rivers_bend

Master Post
Part 3


Despite their schedules not meshing up for the next ten days or so, Tommy continues his wooing campaign over text and IM, alternating between funny bitchy commentary on the kids at school, links to YouTube or other shit on the internet, and cheeky or downright dirty suggestions of what he and Adam could do if only they had the place and the time. Once he gets started, Adam can hold his own in the bitchy stakes, and he has no problem at all keeping up on the linking, but Tommy’s the definite winner when it comes to sexting. Adam’s a lot more comfortable with actions than words.

Wednesday Adam gets a text from Tommy while he’s waiting for the school bus and then doesn’t hear from him again. He knows Tommy’s school has midterms this week, so he doesn’t really think much about it, and then after school Adam has jazz choir and then a voice lesson. When he texts Tommy between them and gets only “ttyl” in reply, he figures Tommy’s probably busy studying for whatever subject he’s got tomorrow, probably under his mom’s watchful eye. When he comes upstairs after dinner, Adam’s IM window has seven messages in it, starting with ‘Hello?’ ending with ‘bbl’ and filled in with links to five Johnny Cash songs, but Tommy doesn’t come back before Adam’s dad comes up and tells him to turn off the lights.

Adam’s lurking in that last moment of consciousness before sleep when his phone buzzes softly on his nightstand, lighting up his clock and the book for English he forgot to read before bed. Even really hoping it’s Tommy, he’s so tired he’s teetering between letting his eyes slip shut again and checking the text, but it keeps buzzing. Fumbling it toward him, he jolts awake when he sees Tommy's name above the little phone symbol on the display.

"Hello?" he croaks quietly, mindful of Neil sleeping on the other side of the wall.

"Fuck," Tommy says, his voice tight. "You were sleeping."

"No, you're good." Adam peers at the time. 12:39. Late to be calling on a school night, even for Tommy. Even when they haven’t talked all day. "What's up?"

"Nothing. I just―" Tommy breathes like he's trying to suck all the air out of the room. "Tell me something good, okay?"

"Hey, what happened?" Adam can't think of anything good. He can only think about the fact that Tommy's like twenty-five miles away and he sounds like he's gonna punch something any second.

"What are you wearing?" Tommy says.

"I― What?"

"What are you― Fuck it. That's stupid. One good thing that happened to you today. Please."

Tommy doesn't say please. Like, ever. Scrambling for something, Adam comes up with, "They had chocolate chip brownies in the cafeteria at lunch."

"Still hot?"

"Nah. Well, maybe a little? The chocolate chips were pretty soft." Adam definitely prefers his chocolate chips soft. Brownies, cookies whatever.

"Hell, yeah," Tommy says, and maybe sounds a little more like himself. "Warm brownies are the best."

Adam almost mentions that he passed his math test, but if Tommy's upset about failing a test, maybe he doesn't want to hear that. "Neil ate dinner at a friend's house, so he wasn't here being a little bitch."

Tommy doesn't say anything for several seconds, then softly, but without all the tension he'd started with, says, "I wish I could have come for dinner."

"Did you―" Adam rolls to his other side so he doesn't have the phone between his ear and the pillow. "Did you get in a fight with your parents?"

More quiet, broken by the sound of Tommy breathing. "Not really. Not with my― Know what? Never mind dinner."

"Tommy." Adam doesn't want to be a dick, but Tommy should fucking be able to tell him shit. They've been friends since they were five. Okay, with a break, but whatever. "Just fucking―"

"There was just a thing at school, and it fucking sucked and they didn't exactly take my side. Don't want to talk about it. Doesn't matter. Tell me something else good. Tell me how if you were here right now you'd let me rub off on your stomach, get you all messy."

"If I were there right now I'd hug you 'til you couldn't breathe." Adam would probably let Tommy rub off on his stomach, but he's far too embarrassed to say that on the phone.

"I can totally rub off on you while you're hugging me."

Adam can't help huffing a quiet laugh at that. "You're obsessed."

"I know how much you like it."

"Okay. I like it."

"See?"

"Why'd we have to move?" Adam asks. "What if we still lived three houses down. Do you think you'd still―" Adam's scared to finish.

"Still what?"

"You know."

"Still wanna jump you?" Tommy doesn't sound like he's teasing anymore.

"Maybe," Adam allows.

"I don't think that's the right question."

"How come?"

"D'you remember my birthday party?"

So, so clearly. "Yeah?"

"Problem wasn't ever me not wanting to jump you."

Adam's skin prickles hot. "It wasn't― You surprised me! I was, like, twelve."

"You never called me again."

"You never called me either." Not that Adam would have had a clue what to say to Tommy if he had.

"I'm not the one who ran away."

"I'm not the one― It was the first time anyone tried to kiss me," Adam says helplessly.

"It was the first time I ever kissed anyone."

Adam has no idea what to say. He blurts out, "I'm wearing blue boxer shorts."

Tommy makes a choking noise. Then, before Adam can apologize, says, "Black t-shirt, camo briefs."

"I'm sorry you had a shitty day. And I ran off the first time you tried to kiss me."

"Woulda been doomed, anyway. I wasn't allowed to take the bus any farther than school until freshman year."

