Archive of Our Own ^beta

~Adam’s POV~

If there’s one thing I’ve come to expect while on tour, it’s waking up with fucked up random crap running through my head.

Shit like random, weird song lyrics, or wondering what is that digging into my back? Then there’s who, and what, the fuck did I do last night? And okay, while ‘how much *did* we drink last night?’ and ‘where I am?’ are continuing themes, I’ve also woken up thinking about glitter-laden elephants and sleeping in a rainbow.

I leave it up to your imagination as to what I got up to the night before when it comes to that last one.

But I have never, and I do mean abso-fucking-lutely never, woken up wondering how the fuck I got exactly where I am right now.

This isn’t a direct wondering, because I’m not talking about being in the UK, on tour, and singing for my supper. Believe me when I say I remember the entire journey, even, in a vaguely abstract way, the days when I was too fucked up to remember my own name, that make up the years that brought me here.

No, what this is is me wondering how I ended up in a rumpled, fucked up and fucked on bed, completely not hung over when the thing digging into my ribs is the very pointy end of Tommy Joe Ratliff’s elbow. Yes, I remember what happened; like I said, not drunk, but that doesn’t mean I know exactly how it happened.

Except that’s not entirely true either.

Because what happened was loneliness, proximity and a healthy dose of good old-fashioned fucking lust. I’m sure there are people out there that would be surprised at what can happen when you just need to get the fuck off with somebody safe that isn’t their right hand, but I haven’t been a member of that interest group for a very, very long time.

So when push comes to shove, I can’t hide behind ignorance. I never could.

All I can do is wonder if I know so much, why the fuck am I so confused?

And is blaming Tommy for everything a viable option?

The breath I take in goes as far down into my gut as I can force it, before I’m willing myself to hold it, master it, and Tommy moans quietly as he rolls away from me, finally removing his elbow from the spot I’m sure he’s left bruised. He’s not touching me now and it’s easier to control my exhale, making sure all the redundant air and lies I’ve been conditioning myself to accept are expelled completely.

The band will go home without me tomorrow. Today. And if I’m going to survive the free fall to earth that is a finished and done with world tour, I need to be honest with at least one person.

Myself.

And what it amounts to is this, I no longer know what the fuck I’m doing with Tommy. I thought I had a handle on it, but surprise, surprise I don’t. I never did.

Me, the one that controls everything with a white-knuckle closed iron fist, is lording over nothing. Right now it’s like all I’ve got my hand wrapped around is warm, soft butter and the harder I try to hold on, the more it’s melting and slipping through my fingers.

It’d be easier to hold a handful of water and keep it safe while I was standing on my head.

Is this what my life off stage has become? Awake before dawn, bringing myself down with motherfucking bullshit musing that’s getting me absolutely nowhere?

Great.

Even with all of that running rampant through my brain, there’re good reasons why I don’t want to wake Tommy as I gently roll over to face him, but the big one is I know I’m too open right now. I don’t want him asking questions I’m afraid I’ll actually answer. Thankfully, he’s still peacefully, soundly asleep and for the first time since I woke myself up there’s a smile on my face.

Sleeping Tommy is one of the best Tommy’s to watch.

The pillows he never sleeps on are pushed hard against the headboard, though for the life of me I can’t work out how they didn’t end up on the floor. Tommy may sleep under his pillow when he’s on the bus, but he never sleeps on top of it. Instead his arm is stretched out under his head with his hand disappearing under my pillow. In Tommy’s world his bicep is more comfortable to sleep on. It’s kind of cute, and sweet, which are two words you have to pick and chose your moments to say to Tommy’s face. The rest of his body starts out laying on his side before his hips twist and he’d be showing his ass to the universe if the bedding wasn’t bunched at the small of his back covering the rest of him. I know what he’s hiding though. There are the light blue reminders of my fingerprints on his thighs, there’s a bitten bruise on his right hipbone. And there are fingernail crescents cut into his rib cage. I didn’t see them last night, it was too dark, but I know this dance and I know they’re there.

Maybe I’ll get a peek when he moves again. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway, even though it’s been a month since we started this and Tommy hasn’t let me see any of the marks I’ve left on his body yet.

I’ll just wait, he’ll move again soon. Tommy may be able to sleep anywhere but he’s never still for long unless he’s being held. Which is something I do as much as I can, which is as much as I like.

The restrictions stopping me are Tommy’s, not mine, and for the most part I’m not even sure he’s aware of the walls he’s cemented in place.

But it’s really not Tommy’s sleep habits, or his even body, I want to watch while I can.

It’s his face.

His beautiful, peace-filled, open face.

Fuck, whatever does, or doesn’t, happen from here on, Tommy Joe Ratliff will never not take my breath away. And as incredible as he is made up, it’s right now when his face is bare, weirdly innocent and just Tommy. His hair is falling over half of his face, covering one closed eye as it comes to rest on his arm pillow. The sides need shaving again and his roots need touching up, but even with these so-called flaws that I’d never allow myself to have – it suits him. Somehow, it makes him sexier for the element of tart it invokes. God knows I’d never be able to pull it off. But there are also faint bruises under his eyes, and maybe I’m as responsible for them as I am for the rest of the marks on Tommy. Not that he’ll let me know one way or the other any time soon. I wonder if he’ll shave before he leaves, because the black shading his jawbone is darker than normal but if anything it frames his mouth ways that should be illegal. It’s beautiful, all bruised and swollen, red and open, teasing, and fuck me if I don’t want to just keep it that way for as long as he’ll let me.

Right now, that wouldn’t even be just for today.

See, when Tommy Joe let’s you get to know him, he become this open book. If he doesn’t have his fan face on, every flicker of emotion is just there for the reading. He doesn’t lie, he doesn’t do bullshit. He’ll answer any question directed at him.

It’s just that this tour, it isn’t real life, nothing is real. You can’t hold it or cherish it, because tomorrow it won’t be here. I won’t be here.

And neither will Tommy.

So is he my lover? No.

He’s my relief valve. That’s what he told Isaac.

I know what’s real though. And what’s not.

I’m in love with him. So in love with him that I’m going to pretend to myself that I can let him walk away. I deal with any problem, issue, whatever, head on, facing it down and make it beg for mercy. But I can’t stand in front of one little Californian and try to stop him leaving me. I’d rather pretend than face the fact even if I leave my heart at Tommy’s feet all he’ll do is step over it and keep going.

Brad always did say I could cut off my nose to spite my face with the best of them. Sadly, Brad’s been right about entirely too many of the details that make up my life, and yet, I still can’t hate him. Believe me, I’ve fucking tried. For a while there it was my life’s ambition.

Closing my eyes, and shifting down the bed, I lay my head back down on my pillow and literally force my eyes closed. I’ll go back to sleep, I know I will. Just like I know it’s a defence mechanism. Sleep doesn’t hurt like thinking does.

