[ soft shoulder ]
Apr. 29th, 2010 12:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
winterlivethe things you do for kicks, i tell ya.
brad/adam, nc-17, for the glaad gift bag challenge. yes i know it's way too late, but watch me care. it's posted on the AO3 challenge page, if there are those of you who prefer reading there. for those who prefer reading on lj, click away. read at your own risk, as this constitutes totally unbeta'd pwp.
The door opens under Adam's hand, after what feels like fourteen hours of trying. They stumble in together.
"Thanks again for coming," Adam says, peeling his jacket off his shoulders. It weighs eight thousand pounds, but he manages not to drop it on the floor. "Ugh. You're a good friend."
Brad sets his bag gingerly onto the floor and heel-toes it into the living room, like there are roommates or neighbors who are going to hear him. It's his default when he's a bit drunk. "Well," he demurs softly, putting out one hand and wiggling his fingers. "I named my price, bitch. Swag me."
"All night long," Adam grins, and when he gets the eyeroll and arched brow for his answer, he laughs and picks up the bags. The two of them flop down on the couch side by side, just as they've been all night - barring red carpet and performance, of course. But at the table with the kids from Glee, it was just like this, easy and comfortable. Like your favorite sweater, the one you forgot for a couple of years and then put back on one day and remembered why you loved it more than your whole fucking wardrobe put together.
Adam catches himself staring at the curve of Brad's neck, and has to shake himself out of it.
Brad's digging their haul out of the bags and making piles. The narration is what makes it: You so need this. Nobody needs that. What even is this? Only God looks better in scarves than me, bitch, this is mine. Adam nods along, his mind fuzzy – it's a couple hours since he finished his show and the endorphins have officially worn off.
Brad digs his fingers into a black bag then, and stills almost immediately. "What in fuck?" He lifts out a stiff plastic package full of what appear to be angel and devil themed cock rings. His eyes go huge and so does his smile. "Are they fucking serious with this?"
Adam sits forward. "What else do they have in there?"
"Oh my god," Brad says, pulling out what looks like an iPod. "I get this. This one's mine."
"What is it?"
Brad puts the item on his pile. "If you don't know, I'm not telling you. Oh, Tenga Eggs! I never got the point of these. But I'm not opposed or anything. They gave you a whole carton, so we'll split them."
Adam takes the neatly packaged six-carton from Brad's hand, which appears to be full of... eggs. "What do these even do? Are you supposed to, like... put them in? Because how do you get them out?"
Brad isn't even paying attention. "G-spot vibe," he murmurs, tossing a package onto the pile that's going in the trash.
Adam takes one of the eggs out of the carton, peels off the cellophane and pops it open like a Kinder Surprise. "It's gotta be to use on yourself, right? Seems like it'd just be awkward, otherwise. Oh, fuck me, it stretches! Okay, I get it."
"Honey, you don't get it nearly often enough, if you ask me." Brad's tone is idle as he inspects something turquoise and aerodynamic.
Adam stretches the egg out to the max, which is pretty big, then lets it curl back in until it's resumed egg shape. He thinks about the last year, and the abysmal lack of anything that could be termed a date. He thinks about what Brad means by getting it, and thinks at this point he'd go for just about anybody so long as they were agreeably friendly. "No argument here."
"Awww," Brad coos, lifting out a package. "Look, body paints. Flavor and color! You want?"
Adam drops the egg on the table and rubs his eyes. "Nah. I'd never use them anyway."
"Why not?" Brad opens the package and lets the tubes fall out on the table. There's a little stylus, and he uncaps that to show a soft white brush that's pointed like a felt pen. "It's not even that risqué. You just paint it on and lick it off, right? Who wouldn't go for that?" He perches himself on the edge of the sofa, comfortable and prim at the same time. Adam's always loved the way Brad poses like that, even when he thinks nobody's watching. Picking up one of the tubes, Brad squeezes bright blue gel onto a silver tray, dips the brush in and traces blue paint over his own inner arm. He swirls it, making designs on the pale skin, then licks them away with a sweep of his tongue. He doesn't even seem to care how heartlessly cruel he's being as he looks at Adam, his smile bright and delighted. "Mint! But then what the fuck is green?" He sorts through the tubes until he finds the right one, and peers at the end. "Lime? You gotta be kidding. And white is vanilla, and they have, oh, God, licorice. Okay. Ditch the shirt."
"...I must be drunk," Adam laughs, digging two fingertips against his temple. "I thought you said to take my shirt off."
The look Brad aims at him is the same look he used to wear when they were dating, and he could make Adam do anything. When he used to say things like, okay, honey, distract the bouncer, I'll make it worth your while.
Adam returns that look for a whole three seconds before, not really believing that he's doing it, he pulls his tie open and unbuttons his shirt. It's crazy, but then, Brad could always make the crazy shit seem safe somehow - just something for the memoirs, a weird little adventure in our weird little lives. And hey, a solid half of those had involved Adam taking his shirt off, so why not?
Brad lines up the tubes on the table in a neat row, the tray just so. When Adam's skin is bare to the air conditioning, Brad makes an imperious gesture. "Turn around, back to me." Adam does that, and feels the warm press of a cheek against his back. Brad's voice is sing-song high. "Hello, adorable little freckles. I missed you underneath all the pancake."
"Shut up," Adam smiles over his shoulder.
Brad sits up with a smug laugh, which Adam ignores as he stretches his arms over his head. It's been a long night, he's still a bit sweaty even after having changed clothes, and when his back pops in two places it's total bliss. "Ohhhh my God."
"Good boy," Brad murmurs, rubbing a hand over his back. "Chill out time now."
"I need it so bad," Adam confesses, his muscles aching. "I would never be ungrateful, but."
Brad pets him all the way down the spine, a soothing sweep of warmth. "Blah blah. Gratitude doesn't erase jet lag. I get it."
"You always do," Adam says, and suffers the sharp and immediate impulse to hug Brad tight. But that would involve turning around, which he understands he is not to do, or he will take away Brad's canvas. So he sits where he is, and lets his head fall forward.
Brad pets him some more. "That's good. Just float away, okay? I'm gonna play around and you're gonna let me, and it'll be nice. Just for you, no strings, no interruptions. I'll take care of everything."
"Mmm." He's already halfway there. His eyes are drifting closed, hypnotized by Brad's warm, heavy tone.
