Fic: Take A Step Before You Leap [part 1]

[silentdescant]

Take A Step Before You Leap

[index] - [part 1] - [part 2] - [part 3] - [part 4] - [art post by qafmaniac]

OCTOBER 2009

He can’t hold it in any longer.

“Hey, listen,” Tommy says suddenly. His mother stops mid-sentence. “I got a callback today.”

She rolls with the change in topic. “You did?”

“Yeah. I had an guitar audition last week, and—”

“You never mentioned anything!”

“Well, it was…” Tommy takes a quick, excited breath. “I didn’t think I had a big chance. There were so many people there, Mom, it was insane. But I made the short list. They asked me back to audition for bass instead.”

“That’s fantastic, honey,” she gushes. “Tell me about it! Is it a new band?”

“Um, kind of? You remember that singer on American Idol, the one Jonna told me to watch? He’s been looking for a backing band. I guess she knows a guy who knows a guy or something; she told me to try out and I figured, why not at least audition, right?”

“Wait, baby, you auditioned for the boy who won American Idol?”

Tommy runs his teeth along his lower lip, hesitating. “No, Ma, the other one. Adam Lambert.”

He hears his mom inhale sharply. “He has a good voice,” she says carefully. “You met him?”

“No, he wasn’t—they just had like, somebody from his label there and stuff. They said he’d be part of the next round of auditions.” Tommy shifts the phone to his other ear so he can twirl the drawstring on his sweatpants around his finger. He almost wishes people still used phones with cords; he likes having something to do with his hands when he gets nervous.

“You know he’s gay, right?” she blurts out.

“Mom! Of course I know he’s gay! He came out on the cover of Rolling Stone.” He decides against mentioning the near constant media coverage of Adam Lambert’s sexuality on the entertainment channels and magazines. Tommy senses his mom gearing up to say something else, so he cuts off her rant before it can start. “He has an amazing voice, Mom. He’s gonna be big, and I think… I think I’ve actually got a chance this time. The label guys already liked me. I just need to show them I can play bass.”

He listens to her take a deep breath. “Of course you’ve got a chance, baby. You’re amazing. I just want you to be… aware of the kind of attention you’ll attract, okay?”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “I know, Mom.”

“Have you met anyone recently?”

He rolls his eyes again at the pointed change of subject. “No. I mean, I’ve been, like, seeing people, but nothing serious.” He hasn’t been seeing much of anyone besides his roommates, actually, but his mother doesn’t need to know that he’s incapable of holding down a relationship. She’d probably take it as an opportunity to set him up with some girl from her book club.

“I’m not really looking for anyone right now,” he tells her. “I’m perfectly fine with being single.” Better single than with a girl that makes him uncomfortable, in any case.

“Are you still going to the gym?”

“I lost my membership,” Tommy mumbles. He doesn’t say that he cancelled it almost six months ago, and that he hadn’t even been working out for a few months before that. He’d already lost a lot of the bulk he’d been trying to maintain while he was in his previous bands, but he isn’t quite so embarrassed to be tiny and thin anymore. He likes himself better in eyeliner than he ever did in muscle shirts anyway.

“Tommy, if you need money—”

“I don’t. I’m fine. I’m paying my bills on time and I’m eating every day and I’ve got gas in my car. I’m fine.”

His mom sighs again. “Well, when are you coming over? Your sister’s going to come by this evening, and your dad’s out picking up some food—”

“Um, actually…” Tommy breaks in carefully. “I really need to practice. They want me to audition tomorrow, and I haven’t even touched my bass in months, so…”

“Oh, honey, but it’s your birthday! You should have your party!”

“I need this job, Ma,” Tommy replies. “I can’t stay at this fucking call center. It’s killing me.”

“Well, when is the audition tomorrow?”

“Mid-morning. I’ll just have a few beers with Mike and Dave and then practice all fucking night.” He looks around and sees the birthday card on the table. “Maybe we can postpone the party one night? I’ll bring the boys over and you can feed them all your leftovers.”

“That’s fine, hon, that’s fine. Tommy, you’re going to do great tomorrow, I promise.”

Tommy laughs. “How do you always know when I’m nervous?”

“I’m your mother. I know everything. Happy birthday, baby.”

After he gets off the phone, Tommy drags his bass into his bedroom and settles into practicing. He loses himself in it, playing song after song, over and over again as he gets a feel for the strings, until Mike comes in without knocking and flops down on Tommy’s bed with a groan.

“You’re awesome at that, but seriously, it’s like, one in the morning, dude,” Mike says into Tommy’s pillow. “Let me just give you your fucking birthday kiss so I can go to sleep, if we’re not going to your mom’s place tonight.”

“Sorry,” Tommy replies, setting his guitar aside. He flexes his fingers and realizes they’re actually sore. “How long have I been playing?”

“Long fucking time, man.”

“I haven’t played bass in forever,” Tommy explains. “Figured I need to practice more. The audition’s tomorrow morning.”

Mike lifts his head, eyebrows raised. “Dude, you’re awesome. You think you’ll get it?”

“I don’t know. It’d be good to get back to music, though. I hate my fucking job.”

“Everyone hates your fucking job,” Mike says. “The people who work there, the people you call, your roommates, when you complain about it…”

“Shut up. I’m just nervous, okay? It’s been so long since an audition’s gone well for me, and I was really kind of shocked to get the callback. I hope I do okay. Oh, and I told my mom we’d go over there tomorrow for my party. She said she’ll save some leftovers for you.”

“Free food! Awesome.”

“She loves you,” Tommy replies. “For reasons I don’t understand.” He gets up and packs his bass back into its case. “Sorry for keeping you up.”

Mike pushes himself to his feet and pulls Tommy into a hug. He gives Tommy a sloppy, wet kiss on the corner of his mouth and says, “Happy birthday. Break a leg tomorrow, man.”

***

Tommy wakes up unreasonably early on Monday morning, and even taking his time with styling his hair and lining his eyes in black, he’s ready far too soon. He slides his bass into the backseat of his car and heads to Chantala’s house, tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel the entire time.

The first words out of his mouth when she opens the door are, “Do I look okay?”

She rubs her bleary eyes and looks him up and down. “You look adorable,” she replies. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“I have an audition for Adam Lambert’s band in two hours,” Tommy says in a rush.

Chantala squeals. “Adam Lambert? Seriously?”

“Yeah. So, do I like, look okay? For an audition?”

“Oh, baby, for Adam Lambert, you look perfect.” She gives him another once-over. “You’re wearing that?”

