rivers_bend

Title: Beer Pong and Quarters
Pairing: Adam/Tommy (college AU)
Words: 2,000
Rating: NC17
The Obvious: I do not know any of the people whose public personas are used here, and neither believe nor mean to imply this ever happened.
Warnings/Enticements: if impaired consent is triggery for you, be aware this contains drinking of copious amounts of alcohol by people under 21, followed by sex. Firmly established relationship.
A/N: so. um. At least this one is now a college verse? idek. Sequel to GI Joe did your Ken Doll. Blame Thank blue_soaring for this one. (day 23 of mmom)
Summary: Beer, a dorm room, and a do not disturb sign.



College isn't all it's cracked up to be in a lot of ways--especially when you're in LA and your boyfriend is in Santa Barbara, and okay it's not like Tommy's in New York or anything, but it still kind of sucks--but it's definitely pretty easy to get beer. Especially if you're a theater major. Beer and wine and drugs and cigarettes. Though his voice coach told him if she smells cigarettes on him again she's going to make him a castrato, so he gives those a wide berth. The beer and the wine, though, and okay, the tequila, he's been known to consume in quantity.

Tommy's down for the weekend, got a lift with someone driving home to see her folks, and he and Adam have been party hopping since about five o'clock. It's now after midnight, and they're curled up on Adam's bed, a stolen Do Not Disturb sign from a Ramada Inn on the doorknob outside, watching Adam's roommate Marco's ridiculous-for-a-dorm-room, 40-inch HDTV. Because Tommy has the attention span of a gnat when he's drunk, Adam's been trying to get the remote away from him, but given he refuses to sit up, he's not having much success and has to settle for shouting, "go back, go baaaaaack" as Tommy zooms past everything he might want to watch. Tommy ignores him until he zips past a flash of something Adam's pretty sure was a tiger. Bip, bip, bip, and lo, he was right.

"Remember?" Adam asks, fond glow warm in his chest. Tommy scoots closer, rests his head on Adam's stomach, and actually sets the remote down next to Adam's hip. Victory. Adam can't tell if it's exactly the same doc, or just something similar--his memories of that day are more about Tommy's head in his lap--but it feels the same, and that's the important part.

Adam's hand settles on Tommy's hair, stroking it back off his face, and then scritching his nails in the stubble behind Tommy's ear in a soothing rhythm that combines with the narrator's voice to lull him into a state of zen. He blames that, and the seven hours of drinking, for what comes out of his mouth next.

"I had this crazy fantasy that day," he says, not even trying to stop himself. "Where you were a cat. Like a tiger, or a cheetah, maybe, and you were mine, and you'd wait for me to come home from school, and let me rub behind your ears and wrestle with you on the floor, and you would bite and scratch anyone else who tried to touch you, but you never ever hurt me."

Adam hears the words coming out of his mouth, and he expects Tommy to tell him to shut up, or to look at him like he's lost his mind. He does not expect him to roll to his hands and knees, growling in the back of his throat. Tommy noses his way under the hem of Adam's t-shirt and licks.

"Um," Adam says. But Tommy licks again, broad wet stripe from Adam's hipbone to his ribs. His hands come up, one to Adam's waist, the other to his far thigh, and Tommy starts kneading at him, alternate squeeze release, squeeze release somehow feeling like it's on Adam's dick. Adam strokes Tommy's head and shoulders, harder and with more purpose when Tommy arches into the touch, making that growly sound again. Adam would really like to know how he does that. Just, not right now, please, because now Tommy is licking his nipples and snugging his knee up against Adam's junk, and it's awesome.

When Adam starts scratching Tommy's scalp where the hair is short at his neck, Tommy bites, a gentle sink of teeth like he's testing Adam's skin, or like he's just making sure he has Adam's undivided attention. He does that sometimes anyway--turns his head to bite Adam's arm where it's resting around his shoulders, or grips Adam's back with his teeth when they're almost asleep. Until tonight, Adam never realized how catlike it is. He's about to comment on that when Tommy starts licking his face.

It's wet, and slippery, and makes him want kisses. But Tommy won't. He is resting his weight on his palms on Adam's biceps and licking, licking, licking, ducking to the side to lap at Adam's neck or ear or jaw every time Adam tries to catch his lips. Adam starts laughing, tries to reach up and get hold of his face, but Tommy moves his grip so Adam's pinned and at his mercy.

"Tommy, oh my god, just fucking kiss me," Adam says, giggling helplessly as Tommy finds a particularly ticklish spot behind Adam's ear with his tongue. Adam squirms and wriggles and thinks he's finally gotten his way when Tommy goes from all fours to lying on Adam's chest, his hold on Adam's arms relaxing, but when Adam goes to tilt his face up for a kiss, he realizes that Tommy hasn't given in, he's passed out. With his thigh a dead weight on Adam's junk and his forehead pressed to Adam's cheekbone.