"No cell phone, no bus pass, no laptop. You're right. It's much better we waited." That and Adam had so not been ready to start thinking about sex with actual other people yet. He would have been the lamest boyfriend ever.

"Can I ask you a question?" Tommy sounds serious, but not serious.

"Okay," Adam says.

"If I'd actually tried to get you off on the bus that first night, what would you have done?"

"I―" Adam takes a deep breath, curling tighter like that will make his voice carry less, will make this less embarrassing. "Sometimes I―" Tommy doesn't interrupt to save him, just keeps breathing into the phone. Adam has to finish. "Sometimes I jerk off thinking about you putting your hand in my pants, getting me off in front of those guys, and I have to be so quiet, can't move, or they'll come over and make fun of us. Try to hurt us, maybe. And your hand feels so good but I can't make a sound." He's talking so fast by the time he gets to the end it might as well all be one word.

"Wow." There's a sound like Tommy's rolling over. "That is so not what I expected you to say."

"Me either," Adam mumbles.

"Would you have, like, that night?"

"No. Maybe. I was pretty scared." Should he tell him? Fuck it. "That was only my second kiss."

"Shit. Seriously?" Tommy doesn't say anything else for the span of several heartbeats, and Adam's sure he fucked up somehow. Finally, and not like it's a bad thing, he says, "I'm the only guy you've ever kissed?"

"You're the only person I've done anything with. Except Rebecca Molnar, who played my wife in Marriage of Figaro. We kissed on the lips."

"No tongue, though, right?"

If Adam didn't know better, he'd almost think that was jealousy. "No tongue."

"Did you― You knew you were gay, though, right? Before."

"I knew I had no interest in Rebecca's tongue, even though she was apparently the hottest girl in eighth grade. And I thought Danielle's dad's Hustlers were kinda gross."

"I think Hustler can be kinda gross even if you do like girls," Tommy says. "You probably shoulda started with, like, Playboy."

"I moved on to GayTube," Adam admits. "I sorta looked at it as studying for college, though."

"Interesting entrance essay."

"I just didn't think―" No one had ever shown much of an interest in getting into Adam's pants before Tommy. At least not that he'd noticed. Though Danielle has always tried to tell him that he's shockingly unobservant. And she did know Tommy actually liked him before he did, so maybe she wasn't wrong about Jenna and Alicia. Maybe he just hoped she was. "I guess I was pretty sure I was gay," he says.

"Good." Tommy chuckles lowly. "I would hate to have contributed to the delinquency of a minor."

Adam has to bite his quilt against a guffaw. "Fuck off. That is like your favorite thing ever."

"You sucking my dick is my favorite thing ever." Tommy's voice skirts the edge between joking and not.

"Good thing I like―"

Adam's door opens with the clunk of its stiff latch giving way. "Adam Mitchel Lambert it is one in the morning." The fact that his mother is whispering does nothing to hide how angry she is. "What are you doing on the phone?"

"Nothing," Adam says, filled with contrition.

She holds out her hand, arm rigid, jaw clenched.

"Gotta go, bye," Adam hisses into the phone before thumbing the disconnect.

"Adam," Leila says, a clear warning, when he doesn't hand it to her.

"I'm off now. I'll go to sleep."

She just holds her hand out farther, the light from the hall making her withering look ten times scarier than it usually is. Adam turns the whole thing off, figuring she's going to take it in her room, not wanting her to be wakened by texts from Tommy wondering where he went. Once she has it safe in her bathrobe pocket, she says, "You can have it back after school tomorrow, assuming you are bright-eyed at the breakfast table in the morning, ready to meet the day.” Adam doesn't bother saying that he hasn't been bright-eyed at the breakfast table since he was eleven, no matter how much sleep he had the night before, so that seems a little mean.

"Okay," he says instead, following up with the most sincere sorry he can muster. He is awfully sorry that she took his phone away, so he sounds pretty convincing.

"And tell Danielle she can't call you after ten."

Adam manages to hold on to his sigh of relief that she doesn't suspect Tommy until after she leaves and shuts the door.

School the next day is torture. By rushing around like a crazy person, Adam was on time for breakfast, and he's hoping that open-eyed is close enough to bright-eyed that he's getting his phone back. In the mean time, since family breakfast meant he didn’t even have time to turn on his computer, he's stuck imagining Tommy sending text after text, wondering why he's not getting an answer.

"But he did that to you for like two months," Danielle says when she finds Adam under their usual tree at lunch time sadfacing over his sandwich. “He’s going to survive a day, I'm sure."

Adam isn't sure at all. “He was kind of weird last night. I don’t know. What if he stops texting me again?"

"Then he's a fucking idiot," Danielle says, and then changes the subject to the song she hates in the Winter Festival show. Adam doesn’t really have much of an opinion on any of them except that they are all better than even the best of the songs in Young Dracula, so he just lets her vent while he worries that Tommy thinks Adam’s mad or something.