Tommy plucks at his shirt as his nervous smile twists into a grimace. “Yeah?”

“No. Honey, you’ve got legs. Show ‘em off.” Chantala takes his hand and drags him inside. They go into her closet, and she digs out a pair of jeans. “Put these on,” she orders him. “Then I’ll do your makeup.”

“I already put makeup on!” Tommy protests. He holds the jeans up. “These are girls’ jeans.”

“They’ll look hot on you, trust me,” she says with a wave of her hand. “And baby, you want Adam Lambert to like your ass.”

“Oh my god.”

“Put ‘em on and meet me in the bathroom.”

Tommy grumbles as he unzips his baggy jeans and toes off his boots. The jeans fall into a puddle around his feet. Chantala’s pants are tight around his thighs when he pulls them up, and for the first time in his life, he thanks the universe for his flat ass; the jeans button easily, low around his hips.

He crouches down to put on his boots again and has to adjust himself in the tight denim. “Fuck,” he mutters, pressing the heel of his hand against his dick. “These are fucking tight,” he calls to Chantala.

“Get in here!”

She has all her makeup spread out on the bathroom counter, and she sits him down on the closed toilet lid and immediately gets to work. Tommy sighs but does as she asks, turning his head this way and that for foundation and blush and who knows what else; closing his eyes for eye shadow; looking up at the ceiling for mascara; looking down at his feet so she can fix his hair. He relaxes into her care, and he likes the way the various brushes feel on his skin.

At long last, she tells him to get up and face the mirror. She stands behind him and hooks her chin over his shoulder, grinning.

Tommy’s reflection makes his breath catch in his throat. Instead of just rimmed in black eyeliner, his eyes are surrounded by deep color that fades out to a mix of silver and blue, and it somehow makes his dark eyes brighter. She used a darker pink on his cheeks than Tommy had expected, and it makes his cheekbones really stand out. His hair falls over his forehead, like it had before, when Tommy brushed it this morning, but now, it somehow has more lift, more structure. It looks like his bangs are meant to do that. He tucks the longer strands behind his ear.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Tommy breathes. He licks his lips.

“Hold up. Open your mouth.”

Tommy does. He looks like somebody’s fucking wet dream. A heated flush creeps up his neck. Chantala uncaps a tube of lip gloss and smears the wand over Tommy’s lips, first the bottom, then the top. Tommy’s stops breathing until she tells him to rub his lips together.

When he looks back at the mirror, his lips are shiny and pink, and he can taste the artificial tang of it even without licking his lips again. He can’t look away. “Is it too much?”

Chantala presses a kiss to the side of Tommy’s neck. “You look beautiful, baby.”

“Thanks.”

She kisses her way up to his ear to whisper, “Make him want to fuck you.”

Tommy stares at himself and can’t help thinking, That won’t be hard.

***

Tommy wipes his sweaty palms on his—Chantala’s—jeans before going through the door. He had planned on introducing himself calmly and not staring at Adam Lambert like a fucking obsessed fan, but as soon as he’s in, his eyes are drawn to Adam and he’s staring before he even realizes it.

Adam’s wearing black jeans and a t-shirt, and there’s a leather jacket hanging from the back of his chair, and… At first, Tommy thinks he’s not wearing shoes, but he realizes after a moment that Adam’s just wearing a pair of cheap flip-flops. His toes are peeking out from beneath the hem of his pants, and his toenails are painted dark, deep blue. Tommy tilts his head to get a better look.

“Tommy Ratliff?” someone asks. Not Adam. Tommy jerks his head up and looks at the other two men nervously.

“Yeah, that’s me, I’m Tommy.”

One of the guys stands up and reaches over the table to shake Tommy’s hand. “I’m Monte Pittman, this is Adam, and that’s John McIntyre, he’s from the label.”

“Monte Pittman?” Tommy repeats dumbly. He knows Monte—well, not the man himself, but he’s heard of him. He’s like, kind of a famous guitarist, and he’s going to watch Tommy’s audition. Tommy drops Monte’s hand, looking at him with apprehension, and shifts his grip on his guitar case.

“Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself,” Adam prompts. “What instruments do you play?”

“Well, I originally auditioned for guitar,” Tommy says, “but the lady that called me said that position’s already been filled—”

“Uh, yeah,” Adam replies with a wry grin. “Monte kind of took your spot.”

“But I can play bass—um, obviously—and I know enough to get by on drums and keyboards.”

“You want to show us what you’ve got?” Monte asks, gesturing to the instrument case in Tommy’s hand. Tommy fumbles it and finally crouches down to take out his bass, and before he gets the strap attached, he pauses to take a deep breath.

When he looks up, he sees bright-eyed Adam smiling encouragingly and Tommy’s fingers falter on the strap. He shifts his gaze over to Monte instead. He feels slightly less nervous meeting Monte’s eyes, for some reason, but his stomach is still in knots. He finally looks over at the label guy, who isn’t even looking at him, and tries to calm down. He takes a moment to tune up before looking back at them.

They ask him to play, so Tommy plays. He gets into the first song and with every note, he gains confidence. By the end, he’s adding his own riffs, trying to show off his skills.

Once Tommy finishes and packs up, Adam drags over another chair and invites Tommy to sit down with them. The label guy stays out of the conversation, avoiding Tommy’s glances and making notes in his little notepad, and Tommy takes that to mean Adam’s in charge. It’s not hard to focus on Adam.

“I know you’re mainly a guitarist, but do you feel comfortable playing bass on stage? You looked pretty great, once you stopped being nervous,” Adam says.

Tommy laughs and shakes his head. “I haven’t stopped being nervous yet.”

Adam leans close. He smells like expensive cologne and hairspray, and Tommy leans towards him automatically. Adam gives him a cheerful grin and says, “You don’t have to be nervous anymore, Tommy.”

That almost sounds like Adam’s offering him the job. Tommy smiles back and feels some of the tension in the pit of his stomach dissipate. Adam turns his chair so he’s facing Tommy head-on. “How old are you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Twenty-eight. My birthday was just yesterday, actually,” Tommy replies sheepishly. “That callback was like a birthday present.”

“Oh, really? Happy birthday! Libra, then? That makes sense.”

“Why?”

“You’re gorgeous,” Adam answers simply.

Tommy feels his cheeks flush. He basks in the flattery, though, and barely keeps from telling Adam the same. They talk for a little while longer; Adam keeps Tommy smiling and laughing, and fucking gazing adoringly, and when they finally stand up and shake hands, Tommy blurts out, “You have an amazing voice.”