"Mm. I think we start with... white. It smells great."
The first stroke of the brush against his back is kind of a surprise - Brad's very gentle, and Adam was expecting the coolness of the paint, but he was not expecting how it immediately starts tingling on his skin. He explains it even as Brad traces long, thick stripes down his spine, across his shoulders, down his arms to his elbows. Adam can feel it everywhere, tightening on his skin as it dries, and he tells Brad that too.
"Shh," Brad says softly, sweetly. "Can you smell it?"
It's like cookies baking - vanilla is one of Adam's favorite scents, and he guesses the heat of his back is warming it up. Brad pulls the brush away for a second and then rests his arm on Adam's shoulder, his hand out in front. Adam turns to look and finds little feather white stripes over Brad's wrist. "Cleaning the brush," Brad says. "Help a boy out."
Adam can't help but giggle. "This is so cheap," he says, pushing his thumb into Brad's palm and holding him steady. "If you wanted to make out, you should've just said so."
"And yet," Brad says, a smile in his voice.
Adam couldn't care less how they got here, to be honest. He opens his mouth over the tender skin of Brad's wrist and tastes the vanilla in a burst, smooth and sweet and tingling against his tongue. It's a nice taste, actually, and not too plastic or fake. They really gave out the good stuff. And of course it fades beautifully into the taste of skin, of boy, of a body so familiar he could recognize it anywhere. Adam runs his tongue up over the heel of Brad's thumb, and when Brad shivers and pulls away, Adam can't help but laugh low down in his throat.
"Bastard," Brad says, with no bite at all. "Settle your ass down."
"You made up this game," Adam grins, but lowers his head again.
Brad's fingers thread into his hair and push firmly. "And they're my rules, bitch. Now let me paint you up all pretty, and do as you're told."
Adam giggles, then sighs as the brush comes down again. This time it's chocolate, he can smell it right away, and the tingling seems to go deeper into his muscles. It's like a pressureless massage; all the tension goes sliding out of him, down to the floor and away. Brad's painting thick lines down from his neck to his ribs, curving around muscle and making patterns.
"What are you drawing?" Adam asks, his voice gone low and heavy.
Brad doesn't pause. "You'll see when I'm done."
"Take all night." He rolls his shoulders and gets smacked for his trouble, but can hardly bring himself to even act repentant.
Brad sighs. "Fine. But if you smudge it, Adam, so help me."
Adam doesn't bother pointing out that he always threatens that, and he never says exactly what he'll do, never mind actually doing it. But whatever. Not like it matters when the cool lines are making him breathe deep and even, and Brad's warm breath is ghosting across his skin. His skin is goosebumping up and down his arms, his nipples are tight even though it's not really cold, and his cock is pleasantly heavy in his pants. And there ain't nothing wrong with that.
"Oops," Brad says at one point, just a soft exhale shortly after the scent of strawberries enters the mix. "I messed up. Hold still." Adam dutifully holds, but when Brad's tongue slides hot and slow over the area in question, Adam shudders right down to the bone. He's not expecting it even a little, and a little warm sound escapes his throat; when he hears it, his cheeks flush.
"Better," Brad says, the smirk clear in his voice.
He touches the brush back down, and Adam bites his bottom lip as his nerves start to hiss and buzz. "Are you almost done?"
They're shorter strokes now; feels like the finishing touches. "I'm almost there," Brad says absently. "Just hold on a minute."
"It's cold in here," Adam lies, just to have something that explains why he feels so scowly all of a sudden.
"Easy, princess. There. Done."
They stand up together, Brad fussing over Adam's every move so he doesn't brush against anything on their way to the washroom. Adam flicks on the light and turns around, and it's immediately clear to him. Brad's no Picasso, but the lines that make up his wings are impossible to miss. Adam spreads his arms out to the sides, holding them wide.
In the mirror, he can see Brad standing in front of him, hip cocked and thumbnail in his teeth. He's emphatically not peeking around Adam, just looking in the direction of the counter. "Well? You like it?"
"It's nice," Adam says appreciatively, flexing his shoulders. "Like temporary tattoos."
"Well. A little easier to get off."
Adam laughs, weary now that the fun part's over. "Yeah. Somehow I don't think a shower's what they had in mind."
Brad hums a little, neither agreement nor disagreement. "Getting late," he offers, and to Adam's surprise it doesn't sound especially firm.
He turns his head so he can smile at Brad right to his face. "It isn't late. All the power went to your head and now you want a piece of my ass. Admit it." Adam slaps his own hip, adopts the traditional diva pose.
Brad barks out a laugh. "Oh, honey. It's a very pretty ass, don't get me wrong, but this leopard don't change her spots, you know what I'm saying?"
"Damn right, it's pretty," Adam says, facing the mirror and lifting his arms over his head. The dried paint tugs pleasingly at his skin and starts tingling all over again, and the sassy little thing he was going to say for a laugh dissolves in the back of his throat. "Shit," he says, way lower than he meant to. "This stuff isn't bad, you know?"
Carefully, Brad edges up behind him. Soft fingertips drift across his skin, taking flecks of dried paint with them. One warm hand lights on Adam's hip, fingertip just above his belt, and suddenly it's harder to breathe. "All part of the plan," Brad murmurs, tracing his fingers, angel-soft. "Get you alone and have my wicked way with you. Of course," he adds, his fingers creeping around front as he talks, his voice getting lower and more syrupy, his accent coming out, which he only ever does when he wants to rile Adam up. "Originally, it involved your big - thick - checkbook." He snaps Adam's belt against his stomach like a high school girl's bra strap.
Adam laughs breathlessly, putting a hand over the spot protectively. "You shit."
Brad's usual light tone comes along with a casual pat to Adam's belly. "You knew what I was, baby."
"Seriously," Adam says, turning in Brad's arms and cupping his hand around the back of Brad's neck. Brad wanted him riled up? Fine. Great. He's riled. "Stay," he says, needing to at least ask. "I like a tease as much as anybody, but it'd be nicer to finish it right, wouldn't it?"
Brad blushes. His ridiculous long lashes come sweeping down as he turns his face to the side. "Adam," he admonishes, so sweet. "You know that's a bad idea."