No one’s home when Adam gets there, and he looks in all his mom’s usual hiding places for his phone, but he can’t find it, and when he uses the landline to call her cell it goes straight to voicemail. Then, when he sees that it’s time Tommy should have gotten home, he goes to see if he’s logged onto IM, and there his phone is, sitting right on his laptop waiting for him. It’s still powered off, and he hopes that’s because his mom actually respected his privacy. He’s not totally stupid, he does delete Tommy’s dirty texts, but he doesn’t always do it right away, and he can’t remember if there are any still on there.

It takes forever to power up again, and Adam wakes up his laptop while he’s waiting, pouncing on the keyboard when he sees Tommy’s status dot is green. His flow of apologies is interrupted by his phone buzzing and buzzing and buzzing with incoming texts.

---

They have a sub in bio the Thursday before Winter Break. Adam's pretty sure she last taught back when his parents were in high school―she looks like an apple doll―and she's not doing anything about the fact that no one is paying attention to the movie about single-celled something or others she's trying to show them. Danielle's painting Adam's nails black and silver, claiming she can see just fine in the flickering, under-water light coming from the screen, but Adam's pretty sure he's going to have silver blotches rather than silver lines.

"We need to dye your hair this weekend," she says, holding his left ring finger toward the screen and examining it critically.

His roots are definitely showing, but he was hoping to have Tommy do it for him. They went to the movies last Sunday and Tommy'd played with his hair in the dark, and now it's kind of all he can think about. Tommy standing between his knees, his stomach right there but out of reach because he won't want hair dye on any of his t-shirts, his fingers combing through―

"Adam. Hair. This weekend. Or do you want to do it after school today?"

"Oooh, you girls gonna get together and braid each other's hair this weekend?" Geoff Archer sneers from the next table.

"No. We're gonna shave my head," Danielle snaps. "Fuck off."

That gets the apple doll's attention. "Do you need to go to the office, miss? We don't talk like that in class." Manicures and homophobia are a-okay, but no swearing. Good to know.

That gets Adam out of telling Danielle he doesn't want her help. After all her complaining the first time he asked her to do it, it shouldn't be that big a deal, but Adam hasn't spent one weekend day with her since Tommy came to the play and he senses her happy-for-him is wearing thin. (The fact that he overheard her saying to Chrissy Rhoeman that Sandy was a total bitch for ditching Chrissy just because she has a boyfriend now might have played a part in the sensing, but Danielle doesn't know he heard that, so he can't say anything.)

Boys and girls are in different gyms for PE this week and Danielle has a yearbook meeting at lunch so he doesn't see her again until the bus stop. By which point he's sort of come up with a game plan.

"Wanna stop at the drug store on the way home?" he asks, getting right in there before she can say anything. "I already asked Tommy if he could dye my hair for me, because you didn't really seem to want to last time, but we could get some dye, and I might just buy you that Shatter glaze you've been eyeing up."

Danielle looks at him, mouth and eyebrows matching flat lines. "Are you kidding me?" she asks. Except it doesn't really sound like a question.

"No?" Adam says. He can't figure out where he went wrong. "I'll buy you something else if you already got the Shatter."

"You are kidding me. Jesus." Danielle shoves him. "You're trying to buy me off?"

"Buy you― What?" Adam feels like everyone at the bus stop is staring, even though he can see with his own eyes that most of the other kids are ignoring them.

"Your old BFF comes back and you fucking just dump me like I don't even matter, and then you think you can buy your way out of it with a crappy bottle of nail polish?"

OPI isn't crappy nail polish for a start, and Adam totally wasn't trying to― except he did pretty much hope that Danielle wouldn't be so mad at him about another Saturday of not hanging out if he got her a present. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Well you fucking should be," Danielle snaps. "I don't want your pity presents." Without even letting him say he's sorry again, she pushes past him to the other side of the crowd, just in time for the bus to pull up. By the time he gets on there are no seats anywhere near her. She gets off the stop before their usual, which means she has to walk five blocks instead of three to get home. Adam's pretty sure it's not because she wants the exercise.

Friday's a short day. Danielle's not on the bus, but Adam sees her ducking into homeroom while he's at his locker. It's hardly the first time her mom dropped her off in the morning, but he's suspicious. She's not in bio, but everyone is jumping around from seat to seat, sharing holiday plans and being generally disruptive, so the apple doll doesn't notice when Lexie says, "Here," out of the side of her mouth when she gets to Stori, Danielle on the attendance list. It's not even like Lexie and Danni are really friends. Adam wonders what they traded. Or if Danielle paid her. And if it was all to avoid Adam.

They don't have Drama, and they don't have lunch, and Danielle's not at the bus stop after school either. Adam gets his phone out six or seven times to text her, but can't think of anything to say. Instead he texts Tommy and asks when he can come over to dye his hair.


Neil has an indoor soccer tournament all weekend, so he and their parents are out of the house most of the day Saturday. Tommy's mom is meeting a friend in town and agreed to drop him at the bus stop in Century City. If it weren't for Danielle being a bitch and deciding not to speak to him, everything would be perfect for Tommy coming over to dye Adam's hair and hang out. He texts her while he's waiting for Tommy at the bus stop, asking if she wants to hang on Sunday, promising not to buy her anything, but she ignores him. So he texts Tommy to find out how far away he is.