“Aww, thank you!” Adam says, squeezing Tommy’s fingers. He sounds like he actually appreciates the compliment, which makes Tommy feel a little less like an idiot. “It was really great to meet you, Tommy. We’ll give you a call tomorrow or Wednesday, okay?”

Tommy nods and gathers his things, holding the guitar case awkwardly so he can shake Adam’s hand again. “Thanks. For, like, the opportunity and everything. Just… Thanks. It was nice to meet you.”

Adam waits until he’s halfway out the door, then says, “I’ll see you soon, Tommy.”

Tommy makes it back to the car before letting out a huge breath and shaking out his nerves in what even he can admit is more of a flailing spaz attack. He feels really good—really good about the audition, about Adam, about the job, about life. He pulls out his phone and calls Chantala.

“How’d it go?” she asks immediately, her voice tinny and excited.

“It went good. I think it went really good. He’s like… Oh my god, Adam’s so great, Chantie. He’s really nice. At the end, he said ‘see you soon’!”

She squeals and laughs and finally calms down enough to talk. “Oh, baby, I’m so glad. Do you think you got the job?”

Tommy takes a careful breath. “Yes.”

“Are you glad I made you up?” she asks, and he can hear her smug grin.

He rolls his eyes and says, “Yes.”

“Did Adam want to fuck you?” she asks in a low, sly voice. The question catches him off-guard.

Tommy thinks of Adam smiling at him and squeezing his hand, wishing him a happy birthday. He takes a breath. “Yes.”

Chantala squeals again and congratulates him, keeps congratulating him even when he tells her it’s too soon. It’s not a sure thing, yet.

But it feels like it is.

He gets the call early the next morning while he’s at work telling him he’s got the job. The band meets for rehearsal in a week to prepare for the many upcoming TV performances. Tommy refrains from squealing like Chantala had, at least until he hangs up and escapes to the privacy of the empty men’s room. He puts in his notice at the call center that afternoon.

***

NOVEMBER

After grueling rehearsals and a few amazing getting-to-know-you dinner parties, Tommy and the others—Monte, who he’d met at his audition, as well as a drummer and a keyboardist—actually start to feel like a band. A gang. And Adam, while he’s not always around because of his busy schedule, is their gang-leader. Tommy gets along great with everyone, and he’s so grateful; when he says as much to Adam, Adam says, “I knew you would. You’re a good fit for me. For the band.”

Tommy feels a thrill at Adam’s words. They’re heading into some designer’s studio for costume fittings—for a fucking music video—and Adam slings his arm over Tommy’s shoulders, tucking Tommy into his side as they walk. He’s solid and warm against Tommy, and Tommy squeezes his arm around Adam’s waist.

The costumes are already made, hanging on racks, and they all parade into dressing rooms to change. Tommy’s consists of a mesh shirt and tight pants, all black, and he spins around in front of a mirror, assessing. Fabric hugs every line of his body, and he feels strange and exposed after the amount of time he’s spent hiding himself in baggy jeans and loose t-shirts. He feels even smaller than he is, especially when Adam comes over, decked out in tall boots, armbands, and some kind of waist cincher thing.

Adam grabs Tommy’s shoulders and squeezes, tickling him. “You’re so tiny!”

“Oh, thanks,” Tommy groans, crossing his arms over his chest. He’ll be wearing his creepers, though, which will at least make him taller.

“Aww, no, baby, you look amazing!” Adam says. “You’re not quite finished yet, though. Come over here.”

Adam leads him back to the rack and sifts through the hangers for a moment, finally pulling off something that looks like a web of chains and leather straps. Tommy raises his eyebrows at the… thing, and Adam laughs.

“What is it?”

“Arms up,” Adam commands. Tommy obeys, and Adam sorts out the straps around his arms and head, and eventually they all stretch out and hang loosely around Tommy’s torso. It’s like… wearing some kind of bondage harness, except for the fact that it isn’t tight around his body. Tommy plucks at the leather.

“How does it look?” he asks apprehensively.

Adam ruffles his hair and kisses the side of his head. “You look fucking hot, Tommy.”

“Leather fetishist,” Tommy teases. He doesn’t feel particularly sexy, but he wants Adam to keep looking at him like this, like he is something pretty and desirable. It makes him feel good in some indefinable way.

“Not denying that,” Adam replies with a grin.

“Is that your whole costume?” Tommy asks.

“Not quite. There’s this big spiky thing that’ll be on my shoulder, but it’s not finished yet,” Adam says, making a vague gesture with wiggling fingers. He trails off and slings his arm over Tommy’s shoulders, hooking his thumb into one of the leather straps. “Come on, let’s go see how everybody looks.”

***

While they’re practicing for the video—in costume, early in the morning, in a nearly empty dance club, which is just surreal—Adam’s manager, a pretty blonde woman called Lane, breaks up the rehearsal and starts distributing Starbucks cups. Tommy’s met her a few times, now, and she always seems really busy and kind of intimidating, but today she sits down with the band while Adam and the video director go off for a private discussion.

They chat as a group for a few minutes, covering everything from the weather to the state of everyone’s families, and then they drift apart. Except for Lane, who sticks close to Tommy’s side as he moves to sit on the edge of the small stage.

“So, how are you, Tommy?” she asks, and for some reason, it sounds like a different question than the one she asked the group, even though it’s the exact same words.

“I’m fine,” he replies, a little nervous about her sudden interest. “This is gonna be a cool video. I’m excited.”

“Listen,” she says seriously, “I wanted to ask about you and Adam, if you were planning on keeping it quiet or—”

“Wait, what?” Moments flash through Tommy’s mind: all the times Adam has pulled him close, all the times Adam has kissed him, all the times Adam has smiled at him like they’re the only two people in the room. “We’re not—” he tries to say, panicking. “I’m not gay.”

Lane looks shocked, or at least surprised, and Tommy feels a flash of anger. “Oh,” is all she says.

“We’re not together,” Tommy insists. “Did Adam say something? Did he—”

“No, no,” she says quickly. “I just assumed, I’m sorry. The way you look, with him. Never mind, then.”

“No, wait, what were you going to tell me?”

She shakes her head, shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Just to be careful. There’s a lot of eyes on him right now.” She hesitates, licking her lips in a way that makes her seem very unsure. It’s unsettling; she’s usually so on top of things. Tommy shifts his weight and cradles his coffee cup in both hands.

“Do you want me to let him know?” she asks carefully.

“Know what?”

“He’s been flirting with you.”