"Maybe," Adam shrugs. "Maybe it'd be good. Fuck, we both know it'd be good. And maybe the bad part wouldn't even happen. Couldn't we just... take the good part?" He runs his thumb along Brad's jaw, the curve of his chin. Those gorgeous lashes are lowered, the lips are parting; Brad's ready for a kiss and Adam leans down for it, nice and slow.
"But," Brad murmurs vaguely. "You aren't dating. Your tour."
Adam can't really hear him, because he's turned his head to the side and the long line of his jaw and neck are perfect. "Later," he murmurs, almost there, almost touching. "We'll talk about it later."
"Oh," Brad sighs, just as Adam makes the lightest contact. "Oh, damn it all to hell." He wraps his arm around Adam's neck and surges up against him. They kiss just like Adam's been wanting for hours, maybe days, maybe years now: slick and dirty, sweet and gorgeous, and maybe they bounce off the walls on their way to the bedroom, crashing together again and again, but it doesn't matter. Brad is light and delicate in Adam's hands, like cotton candy: ineffable and irresistible and addictive, once you start.
They hit Adam's mattress together, Adam dragging them down with intent. "No, wait," Brad pants, trying to pull him closer and fight him off at the same time. "Wait, get. Get on your stomach, baby. I put it on, I get to lick it off."
Adam groans, his voice already low and rasping. "Job's done, honey. Foreplay over." He leans down to haul Brad's shirt up his sides, bends down to bite at a pink nipple.
"You never could learn to be fucking patient," Brad gasps out. He tangles his hands in Adam's hair and pulls him up into a blinding kiss that robs Adam of all coherent thought. When he pulls away, Adam's left blinking at the finger pointed in his face. "I told you, Lambert. Turn the fuck over."
"Fine," Adam squints grudgingly, and takes a second to ditch what's left of his clothes before falling into the middle of the bed and laying his head on his folded arms.
Brad straddles his thighs, high enough that when he leans forward his erection presses right up against Adam's ass. Adam lifts an eyebrow as he glances over his shoulder - he'd usually read the riot act now, about how this is his bed and he'll be doing the fucking, sweetheart, thanks very much. Honestly, though... they've come this far. Brad knows all the rules, and how to break most of them. He can do whatever he wants.
His tongue touches down on Adam's spine, hot and slick, and his hips ride up against Adam's ass in just the right way. He's so good at this, taking Adam higher and higher because he knows all the dirty fucking tricks to wind Adam up. He moves his hips in circles, lets his heavy cock bump and press against sensitive skin, and Adam lets himself imagine what it'd be like to let him inside. It didn't happen a lot when they were together, but now and then they'd want to try it, and it was always devastatingly beautiful. They won't do it now, just because of that - but it's still fucking hot to remember.
"You," Adam sighs, his breath catching high at the back of his throat. "You used to fuck me like this. Remember?" Brad snarls against the skin, bites a stinging little crescent onto him. His dick pulses against Adam's body, warm through the thin layer of fabric between them. Adam's panting now, rocking his hips back into it. "I'm gonna do it just like that. Give it to you a little, just a little at a time and... ask if you're okay and if it hurts too much and if you can take a little more, you teasing fuck. Oh, Brad, oh, yeah."
"Don't you ever shut up?" Brad groans, biting again. "I was gonna eat you out and fuck you, but you're making me all impatient."
Adam laughs breathlessly, because that's Brad - always promising the moon just to wind you up. Of course, it always works, and right now is no exception; just the thought of Brad doing that is too much to handle. Adam shoves away from the bed, rolls over and yanks Brad down by the wrist. "You had your fun. My turn now."
"Whatever," Brad sighs, rolling his eyes - but the shudder that ripples through him makes him a liar. As impossible as it seems, he's still fully clothed; Adam sends the vest and shirt flying over his shoulder, followed by a belt that catches against something on the dresser. There's a hell of a crash, but in the moment Adam doesn't give a damn. Brad's pushing himself up, trying to peek around Adam's side at the dresser. "Jesus, I think you broke someth-"
"Quiet," Adam says, winding his fingers around one delicate wrist and using it to push Brad back down to the bed. He leans down, kisses that mouth. "I don't want you talking," he says, between bites and licks. "I don't want you thinking. I want you... desperate."
Brad shifts underneath him, and though he makes no sound, the tension's there.
Adam slides his mouth down to the tender join of neck to collarbone, and licks softly. "I want you to need me."
"Adam," Brad sighs, barely a whisper.
"Stop thinking," Adam corrects, biting sharply around one pink nipple. "Let me have it."
Brad twists under him, hips finding a rhythm against Adam's stomach. His face is flushed and beautiful, his voice breaking on his fluttering breath. Adam watches that face, a surge of something hot and sinister swirling low down in him - possessiveness, maybe. He bites hard just underneath the nipple, and is smirks at the way Brad tries to gasp and groan at the same time.
"You still like that," Adam murmurs.
Brad throws an arm over his eyes and lets out a long, tortured groan. "You still remember."
Burying his nose in the soft, delicate line of hair that leads down Brad's stomach, Adam smiles. "I remember telling you to talk less."
"I remember you can go fuck yourssssoh God."
Cutting Brad off mid-insult was Adam's favorite thing for a long time, and it hasn't gotten any less satisfying. He sucks at Brad's dick through the black fabric of his briefs, squeezes him tight and listens to the mingled abuse and praise that rains down on him. It's all he can do to fight the fabric off Brad's legs, to get him properly naked. Adam's priorities aren't really on clothes right now, but they're in bed, and Brad always says that if they have time to make it to the bed, Adam has time to take his damn clothes off. This logic has screwed Adam over many a time, but he's never been able to come up with a good reason why it shouldn't be the case, and it's easier just to go with it - a bared, gorgeous body like this one is reward enough anyway.
Adam thumps down beside him and fishes the lube out of the nightstand. "C'mere," he says, cuddling up to Brad's side. "Kiss me."
"You're a total slut for kisses," Brad smiles, settling against him and reaching up to cup his face.
"Guilty," Adam says shamelessly, and sinks into the kind of kiss that lasts until you want it to stop. He teases Brad's tongue with his own, feels the bestial surge inside when Brad opens up and lets him. He wraps slick fingers around Brad's cock and strokes, tight and hard and slow, and lets Brad squirm and shudder against him. He's so exactly right, he's just what Adam wants, and the blood sings in Adam's head and wipes out his mind. His heart beats hard in his chest, his back is still tingling with the remains of the body paint; he feels drugged and stupid and stubborn. If half the known world broke in here and watched, he'd still do this. He needs it.