"idk. just passed a hospital." comes back.

"almost there. next stop after park." Adam pushes himself off the low wall where he's been waiting in the shade, and heads for the corner.

When the bus stops with a squeal of hydraulic brakes, Tommy is the first one off. He's cut his hair since the last time Adam saw him―it's still long in his face, but much shorter over his ears and at the back―and he's wearing the makeup he bought at Sephora the day they went to the mall. He looks fucking amazing, and Adam feels scruffy as hell in his baggy t-shirt and jeans with his ginger roots showing through his unwashed hair.

"Hey," Tommy says, his face lighting up. "You're here."

"I was bored waiting at home. Figured I'd come down and take the four with you."

"You just don't trust my amazing ability to follow directions," Tommy says, bumping Adam's arm with his shoulder.

"Because you don't have one." Adam spies the number 4 coming, and the crosswalk ticking down the last few seconds to get across the street to the other bus stop. "Come on. Run."

Laughing and breathless, they make it to the stop with seconds to spare, having only been honked at once. They head to the back and tumble into the last empty double seat, Tommy landing half on Adam's lap. He shuffles over a little, so he's not squishing Adam up against the window, but he keeps one leg hooked over Adam's thigh. That gets them a sharp look from a woman about Adam's mom's age, and an indulgent smile from the older woman sitting next to her. Adam smiles back and rests his hand on Tommy's knee. It feels crazily like the bravest thing he's ever done. He takes this bus all the time, and he's got his hands all over his makeup-wearing boyfriend. The older woman winks at him, though, and his heart feels a little less like it's going to beat its way out of his chest.

By the time they've gone a few blocks, Tommy's taken his leg back so he can dig through his bag without elbowing Adam in the ribs, but once he's found his iPod, he leaves his bag so the women across the aisle can't see when he brushes his hand over Adam's dick. "Wanna get pizza for lunch?" he asks, all innocent, and Adam knows he's wondering what Adam would do if he undid his zipper.

"The pizza place is pretty crowded on a Saturday. Maybe we can make pizza at home," Adam says.

Tommy gives him one of his private smiles. "You've totally gotta hear this. This dude Lisa knows and I did it this week. He's fucking awesome with keyboards and shit, and he asked if I would play some guitar for him."

Adam takes the proffered earbud and nods when he's got it in his right ear. Tommy hits play. It's nothing like the metal sound Adam was expecting, has more of a trance groove, alternating between a strong guitar line and dominating keys. It's really good. He resists humming a melody over the top, not wanting to impose on Tommy's music or disturb the other passengers, but he can definitely hear vocals in his head. Tommy's got the other earbud, and is doing his best not to look at Adam every time the guitar comes in.

Distracted by the music, Adam ends up missing their stop, but Tommy's pleased smile that he got so into it makes up for the extra ten minutes it takes them to get home. They spend the walk talking about recording music on a home computer versus what it must be like to be in a real studio, about songwriting, and about Tommy's dream of playing guitar for a living someday.

"I'm getting a lot better now that Don lets me practice in his garage. Mom and Dad get annoyed by the noise when I do it too much at home."

"Is Don the guy on the keyboard?" Adam asks as he gets his house keys out of his pocket.

"Nah. He's the one on drums. He's like thirty or something, works in a bank. His garage is pretty sweet. Steve's the guy on keys. Don's his cousin."

It's weird to think of Tommy having this whole life, this whole group of people in it, that Adam can't imagine. Like, he knows Tommy didn't go into stasis when the Lamberts left Burbank, but he never talks about the people he goes to school with or anything. Tommy knows a lot about Danielle, but other than the shoe guy at the bowling alley, Adam's pretty sure he doesn't even know any of Tommy's friends' names. Adam should totally remember to ask Tommy more about his life, because he certainly didn't really think of Tommy getting serious about the guitar, making friends with old banker guys and like actually recording music. It's awesome and a little intimidating, somehow different from how Adam's joined a theater group and started taking voice lessons and doing his own things he didn't do when he and Tommy used to be friends.

"So," Tommy interrupts his thoughts. "Hair first?"

“Sure,” Adam says, because he suspects if they make out first he’ll forget all about hair dying.

Adam and Neil's bathroom has a slate floor that his mother would kill over if it got stained with hair dye, so Adam lays down one of the old beach towels they use for mopping up leaks before setting a folding chair in the middle of the room, and takes off his shirt before putting a second towel around his shoulders. Tommy looks up from where he's mixing the dye with the activator and gives him a wolfish look. Adam is tempted to kiss him, but he doesn't want to mess up his lipstick, so he satisfies himself with sticking his tongue out while he lowers himself gingerly into the cold metal chair.

"Promises, promises," Tommy says. "I'm gonna start at the front, okay?"

It's just like Adam's fantasy―except Tommy smells faintly of gardenias from where Adam hipchecked him into the bush on the corner―with Tommy standing between his spread knees, faded yellow Nirvana smiley right in front of Adam's face, Tommy's jeans riding several inches lower than the tee's hemline making Adam want to lean in, nose his underwear out of the way to see skin.

"You're staring," Tommy says, smiling, pulling the gloves that came with the hair dye more firmly over his fingers.