Like watching Tommy does.

Tommy mumbles something as he shifts again and I don’t have to open my eyes to see how he’s moved because I can feel the knee he’s drawn up to his chest between us.

Don’t touch. Don’t get too close.

It’s too late for all of that, baby. Way too fucking late.

Five minutes later, sleep’s not coming like I’d hoped it would, my brain won’t stop thinking, it’s spinning like wheels that can’t get any traction - fast and useless, digging me deeper and deeper while shit’s going every which way above me.

Was telling the world Tommy was straight when we all knew he wasn’t the right thing to do? He never hid the fact he didn’t discriminate because of sexual organs so why did I feel the need to tell the world he did? Was the mistake in kissing him off stage as well as on? Or was it taking him into my life and then into my bed.

Yeah, fucked if I know anymore. I just know there was a mistake in there somewhere and if I was trying to save myself yet another broken heart, I did a fucking piss poor job of it.

“Adam.”

No, I don’t open my eyes, I know Tommy’s not awake.

He’d never say my name like it was a promise on a breath of wind if he was.

There’s another movement in the bed then, but I have no idea what it is this time. I don’t care what my brain is doing, I’m going back to sleep.

~*~

“Hey, sleepyhead, wake up, man.”

For the longest moment I know I don’t want to wake up, I just fucking remember why. Thinking and consciousness are severely overrated so all I do is push my face further into the gap between my pillows and the mattress.

“Adam, baby, you have to wake up. I’m leaving and you’ve got to get ready to check out as well. Remember? Me L.A., you Paris?”

Just fucking great. Yeah, I remember. I remember everything now. My early morning and everything else that just apparently came along for the ride. Thanks for that, Tommy Joe.

“Fuck off. I’m awake.”

The only answer that statement gets me is a laugh. A very loud almost snorting kind of laugh.

“Sure you are, baby, I can see that now. You want some tea?”

No, not particularly. I wanted to fucking sleep.

But “Yeah. Sure,” is actually what I mumble instead. And by the time I manage to sit upright there’s already a mug on the bedside table. I guess I missed Tommy ordering room service as well as him getting up, showering, and packing because fuck knows his clothes were all over everything last night.

The first mouthful of tea is too hot and it burns, but it gives me something to do with my mouth and my hands and yeah, I’m going to milk this for as long as I absolutely can.

Tommy gives me all of two minutes grace.

“I really do have to get moving.”

“You’ve already eaten?”

Did I miss that too?

“Nah, breakfast is your thing, babe, not mine.”

‘Babe.’ A word so very close to ‘baby’ and yet, somehow, absolutely nothing like it all at the same time.

“Okay.”

There goes the last of my tea. Thank god I’m not singing tonight.

Sitting down on what was his side of the bed, Tommy seems to find the covers over my legs a hell of a lot more interesting than he’s found my face this morning. He staring at them, like there’ll be an exam before he’s allowed to check out when I’ve barely rated a glance.

“You’ll get some time to breathe, rest, in Paris, won’t you, Adam?”

A nod is the silent answer he can’t see while I wait for my brain to supply the actual words I need.

“Yeah, I’m sure I will, after all it’s Paris, right? And if not, four shows then we’re done. That’ll be a break for all of us.”

My ever so unhelpful, still asleep brain picks that moment to wake up and ask ‘what kind of break are we talking about here?’

I wonder what Tommy would think if I suddenly took to slapping myself?

“Yeah, it will. It’ll be strange though, being able to turn around and not find one of your fucked up Glamily in my face.”

My Glamily. Not ours.

All I can do is nod again because there’s no way in hell I can come up with the words that won’t amount to open mouth insert foot.

“You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you, Adam?”

Now he’s kind of looking at…my chin.

Keep it light, Lambert. You can do this. For Tommy. He doesn’t need your smothering, this is just physical relief for him. Not the love to end all. Which, by the way, I’m not even sure it is myself, but fuck it, what I wouldn’t give for a chance to really find out.

The thing is though, even if I give everything I have, Tommy has to be there to take it.

Motherfuck, answer the man, Adam.

“I always do. You’re the one that thinks fat and grease are an essential food group, Tommy Joe, not me.”

For a second, less than even, something flirts over Tommy face, something that looks…wrong.

As in not right, but then somebody is thumping on the hotel room door.

“Tommy, move your ass, our ride is here.”

Isaac.

“I’ve got to go, Adam.”

“Yeah, you do. I’ll talk to you soon, and I’ll see you in Camden, right?”

Right?

“Where else would I be?”

Do. Not. Answer. That. Adam.

There’s another series of arrhythmic thumps against the door.

“Now, Tommy, seriously.”

“Yeah, alright, Isaac, I’m fucking coming.”

He really does have to leave.

“Go, baby, just go.”

Tommy’s off of the bed, got his bag in hand and is standing at the door before I realise it. He’s almost through the doorway before I remember how to speak.

“Let me know you’ve landed safely, please?”

I know you hate flying.

“Sure, babyboy.”

Now he calls me that. After I didn’t even warrant a kiss goodbye.

“See you in Jersey, Adam!”

“Sure Isaac…”

The door shuts behind them.

“See you then.”

Half an hour later I’m dressed, packed, done the good bye thing, had my balls busted in the silent way that only Neil could pull off, and I’m nursing a coffee I don’t want.

“Ready for Paris, Adam?”

No. Not really.

“Why on earth wouldn’t I be, Lane? City of lights and love, and, shopping from heaven? I thought you knew me better than that by now.”

She does but lets the comment slide anyway.

“Let’s go, Adam, Paris is waiting for you and your enthusiasm.”

Great. I’m glad something is, and who knows, by the time we land I might remember where I packed said enthusiasm.

But I doubt it.

~*~

~Tommy’s POV~

“For the record, Tommy, ignoring me won’t make me go away.”

Even I know the whole trapped in a flying tin can thing means there’s nowhere to go, Isaac.

“What about if I feign sleep until we land and I panic?”

My eyes don’t open and I’m refusing to turn my head towards his voice.

“Umm, nope, that won’t work either.”

Here goes my last shot at not having to talk to Isaac about this. Again.

“And if I politely ask you to leave it, and me, the fuck alone?”

“Please, you know there’s fuck all chance of that happening.”

“I had to try.”

Sooner or later something has to go my way, right?

Yeah, how about no.

“Speaking of you being trying, did you talk to Adam?”

I really am exhausted and frustrated enough that I should keep my mouth shut, but it’s Isaac and we’ve danced this set once or twice already since he came on board the train to glitter town.

“No, I got up and walked out of his room without saying a word.”

I don’t have to be psychic and I don’t have to be looking at him to know that Isaac is rolling his eyes right now and contemplating strangling me.