Brad clutches at his shoulders, nails scraping against his skin. "Adam," he grits out, teeth clenched. "Adam, stop fucking around and do it."
"You want this?" Adam asks him, releasing his dick and sliding his fingers back, between, down. He presses inside, a tiny bit at a time. "Want me to fuck you like this, baby?"
Brad's incoherent for a second, just sounds that don't mean anything as he clings to Adam's neck with his eyes closed tight. Adam kisses the side of his mouth and presses deeper.
"More," Brad finally demands, opening his thighs wide. His eyes are dark, intense, and just about as vulnerable as Brad ever gets. "Don't play."
The surge of need is overwhelming. Adam kisses him hard, pushes his fingers in deep before pulling away to grab the condom. Brad shifts up on the bed, braces his feet wide apart and takes himself in hand, stroking hard and fast, and Adam curses and fucks with the condom until it finally rolls on. "Hurry," Brad says softly, and Adam grabs him by the knee and ducks underneath. Between those slender thighs, he takes the other knee and bends them both back, so the part he wants is exposed and open. The urge is there to suck Brad's cock, to lick him open and make him beg, but Adam knows it's too late for that. He'd get his hair pulled out if he tried that right now, and it's not worth having to wait to slide his cock against the slick little hole, push his hips in little by little until Brad gives. Adam savors the shiver that runs through his body, toes to fingertips, closing his eyes to keep it as long as he can.
Brad is talking, making demands and decrees and instructions that Adam loves to hear and is never going to listen to. He pushes a little deeper before he pulls back out all the way, and has to laugh at some of the invectives Brad flings at him. It's worth it for the way they all stop when Adam presses gently back inside, and Brad knots his fingers up in the sheets and groans from the chest.
"You're so," Adam pants, sweat breaking out all over him as the tight heat starts to work its magic. He wants to explain how gorgeous it all is, but he's not the writer of this dynamic duo, so he settles for what he knows: Brad's name, between kisses.
This is Adam's favorite part - when all the excuses and barriers are gone, Brad's legs around his waist and stubby nails pressing into his back... Brad stops talking. The talking is hot, it's good, but this is better: high flush of pink in his cheeks, eyes closed tight and mouth gone soft and kissable. The shudder of breath is so gorgeous, and the high slip-slide groan when Adam hits it just right, and Brad forgets to hold back. Getting to see this is a gift, just as much as it was the first time Brad let him have it - no, more so. Adam tries to make it last as long as he can, shutting his eyes and just sneaking glances. He rolls his hips in heavy thrusts, sweat cooling the skin at his temples, and holds onto Brad as tight as he can.
Adam can feel it coming. He knows the way Brad tenses, the way his sighs creep up an octave and the way he starts feeling his way toward Adam's wrists, looking for a hand. Adam doesn't need the cue; he slips his fingers between them and finds Brad's cock, slick with sweat. He squeezes tight and strokes three times, and then Brad is shuddering and locking up around him, his voice filling the air with surprising depth; it always gets low when he comes. Christ, he's absolutely perfect. Adam buries himself deep and hard and fast, gripping the sheet with one hand, face buried in Brad's neck. The blinding rush of bliss is exactly the right pitch.
When enough of his blood arrives back in his brain, a picture fills Adam's mind: a row of judges all holding up scorecards that say 10.
"What are you giggling at?" Brad asks, voice a wreck, tracing lazy circles on Adam's back with the fingertips of one hand. He brings those fingers to his mouth and licks them; Adam can smell strawberry and chocolate.
"Shit," he sighs. "I must be covered in that stuff."
"I got some of it," Brad objects, but then thinks better of it. "A shower does seem called for."
They pry themselves apart, which in some ways is harder than others. When Adam slides free of Brad's body, the shudder of aftershock rocks him right down to the bone and he nearly falls over.
"Poor baby," Brad laughs softly, sprawled open amongst the sheets. "Has it been that long?"
Adam snorts. "You should know, honey, you were there."
Brad gives him a wide-eyed look, sitting half-up on the bed. "What? You... was I the last...?"
"No!" Adam says, blushing hard. "No, of course not. I dated someone, remember?"
Brad sits back again. "Thank Jesus. You had me worried."
There's more Adam could say - about how sex ever since has been good, but hasn't had the time to get really great, and that this one-off throwaway with Brad was as satisfying as the best sex Adam's had since they broke up - but he'd rather not push his luck. He slides off the bed and stretches his arms up to the ceiling, feels his back crack gloriously. When he drops his arms, Brad's peering at him suspiciously.
"Come on. Spit it out."
"...What?"
"Don't try to play me," Brad says, rolling his eyes. "It's just sad. I'm the one who clams up after sex, and you're the one who gets smooshy and romantic and makes me take the shower together, and I'm the one who convinces you that the talking can wait until our post-shower activities have been properly seen to. Or did you forget?"
Adam grins, holds out his hand to help Brad up. "We could just skip to that last part."
Warily, Brad allows himself to be pulled to his feet. He's close enough that they can brush together at the waist, at the hip. Still suspicious, he squints one eye almost closed. "You're bucking the natural order of things. I just want you to know that."
"I'm okay with it," Adam assures him, kissing his forehead. "Talk later. First shower, then sleep." He leads Brad into the bathroom by the hand.
"I like sleep," Brad allows, trailing along behind.
It's a quick shower, for all the big talk, and they fall into bed together like old times. Adam endures the appropriate amount of smack talk for pulling Brad against him where it's warm and soft and comfortable, not that there's a lot of smack being talked because Brad is tired, and because it's a fucking lie that he doesn't like to cuddle. His body goes warm and pliant in Adam's arms in almost no time, his hands curled in the sheets as he drifts off. Adam nuzzles against the back of his neck and thinks about the morning.
He's not really sure what he wants, in the long run. His whole life right now is a one-step-at-a-time kind of deal; Idol, week to week, the album, the insane press frenzy followed by yet more insane press frenzy. He hardly knows what he's doing tomorrow without his assistant, so whatever Big Serious Talk they're supposed to have, maybe it can just wait until later. As his eyes drift closed, Adam thinks that maybe tomorrow he'll see if he has eggs in his brand new kitchen, and try his hand at making breakfast for two. It seems like a good place to start.
brad/adam, nc-17, for the glaad gift bag challenge. yes i know it's way too late, but watch me care. it's posted on the AO3 challenge page, if there are those of you who prefer reading there. for those who prefer reading on lj, click away. read at your own risk, as this constitutes totally unbeta'd pwp.