"You're fucking kidding me, right?" Adam says, because Tommy would totally think it was funny to fake pass out on him. Or pretend to cat nap. But he seems to not be kidding. Adam pokes him in the ribs, tickles him, pinches his thigh, and gets nothing more than a huff of beer breath.

They have never, in a semester and a half of college, spent the night together and not had sex, even if the sex is just a quick hand job or some lazy rutting. They try to do a weekend once a month, but it's sometimes longer between visits, and they figure there's no point in wasting any time they do get together. Adam does not plan on changing that habit now. If Tommy were a date, or even a guy he'd been seeing for a few months, he would feel creepy about what he's going to do, but he's known Tommy pretty much his whole life, and Tommy's Tommy. They peed on each other's chests when they were six. The first time he got drunk, Tommy vomited on Adam's lap. They've shared a lot of bodily fluids over the years is what Adam's saying.

With not a little difficulty, Adam gets Tommy half off him and rolls them onto their sides, pushing Tommy's shirt up and opening his pants. He doesn't actually get his dick out, because that might be a step too far, but he can feel Tommy's happy trail with the back of his hand while he's getting his own dick out, can feel the soft skin of Tommy's belly and smell his hair, and it's really fucking good to have his boyfriend here, even if his boyfriend is currently worse for the beer pong.

Tommy's top leg is pinning Adam's bottom leg to the mattress, and his head is lying on Adam's left arm. There's not a lot of space in the single bed for two people, but Adam has enough room to fist his dick and that's what's important here. If, by necessity, Tommy's close enough Adam's cockhead rubs against his stomach every two or three strokes, that's just a bonus.

It's hard getting himself off when he's had this much to drink, even when he's horny as hell, and he usually doesn't bother. But even sweaty and beer-soaked, Tommy smells warm and familiar and so good, and the heat of his skin pushes Adam closer to the edge and closer still, until he's right there and going over. He aches after, and takes a second to catch his breath. The second turns to hours.

When Adam wakes up Marco's alarm is going off, waaah, waaah, waaah, and Tommy's kneeling next to his hip, dick in his hand, seconds--from the arch of his back, the flush on his face, the speed of his fist--away from coming all over Adam's stomach. Or junk. It's a little hard to tell exactly where Tommy's aiming from this angle.

"Fucking alarm clock," Adam moans, and Tommy flips him off with the hand not busy paying Adam back for last night. There are flakes of white on his skin, sticking to his belly hair and the top of his pubes. Adam was totally going to clean up after himself, but, oops.

Tommy comes with a grunt and a string of muttered curses, spattering Adam's hip and his dick, but mostly his jeans where they're still bunched around the tops of his thighs.

"I totally deserved that," Adam says, "but oh my god can you turn off that damn alarm?"

There're only about three feet between the beds, so with Adam holding his waist for balance, Tommy can slap the snooze button without having to actually get up. He falls on Adam trying to get back, though, elbowing him in the ribs and coming far too close to kneeing him in the nuts, but also getting his own jizz all over his pants, so Adam figures the comedy irony is worth the pain and suffering.

"I'm out of quarters for the laundry room," he says, because he is, and because he figures that will make Tommy's morning. Tommy is weirdly fastidious about certain things, and come stains on his clothes is one of them. Adam knows he only brought the one pair of jeans, and Marco is even bigger than Adam is so borrowing clothes from him is out.

"I hate you," Tommy says.

Adam licks the tip of his nose. "That barnacle impression you're doing right now speaks louder than words, baby."

"I hate your laundry room." Tommy sucks the edge of Adam's jaw, rubbing his lips on the stubble there the way he likes to do. "Let's go see your mom today. She has an awesome washing machine. And I bet she misses me."

"She totally misses you," Adam agrees. The girl next door works out at the mall by his mom's, and if she's on shift today, she'd probably give them a lift. Or if they bring him a bottle of Jack, Marco will probably let Adam borrow his car. It would be simpler to buy some quarters off someone, simpler still to just scrape off what they can and say fuck it to the rest, but neither of those options will get them a home-cooked meal, so the journey might be worth it.

"If I promise not to tell your mom her son wishes his boyfriend were a tiger, will you bring me tater tots and waffles from the dining hall first?"

"If you promise to never mention that again, I will even bring you ranch dressing."

"And maple syrup?"

"Deal," Adam says. He doesn't actually believe for a moment that Tommy's going to let him live this down, but tots and waffles sound fucking awesome.