Tommy feels like he’s been dunked in a bucket of ice. A wave of coldness floods his body and he slowly sets down his cup. He can’t bring himself to look Lane in the eye.

“Yes,” he whispers. “Please tell him.”

It’s the coward’s way out, he knows. If he was a man, he’d tell Adam himself that he’s straight. The thought of doing that, though… The thought of seeing that kind of rejection on Adam’s face makes him queasy. He hates hurting people, even unintentionally—especially people he loves. And he does love Adam. Maybe not the way Adam wants to love him, but Tommy loves Adam in the ways he can: like a brother, like a very close friend. He barely registers the movement when Lane leaves him alone.

Later, Adam pulls Tommy aside as they’re gearing up to resume practicing, leading him into a brightly-lit, empty hallway. Tommy’s skin crawls; he knows what’s coming. The awkward conversation about misunderstandings and assumptions.

“Lane talked to me earlier,” Adam starts; he looks a little nervous, but his voice is even and calm. Tommy nods, thinking it better to just let Adam say his piece. “I didn’t know, and I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

“You didn’t,” Tommy assures him quickly. “You never did. I just didn’t realize.”

“I don’t want things to be awkward between us,” Adam says quietly. “I really like you, Tommy. I consider you a pretty close friend. I’ll back off, and we can just forget about it, okay?”

“You don’t have to back off,” Tommy says, apparently lacking a brain-to-mouth filter. He blushes hot; he doesn’t want to explain to Adam how much he likes the attention, how much he craves it. “I just mean… You haven’t crossed any lines with me. You don’t have to change.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, sure. I… I like it,” Tommy replies, trying not to sound too eager.

Adam nods and his lips slowly twist into a grin. “You’re a really awesome guy, Tommy Joe.” Tommy can’t help but smile at that. “Let me know if I ever do cross a line,” Adam adds as he starts walking back to the main room.

Tommy hurries to catch up to him, and right before they go back out, he tugs Adam’s arm. “Hey, Adam,” he murmurs. “You can grab my hair and stuff if you want. It’d be cool, y’know? Pushing boundaries and stuff.”

Adam narrows his eyes, like he thinks Tommy’s trying to trick him or something. Tommy smiles as innocently as he can manage and follows up with a quote. He’d mentioned Velvet Goldmine as one of his favorite movies during his audition, and he hopes Adam knows it well enough to place the line. “‘Rock and roll’s a prostitute. It should be tarted up.’”

It takes Adam a few seconds, but Tommy can see the moment he gets it. He breaks into a wide grin and kisses Tommy’s forehead roughly, a hard smash of his lips against Tommy’s hair. “You’re beautiful,” Adam whispers, whirling away in the next second. He leaves Tommy reeling from the kiss, riding the high of it, and Tommy feels so satisfied that he forces himself not to break the moment by thinking about what he just gave Adam permission to do.

***

Adam invites him to some event that night. He doesn’t really explain what it is, just herds Tommy into his car and starts driving. They drive for a few minutes, idly commenting on the songs on the radio, and then Adam parks the car and walks around to open Tommy’s door for him. He leads Tommy down the street with a gentle hand at the small of his back.

There are people spilling out of one of the storefronts, and Tommy assumes that’s where they’re heading. “What is this?” he asks.

“It’s an art show,” Adam replies shortly. “It’s for… a friend of mine. He has some pieces on display.”

The gallery’s crowded, full to bursting, but Tommy spots the bar immediately. He tells Adam where he’s going and slips away, leaving Adam to mingle. Tommy’s not quite sure what to do at an art show, so he shuffles around near the bar, scanning the crowd and following Adam with his eyes.

“You came here with Adam,” a voice to his left says. Tommy turns around and sees a man about his height with bright brown eyes standing there with an empty glass. The man gives him a slow once-over. “You are his type.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tommy grumbles.

“Two weeks, that’s a quick turnaround for him. Or are you just here to make Drake jealous?”

“Who? Wait, what?”

“Tommy!” Adam calls to him. He pushes through the group of people that separates them, smiling, but he falters when he sees the other man. “Hey! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“I never miss an opportunity for an open bar!” the man replies cheerfully. He leans in and kisses Adam’s cheek. “Besides, now I feel like Drake and I can really… connect. We have so much in common.”

“Brad,” Adam murmurs. Tommy recognizes a note of warning in his voice.

“So! You gonna introduce me to your new boy?”

“He’s not—”

“I’m in his band,” Tommy cuts in quickly.

“He’s my bassist,” Adam adds. “Tommy, this is Brad, he’s my… ex-boyfriend.”

Tommy’s mouth drops open. “Oh,” he replies awkwardly. Now that he knows, he kind of recognizes Brad from the pictures that caused all the speculation about Adam’s sexuality.

Brad holds out his hand. Tommy shakes it automatically. “Not his most recent ex, don’t worry,” Brad says. “I’m not jealous. Can’t speak for everyone, though.”

“Brad,” Adam hisses. He turns and smiles brightly at Tommy. “Come on, Tommy Joe, I want you to see some of these paintings.”

Adam pulls him away from Brad, who doesn’t look all that upset at being abandoned, and steers him around the room, pointing out things he likes or thinks are interesting. Tommy follows along for a while.

Then he asks, “Who’s Drake?”

“He’s one of the artists featured tonight,” Adam replies, not meeting Tommy’s eyes.

“Okay, but—”

“He’s my ex,” Adam says quickly.

Tommy freezes in place. “Are you… using me?” he asks incredulously.

“No! No, Tommy, no, I just—I wanted to spend some time with you—”

“In front of your ex-boyfriend.”

Adam looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head, chuckling nervously. “No, Tommy, it’s not like that. We’re still friends. I’m still friends with Brad, too. I just…”

Tommy crosses his arms over his chest. “You just what?”

“I just didn’t want to be alone here,” Adam admits quietly. “We just broke up a few weeks ago. I’m not using you to make him jealous, I swear. I just needed a friend tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Tommy softens at Adam’s miserable expression. “It’s okay,” he says. “Show me the rest of the paintings.”

Adam lays his hand at the small of Tommy’s back again, guiding him around the room. He introduces Tommy to a bunch of people that Tommy has no hope of remembering, and he whispers little stories in Tommy’s ear about how long Drake worked on a piece, or what it made Adam think of when he saw it the first time.

It almost feels like he is Adam’s boyfriend, even though Adam makes a point to introduce Tommy as a member of his band. He’s not quite sure how he feels about that. Tommy keeps sipping his drink and nodding along to Adam’s stories and tries not to think about it.