Soft Shoulder
The door opens under Adam's hand, after what feels like fourteen hours of trying. They stumble in together.
"Thanks again for coming," Adam says, peeling his jacket off his shoulders. It weighs eight thousand pounds, but he manages not to drop it on the floor. "Ugh. You're a good friend."
Brad sets his bag gingerly onto the floor and heel-toes it into the living room, like there are roommates or neighbors who are going to hear him. It's his default when he's a bit drunk. "Well," he demurs softly, putting out one hand and wiggling his fingers. "I named my price, bitch. Swag me."
"All night long," Adam grins, and when he gets the eyeroll and arched brow for his answer, he laughs and picks up the bags. The two of them flop down on the couch side by side, just as they've been all night - barring red carpet and performance, of course. But at the table with the kids from Glee, it was just like this, easy and comfortable. Like your favorite sweater, the one you forgot for a couple of years and then put back on one day and remembered why you loved it more than your whole fucking wardrobe put together.
Adam catches himself staring at the curve of Brad's neck, and has to shake himself out of it.
Brad's digging their haul out of the bags and making piles. The narration is what makes it: You so need this. Nobody needs that. What even is this? Only God looks better in scarves than me, bitch, this is mine. Adam nods along, his mind fuzzy – it's a couple hours since he finished his show and the endorphins have officially worn off.
Brad digs his fingers into a black bag then, and stills almost immediately. "What in fuck?" He lifts out a stiff plastic package full of what appear to be angel and devil themed cock rings. His eyes go huge and so does his smile. "Are they fucking serious with this?"
Adam sits forward. "What else do they have in there?"
"Oh my god," Brad says, pulling out what looks like an iPod. "I get this. This one's mine."
"What is it?"
Brad puts the item on his pile. "If you don't know, I'm not telling you. Oh, Tenga Eggs! I never got the point of these. But I'm not opposed or anything. They gave you a whole carton, so we'll split them."
Adam takes the neatly packaged six-carton from Brad's hand, which appears to be full of... eggs. "What do these even do? Are you supposed to, like... put them in? Because how do you get them out?"
Brad isn't even paying attention. "G-spot vibe," he murmurs, tossing a package onto the pile that's going in the trash.
Adam takes one of the eggs out of the carton, peels off the cellophane and pops it open like a Kinder Surprise. "It's gotta be to use on yourself, right? Seems like it'd just be awkward, otherwise. Oh, fuck me, it stretches! Okay, I get it."
"Honey, you don't get it nearly often enough, if you ask me." Brad's tone is idle as he inspects something turquoise and aerodynamic.
Adam stretches the egg out to the max, which is pretty big, then lets it curl back in until it's resumed egg shape. He thinks about the last year, and the abysmal lack of anything that could be termed a date. He thinks about what Brad means by getting it, and thinks at this point he'd go for just about anybody so long as they were agreeably friendly. "No argument here."
"Awww," Brad coos, lifting out a package. "Look, body paints. Flavor and color! You want?"
Adam drops the egg on the table and rubs his eyes. "Nah. I'd never use them anyway."
"Why not?" Brad opens the package and lets the tubes fall out on the table. There's a little stylus, and he uncaps that to show a soft white brush that's pointed like a felt pen. "It's not even that risqué. You just paint it on and lick it off, right? Who wouldn't go for that?" He perches himself on the edge of the sofa, comfortable and prim at the same time. Adam's always loved the way Brad poses like that, even when he thinks nobody's watching. Picking up one of the tubes, Brad squeezes bright blue gel onto a silver tray, dips the brush in and traces blue paint over his own inner arm. He swirls it, making designs on the pale skin, then licks them away with a sweep of his tongue. He doesn't even seem to care how heartlessly cruel he's being as he looks at Adam, his smile bright and delighted. "Mint! But then what the fuck is green?" He sorts through the tubes until he finds the right one, and peers at the end. "Lime? You gotta be kidding. And white is vanilla, and they have, oh, God, licorice. Okay. Ditch the shirt."
"...I must be drunk," Adam laughs, digging two fingertips against his temple. "I thought you said to take my shirt off."
The look Brad aims at him is the same look he used to wear when they were dating, and he could make Adam do anything. When he used to say things like, okay, honey, distract the bouncer, I'll make it worth your while.
Adam returns that look for a whole three seconds before, not really believing that he's doing it, he pulls his tie open and unbuttons his shirt. It's crazy, but then, Brad could always make the crazy shit seem safe somehow - just something for the memoirs, a weird little adventure in our weird little lives. And hey, a solid half of those had involved Adam taking his shirt off, so why not?
Brad lines up the tubes on the table in a neat row, the tray just so. When Adam's skin is bare to the air conditioning, Brad makes an imperious gesture. "Turn around, back to me." Adam does that, and feels the warm press of a cheek against his back. Brad's voice is sing-song high. "Hello, adorable little freckles. I missed you underneath all the pancake."
"Shut up," Adam smiles over his shoulder.
Brad sits up with a smug laugh, which Adam ignores as he stretches his arms over his head. It's been a long night, he's still a bit sweaty even after having changed clothes, and when his back pops in two places it's total bliss. "Ohhhh my God."
"Good boy," Brad murmurs, rubbing a hand over his back. "Chill out time now."
"I need it so bad," Adam confesses, his muscles aching. "I would never be ungrateful, but."
Brad pets him all the way down the spine, a soothing sweep of warmth. "Blah blah. Gratitude doesn't erase jet lag. I get it."
"You always do," Adam says, and suffers the sharp and immediate impulse to hug Brad tight. But that would involve turning around, which he understands he is not to do, or he will take away Brad's canvas. So he sits where he is, and lets his head fall forward.
Brad pets him some more. "That's good. Just float away, okay? I'm gonna play around and you're gonna let me, and it'll be nice. Just for you, no strings, no interruptions. I'll take care of everything."
"Mmm." He's already halfway there. His eyes are drifting closed, hypnotized by Brad's warm, heavy tone.
"Mm. I think we start with... white. It smells great."