“Fuck man, you are not Neil and sarcasm does not become you, try remembering that in future, yeah? But right now, how about you make this whole conversation a lot more painless for both of us - because not having it is not an option available to you at the moment – stop stalling and just answer the fucking question you know I’m asking.”

“Why? What difference does it make to you?”

Everybody, including me, wants to make sure Adam’s okay, has what he needs, all that happy, sparkly shit. What does it matter to anybody if I tried to tell Adam I want more of him. Or if that’s not on the menu, then it’ll have to be less of him.

“You are still fucking stalling, Ratliff. But just so you can see how it’s done, I’ll answer your question, then it’ll be your turn.”

It’s not half obvious that both Isaac and me have spent too much time around Neil lately, is it? I’m not rolling my eyes though; they’re still closed and facing forward.

“It makes a difference to me, Tommy Joe, because you have become my friend, a good friend. And just once, I’d like to see you actually fucking happy.”

That’s kind of what I’d like to see too.

“No, I didn’t speak to Adam. He slept through my alarm, and the wake up call and everything else that came after both of those. He was barely awake when you started to cave his door in.”

“That’s twice now you’ve done that - referred to the hotel room as ‘his’ not ‘ours’.”

This time I do turn my head, away from Isaac, and open my eyes enough that I can stare at the closed blind over the tiny, redundant window. I can’t focus, but that’s okay. It’s not like I want to see anything anyway.

“Tommy?”

“There’s no ulterior, subliminal motive here, man, it was Adam’s room. I was booked to bunk in with you.”

“Please, you haven’t seen the inside of any of ‘our’ rooms in about six stops.”

Maybe I should have. Maybe getting up and going back to my cold bed in Isaac’s room would have made this morning easier. God knows there’s not a lot that could have made it any fucking harder.

“That doesn’t matter, Isaac. Those rooms were booked for Adam Lambert, not Adam Lambert and guest.”

Or maybe they were, and if so, I really don’t want to fucking know.

The hand on my jaw startles me and my eyes are wide open by the time Isaac has shifted my face towards his. He doesn’t normally grab, or force, Isaac’s not Adam, he’s gentle, sweet. Married. Safe. Adam’s…different. He’s gentle has a thread of steel through it, his sweet is laced authority. And it’s not that I don’t feel safe with Adam, it’s just he’d be a better haven if I knew that refuge would still be there tomorrow. No, Isaac’s not Adam and I’ve got a right to be surprised that I feel like Adam’s a little closer than he was five minutes ago.

“What the fuck is going on in your head? Where is all this ‘I’m not worthy’ shit coming from? Because if this is what Adam does to you, Tommy, get the fuck out of whatever this is, now.”

Over Isaac’s shoulder I can see we’ve got an audience. Fuck. Neil isn’t even pretending not to stare at the both of us. Though the stare is more a glare with very sharp daggers. Thank god we both remembered to keep our voices down. Yeah, I know this’ll get reported back to Adam, but it’d be worse is there was audio with Neil’s visuals.

“Isaac, please, let go?”

“No.”

“Isaac…Neil.”

Well, he lets go of my face, but grabs both of my hands and holds them tight where Neil can’t see.

“Ignore Neil and fucking talk to me.”

All I can do is collapse back into my seat, close my eyes and squeeze Isaac’s hand.

“I haven’t tried to talk to Adam because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be saying. In, what? Two weeks? He’ll be back in the midst of his other family, the one that came before all of us, well, except Monte. There’s been no mention of anything past the last four shows, Isaac, and I’m sorry I can’t bring myself to ask him if he’ll still want a slightly used bed warmer when he could have the choice of every fucking twink in Hollywood. Hell, we all know there’s more than a slight possibility he’ll end up back with Brad. This might be my first big tour but I’ve been around the music industry enough in one way or another to know what happens in this fishbowl environment isn’t real, and I was available and safe.”

Not to mention easy. A whole fucking lot of easy.

“What am I supposed to say, Isaac? Take a chance on the guy with a romantic track record that resembles road kill?”

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to give him some kind of hint it’s what you want before he says anything?”

That makes me smile more than it should. Just the thought of Adam waiting for anything from anyone. Yeah, right.

“Somehow, I doubt it. In case you haven’t noticed, our boss is his own force of nature; his waiting days are long since done with. And…and I’m not sure it is what I want. There’s this fucking huge part of me that hopes I’ll get home and wake up one morning wondering how the hell I ever convinced myself I was in love with Adam Lambert.”

“You really think that’s going to happen, Tommy, honestly?”

No.

“I don’t know, Isaac, I just don’t know and that’s the fucking problem.”

Or one of them. Because what happens when I do know and Adam just doesn’t give a fuck? Maybe Brad can do the whole ex lovers, best friends thing, but I’m never going to be Bradley Bell and I would rather cut straight to nothing than be on the receiving end of something designed to let me down me gently but in the end still leaves me sitting on my ass holding sweet fuck all.

“Tommy…”

“Don’t, Isaac, please. I’ll be okay, it’ll be okay. Let’s just get through the last shows and, I don’t fucking know, maybe Adam will get another one of his signs. But one thing I do know is that any decision made now is bound to blow up in my fucking face.”

“Okay, I’ll drop it, on one condition. If you fucking need to talk, you call me.”

“Fair enough.”

Both of us know I won’t call, at least not to talk about Adam. I’m still beyond grateful though that for the whole flight home Isaac’s always got hold of at least one of my hands.

~*~

~Adam’s POV~

It’s been almost two weeks since I set foot on a stage, and if anything I’m more exhausted now than I was before I went to Paris. Keeping up appearances has become hard fucking work and I need a break.

So of course the universe had to throw a delayed flight at me, just to tweak my mood into something that would probably scare Neil. I love my life, but at the moment all I want to do is trade it in for my very own bed.

Nothing that happened in Paris took Tommy from my mind completely. I’m not going to lie, I was pleasantly distracted at times but in the haze of waking up, there was always a handful of seconds of sheer panic. Why wasn’t the hair on the pillow beside me blonde?

Right now though I have to find my Christmas spirit, and hello, Jewish here, I think I packed in the bottom of my bag with my boots and dirty underwear.

I probably should have packed my temper in there with everything that’s that dirty, nasty and stinks but it reminds me of Neil and I’ve grown fond of it over the last couple of weeks. You know, that time frame where the only contact I’ve had from Tommy was a text to tell me he was home safe – Home and passing out now – and wasn’t that just so incredibly personal and meaningful? The tweet to congratulate me for the Grammy nomination was…public. Very, very public. I would have preferred to actually hear Tommy tell me he was proud of me, you know, with words and a phone and a voice.

There’s a voice in my head that sounds way too like Brad for my liking, and my sanity, telling me I could have called Tommy, phones work both ways.

I tried doing exactly that after one particularly bitchy argument with myself, only to hang up before the call connected.