"You're hot," Adam counters, but he lifts his eyes to Tommy's face.

"Okay. Here we go." Tommy lifts the bottle and squeezes a line of cold goop onto Adam's part, spreading the dye along the line with a fingertip. It makes Adam shiver.

Where Danielle used a comb, Tommy uses the nozzle of the bottle to make a new part and then smooths the hair down with his fingers before repeating his original action. Adam shivers every time he does it, tiny spasms in his chest and shoulders that he tries to hide. The dye doesn't sting any more or less than when Danielle did it, but the tingle is traveling from his scalp right down his spine, pooling low in his belly. He does okay keeping his hands to himself at first, until Tommy tilts his head down to do his crown, and Adam's staring right at the bulge that seems to be all that's holding Tommy's pants up. When Tommy combs through Adam's hair with his whole hand, pulling a section forward, Adam makes a noise somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, and grabs onto Tommy's waist.

"Sorry, d'that hurt?"

Adam can only shake his head slowly no, not wanting to make the dye drip or dislodge Tommy's hand. His throat's too dry for any sound.

"No sucking my dick until we're done here," Tommy says. "You're just gonna have to wait."

With an audible swallow, Adam pushes his thumbs under the elastic of Tommy's jockeys. But he doesn't go farther, just leaves them there, an inch either side of Tommy's faint happy trail, pressing gently into the soft skin like a promise.

He's just gonna hold on for a moment, just get his bearings again, but he finds he can't let go. Tommy doesn't stop what he's doing, sectioning out Adam's hair, rubbing dye onto the roots, maybe tipping his hips into Adam's grasp a little, but otherwise concentrating disturbingly well. Adam doesn't think he should be the only one feeling breathless, so he strokes up to Tommy's ribs then down, fingers pushing under the edge of Tommy's briefs to squeeze at his ass.

"I'm gonna get hair dye all over your face if you make my jeans fall off," Tommy says, holding his hands out stiffly either side of Adam's shoulders. "Maybe I should do the rest from back here. Smiling down at Adam, he twists out of his grip and eels around to stand behind Adam instead.

"I liked you better up here," Adam says, putting as much pout in his voice as he dares.

"Yeah, well, I'm almost done, and then you can put me wherever you want." He flicks the back of Adam's neck.

"Promise?" Adam says.

Tommy just gets back to work.

Fortunately he really is almost done, because Adam is pretty sure if he doesn't get his mouth on Tommy's dick soon he's going to―

He's just gotta get his mouth on Tommy's dick.

If he'd been thinking, Adam would have set the chair up so he could look in the mirror, but he wasn't, and he can only see the frosted glass of the shower doors and the towel rail under the gingham curtains at the window unless he cranes his neck around. Which he could, but when he's done with the last little bit along Adam's hairline, Tommy says, "Wait there," and something about Tommy tends to make Adam do as he's told. He can hear Tommy putting things on the counter, the plastic crinkle of his gloves coming off, and then something that he really hopes is actually the sound of his shirt being pulled over his head, not just a horrible tease.

When Tommy comes back into view his jeans are barely on at all, his jockeys are sitting below his hipbones, and his t-shirt is nowhere to be seen. The need to bite the soft stretch of skin at the edge of his stomach overwhelms Adam, and he forgets that his hair is covered in dye.

"So, wh―AAGH!" Tommy says as Adam grabs him, trying to reel him in. But he's too quick, gets a hand on Adam's forehead and another on his shoulder, keeping himself tantalizingly out of mouth's reach.

"You are such a tease," Adam says, pushing against Tommy's hold.

"Twenty minutes. And I never said you couldn't touch with your hands." Tommy, because he's cruel, squirms a little, making Adam's grip on his waist shove his briefs down another half inch.

"I can suck you off without getting any dye on you. I know I can," Adam promises. "Besides. You took your shirt off."

"Tell you what." Tommy gives Adam's forehead an extra little shove and steps back out of range. "Until you're rinsed and at least a little dry, no putting your face anywhere near my skin. But," he adds when Adam tries to protest, "until then, I'll do anything to you that you want to do to me."

Adam's dick jumps before his brain has even parsed the words, and when he gets it, it takes him a second to figure out how to get enough oxygen to speak. "So I want to bite you there―" Adam points at Tommy's hip, his other hand drifting unconsciously to rub his own where he means, "so you bite me instead?"

Tommy does his trick where he raises an eyebrow without even moving his face, and nods. Adam scrambles out of his chair, pushing the towel off his shoulders and kicking it aside while manhandling Tommy around to sit in his place. Laughing, off balance, Tommy sits with a thud, says, "I'll take that as a yes, then." He reaches out as Adam pushes his jeans lower on his hips and steps between Tommy's knees.

It isn't until he's looking down at the blood-black oval on his abs that Adam remembers Tommy's wearing lipstick. Or remembers what that means, anyway. His brain flashes back to some movie or TV show where guys got points for the number of lipstick stains they had in their shorts and a mom freaked out on laundry day, but he's gonna be showering in about twenty minutes so no laundry, and oh, fuck, "Tommy, jesus, do that again. On my dick."