The first stroke of the brush against his back is kind of a surprise - Brad's very gentle, and Adam was expecting the coolness of the paint, but he was not expecting how it immediately starts tingling on his skin. He explains it even as Brad traces long, thick stripes down his spine, across his shoulders, down his arms to his elbows. Adam can feel it everywhere, tightening on his skin as it dries, and he tells Brad that too.
"Shh," Brad says softly, sweetly. "Can you smell it?"
It's like cookies baking - vanilla is one of Adam's favorite scents, and he guesses the heat of his back is warming it up. Brad pulls the brush away for a second and then rests his arm on Adam's shoulder, his hand out in front. Adam turns to look and finds little feather white stripes over Brad's wrist. "Cleaning the brush," Brad says. "Help a boy out."
Adam can't help but giggle. "This is so cheap," he says, pushing his thumb into Brad's palm and holding him steady. "If you wanted to make out, you should've just said so."
"And yet," Brad says, a smile in his voice.
Adam couldn't care less how they got here, to be honest. He opens his mouth over the tender skin of Brad's wrist and tastes the vanilla in a burst, smooth and sweet and tingling against his tongue. It's a nice taste, actually, and not too plastic or fake. They really gave out the good stuff. And of course it fades beautifully into the taste of skin, of boy, of a body so familiar he could recognize it anywhere. Adam runs his tongue up over the heel of Brad's thumb, and when Brad shivers and pulls away, Adam can't help but laugh low down in his throat.
"Bastard," Brad says, with no bite at all. "Settle your ass down."
"You made up this game," Adam grins, but lowers his head again.
Brad's fingers thread into his hair and push firmly. "And they're my rules, bitch. Now let me paint you up all pretty, and do as you're told."
Adam giggles, then sighs as the brush comes down again. This time it's chocolate, he can smell it right away, and the tingling seems to go deeper into his muscles. It's like a pressureless massage; all the tension goes sliding out of him, down to the floor and away. Brad's painting thick lines down from his neck to his ribs, curving around muscle and making patterns.
"What are you drawing?" Adam asks, his voice gone low and heavy.
Brad doesn't pause. "You'll see when I'm done."
"Take all night." He rolls his shoulders and gets smacked for his trouble, but can hardly bring himself to even act repentant.
Brad sighs. "Fine. But if you smudge it, Adam, so help me."
Adam doesn't bother pointing out that he always threatens that, and he never says exactly what he'll do, never mind actually doing it. But whatever. Not like it matters when the cool lines are making him breathe deep and even, and Brad's warm breath is ghosting across his skin. His skin is goosebumping up and down his arms, his nipples are tight even though it's not really cold, and his cock is pleasantly heavy in his pants. And there ain't nothing wrong with that.
"Oops," Brad says at one point, just a soft exhale shortly after the scent of strawberries enters the mix. "I messed up. Hold still." Adam dutifully holds, but when Brad's tongue slides hot and slow over the area in question, Adam shudders right down to the bone. He's not expecting it even a little, and a little warm sound escapes his throat; when he hears it, his cheeks flush.
"Better," Brad says, the smirk clear in his voice.
He touches the brush back down, and Adam bites his bottom lip as his nerves start to hiss and buzz. "Are you almost done?"
They're shorter strokes now; feels like the finishing touches. "I'm almost there," Brad says absently. "Just hold on a minute."
"It's cold in here," Adam lies, just to have something that explains why he feels so scowly all of a sudden.
"Easy, princess. There. Done."
They stand up together, Brad fussing over Adam's every move so he doesn't brush against anything on their way to the washroom. Adam flicks on the light and turns around, and it's immediately clear to him. Brad's no Picasso, but the lines that make up his wings are impossible to miss. Adam spreads his arms out to the sides, holding them wide.
In the mirror, he can see Brad standing in front of him, hip cocked and thumbnail in his teeth. He's emphatically not peeking around Adam, just looking in the direction of the counter. "Well? You like it?"
"It's nice," Adam says appreciatively, flexing his shoulders. "Like temporary tattoos."
"Well. A little easier to get off."
Adam laughs, weary now that the fun part's over. "Yeah. Somehow I don't think a shower's what they had in mind."
Brad hums a little, neither agreement nor disagreement. "Getting late," he offers, and to Adam's surprise it doesn't sound especially firm.
He turns his head so he can smile at Brad right to his face. "It isn't late. All the power went to your head and now you want a piece of my ass. Admit it." Adam slaps his own hip, adopts the traditional diva pose.
Brad barks out a laugh. "Oh, honey. It's a very pretty ass, don't get me wrong, but this leopard don't change her spots, you know what I'm saying?"
"Damn right, it's pretty," Adam says, facing the mirror and lifting his arms over his head. The dried paint tugs pleasingly at his skin and starts tingling all over again, and the sassy little thing he was going to say for a laugh dissolves in the back of his throat. "Shit," he says, way lower than he meant to. "This stuff isn't bad, you know?"
Carefully, Brad edges up behind him. Soft fingertips drift across his skin, taking flecks of dried paint with them. One warm hand lights on Adam's hip, fingertip just above his belt, and suddenly it's harder to breathe. "All part of the plan," Brad murmurs, tracing his fingers, angel-soft. "Get you alone and have my wicked way with you. Of course," he adds, his fingers creeping around front as he talks, his voice getting lower and more syrupy, his accent coming out, which he only ever does when he wants to rile Adam up. "Originally, it involved your big - thick - checkbook." He snaps Adam's belt against his stomach like a high school girl's bra strap.
Adam laughs breathlessly, putting a hand over the spot protectively. "You shit."
Brad's usual light tone comes along with a casual pat to Adam's belly. "You knew what I was, baby."
"Seriously," Adam says, turning in Brad's arms and cupping his hand around the back of Brad's neck. Brad wanted him riled up? Fine. Great. He's riled. "Stay," he says, needing to at least ask. "I like a tease as much as anybody, but it'd be nicer to finish it right, wouldn't it?"
Brad blushes. His ridiculous long lashes come sweeping down as he turns his face to the side. "Adam," he admonishes, so sweet. "You know that's a bad idea."
"Maybe," Adam shrugs. "Maybe it'd be good. Fuck, we both know it'd be good. And maybe the bad part wouldn't even happen. Couldn't we just... take the good part?" He runs his thumb along Brad's jaw, the curve of his chin. Those gorgeous lashes are lowered, the lips are parting; Brad's ready for a kiss and Adam leans down for it, nice and slow.