I know what I’m like in full diva mode and I would have created a mess Neil’s grandchildren would have been cleaning up after. Can you imagine that? ‘Look what Uncle Adam left you in the will kids!’

No, this…conversation, discussion, full blown argument has to be done face to face. And in case it all turns into the clusterfuck to end all clusterfuck’s, it has to be done when we don’t have another show hanging over our heads. There has to be an out. For both of us.

That is if it gets done at all and I’m not entirely sure it will be. Okay, I’m almost positive it won’t be, despite what the voice in my head is saying.

Okay, people it’s time to find my game face, smile and be Christmassy.

I wonder how much Christmas spirit is in a bottle of gin?

~*~

It’s done. I’ve sung, I’ve read, I’ve smiled and I’ve made so much nice I’m fucking swimming in it. I’m tired, still more than a little pissy and for five minutes I just want to sit down and have a drink with my friends. Because I’m out of here again tomorrow and they’ll be on their merry way again for another few days without me.

That’s it, I’ve made a resolution. It’s a little early, but I can work with that. I’m not thinking about Tommy and whatever this…thing is between us until after L.A. It can just bubble away over there out of sight out of mind and there’s nothing Brain Brad can do about it.

My decision lasts right up until I open the door to my room and find everybody already there. With Tommy and Isaac separated off, by themselves, having a conversation that clearly they don’t want anyone else participating in.

That’s got to be the quickest broken non new year’s resolution in the history of pretty much anything.

Smile Adam, make some more nice, keep swimming so you won’t drown.

Great, now I’m fucking Dory? Why can I be Bruce?

Thankfully by the time Cam hands me a drink and I’m finally sitting down Tommy and Isaac have rejoined the fold. Now I know it’s all fucked and not even close to being what it’s meant to be, but right now everybody is letting me pretend it is and that’s just going to have to be enough. Okay, right now, in this moment, it is enough. This is my Glamily and a few hours of talking, laughing and drinking with them is exactly what I need.

We’re all hyped about going home and we’re all crashing to earth because it’s almost over.

At some point during the night Tommy ends up on the floor, sitting at Monte’s feet while Isaac spreads out, taking over the vacated space on the sofa. Monte, bless him, decides that Tommy needs to have the crap annoyed out of him so with a muttered ‘fuck off, fucker’ Tommy moves again until he’s at my feet. He’s being so fucking careful not to touch me and all I really want to do is tell him it doesn’t matter, whether he’s in contact with me or not every molecule in my being knows exactly where he as and wants to reach for him.

Beneath Tommy’s smile and the make-up he didn’t get around to removing because god knows what was more important, Tommy looks…tired and worn like something has rubbed him raw in places that nobody can see. Despite the mask of correction Tommy has managed to put on by shaving his head and his face, having the roots of his hair touched up as much as he ever does, and letting Sutan do his make-up it doesn’t cover underlying grey eating Tommy whole, not if you look close enough. Really look.

I always *really* look at Tommy Joe Ratliff.

Is all the colour leeching from Tommy my fault? Did I do that?

No, there won’t be any talking tonight, or after any of the shows we have left. Tommy needs space before that happens. And I need to make Tommy happy the only way I can.

But even with all of that, it’s still fucking hurting not to touch him. All I want to do is find an inch of skin and feel its warmth beneath my fingertips.

From the second I knew his name, Tommy Joe Ratliff has drawn me in and teased me into wanting to know more. This is not how it normally works for me; I’m far more used to being the sun, not the satellite.

It’d be hilarious how nothing had followed my normal pattern of involvement with Tommy Joe if it was actually funny.

Believe me, it’s not.

Could somebody please tell me what the fuck I’m doing? I’ll take a clue if that’s all you’ve got. Fuck, I’d take a game of charades if it comes to down to the wire.

“Adam?”

Oh yeah, the tone in Monte’s voice tells me that isn’t the first time somebody’s said my name and when I blink every head in the room is turned toward me. Well, every one bar you know who.

“Sorry, I zoned out. What did I miss?”

But it’s Cam that answers, not Monte.

“Us saying goodnight and getting ready to leave. You’re exhausted.”

People are on their feet, no, just no.

“Hey, no. You, sit.”

Yeah, I’m pointing at Monte who just laughs before leaning down to cup the back of my head and kiss my forehead.

“Cam’s right, Adam, you missed a whole conversation about Tommy wanting to borrow Bieber’s hairdryer and that’s just not like you. Get some sleep, adjust back to this country’s time zone and we’ll all see you in a couple of days where we can get one last corporate thing done before kissing this tour goodbye in style.”

“No. Stay, please.”

A smile is my only answer, and another goodnight kiss on the cheek. In less than a minute everybody is gone except Tommy and the only reason he’s still here is that when he stood up to leave, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out for his arm and I am not letting go. What can I say, my stubbornness is legendary. Which makes it the exact opposite of a secret.

Isaac was the last person out the door and he shut it behind him, but not before he had some silent conversation with my Tommy that I really didn’t appreciate being left out of.

Would they let me in on their secret if I asked nicely? Yeah, I don’t think so either.

I know Tommy needs a break away from me, what I need though before that is him with me, alone, even if all we do is watch television, so let’s see if my second attempt at this works any better than the original. But first I have to make myself let go of him, there’s no stoping my fingers from trailing down his arm to the hand I so desperately want to take hold of.

“Stay? Please?”

The break in my voice wasn’t mean to be there. Really, it wasn’t.

“Adam…”

Tommy looks at the door, then at me before his eyes finally fall to floor.

I can force this to go my way, can’t I? One tiny little push in the right direction, my direction, and I can have Tommy in my bed tonight.

That totally explains why I’m stepping back so fast I actually fall over my own fucking feet and land on my ass. I’m sure it’ll hurt tomorrow but tonight is already being swallowed by another kind of pain.

I don’t want to have to fucking push and I don’t want just one goddamn fucking night.

Tommy’s looking at me like I suddenly turned into Neil, and, I guess that’s fair because my brother is a lot of things but graceful is exactly none of them.

“Adam? You okay?”

There’s no offer hand to help me up though.

“Yeah.”

No.

“I’m just…tired.”

And it’s the truth, all of a sudden I’m fucking wiped. But unlike everybody else, I know it’s got nothing to do with a transatlantic flight.

“I should go.”

Tommy’s not moving, but I can change that. Watch me.

“I’m sorry, but yeah, you probably should. I’ll be more together in a couple of days.”

How I’ll make that happen I have no fucking idea, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve pulled that particular rabbit out of thin air. I’m going to make guess at the first step being getting my ass off the floor.

And there’s Tommy’s step towards the door I knew was coming. Another one of those not funny at all things is how knowing it was coming doesn’t stop it from feeling like Tommy’s ripping hunks of my flesh from my bones to take with him.

“I’ll see you in Florida?”

“Of course, baby, I’m the boss. I’ve got to be there with bells on.”