"Bite you?" Tommy says doubtfully, and thank god, because ow, what?

"No." Adam's brain catches up. "The lipstick."

Tommy's smile is kind of amazing, but Adam doesn't get to see it long, because Tommy bows his head and yanks Adam's jeans open, hauling his junk out through the fly of his briefs so he can press a kiss to the top of it. It's more like how you'd kiss an envelope to leave a lip print than anything designed to turn Adam on, but Adam isn't actually sure he wouldn't get off on Tommy leaving lip prints on envelopes and this is his dick, so the rough noise that comes from his throat is totally not his fault.

"You thinking about all the cheerleaders getting up on your junk?" Tommy asks, voice muffled as he smears lipstick down the side of Adam's cock.

"Not unless there's something 'bout your extracurriculars you're not telling me," Adam manages, a little shaky, but clear. "Thinkin' 'bout you all messed up from sucking my―"

He doesn't finish, because Tommy stops teasing and starts sucking, and when he tilts his head Adam can see he has deep-purple smeared on his cheek, and who the fuck needs words when you've got that.


After, legs still rubbery from coming standing up, Adam turns on the shower, so he can rinse his hair and get his turn sucking his boyfriend. Weirdly, he’s a little shy about taking his pants off while Tommy’s just standing there watching him, face totally debauched like one of those ‘edgy’ photo shoots from his dad’s old music magazines, where they made the models look like heroin addicts who just had an orgy. Adam mostly wants to ask him if he’ll keep his face like that but instead he says, “There’s some makeup wipes in the medicine cabinet if you want,” because that seems like what he’s supposed to say. While Tommy’s turned away, Adam shucks his jeans and darts behind the shower doors. When he opens his eyes again after rinsing out the dye, Tommy’s sitting on the abandoned chair. Between the steam and the texture of the glass, Adam can’t see if Tommy’s looking at him or not.

Adam’s debating the merits of facial cleanser versus shampoo versus asking Tommy to hand him the makeup remover because the bar of Ivory doesn’t prove up to the task of getting all Tommy’s lipstick off his dick, when Tommy says, “My family’s going to Hawaii on Monday.”

Adam’s chest lurches with excitement, translating the words for a second into they’re going without Tommy again like that first night they had pizza, but then, before Adam can even blink, he hears they’re all moving there and Adam’s never going to see Tommy again. In his distress, Adam forgets the stubborn mark he’s trying to remove is on some pretty sensitive skin and goes after it with his fingernail. The Ow, fuck! and the What? No. What? come out all garbled together.

“For Christmas,” Tommy clarifies. “And New Years. We’re back on the second or whatever. Are you okay?”

Adam literally sags against the wall, something he’s only ever done on stage, except then he had to hold himself up and only look saggy or he’d have knocked over the set. Actual sagging is easier, even if it kind of makes him feel like a fucking Victorian maiden or something. “I’m fine,” he snaps, cringing, because wow, that wasn’t convincing at all.

“Uh huh,” Tommy says, and Adam can see the denim-and-black-and-pale shape of him shifting on the other side of the pebbled glass like maybe he’s about to get up and check for himself.

“No, seriously. Fine. Just―“ Adam pushes himself back to standing with a shaky hand, running the other through his extra-slick hair. “I thought that was you telling me you’re leaving.”

Tommy’s definitely looking at him now; Adam can see from the angle of the darker pale of hair falling over his face and the smudges of his eyes. “It was.” Tommy’s hand goes to his head in a move that echoes Adam’s, one that Adam’s seen Tommy do hundreds of times. He’s been doing it since they were seven and Mr. Ratliff stopped taking Tommy to his barber to get him a buzz cut. “I would have told you more than two days before if we were moving, though. Not that you gave me much notice when you left Burbank.”

“I told you the day my parents told me! That wasn’t my fault.” It was the next day, actually, but it was as soon as he could. His parents broke the news after dinner, all excited because they’d found a house, bigger and nicer and closer to his dad’s work, and then were mystified when Adam wouldn’t stop crying and shouting that he hated them. They wouldn’t let Adam leave the house while he was that mad. “They didn’t want to bother me and Neil with the details until they had them ironed out.”

“I like your parents and everything, but they’re fucking idiots,” Tommy grumbles.

“Yeah.” Adam can’t really disagree with that. He still hasn’t totally forgiven them. “But we’re―“ he’s not exactly sure what word to use, but decides on, “friends again now, right?”

“You're definitely my friend. The kind who owes me a blowjob. Are you almost done in there?”

Adam turns off the water. “Hand me my towel?”

---

One thing that sucks about living in LA and being only fifteen is that there is a ton of amazing live music you can't see because you're not twenty-one. But also, pretty much every rock tour ever has an LA date, and if your parents are cool you can go see them. Adam's parents are maybe a little bit too cool, because a lot of the shows he wants to go to his dad wants to go to, too, but that does mean Adam doesn’t have to worry about getting a ride, and since he turned fourteen, if he wants to go with friends, his dad is usually okay about not sitting with them, so it could be way worse. Plus, Danielle's parents are only moderately cool, and they will only let her go to shows if Eber is going to chaperon.