"But," Brad murmurs vaguely. "You aren't dating. Your tour."
Adam can't really hear him, because he's turned his head to the side and the long line of his jaw and neck are perfect. "Later," he murmurs, almost there, almost touching. "We'll talk about it later."
"Oh," Brad sighs, just as Adam makes the lightest contact. "Oh, damn it all to hell." He wraps his arm around Adam's neck and surges up against him. They kiss just like Adam's been wanting for hours, maybe days, maybe years now: slick and dirty, sweet and gorgeous, and maybe they bounce off the walls on their way to the bedroom, crashing together again and again, but it doesn't matter. Brad is light and delicate in Adam's hands, like cotton candy: ineffable and irresistible and addictive, once you start.
They hit Adam's mattress together, Adam dragging them down with intent. "No, wait," Brad pants, trying to pull him closer and fight him off at the same time. "Wait, get. Get on your stomach, baby. I put it on, I get to lick it off."
Adam groans, his voice already low and rasping. "Job's done, honey. Foreplay over." He leans down to haul Brad's shirt up his sides, bends down to bite at a pink nipple.
"You never could learn to be fucking patient," Brad gasps out. He tangles his hands in Adam's hair and pulls him up into a blinding kiss that robs Adam of all coherent thought. When he pulls away, Adam's left blinking at the finger pointed in his face. "I told you, Lambert. Turn the fuck over."
"Fine," Adam squints grudgingly, and takes a second to ditch what's left of his clothes before falling into the middle of the bed and laying his head on his folded arms.
Brad straddles his thighs, high enough that when he leans forward his erection presses right up against Adam's ass. Adam lifts an eyebrow as he glances over his shoulder - he'd usually read the riot act now, about how this is his bed and he'll be doing the fucking, sweetheart, thanks very much. Honestly, though... they've come this far. Brad knows all the rules, and how to break most of them. He can do whatever he wants.
His tongue touches down on Adam's spine, hot and slick, and his hips ride up against Adam's ass in just the right way. He's so good at this, taking Adam higher and higher because he knows all the dirty fucking tricks to wind Adam up. He moves his hips in circles, lets his heavy cock bump and press against sensitive skin, and Adam lets himself imagine what it'd be like to let him inside. It didn't happen a lot when they were together, but now and then they'd want to try it, and it was always devastatingly beautiful. They won't do it now, just because of that - but it's still fucking hot to remember.
"You," Adam sighs, his breath catching high at the back of his throat. "You used to fuck me like this. Remember?" Brad snarls against the skin, bites a stinging little crescent onto him. His dick pulses against Adam's body, warm through the thin layer of fabric between them. Adam's panting now, rocking his hips back into it. "I'm gonna do it just like that. Give it to you a little, just a little at a time and... ask if you're okay and if it hurts too much and if you can take a little more, you teasing fuck. Oh, Brad, oh, yeah."
"Don't you ever shut up?" Brad groans, biting again. "I was gonna eat you out and fuck you, but you're making me all impatient."
Adam laughs breathlessly, because that's Brad - always promising the moon just to wind you up. Of course, it always works, and right now is no exception; just the thought of Brad doing that is too much to handle. Adam shoves away from the bed, rolls over and yanks Brad down by the wrist. "You had your fun. My turn now."
"Whatever," Brad sighs, rolling his eyes - but the shudder that ripples through him makes him a liar. As impossible as it seems, he's still fully clothed; Adam sends the vest and shirt flying over his shoulder, followed by a belt that catches against something on the dresser. There's a hell of a crash, but in the moment Adam doesn't give a damn. Brad's pushing himself up, trying to peek around Adam's side at the dresser. "Jesus, I think you broke someth-"
"Quiet," Adam says, winding his fingers around one delicate wrist and using it to push Brad back down to the bed. He leans down, kisses that mouth. "I don't want you talking," he says, between bites and licks. "I don't want you thinking. I want you... desperate."
Brad shifts underneath him, and though he makes no sound, the tension's there.
Adam slides his mouth down to the tender join of neck to collarbone, and licks softly. "I want you to need me."
"Adam," Brad sighs, barely a whisper.
"Stop thinking," Adam corrects, biting sharply around one pink nipple. "Let me have it."
Brad twists under him, hips finding a rhythm against Adam's stomach. His face is flushed and beautiful, his voice breaking on his fluttering breath. Adam watches that face, a surge of something hot and sinister swirling low down in him - possessiveness, maybe. He bites hard just underneath the nipple, and is smirks at the way Brad tries to gasp and groan at the same time.
"You still like that," Adam murmurs.
Brad throws an arm over his eyes and lets out a long, tortured groan. "You still remember."
Burying his nose in the soft, delicate line of hair that leads down Brad's stomach, Adam smiles. "I remember telling you to talk less."
"I remember you can go fuck yourssssoh God."
Cutting Brad off mid-insult was Adam's favorite thing for a long time, and it hasn't gotten any less satisfying. He sucks at Brad's dick through the black fabric of his briefs, squeezes him tight and listens to the mingled abuse and praise that rains down on him. It's all he can do to fight the fabric off Brad's legs, to get him properly naked. Adam's priorities aren't really on clothes right now, but they're in bed, and Brad always says that if they have time to make it to the bed, Adam has time to take his damn clothes off. This logic has screwed Adam over many a time, but he's never been able to come up with a good reason why it shouldn't be the case, and it's easier just to go with it - a bared, gorgeous body like this one is reward enough anyway.
Adam thumps down beside him and fishes the lube out of the nightstand. "C'mere," he says, cuddling up to Brad's side. "Kiss me."
"You're a total slut for kisses," Brad smiles, settling against him and reaching up to cup his face.
"Guilty," Adam says shamelessly, and sinks into the kind of kiss that lasts until you want it to stop. He teases Brad's tongue with his own, feels the bestial surge inside when Brad opens up and lets him. He wraps slick fingers around Brad's cock and strokes, tight and hard and slow, and lets Brad squirm and shudder against him. He's so exactly right, he's just what Adam wants, and the blood sings in Adam's head and wipes out his mind. His heart beats hard in his chest, his back is still tingling with the remains of the body paint; he feels drugged and stupid and stubborn. If half the known world broke in here and watched, he'd still do this. He needs it.