“Not to mention feathers and glitter and you’ll look like one of the really gay muppets from Avenue Q threw up on you.”

I saw the flinch at the first part of my statement, but if Tommy’s going to ignore it, so am I.

“That I will.”

Tommy’s at the door now, and I’ve managed to sit myself upright on the sofa.

“Night, Adam.”

“Good night, Tommy Joe.”

So formal, so polite, so not even fucking close to us being ourselves.

The door is almost shut and I can’t see Tommy at all when he whispers ‘Take care of yourself, babyboy’ and then he’s just…gone.

I’m alone, and I don’t want to be so this is me doing the one thing I’ve always done when I feel like this. Picking up my phone, pressing speed dial number three…before waiting for Brad to answer.

“You are without a doubt the last person I expected to hear from tonight, doll. What’s wrong?”

That’s Brad, he doesn’t even like beating around bushes.

“Nothing’s wrong, can’t I just call you to say ‘hi’?”

“Oh you could, and you do, but would you being doing that tonight, after a show when you’d normally have a room full of band mates? No. But you are doing exactly that, which means you’re alone and you don’t want to be. So, get yourself a glass of wine, get comfortable on your bed with the lights out and tell Uncle Bradley was the fuck has your feathers in a furore.”

Ever tried laughing and choking all at once? It fucking hurts!

“Uncle Bradley?”

“For once in your life, you domineering bastard, let it all go without an argument and just do what you’re told or I’m hanging up on you.”

Two minutes later I’m lying on my bed in the dark, dressed in sleep pants and nursing a glass of wine.

The bottle’s on my bedside table, but it’s the dark that makes the talking easier, just like Brad knew it would.

“I’ve been sleeping with Tommy.”

“What’s that Anderson? You have another news flash? Water’s wet and I’m a diva bitch? Oh my giddy aunt, really?”

People think Neil’s dry, sarcastic and completely without tact. They’re absolutely right of course, but what they don’t realise is he learnt way too fucking much on how to execute those talents from Brad.

And I’ve got nobody but myself to blame.

“You know there are other people I can talk to about this.”

“No, sweetheart, there aren’t. Otherwise they’d be on the phone right now and I’d be watching Ed Westwick pretend he can act. Sure there’s Danielle, or Ali but they don’t have my point of view, do they? And no matter how many of Drake’s art shows you turn up at you are never going to call him up and ask him how the fuck you make somebody that’s already crazy about you love you.”

“I hate you.”

“We’ve worked long and hard for us to have this kind of mutual hate, Adam.”

Yeah, we have. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we’d worked half as hard at being lovers as we’ve had to at being friends. But friends is good and having somebody that knows me inside and out is fucking awesome.

“He’s not crazy about me by the way.”

My wine glass is empty, how the hell did that happen?

“I’m sorry, have the solar flares from our depleted ozone layer fried your fucking brain while you’ve been jetting around the planet being a rockstar? Adam, I know what the ‘I’m in love with Adam Lambert’ face looks like and your kitty has been trying it on for months.”

As I pour another glass of red I can’t help but wonder if I’ll actually taste it this time. It’s meant to be a good year.

“Okay, so what if he has? That doesn’t mean it’s real. It means I’m here and he’s here and hooking up with each other is safer than trying to find a fuck that won’t sell their soul for five minutes of twitter fame.”

“Fuck me, cupcake, did you really just say all of that? More than most people I understand that you live in a house with glass walls and a shitload of rocks being thrown at you, but does that mean that nothing in your world is real? Do you really believe what’s around you is nothing but mirrors and glitter? How can you, of all people, live like that? Adam, you see the good in everybody, you love and nurture to the point where if your cock wasn’t so damn obvious I’d be looking for a vagina. How can you not see what’s all over Tommy’s face? Have you even looked at him, really looked at him, in the last couple of months?”

Brad goes quiet, but I know he’s only drawing a breath. Or downing a drink. There’s no way in hell he’s done yet.

“I don’t know what you expected me to say to you, baby, am I meant to agree with your fucked up theory and tell you it’s all make believe? Because I have no doubts huge fucking parts of it are. But I am just as sure one small blonde isn’t. Open up your goddamn eyes, Adam Lambert.”

“How can I? What I might, or might not, see scares the fuck out of me!”

Brad’s sigh is loud in my ear and the face that goes along with that sound is so clear in my mind’s eye. How can he think I can’t see Tommy just as clearly?

“Fear is how we know we’re not dead, baby. Fear can give us the worst of our lives, but it can also drag the best along in its wake as well. I’m going to hang up now, because I am not the person you need to be talking to and neither is Danielle, or Scarlett, or Monte or Cassidy or fucking Neil. You are not an idiot, you know what you have to do, but remember how five minutes ago we reminded each other how hard we’d had to work to hate each other like this? How much more work do you think loving somebody takes?”

“It…you…that was easy.”

“Maybe we both let it be easy. We’re not together anymore, Adam, that should be your first clue that we should have made it harder from time to time.”

Fuck, now I’m ripping open Brad as well as making myself bleed for reasons that if you listen to Brad are all in my head.

“Hang up, Brad. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

The next thing I hear is the dial tone.

That didn’t help at all. Brad doesn’t know what this is like, how can he? The merry-go-round we rode was nothing compared to this tilt-a-whirl.

Brad doesn’t know what life is like inside that glass house, how even if you duck in time there’s still a chance you’ll end up digging shards of glass out of your soul.

He doesn’t know, and I do.

When I wake up the wine bottle is empty and I still have no fucking idea what the alcohol inside of it tasted like.

~*~

~Tommy’s POV~

Isaac doesn’t bat an eyelid when I walk into our room all of ten minutes after he did. He might have been expecting to see me back here tonight, but I doubt it was quite this early.

Except that when he turns around completely from where he was standing in front of the minibar he has two beers in his hand so I guess I could be wrong with my previous assumption.

Grabbing one of the beers from him, I give my best shot at smiling before walking out into the night to sit on the window ledge they call a balcony. Isaac’s right behind me, but thank god he knows me well enough to say nothing.

I’m not up for words just yet.

By the time my beer is gone I’m leaning against the building, staring into the dark and wondering if there’s something out there in the night that has my answers and won’t hand them over.

“I really don’t wanna quit working with this band, you know?”

That’s not as left field as it seems, at least it’s not to me, Isaac might have a different take on it.

“I get that. Not the quitting thing, but wanting to keep working with this group. But I’m not sure I’ll be back, or stay, or whatever, whether Longineu will be back in the fold or if Adam will go with somebody else entirely.”

Fuck, I hadn’t thought about any of that.

“I guess when you get down to bare assed facts, the only sure bet is Monte will be there…as long as Madonna doesn’t decide to tour again first.”

“I dunno, Tommy, the rest of us would call you a safe bet.”