***

The week leading up to the American Music Awards is busy, but intensely fun. It’s only the night before the show that it really sinks in for Tommy: he’s going to be playing music on national television. He has to retreat to the dressing room to quietly freak out in solitude.

Only a few minutes pass before someone comes looking for him: Monte comes in, looking relieved to see him. “We want to run through one more time with the dancers before we go,” he says, jerking his head towards the hallway. “Come on.”

“Okay, I’ll be out in a minute,” Tommy replies in a strangled voice.

“You okay?” Monte asks, stepping fully into the room.

“I’ll be fine,” Tommy says. Monte gives him a look and Tommy sighs. “I’ve never played anything this big before,” he admits quietly.

“You nervous?”

Tommy shrugs. “A little.”

“You’re gonna be fine. Adam’s gonna have the spotlight, so don’t worry about anybody paying much attention if you mess up.”

“Yeah, except he’s gonna put the spotlight on me.”

Monte raises his eyebrows and gives him another pointed look. “You’re okay with that, right?”

Tommy’s about to answer with a shrug and an “I don’t know,” but Monte cuts him off.

“Adam’s a big deal, okay? This is part of the job. If you don’t want him pulling your hair, that’s fine, but you gotta be up there, and you gotta look the part. You told us you could handle it, is that not true?”

“Monte—”

“I don’t want you freaking out up there. Freak out here, now, but not out there tomorrow night, got it?”

“I can handle it,” Tommy snaps. “I’m just nervous. Jesus.”

“If you don’t want the spotlight on you, tell Adam not to pull your hair,” Monte says, his voice softening. “I’ll give you a few minutes, but don’t take too long, I wanna get out of here on time tonight.”

He turns to leave Tommy alone and he’s almost out the door when Tommy says, “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure.”

Tommy takes a breath. “I’m not gay.”

Monte’s lips twist into a grin. “So I’ve heard.”

Tommy takes another breath, then another. He finally decides to just spit it out. “Did I get this job because of how I look?”

“Oh, Tommy…” Monte laughs a little, but it doesn’t sound like he’s laughing at Tommy. “Listen, kid. I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re a performer, you’re seen on stage. Your looks matter, and you have the right aesthetic for the band. But you got the job because of how you play. You’re awesome at what you do and you get along really well with everyone. The fact that you’re exactly Adam’s type of pretty twink is just a bonus, I promise you. Okay?”

Tommy smiles sheepishly and nods; the fact that Adam thinks he’s pretty is a little bit thrilling, but everyone else thinking that way about him makes his stomach twist. It’s nice to know he got the gig based on talent, but that’s obviously not what the rest of the world will think after tomorrow night.

Monte gives him a curt nod. “I’ll tell them you’ll be out there in a few minutes.”

***

Adam looks gorgeous. He’s on fire, burning with a strange but familiar mix of performance anxiety and anger, and Tommy finds it hard to look away from him. He doesn’t sound his best, and Tommy knows Adam will stress about that later, but right now, in the moment of the performance, he’s amazing.

Tommy has to concentrate to keep his fingers on the right keys and the song flies by. All of the sudden, Adam’s climbing the stairs to his platform. Tommy looks up just in time to see a flash of rebellious passion in Adam’s eyes, and then—

Then Adam yanks him in by his hair and kisses him. Adam’s tongue is hot and insistent in Tommy’s mouth, pushing roughly past Tommy’s lips, and Tommy doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t kiss back, but he opens for Adam instinctively, melting into his hold. His knees feel like jelly; he grabs at the keyboard in an attempt to stay on his feet, but Adam’s hand is still holding him and Adam won’t let him fall. Tommy sighs into the kiss.

When Adam finally moves away, stalking up to his final position on the platform, Tommy stares down at his hands and doesn’t think about anything but the notes.

***

Tommy follows Monte off the platform in a daze, then Adam grabs Tommy’s arm as soon as they’re offstage, yanking him aside while techs and performers all rush around them.

“Tommy—”

“It’s okay,” Tommy assures him before Adam can even get the question out. He’s not quite sure it is okay, but Adam needs it to be okay. Right now, he needs support and comfort and confidence, and Tommy can give him that.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Adam says, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have just—I’m sorry, Tommy, I should have asked you first.”

“It’s okay, Adam,” Tommy says again, this time pulling Adam in for a hug. “You were great out there, and don’t you dare apologize to anyone else, okay? You’re awesome.”

In the corner of his eye, Tommy sees Lane frantically waving them over. Tommy pats Adam’s back awkwardly and forces out a laugh that sounds too hysterical to his own ears. “You gotta go. Rock and roll needs to be tarted up, right? It was awesome, and you didn’t do anything wrong, so just shut up about it and don’t fucking apologize.”

“I gotta go,” Adam agrees. He squeezes Tommy around the waist. “You’re so amazing, Tommy. I’ll find you later, okay?”

He watches Adam follow Lane out into the madness of cameras and lights and annoying people asking too many questions, then makes a beeline for the backstage bathroom, ignoring everyone that tries to talk to him on the way.

He shuts himself in and locks the door, and finally, finally everything is quiet and still and Tommy allows himself to start thinking again. He catches his reflection in the mirror and walks over to brace his hands on the counter and lean forward. His brain his whirling; he can’t settle on a single train of thought, but outwardly, he looks calm, almost blank. As Tommy stares at himself, though, he sees his expression change. His cheeks flush, sweat dots his forehead, and all of the sudden he can’t seem to breathe right.

Adam kissed those lips. Adam pulled that hair. Adam marked his territory on national fucking television. Nobody’s going to believe Tommy’s straight, not anymore, not after this. He’s going to have to explain this to his fucking parents.

Tommy closes his eyes and pushes himself away from the mirror. He stumbles into one of the stalls and falls to his knees in front of the toilet, panting harshly. His heart feels like it’s going to explode. If Adam hadn’t held him, Tommy would have dropped to his knees in front of everybody. And he would have liked it.

Tommy retches into the toilet until he’s dizzy.

***

Tommy manages to successfully avoid his roommates and doesn’t turn his phone back on until mid-afternoon the next day. He has a few dozen missed calls and an insane number of text messages, and he can’t bring himself to check facebook yet. He calls his sister first.

“Oh my god, Tommy!” she cries when she answers the phone. “You’re like, big fucking news!”

“Lisa—”

“You looked so weird up there,” she says. “I guess I haven’t seen you in a while. How long have you looked like a fucking princess? I thought you were all hardcore and everything.”

