do two different radio morning shows, but then at ten he has a break. He blames the early start for the overly sappy text he finally sends Tommy Joe.

Hey, baby, I hope you're making yourself comfortable. Miss you. It's lonely here on my own.

He doesn't expect anything back for several hours--it's only 7:15 in California--but a minute later Tommy's bitching about the sun shining through the windows, and, apparently, is missing him, too. Which is better than wondering why Adam's sending him texts like he's his boyfriend. Boundaries are so much easier to see in person, and Adam should definitely stay away from his phone.

Which doesn't explain at all why moments later he's asking Tommy why he's sleeping in the guest room and not Adam's new, and much more comfortable, bed. Or explain why, after walking past a Chinese restaurant, he worries Tommy won't know where to find the take-out menus so he sends him a text about that. Tommy doesn't answer that one--probably he's gone back to sleep--and Adam decides to leave him alone. But can't stop thinking about how he really would be much more comfortable in Adam's bed, and he isn't going to say anything, but his phone is in his hand, and before he can stop himself he's practically begged Tommy to take a bath in his bath tub and climb under his covers. Fortunately, before he can do even more damage, his lunch interview is due to start, and it would definitely be poor form to get his phone out again.

When he still hasn't heard from Tommy by dinner time, he wonders if he went too far. Under normal circumstances, he'd just call, but there were cocktails, and the mini bar maybe happened, and so he sends another text about the bath tub. And oh, god, Tommy's going to think he's doing nothing but sitting in Canada thinking about Tommy in the bath.

Dude ur obsessed. You just like thinking about me naked.

It's like Adam's a mind reader. Chagrined, he sends back a smiley, hoping Tommy will just think it's all a joke. Apparently a successful tactic, since Tommy texts back that he's going to jerk off in Adam's bed. And, wow, that's a vivid image.

Adam checks the time on his phone. He has an hour and a half before he's got to do a phone-in to a Vancouver station. He was gonna have a shower and some supper, but he can always shower later.

It's creepy, he knows, to think about his friend who also works for him jerking off in his bed while he jerks off in a hotel two-and-a-half thousand miles away, but lots of people think about creepy things while they masturbate, and as long as they don't act on them it's not a problem.

Jerking off manages to kill less than ten minutes, even when he tries to take it slow. So Adam calls room service. They give him an ETA of forty-five minutes, and he could have that shower now, or read another chapter of his book, or just listen to some music, but he picks up his cell and calls Tommy instead.

He's not sure what he expects, but it isn't Tommy's voice sounding breathless and a little wrecked saying, "You've been fucking holding out on me."

"I have?" It sounds like-- But he wouldn't. Adam's just projecting the fact that he just came onto Tommy, and--

But Tommy starts babbling, clearly nervous, and awkward, and oh my god, he wasn't kidding. Adam laughs, because what else is he gonna do. Tommy Joe is fucking delightful. And maybe a little crazy, and almost definitely totally perfect.

"You fucking left sex toys in your dishwasher. I'm a man, not a fucking saint."

Absolutely, definitely fucking perfect. And apparently not mad about the whole dishwasher thing. "You jerked off in my bed with my sex toys."

Tommy tries to lay the blame on Adam, and Adam, gentleman that he is, doesn't actually try that hard to deflect it. Besides. He has to know. "It's a good one though, right?"

The noise Tommy makes hits Adam like a shot to his dick. That way lies madness, so he changes the subject. Or, you know, brings up how awkward it is. But Tommy, because he's Tommy, starts flirting. Adam's pretty sure he's flirting. Adam is apparently not totally sure what to do with his adorable, probably straight bass player flirting when they both (presumably) have come drying on their skin still. He hangs up. And turns on the TV and watches lions stalk gazelles while he waits for his dinner.

While he's eating, he decides to pretend the whole jerking off and phone conversation thing never happened, and he sends a text to Tommy about the extra wine glasses in the pantry.

An hour later he sends him one about Iron Chef. The next day he sends him a text every couple of hours, like he's afraid Tommy's gonna disappear if Adam doesn't keep in touch. It's like a sickness. But Tommy almost always texts back, and never once asks if Adam's lost his mind. Thank god this is his last day in Canada. His cell phone bill will probably be insane.

When he gets home, Tommy's still there. Like, at the front door, vibrating with excitement kind of there. Gorgeous, perfect, open-book kind of there. When they hug hello, Tommy clings like he has no intention of ever letting go. Adam takes that as a good sign. He's always done better in person.

Not that it isn't still a little awkward. In that way where hanging out with Tommy has been easy and comfortable since the day they met. Just under the comfortable, Adam can't stop thinking about the fact that Tommy jerked off in his bed. What makes things awkward also makes Adam brave, though, and he gets Tommy on his lap inside an hour. Which is awesome, and Adam's a big fan.

But then Tommy says, "C'mon. There's something in your bedroom I want to show you," and that's even better.