“If I don’t quit.”

“If you don’t quit.”

I could really go for another drink or ten, but I can’t make myself move.

Before I can stop myself, I’m opening my mouth and saying the one thing I’ve kept to myself.

“My life was fucking boring before Adam, but it was simpler, and I fucking miss simple.”

Adam ties everything in knots. My life, my music, myself. It’s all so fucking tangled up that even if I do walk away from Adam he’ll take the roses and all I’ll be left with are scars from the thorns left like brands in my skin.

“Whatever happens I doubt you’ll ever get simple back, man, but the two of you don’t have to make shit as complicated as you do either. Because of who Adam is I can’t tell you that your happy ever after will arrive on a white horse as soon as the ‘I love you’s’ are said. But if neither of you say the words, and if you never actually decide to be together and really work for it I can fucking guarantee neither of you will ever have a one hundred percent of anything with anybody because some grain of your being will always be wondering about Adam, and about Tommy.”

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

“You keep saying that, Tommy, that you don’t know what you want, who you want or how you want it. If the big gay love is how you want to live your life. Bull-fucking-shit. How about you stop lying to me, and, most of all, to yourself. You fucking know who you want and you know its Adam. The gay, the butt fucking, all of it is irrelevant because its Adam and I know you, you don’t care about packaging you care about Adam. I’ll tell you one other thing while you’re in the mood for listening or quietly ignoring me, a relationship with anybody takes work and words. Ask Sophie, ask Lisa, ask Monte. All of us work to keep what we have because we know what we have and we also know we’d be a whole lot less than we are now if we lost it.”

There’s a hand on my leg now, squeezing gently to try as Isaac tries to take the heat away from his words. Or tries to push those same words into my soul so I remember them three days from now.

“Talk to Adam, Tommy, lay it all on the line. For whatever it’s worth, I don’t think you’ll be left swinging, but if you are…then you can walk away if you need to. I get that you’re scared, and that if Adam tells you to fuck off it’ll hurt like nothing you’ve ever known before, but there’ll never be a ‘what if’ ghosting around your brain and that alone will keep you looking forward not wondering what’s dancing around behind you.”

Whatever happens, I’m always going to want to know where Adam is dancing. I’ve accepted that but it’s nobody’s business but my own.

Not even Adam.

The night’s not going to get any darker, but I’m used to the city keeping my world in perpetual dusk, and I know now that my answers aren’t out there. No, they’re the same place they’ve always been, sitting here right here and in a suite a couple floors above me.

I think I’m going to stay out here tonight.

“I’m going to bed, Tommy, try to get some sleep at some point, yeah?”

“I will.”

“You lie so pretty, Tommy Joe.”

Fuck, Isaac sounded so much like Adam then. Too much like Adam.

Pushing himself upright, Isaac grabs my empty bottle of beer. Before he heads back inside he kisses the top of my head and strokes his hand over my hair, just once.

‘I’m here if you need me’ is what he’s saying.

Again.

Yes, I should move, but I don’t. And I know I have to talk to Adam, but not tonight. Not when I have what might turn out to be the three last shows I might ever get with the people that have become *my* family ahead of me. There’ll be plenty of time to fuck everything all to hell after we get those shows done with.

So I sit, trying not to think at all while I watch the nighttime twilight turn into dawn.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen the sun rise from this point of view, but it’s the first time in a very fucking long time I’ve done it sober.

~*~

All in all, I’m weirdly, and somewhat sadly, proud of myself. I made it through the Florida thing. I’m sorry, but in Adam’s universe four songs isn’t any kind of show anymore.

So that just leaves tonight and tomorrow to battle through. Tonight’s more cakewalk than war though. This place is crawling with Adam’s family, blood or otherwise, and I am perfectly happy with being the last person he’s going to have five minutes for.

And all I have to deal with is what always happens on stage.

At some point in the last six months everything that happens while there are laser lights shining on Adam’s eighteen tons of glitter became…routine isn’t the right word, I just don’t know exactly what is. I’m not saying it doesn’t get to me, I’m not dead yet, but I can disconnect myself from it enough that remembering it’s a job, all part of the performance, isn’t as impossible as it used to be.

Practice really does make perfect.

“You ready for this, Tommy Joe?”

Somebody as large and loud as Adam in full Voodoo get-up should not be able to sneak up on anybody.

“It’s just another show to me, Adam. You’re the one seeing signs and circles of life. I’m expecting to walk into Elton John riding a sequined lion any minute now.”

I’m not trying to be a bitch, but even I can hear the tone in my voice that informs me I’m succeeding anyway.

“Tonight is important to me, Tommy.”

Well hello there guilt, thank you for gracing me with your presence.

“I know, Adam, but the last six years belong to you and Monte. He’s the one that completely gets all of what this means to you, I can’t reflect on a memory I don’t have.”

Or there’s Brad. He’s been along for the whole ride.

I’m not even sure I’ll be around six days from now, let alone six years.

“I guess I should go find Monte then.”

All I can do is nod in answer. Then I’m changing my mind when Adam’s taken two steps away from me. Reaching out, I don’t grab his arm, but am I am touching him off stage for the first time in London.

“I didn’t know you back then, but I know you now and you’re going to leave everybody out there with wet, uncomfortable underwear and in need of a cigarette. I’ll see you on stage, baby.”

Any other time there would have been a kiss punctuating the end of that sentence, but not tonight. I just couldn’t let Adam go on thinking I’m not proud of him.

I am. And whatever happens I always will be.

I just don’t think I’m going to have a front row seat on this crazy train for much longer, that’s all.

~*~

It’s done, it’s finished, there’s only one more to go and I really need to get the fuck out of here. I love this band and Adam’s friends as much as the next guy, unless the next guy is Monte or Neil, but I can’t breathe properly with them all around me and I’m just not up to having the ‘talk’ with Isaac for the who-the-fuck-knows-how-many-nth time.

God, I miss Mia.

So it’s time to kiss Leila goodbye, shake Eber’s hand and get the fuck out of Dodge.

I’ll text Adam later. Like tomorrow later.

Fifteen minutes later I’m all of ten seconds from freedom and…

“Let me walk you to your escape pod, Tommy Joe.”

And I guess my planets are just fucking destined to never align quite right. On a list of things I cannot do tonight, which is a very long and complicated list, Brad Bell is in the top three.

Wanna guess whose hand is resting on my forearm right now?

“Brad-“

“I know, I’m the second to last person you want to talk tonight, but talk to me you will. Because if you don’t, well let’s just say I can make my voice pitch high enough that everybody within a ten mile radius will know you’re doing a really bad job of sneaking out the door.”

Just fucking great.

“I’ve got a cab waiting.”

“Then start walking, pussycat.”

I really don’t like it when he calls me that, and the fucker knows it. Which is why he keeps resurrecting his version of Adam’s pet name for me every fucking time he sees me.