“Shut up.”

“So are you gay now or what? Were you ever gonna fucking tell us, or did you think introducing us to your boyfriend via national TV was good enough?”

“Lisa! I’m not gay. I’m not. He’s just—He was caught up in the performance, he wasn’t thinking.” It’s the same shit he’d heard Adam telling everyone last night and it feels even less true now. “He just kissed me, okay? I didn’t fucking ask him to do that.”

“You know Mom and Dad saw that, right? And, like, the whole rest of the world.”

“I’m gonna call them later and explain.”

“Mom called me last night. She said she couldn’t believe you let him do that to you.”

“Oh, god—”

“She said she knew this would happen and that she warned you. What did she tell you?”

Tommy sighs and rubs his eyes. “She told me I’d… ‘attract attention’ or some shit, I don’t know.”

“His attention?”

“Whose?” Tommy asks, playing dumb.

“Adam Lambert’s, you idiot. He’s like, super gay for you, I bet.”

“He’s super gay all on his own, okay, that’s got nothing to do with me.” Tommy has to pinch himself to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that whispers something a little closer to the truth. Everyone’s told him he’s exactly Adam’s type.

“Well, we love you and shit, you were good up there. All your friends are freaking out on facebook. I’m assuming you’re being a coward and not reading all the responses. You’re like, totally gonna be famous now.”

“Yeah. The guy Adam Lambert kissed that one time on the AMAs,” Tommy intones. “That’s a great claim to fame, right there.” He listens to Lisa’s scatterbrained chatter for another few minutes before hanging up, and then he turns his phone off again.

***

DECEMBER

By the end of the year, some of the hype from the AMAs had died down a little bit, although Tommy can tell it’s going to be one of those things Adam gets questions about for the rest of his career. Adam keeps telling people that Tommy’s straight and had no idea what Adam was going to do—which is true, at least, and Tommy clings to the fact that Adam’s sticking up for him and not trying to play the whole thing off as a publicity stunt.

They finally have days off between appearances, and it’s a welcome relief. Adam and Tommy have stayed close during this off period and grown closer, which Tommy hadn’t anticipated. Adam’s a star; Tommy’s just the bassist. He’d fully expected Adam to spend less time with the band once they didn’t have to meet every single day for rehearsals.

On New Year’s Eve, they have another performance. Adam keeps telling him that it’ll be a great party, and he’ll meet a lot of people. It is and he does. Tommy loves playing with Adam, for Adam, and if Adam knows anything, it’s how to work the crowd. He uses Tommy like a prop, a toy, drawing cheers from the crowd whenever he gets close to Tommy and pushes against him.

Tommy sinks into a weird zone, fully absorbed in playing his instrument but also… hanging on Adam’s every move. It’s strange, but he likes it. It’s easy. Adam manipulates him like he manipulates the fans and by the end of the set, Tommy’s following Adam around like a puppy.

After the show, they filter into the party and make the rounds. Adam introduces Tommy to a million people, and Tommy can’t remember any of their names, but he shakes their hands and tries to listen to what they say.

Eventually, after a good hour of schmoozing and several drinks, Adam says to Tommy, “You don’t have to hang around me, if you don’t want. You look a little bored, baby.”

“I’m not!” Tommy protests. He fails miserably at convincing Adam. “Do you want another drink? I could get us some drinks.”

“Go socialize,” Adam tells him. “Mingle. Get drunk. It’s New Year’s Eve!”

Tommy grins and nudges Adam’s side. “You sayin’ I’m too clingy? I’m heartbroken.”

“Yes,” Adam laughs. “Now get the fuck away from me.” He ruffles Tommy’s hair and wiggles his fingers in a cheerful wave as Tommy walks away.

He heads straight for the bar. He’s pretty buzzed already, to the point where he knows he’ll have to deal with a hangover tomorrow, but like Adam said, it’s New Year’s. It’s a party.

Tommy mingles around and finds the few people he does actually know, but it feels like the whole place revolves around Adam. He’s aware of where Adam is at all times, and Tommy keeps turning his head and glancing over at him, like it’s a compulsion. It’s as if Tommy’s a needle on a compass and must always point north. Every time he finds Adam in the crowd, he’s reoriented.

After a while the crowd gets to be too much and Tommy goes outside for some air. It’s kind of a mistake; it feels like there are more people outside than in, but at least there’s fresh air. He chats with some nice fans, answers some questions, even kisses one of the girls. It’s New Year’s, that’s what people do.

When he goes back inside, though, he sees Adam leaning down and whispering in some twink’s ear, steadying himself with a hand on the boy’s arm. Tommy watches them for a minute, sees the boy laugh and touch Adam’s sleeve, then goes to get another drink. He takes back everything he thought about casual kissing on New Year’s Eve. He feels unsettled, all of the sudden. He kind of wants to leave.

But the party’s in full swing, and Tommy’s riding with Adam and a few other people, so he can’t leave yet. Tommy pushes his way through the crowd in Adam’s direction with the single-minded intent of keeping Adam’s attention on him. He’s safe, he’s a friend; Adam can’t go off flirting with random boys at a party. Besides, Adam promised they’d spend time together.

The twink is gone, but Adam’s talking to a few other guys. One is very blatantly putting out and dropping hints even Tommy can pick up. Tommy shoulders between them and reaches up for Adam. He grabs Adam’s face and pulls him down for a quick, sloppy kiss, his tongue plunging into Adam’s mouth. After he lets Adam go, he walks away. He can feel Adam’s heavy gaze on him like a physical weight, which means Adam’s attention is back where it belongs. Adam’s gaze isn’t the only one he feels, either. Tommy goes to get another drink, feeling strangely smug.

***

FEBRUARY 2010

“Adam invited a few of us with him to Mexico. A little vacation before we start touring.”

“Vacation in Mexico?” his mom asks skeptically.

“Yeah, y’know, like, there’s a resort in Cabo, and he said he’s gonna rent a boat or something. It should be fun,” he adds hopefully.

She mumbles something that Tommy can’t quite decipher, but he does hear the word “gay” and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Jesus, Mom,” he says, trying to keep his anger in check, “I know he’s gay. It’s not like we’re going to be sleeping in the same room or something. And he’s not gonna pick up some guy and fuck him in front of us, y’know? He’s a normal guy. We’re just gonna hang out at the pool and stuff.”

“Who’s going on this little vacation, then? It’s not just you, right?”