Before Danielle stopped speaking to him, Adam got them tickets to go see My Chem at the Hollywood Bowl two days before Christmas. They're her favorite band ever, and she goes back and forth on an almost daily basis torn between which one of them she wants to marry. Adam has pointed out that they’re all married already, but she doesn't see why that should make any difference. And since Adam can totally see how a person might want to sleep with Gerard Way, and Frank Iero reminds him of Tommy in ways that make Adam glad he's probably never going to get a chance to meet him in person because it could get awkward, he doesn't feel as inclined to argue as he might. The trouble is, he's not sure how he's going to tell her about the tickets now that she’s not speaking to him.

After about ten unanswered texts and as many ignored phone calls, Adam recruits his dad to help. He does have to explain that Danielle is mad at him, but Eber buys that it's about Adam hanging out with Tommy again without Adam having to explain about the whole thing where Tommy’s his boyfriend.

"Just call her dad and check with him if it's okay if she comes. And get him to tell her about it."

He rolls his eyes, but Eber talks to Mr. Stori, who apparently doesn't know Danielle's pissed at Adam, and takes it at face value that Eber assumed he’d want the opportunity to talk to the man who'll be chaperoning his daughter in the crowd before Danielle got her hopes up. Less than ten minutes after his dad gets off the phone, Adam's cell beeps with a text.

"don't think this is getting you off the hook asshole. but you must hav got the tx months ago, so I'll come."

He texts her: "miss you. we'll pick you up at 530." He doesn't hear back.

The three days waiting for the concert are the longest Adam can remember, since Tommy's away, Neil has a bad cold so can't go play with his friends, it's raining, and Danielle still won't return any of his efforts at communication. On the plus side, Tommy’s text plan works in Hawaii, but on the minus side, he seems to be spending a lot of time out, doing family stuff or swimming or riding around on mopeds, which he tells Adam about at night in little flurries of messages, but which keep him off his phone for most of the day. And sharing a bedroom with his sister and three cousins seems to put him off texting Adam anything dirty. By lunch time on day two, Adam is about to pull his own skin off in frustration.

He doesn’t see why it’s such a big deal, but he can’t exactly argue with his mom’s math when she bangs on his door and complains that he’s been listening to "Personal Jesus" on repeat for more than two hours. She should be happy it’s Depeche Mode and not Marilyn Manson, but happy is not at all how he would describe her tone. “We’re going to the movies,” she says once he’s turned the stereo off. “I cannot stand you moping around this house for one more second!”

“I’m not moping,” Adam calls through the door, which apparently in mom-speak means, do please come in and glare at me with your arms crossed.

“I’m not,” he tries again when she adds raised eyebrows and pursed lips to her tableau of doubt.

“Superheroes or tear-jerker,” she says. “Those seem to be the choices in December.”

The last thing Adam’s in the mood for is watching some dude cry into his cornflakes because his wife has cancer and is cheating on him with his brother, or whatever the Oscar contender for this year is, so he mutters, “Superhero.”

“That’s what I thought. Now hurry up, or there won’t be time to buy popcorn.”

It’s just the two of them, since Eber is staying home with Neil who’s still coughing up disgusting sludge every five minutes, and though he’s not going to admit it to his mom, Adam actually has a pretty good time. They end up in the new Sherlock Holmes movie, which isn’t exactly superheroes, but is close enough. Jude Law is hot, but not so hot that Adam has to bundle his sweatshirt in his lap to avoid embarrassing himself, and his mom only talks a little bit about Robert Downey Jr. and how long she’s had a crush on him, not pressing Adam to state an opinion on the subject. Bonus, there’s enough going on onscreen to distract him from his woes for a couple of hours.

When he manages a smile when his mom asks how he liked it, she says, “So where do you want to go to dinner?”

They end up in a little neighborhood Italian place with high-backed booths and red-glass candleholders at the tables. Adam’s mouth is full with his second piece of garlic bread when Leila says, “It’s nice that you’re seeing more of Tommy Joe.”

Adam’s pretty sure that she doesn’t mean ‘more’ in the way where he gets to see Tommy without his clothes, but that doesn’t stop a lump of bread going down the wrong way, leaving him gasping into a napkin while his mom pats his arm and holds out his glass of water.

“Sorry, honey,” she says once he can breathe again and his eyes have stopped tearing. “I didn’t mean to― you haven’t broken― been fighting or anything have you?”

If his mother just started to ask if he and Tommy broke up, Adam doesn’t want to know. His mother absolutely does not need any information about him liking boys, or that he and Tommy are anything but friends again. “No,” he assures her. “Just me and Danielle. Tommy and I are fine.”

“You never told me what happened with Danielle,” she says gently.

“She doesn’t think it’s nice I’m friends with Tommy. She’s being a jealous b― brat.”

Leila’s lip quirks when Adam catches his language, but she doesn’t laugh at him. “You’re pretty amazing, kiddo. Surely you can see how she misses having you around.” And it’s his mom’s job to think he’s amazing, but it still feels pretty good to hear it. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

Adam’s surprised to find he does.