Pet name.

Yeah, the irony isn’t lost on me either.

The night’s a shade of fresh that has me pulling the hood of my top over my head then tucking my hands into my pockets. I’m not going to asking Brad what’s on his mind, I am refusing to give him any kind of in whatsoever. As soon as my ride’s here, I’m gone, whether Brad’s done with whatever he wants to say or not.

“You’re very good at ignoring people, aren’t you, Tommy Joe?”

“If you say so.”

Not really, but I am good at making it look like I am.

Fuck it, the cab’s not here.

“It’s a good thing I learnt about out-stubborning people from the master, isn’t it?”

Adam’s not that stubborn, or at least not as much as he thinks he is. His heart is too big and too soft for him to ignore anybody long enough to sting them.

“What the fuck ever, Brad.”

I should have called Dave or Mike to come pick me up, and I would have, if it wouldn’t’ve meant a game of twenty questions as to why I was bailing on the party to end whatever it is that we’re ending.

“Okay, Tommy, this is all fun and everything, but there are people inside that I actually do want to spend some time with, so how about you man up and look at me while I’m speaking to you.”

Tonight is really running with the whole irony theme, isn’t it?

As I meet Brad’s eyes I know the look on my face is three parts hostility and one part fuck off. Ask me if I care.

“Most people could take the hint of leave me the fuck alone, Brad.”

“Most people being Adam?”

Okay, that’s it, line crossed, I’ve had enough.

“Brad, believe me when I say you are the last fucking person on earth I want to talk to about anything even vaguely Adam related, but I get it. You know him best, you loved him first, you’re the one he’ll always end up back with, blah, blah motherfucking blah. Just say whatever it is you think you have to say so I can fucking ignore it and then you’ll be able to pat Adam on the hand and tell him you tried.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Tommy Joe?”

I see headlights, please let that be my ride.

“Stop fucking calling me that! My name is Tommy.”

The lights are coming closer. Please, just fucking for once, please.

“Okay, *Tommy*, I have no idea what you’re talking about so I’m just going to say what I want to say and hope it gets through that Valley Boy head of yours. Actually, no, I’m going to say one other thing first: Adam and I are not getting back together, ever. It’s done and gone and I will not fuck up a fantastic friendship for a fantastic fuck ever again.”

Great. Thanks for the reminder that you know exactly how good in bed Adam is. I needed that.

Not.

Brad is apparently waiting for me to say something, which isn’t going to happen, and when he finally realises that, he keeps going.

“You and Adam both need to pull your heads out of your ass and talk to each other. With words and sentences and your clothes still fucking on. I may have loved him first, Tommy, but it’s you that can love him best. And last. That’s the winning position, sweetheart, not the place I took.”

“Are you finished?”

It was my cab and now it’s waiting for me.

“Yeah, you stupid fucking ignorant, I’m finished.”

I didn’t say good night to Adam, and I’m not going to fucking say it to Brad. Ignoring him completely, I climb in, giving the driver the address of the hotel room I’ve got booked for the night.

Up until just now I didn’t realise how delusional Brad was.

But then I didn’t realise how much he still loves Adam either so that shows you how much I’ll never know, doesn’t it?

~*~

~Adam’s POV~

Up until now I didn’t realise it was possible to be this tired. Sure, I’ve performing for years, but it’s never been my show, my ass on the line; it’s never been all about me.

And, somewhat weirdly, that’s not as much as fun as I thought it would be, not when you’re too exhausted to see straight. I need a break, and I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do when just a few hours from now it’s all over with.

Tommy just walked out last night. Oh, I’m sorry, he said good night to my parents and then walked out. He’s not at his place, he’s not answering his phone and I do believe Brad called him a pissy-assed prat last night. I would have asked what Brad meant by that, but then I would have been afraid he might have told me and of all the things I learnt when I was with Brad, one of the main ones was sometimes not knowing is the best thing ever.

He has to turn up tonight though. If nothing else, and I do mean *nothing else*, Tommy has to see me one last time.

I missed him last night. Yes, Tommy’s met everybody before, but I wanted them to get to know him some more, and maybe see a little of the something I see in him. I would have liked to have seen his face when he felt Scarlett’s baby kick, held his hand and then fallen asleep holding him.

Instead I got a text this morning that said a whole lot of nothing.

‘Sorry about running out.’

No, you weren’t, Tommy Joe.

‘I just needed some me time.’

Closer to the truth, but more than likely still bullshit.

‘See you tonite.’

See, not talk to. He’ll see me tonight.

Probably from across the fucking stage as he waves and walks out again.

“Adam?”

Monte. I don’t have to find my game face for Monte. I can’t help but wonder if I look as old as I feel when I turn around to face him though.

“Hey, Monte.”

“You okay?”

Well, that answers that unasked question, doesn’t it?

“Which one of us are you asking?”

“My friend.”

I knew Monte would understand.

“Then no, I’m not.”

“And there’s nothing I can do.”

Monte’s answer isn’t a question, he already knows. He may be my complete opposite in so many ways, but Monte knows me. I’m really not sure what I would have done without him on this carnival ride.

It’s time for a change of topic though.

“Everybody here?”

Okay, that wasn’t quite the topic change I thought it would be.

“Yeah, all heads are accounted for. Sutan’s looking for you though.”

For the life of me, I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t be looking for me here, sitting in the blacked out back row of the venue.

“Then I guess I’d better go find him, hadn’t I?”

Standing up, I follow Monte back into the light. If Sutan wants me, he gets me. I learnt a very long time ago it’s never a good idea to piss off the guy responsible for making you beautiful. You never know where he’ll end up sticking rhinestones.

~*~

That’s it. It’s over with - done, finished and any other adjective you can think of that means the end has arrived.

There have been drinks, hugs, tears and now there’s just…nothing.

Monte’s gone home to his beautiful family and I probably owe Lisa a month’s worth of babysitting for keeping him gone so long. Yeah, I know she doesn’t mind, music is Monte’s other love and all that, but it won’t hurt Uncle Adam to step up here and there, giving her and Monte some alone time.

Isaac’s gone home to his wife too.

Cam, Taylor, fuck, everybody, they’re not here.

I really don’t think I like tours ending when there’s no next beginning in sight. I also think I’m exhausted and half way to fucking drunk because I forgot to eat so I’m just going to reserve the right to be horrified at my pitiful self tomorrow.

Sadly, I’m not a forgetful drunk.

Tommy was here.

And Tommy left with Isaac.

I could learn to hate Isaac if he didn’t have Sophie. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding, Isaac does have Sophie and I still hate him just a little. Tommy talks to him, they hold conversations and everything. I miss talking to Tommy, I miss just being there with him, bitching about watching Frankenstein’s Redneck Sister Bride. The trick was always not to bitch too much, because while Tommy was engrossed in watching blood spurt four feet into the air I could watch him. He’d smile and laugh and yes, I miss all of that as well.