Brad clutches at his shoulders, nails scraping against his skin. "Adam," he grits out, teeth clenched. "Adam, stop fucking around and do it."
"You want this?" Adam asks him, releasing his dick and sliding his fingers back, between, down. He presses inside, a tiny bit at a time. "Want me to fuck you like this, baby?"
Brad's incoherent for a second, just sounds that don't mean anything as he clings to Adam's neck with his eyes closed tight. Adam kisses the side of his mouth and presses deeper.
"More," Brad finally demands, opening his thighs wide. His eyes are dark, intense, and just about as vulnerable as Brad ever gets. "Don't play."
The surge of need is overwhelming. Adam kisses him hard, pushes his fingers in deep before pulling away to grab the condom. Brad shifts up on the bed, braces his feet wide apart and takes himself in hand, stroking hard and fast, and Adam curses and fucks with the condom until it finally rolls on. "Hurry," Brad says softly, and Adam grabs him by the knee and ducks underneath. Between those slender thighs, he takes the other knee and bends them both back, so the part he wants is exposed and open. The urge is there to suck Brad's cock, to lick him open and make him beg, but Adam knows it's too late for that. He'd get his hair pulled out if he tried that right now, and it's not worth having to wait to slide his cock against the slick little hole, push his hips in little by little until Brad gives. Adam savors the shiver that runs through his body, toes to fingertips, closing his eyes to keep it as long as he can.
Brad is talking, making demands and decrees and instructions that Adam loves to hear and is never going to listen to. He pushes a little deeper before he pulls back out all the way, and has to laugh at some of the invectives Brad flings at him. It's worth it for the way they all stop when Adam presses gently back inside, and Brad knots his fingers up in the sheets and groans from the chest.
"You're so," Adam pants, sweat breaking out all over him as the tight heat starts to work its magic. He wants to explain how gorgeous it all is, but he's not the writer of this dynamic duo, so he settles for what he knows: Brad's name, between kisses.
This is Adam's favorite part - when all the excuses and barriers are gone, Brad's legs around his waist and stubby nails pressing into his back... Brad stops talking. The talking is hot, it's good, but this is better: high flush of pink in his cheeks, eyes closed tight and mouth gone soft and kissable. The shudder of breath is so gorgeous, and the high slip-slide groan when Adam hits it just right, and Brad forgets to hold back. Getting to see this is a gift, just as much as it was the first time Brad let him have it - no, more so. Adam tries to make it last as long as he can, shutting his eyes and just sneaking glances. He rolls his hips in heavy thrusts, sweat cooling the skin at his temples, and holds onto Brad as tight as he can.
Adam can feel it coming. He knows the way Brad tenses, the way his sighs creep up an octave and the way he starts feeling his way toward Adam's wrists, looking for a hand. Adam doesn't need the cue; he slips his fingers between them and finds Brad's cock, slick with sweat. He squeezes tight and strokes three times, and then Brad is shuddering and locking up around him, his voice filling the air with surprising depth; it always gets low when he comes. Christ, he's absolutely perfect. Adam buries himself deep and hard and fast, gripping the sheet with one hand, face buried in Brad's neck. The blinding rush of bliss is exactly the right pitch.
When enough of his blood arrives back in his brain, a picture fills Adam's mind: a row of judges all holding up scorecards that say 10.
"What are you giggling at?" Brad asks, voice a wreck, tracing lazy circles on Adam's back with the fingertips of one hand. He brings those fingers to his mouth and licks them; Adam can smell strawberry and chocolate.
"Shit," he sighs. "I must be covered in that stuff."
"I got some of it," Brad objects, but then thinks better of it. "A shower does seem called for."
They pry themselves apart, which in some ways is harder than others. When Adam slides free of Brad's body, the shudder of aftershock rocks him right down to the bone and he nearly falls over.
"Poor baby," Brad laughs softly, sprawled open amongst the sheets. "Has it been that long?"
Adam snorts. "You should know, honey, you were there."
Brad gives him a wide-eyed look, sitting half-up on the bed. "What? You... was I the last...?"
"No!" Adam says, blushing hard. "No, of course not. I dated someone, remember?"
Brad sits back again. "Thank Jesus. You had me worried."
There's more Adam could say - about how sex ever since has been good, but hasn't had the time to get really great, and that this one-off throwaway with Brad was as satisfying as the best sex Adam's had since they broke up - but he'd rather not push his luck. He slides off the bed and stretches his arms up to the ceiling, feels his back crack gloriously. When he drops his arms, Brad's peering at him suspiciously.
"Come on. Spit it out."
"...What?"
"Don't try to play me," Brad says, rolling his eyes. "It's just sad. I'm the one who clams up after sex, and you're the one who gets smooshy and romantic and makes me take the shower together, and I'm the one who convinces you that the talking can wait until our post-shower activities have been properly seen to. Or did you forget?"
Adam grins, holds out his hand to help Brad up. "We could just skip to that last part."
Warily, Brad allows himself to be pulled to his feet. He's close enough that they can brush together at the waist, at the hip. Still suspicious, he squints one eye almost closed. "You're bucking the natural order of things. I just want you to know that."
"I'm okay with it," Adam assures him, kissing his forehead. "Talk later. First shower, then sleep." He leads Brad into the bathroom by the hand.
"I like sleep," Brad allows, trailing along behind.
It's a quick shower, for all the big talk, and they fall into bed together like old times. Adam endures the appropriate amount of smack talk for pulling Brad against him where it's warm and soft and comfortable, not that there's a lot of smack being talked because Brad is tired, and because it's a fucking lie that he doesn't like to cuddle. His body goes warm and pliant in Adam's arms in almost no time, his hands curled in the sheets as he drifts off. Adam nuzzles against the back of his neck and thinks about the morning.
He's not really sure what he wants, in the long run. His whole life right now is a one-step-at-a-time kind of deal; Idol, week to week, the album, the insane press frenzy followed by yet more insane press frenzy. He hardly knows what he's doing tomorrow without his assistant, so whatever Big Serious Talk they're supposed to have, maybe it can just wait until later. As his eyes drift closed, Adam thinks that maybe tomorrow he'll see if he has eggs in his brand new kitchen, and try his hand at making breakfast for two. It seems like a good place to start.