“No,” Tommy replies, more forcefully than is probably necessary. “He’s got this girlfriend, Roxy, she’s really cool, and then there’s me and his makeup artist, Sutan, and another guy, he’s gonna be one of Adam’s dancers? His name’s Taylor, he’s really awesome. He’s from, like, Seattle or something. Apparently it doesn’t rain there as much as everyone thinks, but he said he’s totally in love with the California sun. He wants to get a tan.” Tommy suddenly realizes he’s rambling and clamps his mouth shut.

“And I suppose they’re all gay too.” Tommy bristles at the disapproval she makes no effort to hide.

“Taylor’s straight,” Tommy snaps. “We’re all just going as friends, Mom. We’re about to go on tour together. We’re gonna, like, bond and stuff. We’re gonna relax for once. It’s been almost nonstop for a while now. We need a break before we go on tour for a year.”

“Honey, he’s taking two straight boys to resort in Mexico,” she says stiffly. “Think about that. Just think about it, Tommy. Think about how it’ll look. What will people say when they find out? They’re going to think things about you that aren’t true, and you won’t have any proof when you’re denying it. You’re still the boy he kissed on TV.”

“I don’t need proof. Adam’s not like that. I thought you’d be okay with this.” Deep down, Tommy had been expecting this reaction, but he had dared to hope for something better. Angry tears prickle behind his eyes and he exhales sharply to clear his throat.

“Tommy—”

“I’m going with him,” Tommy says firmly. “I’ll talk to you when I get back.”

He slams the phone down hard on its base and stares at it for a few minutes. As much as it hurts to consider, there will be consequences once the press gets wind of Adam’s little getaway, or, more specifically, the company he keeps on his getaway. His mom was right about that, at least.

He wants to go with Adam and his friends—he needs the vacation, really—but fuck, the thought of what might happen makes his stomach churn. Tommy runs his fingers through his hair and tucks it behind his ear; the shorter strands just fall right back in front of his eyes. He’s too recognizable. If anyone sees him with Adam, they’ll know he was the one from TV, the one Adam kissed in front of everybody.

Tommy picks up the phone again; Adam’s number is half-dialed before Tommy even realizes what he’s doing. He hangs up and sets the phone down again. He shouldn’t cancel, not with this short notice. He’s already packed, anyway. And he does want to go.

He calls Adam.

“Tommy! Hey! What’s up?”

It still kind of amazes Tommy that he can just call up Adam Lambert, like he’s not a famous rock star. “Hey, Adam,” Tommy answers nervously. “I was just, like, wondering… About Cabo, I mean. I mean—Taylor’s coming too, right?”

“Yeah, he just called me this morning, actually. Last minute packing anxiety, you know how it is.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Tommy chuckles and hopes it covers up how completely freaked out he is. An excuse is on the tip of his tongue: Family emergency, I can’t go to Mexico with you. I’m so sorry, I was really looking forward to it, but— “So… tomorrow?”

“We’ll swing by your place around ten, I think? I’ll have Roxy and Sutan with me, but we’ll stop and pick up Taylor after we get you. He lives closer to the airport.”

“Sure. Cool. Awesome.”

“We are less than twenty-four hours away from sunbathing by a pool, Tommy Joe,” Adam says happily. “I can’t fucking wait.”

“Yeah. Can’t wait.” Tommy smiles—it feels fake, but it’s not like Adam can tell over the phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow, baby.”

Tommy hangs up before he can put a name to the sharp thrill that spikes through his gut. Adam calls everyone ‘baby’, he tells himself. He’s called me baby a million times before. It’s nothing to freak out about.

He takes a deep breath. He still needs to pack his makeup and his bathing suit.

***

The time it takes Tommy to become close friends with the rest of their group can be counted in seconds. His gut untwists and he’s laughing, joking, playing with these people like they’ve known each other forever. He’s met them all before, briefly, at Adam’s birthday party, but that whole experience is a little blurry in his mind, and Tommy’s happy for the chance to actually talk to them this time.

The resort, when they finally get there, is amazing. Adam’s booked a suite with three bedrooms and a central area that includes a living room and a kitchenette, and there’s even a balcony with a gorgeous view. Tommy drops his bags in his and Taylor’s room and steps outside.

He hears someone follow him out and he says, “This is amazing. I can’t believe I’m here.”

“I know, right?” Adam replies, joining him at the railing. He leans over and looks down at the pool in the courtyard, then out at the ocean. Tommy bumps shoulders with him and tries to convey his excitement without speaking. “You ready to have some fun?” Adam asks, turning to smirk at him.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “What else am I here for? Fuck, yeah.”

They go out to dinner and the alcohol flows freely, then Roxy snags a few bottles of vodka and mixers on their way back to the hotel. By the time midnight rolls around, Tommy’s feeling pretty toasted. His cheeks are flushed and hot, and puffy from smiling so much, and his hair is starting to stick to his sweaty forehead. The others don’t seem to be in much better shape, and luckily Tommy’s at the stage of drunkenness where he doesn’t mind the ever-increasing volume of their conversation.

Roxy decides she wants to dress up, and Sutan jumps on that idea. He says he brought a few things of his own—not enough for full drag, but at least a skirt and shoes, and of course his makeup. He disappears into his and Adam’s room and comes back a minute later with a sly look on his face and a black foofy thing in his hands.

“You know who would look gorgeous in a skirt?” he asks them.

“Roxy?” Taylor answers. Tommy looks over at him and bursts out laughing, because Taylor is clearly thinking about Roxy wearing a skirt and nothing else.

“Pretty boy over here,” Sutan says. Tommy’s still giggling, so he doesn’t realize Sutan is talking about him until Adam cries, “Oh my god, yes.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, oh, he’s totally small enough to fit into my clothes,” Roxy adds, leaping from the couch and sloshing her martini all over her wrist. She goes into her room and Tommy can hear her rummaging through her suitcase. He tries not to look too apprehensive.

It’s Taylor’s turn to laugh; he laughs himself right out of his chair, in fact, and sits on the floor until his giggles subside. Tommy looks back and forth between Adam and Sutan, who are both regarding him critically, like he’s an art project or something. Tommy drains the last of his drink and leans back on the couch, spreading his arms wide in a bring-it-on gesture.

“Whatever,” he says. He figures he’s drunk enough to put on a skirt. He’s done more for less.

But then Roxy comes out of her room holding up some kind of white, lacey corset thing and Tommy does a quick reevaluation of his drunkenness. He’s pretty much gone, but he has a feeling this isn’t going to be an experience he’ll forget anytime soon. Still, he’s warm all over with drink and laughter, and he likes these people. He can be himself with them.