His mom is a really good listener, and while she agrees that Adam shouldn’t have tried to buy Danielle off with nail polish, she also thinks Dani’s been taking the not-speaking-to-him thing too far, and he can’t really ask for fairer than that. “Can I make a suggestion?” she asks once she’s heard him out.

Adam shrugs, suspicious that he already knows what she’s going to say.

“Maybe don’t mention Tommy every five minutes tomorrow night.” He was totally right. “You bought those tickets for you and her for a reason. Make sure you show her you remember that.”

Adam’s absolutely going to do that. Because his mom is smart, and also, as much as he could spend every second of every day with Tommy forever, he really does miss Danielle.


When Eber pulls up in front of the Storis’ house at 5:27 the night of the concert, Danielle is already on the porch. She’s got her hair in tight braids either side of her head, way more makeup on than she usually bothers with, and is wearing an Art is the Weapon tee Adam’s never seen before, though he knows she’s been wanting one. Her favorite black hoodie is scrunched in one fist, and she’s clutching her phone in her other hand. Turning to shout something through the screen door, she bounces off the steps and is halfway down the walk before Adam’s dad can even put the car in park.

“Think she’s excited?” Eber says wryly, having been to more than one concert with Danielle in the last few years. Adam spies her combat boots laced tight to her ankles then loose over her skinny jeans. She’s ready to dance. You can always tell what Dani expects from a gig by looking at her shoes.

“I think she’s excited,” Adam agrees, his heart lifting a little as he scrambles to undo his seatbelt so he can offer her shotgun.

Even better than the grin on her face and the boots on her feet is the way she throws herself at Adam when he gets out of the car to greet her. “I’m still mad,” she says into his neck as she clings to him, “but I love you so much right now I could pee.”

Adam bursts out laughing at that. “Please don’t,” he says pushing her away and grinning at her. “But I’m glad you’re happy. It’s been killing me keeping this a secret.”

“My Chemical Romance. Live. Did I mention I love you?”

“If you have a summer wedding, we’d be happy to host it in the backyard,” Eber says through the open door, making Adam freeze and his face go hot. “Let’s get going, or we’ll miss the openers.”

Danielle doesn’t react to the wedding crack, thankfully, just shoves Adam out of the way so she can climb in front. “Hi, Mister Lambert. Thanks for driving.”

Over the sound of the closing doors, Adam can’t hear what his dad replies, but it makes Danielle laugh and say, “I don’t think anyone loves Gerard Way more than I do.”

Then, in celebrated pre-concert tradition, Eber cranks Danger Days on the stereo, and they’re off.

Adam has never been sure what his dad did in another life to deserve the parking karma he has, but someone’s pulling out of Eber’s preferred secret space in easy walking distance of the Bowl just as he slows to pass it. It’s hard not to take it as a sign. Especially when Danielle links fingers with Adam and starts to pull him toward the venue as soon as Eber’s finished admonishing them both to leave their phones on, and to head back for the car as soon as the show is over.

Since neither of them have a bag to search, the first ticket check goes quickly. Then it feels like everyone who’s worked there ever has to look at their tickets before they finally get to go to their seats. Where, of course, Danielle says, “Wait. I wanted merch.” Adam’s grateful it’s not general admission or he might have had to kill her. After a million years in line, she ends up with a hoodie and two tees, and a third she makes Adam buy because they’re out of smalls and if she can’t have it, she’s determined that she gets to see it on him. Fortunately it’s black, and also pretty cool, with just the spider graphic from the album on it, and not, like, something he’s going to have to explain to any assholes in the locker room. While Danielle would be quite happy to say, “To my foot in your ass,” if anyone asks her what the aftermath is secondary to, Adam knows he’d mean to say something short and cutting but would start trying to explain the vision of Danger Days or whatever, and school is easier when he doesn’t do shit like that.

With the sun going down it’s getting cold, so Adam puts his shirt on when they get back to their seats, though he pretty much feels like a tool wearing merch actually at a concert. Better that than peeling off the shirt he was wearing and showing everyone around him his chest while he puts the spider one on underneath, though. Dani doesn’t put her own shirts on, but she does pull her new CHEM hoodie over her plain old black one. “Let’s rock,” she declares once she’s got everything where she wants it.

Adam enjoys the openers more because Danielle keeps looking at him with a huge grin on her face than because the music is anything particularly amazing, but he’s pretty sure he’d feel that way no matter what. Tommy is the best thing that’s ever happened to Adam, even when he’s kind of confusing, but Danielle’s Danielle, and sometimes it’s nice to hang out with someone without wanting to get in their pants.

In the setup between the second opener and My Chem, Danielle starts digging under all her hoodies and pulls a small envelope out of her pocket. “This isn’t me handwaving the fact you were a jerk,” she says, giving Adam a hard stare. “But it was childish of me to just stop speaking to you for so long instead of giving you a chance to apologize.”

“I really am sorry,” Adam says. He wants to take the envelope from her, see what it is, but he waits for her to hand it over.

“Your present,” she says as she does. “For you to use with me.”

It’s a hand-made gift card, good for a mani-pedi and a movie for two. Adam dives at her and gives her the biggest hug he can, grinning into her hair as she clings back. The night only gets better from there.

Part 5