Okay, it is now time to get shitfaced drunk all by myself so I can at least blame the alcohol for bringing me down.

The knock at the door derails that train of thought, though. People can’t just walk up to my house…and if that’s Taylor I’m going to have to ask my neighbours to borrow their pool just so I can drown him in it.

But the door’s not locked and surely Taylor would walk right in? Surely everybody I know would?

Wouldn’t they?

Do stalkers bother to announce their arrival?

Oh for fuck’s sake, Adam, just open the damn door.

“T-tommy?”

Black clothes, blonde hair, short and not meeting my eyes? Yeah, it’s Tommy, but what the actual fuck?

“What’s wrong? Why are you knocking? Fuck, baby, c’mon inside.”

Yes, I ask questions without giving the other person time to answer them all the fucking time. It drives Neil insane. Which isn’t the reason I do it, but it does fall into the added bonus category.

Without saying a word, much less attempting to answer my stupid questions, Tommy steps inside, then past me before waiting for me to close the door and my mouth.

“You left.”

No, really, Adam?

“Yeah, I did.”

“And you’re back here because why? I have better wine than you and you couldn’t pick a decent red from a liquor store if my life depended on it?”

“No.”

We probably should move this from the hallway, shouldn’t we?

This is both of us not moving.

“Tommy, I love you, but you’re going to have to give me more to work with than one to three word answers.”

“Do you? Really?”

“Really what?”

Please God, I don’t want to read everybody’s mind, just Tommy Joe’s.

“Do you love me?”

Now he looks at me, nails me with a stare that…lasts all of two seconds. Fuck.

“Okay, we need to not be standing at my front door for this conversation.”

Grabbing Tommy’s hand, I tug just enough that he follows me back to the living room, then outside onto the deck. I like it out here, the cool night air, the lights of Los Angeles. When Tommy’s sitting beside me on the overstuff rattan sofa, studying the denim covering his leg, I finally let go of his hand.

Who starts a conversation like this?

Apparently the answer is Tommy, because he grabs at my hand again, knotting his fingers with mine and finally, *finally* looks at me.

“For weeks now, Isaac has been telling me to talk to you, tell you…everything. Last night Brad took it upon himself to, yeah, I still don’t fucking know what he thought he was doing, but somewhere in his bitchy ranting was the whole talk to you thing again. So I’m going to talk and I need you to just listen. To not fucking butt in no matter how import you think the point you just have to make is, can you do that?”

Probably not, but if you think I’m going to do anything other than nod, well, you haven’t been paying attention.

I am paying the most careful attention that I have ever paid to anything.

“Here’s the thing, I think I’m in love with you.”

He’s one sentence in and I can already taste blood. Why only think? Why can’t I tell you I love you too? Wouldn’t it help to know that?

Somehow I stay silent. God, I deserve a reward after this. A big one. Maybe even Tommy Joe himself.

“You know the whole Tommy’s straight thing has always been bullshit, but it helped you that the public believed it was all performance art and I would never have done anything that meant you’d cop more fucking shit. So we went the whole fan service, straight boy song and dance routine. But here’s the thing, Adam, I can’t dance. What happens on stage is different to what happens when it’s just you, me and a horizontal surface, but I can’t separate it. It’s all connected to me, all parts of us. I see my Adam in everything you…we do. And I don’t know if it’s the same for you or if I really am just a easy fuck for you.”

“Absolutely fucking not!”

There’s no way on earth I could let that slide.

Tommy lets himself almost smile, like he knew I wouldn’t be able to stay quiet all along.

“There’s more that I don’t know, Adam, just keep biting your tongue for a bit longer, yeah?”

He’s going to miss my tongue when I’ve bitten it off.

“Here’s where the thinking part of the ‘I love you’ sentence comes into everything. The environment we’ve been in, touring, buses, room service, it’s not real. It’s this amazing land of glitter and make believe and how the fuck can you know what’s real underneath everything’s that not?”

Is it my turn to talk yet? Please let it be my turn soon.

“I think I love you, I want to be with you, I just have no fucking idea how to cope with the fact it may not work. But…but I don’t know how to walk away from you and pretend it was all just fan service either. I’m fucked and fucked up, Adam. What do I do if you realise that I’m just…me? And just me isn’t even worth being that easy fuck anymore?”

Okay, that’s it, my turn or not, I’m done with the quiet, one-way thing.

Letting go of Tommy’s hand, I bring both of my hands up to his face, cradling his jaw as gently as I can while still making sure he feels me.

“Stop fucking calling yourself an easy fuck, my easy fuck. You aren’t. You never were. Why, baby, why am I going to see you differently when we’re off tour? What am I going to see that makes you think you’re not enough for me?”

Yes, I know there’s other shit to be said, other questions to ask, but this is important. To me at least.

“You’re you, Adam. You have friends all over the fucking place, you…fuck. You like going out, clubbing, dancing, even without Glamnation you fucking leave a trail of glitter like a fucked up comet. But me, my idea of a good time is a dvd box set and a bottle of beer. Or just playing my guitar for hours. I go out, I have this core group of friends that have been around forever so they know exactly what I’m like, but I don’t start climbing the walls if I’ve been inside my house for twenty-four hours without some kind of play date.”

“But you come out with me.”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

He doesn’t get it, does he?

“And sometimes I sit there watching M*A*S*H reruns with you, quietly wondering how Trapper John kept Hawkeye quiet with Frank in the tent with them. Tommy, I spend a lot of time with my friends because up until this fucking blonde whirlwind came into my life they were all I had. I’m not going to want to go out every fucking night if I know I can be home with you instead. Some nights, yeah I’ll want to dance, but just like we’ve been doing, I’m going to want to go home with you and it’ll probably be early enough that I’ll never fucking live it down.”

“You’re still Adam Fucking Lambert. I’m just-”

“You’re Tommy Joe Ratliff, my Tommy Joe, and I love you.”

“Why didn’t you…”

“Because you’re not the only one with insecurities, baby. I should have, we both should have, fucking months ago, but it’s okay, we’ve done it now. You, we, just have to tell each other shit, not everyone but each other.”

“Isaac’s sick of telling me over and over to talk to you.”

“Brad ripped me a new one. *Brad*.”

“Do you think…can you kiss me, Adam, please? Like you mean it?”

“Oh I can do better than that. I can kiss you like a promise.”

Tommy came back to talk me, Tommy knocked on my door, so I don’t even think about letting him be the one to come to me. Still cupping his jaw I lean into him, covering his mouth with mine, closing my eyes without waiting to see if his close too. His lips are soft and mine are gentle as they just move against each other taking this moment to just enjoy everything that might be coming next.

When my tongue does ask for entrance it’s just another layer, none of this is the step towards the end.

It’s a step towards forever.