Tommy shrugs and says, “Sure.”

Adam pokes him in the ribs. “Shirt off!”

***

The next day, they go out in a rented boat, drinking and sunbathing and recovering from the previous night. When they get back, Tommy feels pleasantly warm, but also a little stretched thin. He begs off lunch and tells the others he needs a nap, and finally heads up to the suite alone. He’s not actually that tired, but he needs some time to regroup.

Tommy stands out on the balcony and loses himself in the view. He can’t even put into words all the things he’s feeling; he’s overwhelmed. He’s so lucky to experience this, and to experience it with people like Adam—like Sutan and Taylor and Roxy… It’s amazing, a once in a lifetime opportunity. He doesn’t think he deserves it; it’s too much, he’s just the bass player.

Tommy takes a step back and runs into the wall. He slides down it until he’s on the ground with his knees pulled up against his chest. He wants to thank Adam for this, but nothing he could possibly say will ever be enough. He never wants to leave. He feels like crying and he doesn’t understand why.

He hears Taylor come into the room and dig around through his suitcase, and then the footsteps approach and Taylor joins him out on the balcony.

“Hey, Tommy,” he says. Tommy can sense Taylor’s double-take, and he self-consciously wipes his eyes. His fingers come away wet. “You okay?” Taylor asks carefully.

“Yeah.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah,” Tommy answers. He gives Taylor a weak smile. “It’s just, this has been like, the best vacation of my life, and I almost didn’t come.”

Taylor drops gracefully to his knees beside Tommy and says, “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.”

Taylor’s smile stretches into a grin and he leans over to give Tommy a tight, comforting hug. “We’re going swimming,” he says when he pulls away. “You wanna come?”

Tommy nods quickly and pretends his eyes are dry. “Yeah, let me grab my suit.” And clean up my face, and brush my hair, and redo my makeup.

“Meet us down there!” Taylor springs to his feet and leaves with a cheerful wave. Tommy sighs when he hears the door close.

Tommy takes his time cleaning himself up, dabbing his eyes with a cold, damp tissue until he looks more normal. He redoes his makeup, pulls on his bathing suit, and digs through the closet for a fresh towel. He finally heads down to the pool with a black, long-sleeved shirt on and the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Has your skin ever seen the light of day?” Sutan asks as Tommy walks by him. Sutan’s wearing nearly nothing and his chest is shiny with sweat. Tommy’s gaze slides down his body, taking in his toned legs and muscled arms. He has some gorgeous tattoos, and Tommy can’t help but stare.

“Maybe once or twice.”

“I don’t understand how you live in California and still look like that,” Sutan replies, chuckling under his breath.

“By wearing clothes all the time. Duh.” Tommy looks around and sees Roxy sunbathing in her bikini a few chairs down, and Taylor swimming at the far end of the pool in his trunks. Adam’s sitting on the edge of the pool with his feet dangling into the water, and he’s wearing a shirt, at least, but it’s so loose and sleeveless that it shows off pretty much his entire freckly chest. “Unlike you guys, obviously,” Tommy adds.

“Take your shirt off and get in the water,” Adam calls.

Tommy grumbles a bit about undressing in the hot sun and the sunburn he’s already got across his nose, but when he finally steps into the pool, all thoughts of complaining leave him in an instant. He wades over to where Adam’s sitting and lets his arms float away from him. He feels like he’s dancing. “Why aren’t you in here, then?”

“I was in before you got down here. I need to soak up some sun.” Adam’s gaze slides lazily down from Tommy’s face and Tommy feels a tingle down his spine, like goosebumps.

He shudders as the breeze blows against his back and he wraps his arms around his torso, dipping lower into the water until it’s up to his neck. Adam wrenches his eyes back up to meet Tommy’s, looking a little guilty. Then he reaches behind him for Roxy’s camera. Tommy opens his mouth to object but Adam cuts him off.

“I’ll give you the rest of my drink if you smile.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows, not giving in yet, and he hears the shutter snap. “You did not just take a picture of me. I’m not wearing a shirt!”

“Oops,” Adam replies brightly. “My finger slipped.”

“Gimme your drink.”

“You didn’t smile.”

“Don’t feel like it.”

Adam leans in, resting his elbows on his knees. “Bet I can make you smile,” he says quietly.

“Doubt it.” Tommy presses his lips into a firm line. He’s already close to grinning, but he’s pretty sure he can keep a straight face for a few minutes longer.

“You look gorgeous. Your skin is so perfect and smooth, and it’s probably good that you keep it covered up all the time because otherwise someone would steal you away from me.”

Tommy blushes hot and breaks into a smile. He glances up and sees Adam grinning back at him. Tommy takes a breath and dunks his head under the water.

***

Everyone wheels their suitcases out to the sidewalk to wait for their car. Tommy hesitates by the open door, with the heat of midday Mexico blasting his front and the air conditioning of the lobby sending a chill down his back. Adam’s standing outside, several feet away, talking on his cell phone.

Tommy watches him talk, watches his hands as he gestures wildly and switches the phone from ear to ear. He’s stuck in a stupid daze until Adam clicks his phone off and turns around to face the group. Tommy makes his way over to him, and they’re far enough away from the others that it feels like they’re alone.

“Adam,” he says haltingly. “Thank you. For taking me here. I think I really needed it.”

“I’m really glad you came,” Adam replies warmly.

“Me too. I’ve had the time of my life, seriously. It was awesome.” He trails off uncertainly, then blurts out, “My mom didn’t want me to come with you.”

Adam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look angry, but he’s lost some of that warmth. He looks… neutral and calm. It makes Tommy nervous.

“I mean—She doesn’t have a problem with—with you, or with… She just—She was worried about how it might look.” Tommy’s brain catches up with his mouth a second too late and his face flames red. It’s all too easy to fill in the blanks of that sorry excuse for a sentence, and he hurries to fill them with something… less blatantly offensive.

“Tommy, stop,” Adam cuts in smoothly. He puts his finger beneath Tommy’s chin and tilts his face up, so their eyes can meet. “Did you want to come?”

“Yes!” Tommy answers immediately. “And I’m so glad I did. It’s been—It’s been amazing, being here with you. I feel… I feel really good when I’m with you.”

Adam’s smile returns and he welcomes Tommy into his arms. “Baby, I just want you to be happy,” he says quietly. He presses his lips to Tommy’s temple and Tommy relaxes into his embrace. He never, ever wants to leave this place.

“I am,” he whispers against Adam’s chest. “I really am.”

***

[part 2]