Lambliff Big Bang - Anything you ask me to (Part One)
Title: Anything you ask me to
Pairing: Adam/Tommy
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 15766
Warnings: D/S themes, mentions of self-injury
Summary: Tommy is a shy, struggling musician who's given up on his dreams and himself. Adam is a lawyer who's living a careful, measured life because he's afraid of the messy parts. Can they figure it out, together?
Notes: This is an AU based on the movie Secretary, an idea that was suggested to me a very long time ago by lyingdelilaah. Here is finally is, with help from my awesome beta janescott and my artist rude_bunny. Title belongs to Leonard Cohen and his amazing song I'm Your Man.
Art can be found here, and it's totally awesome, so please check it out! (Tommy's wearing a pencil skirt and heels...jsyk)
Tommy sauntered slowly through the office, his hips swaying as he walked. He smirked a little as he felt the pencil skirt clinging tight to his slim hips, the glossy black pumps on his feet lengthening his legs, but no longer making him stumble like they had in the beginning. He bent down smoothly, grabbing a folder off his desk with one hand, the cuff around his wrist jingling as he straightened. He rolled his shoulders, sighing softly when he felt the slight ache there. When he'd first seen the restraint, he hadn't been sure, but that had changed as soon as the collar was fastened around his neck. Now, when he lifted his hands to allow the bars to be attached between his wrists and his neck, it was like releasing a sigh, like a weight was lifting off his chest every time.
He walked with his head held high, folder in one hand, coffee cup in the other, pausing briefly when he passed the mirror in the hallway. His eyes were rimmed in black, liner smudged until his eyes looked huge and dark. His lips were smooth and glossy, and he pouted at his reflection before continuing, putting an extra sway in his hips as he nudged the door to the office open with his foot. He stood silently in the doorway until Adam looked up and noticed him, motioning him forward with a small smile and a crook of the finger. Tommy walked slowly, letting Adam see the way the skirt clung to him, the way his muscles flexed from the shoes, bending when he got to the desk to set down first the coffee and then the folder. He locked eyes with Adam and waited, watching as Adam's lips parted slightly, his tongue darting out to moisten them.
Then Adam was standing, pulling a small key from his jacket pocket and freeing Tommy's hands, his own fingers just barely skating over Tommy's slim hips and down over his ass. His breath was hot against Tommy's ear, and Tommy didn't try to stop the shiver that ran through him when Adam spoke. “Bend over, and place your palms flat on the desk.” Tommy obeyed, spreading his legs enough that he was steady in the heels and arching his back, knowing exactly what he looked like. The thick silver ring around his ring finger glinted in the dim light of the room, and Adam barely ghosted his fingers over the cool metal before sliding his hands down Tommy's sides. Adam's hands were hot as they worked the tight skirt up over Tommy's hips, and the gentle way he feathered his fingers over Tommy's smooth skin was the same now as it had always been. Later, when Tommy was straightening his skirt, tugging it down over sticky skin, those gentle fingers would stroke down his cheek, endearments whispered in his ear as Adam turned the key in the restraints.
“Thank you, Tommy. That will be all.” Adam's cheeks were always flushed afterwards, his hair a little ruffled, but Tommy would never mention it. He just sauntered slowly from the room, feeling right and strong and loved.
Six Months Earlier
Adam heard the front door slam, and moments later a small voice called out from the hallway.
“Hello?” The voice was unsure, nervous, and Adam straightened up, fixing his tie and smoothing a hand over his hair. He shifted a few pens around on his desk before folding his hands and calling out into the hallway.
“In here.” Adam watched as his office door swung in, and took in the man that stepped through it. He was wet, dripping from the rain that was falling heavily outside, and it was making his hair stick flat to his head. From what Adam could tell, his hair was blonde, probably artificially so, and untidy bangs hung in the man's eyes. He was wearing a suit jacket that appeared to belong to someone much taller, and yet somehow his pants stopped a fair bit before his shoes started. In his hands he clutched a piece of paper, crumpled and damp, and he shuffled his feet, nervously pushing his hair from his face before pulling it back. On the surface, there was nothing special about the man, but something about him intrigued Adam, made him look again. There was a delicateness to his features, something that could be called pretty if he put some work into it, and there was something in his eyes, a quiet strength or maybe determination that Adam wanted to dig out.
“Are you the lawyer?” The man's voice was uneven, but he spoke loudly and with a confidence that Adam was sure was mostly being faked.
“Yes.” Adam answered simply, gesturing for the man the step into the room. He strode in with long steps, probably intending on looking sure of himself, but mostly succeeding in looking awkward. He thrust the crumpled piece of paper forward, a few drops of water dripping down onto Adam's desk. Adam followed the water with his eyes, and then looked up at the man's face, silently.
“The sign, it said 'secretary wanted'.” The man stumbled over his words, but stood his ground, and Adam crossed his arms in front of him.
“Yes, that's right.” Adam sat back in his chair and took in the man in front of him once more, watching the way he shifted under Adam's gaze. “Are you single?”
The man looked surprised for a moment, but shook his head. “Um, yes? Yeah, I am.”
“Do you live with your parents?”
“No, not anymore.”
“Do you live alone?”
“I live with friends, in a house. I just moved.”
Adam looked at the piece of paper in the man's hand, raising his eyebrows. “Is that your resume?”
“Um...well, sir, I've never really had a job before. This...these are my typing scores?” The man put the paper down on Adam's desk, flattening it with his hands before pushing it towards him.
“Tommy. Tommy Ratliff.” Adam tasted the name in his mouth, looking up at the man it belonged to and feeling like it fit. “Get me a cup of coffee, Tommy.”
Tommy's mouth opened in a little 'O', but he shook his head quickly, nodding. “Yes, yes sir.” Adam watched as Tommy hurried out of the room, tenting his fingers in front of him. He was very interested in this Tommy, maybe too interested. It took far longer than it should have for Tommy to return with a cup of coffee, but judging by the large water stain on the front of his shirt, and the clattering Adam had heard coming from the kitchenette, it hadn't been a simple task. Adam took the coffee from Tommy and set it aside without taking a sip, just to see Tommy's reaction, and then he sat forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on the desk.
“Why do you want to be a secretary, Tommy? It's really quite boring.”
“I like boring, sir. I need to be bored.” Tommy was picking at his fingernails and crossing and uncrossing his ankles in a way that was very distracting. That would have to stop.
Adam pressed forward, each question a kind of test. “I really only need a typist. Someone to make copies, mail letters. Very dull work.”
Tommy leaned forward, finally meeting Adam's eyes with the kind of quiet strength Adam had been looking for. “I love dull work.”
Adam stared at Tommy in silence for a few longs moments, impressed that Tommy managed to hold his gaze the entire time. “There's something about you, something special. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn't.” Tommy's answer was honest and free of guile, and Adam appreciated that more than anything. He nodded at Tommy's response, and handed him back his typing scores.
“Come in tomorrow, 9am. And find some clothes that fit you better, these are unacceptable.” Adam looked down at his desk, shuffling a stack of papers and watching through his lashes as Tommy blinked at him before finally turning and leaving his office. He paused at the door, looking back to Adam, then pulled the door shut behind him. When Adam heard the front door slam, he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the cup full of red Sharpies that sat on the corner of his desk and felt his heart race. He grabbed the cup and dumped it into the deep bottom drawer of his desk, sliding it shut with an audible thunk. He rubbed his hands over his face and leaned heavily on his elbows. He was definitely too interested.
The next morning at exactly five minutes to 9, Adam heard the door open and shut, listening to the soft footfalls of Tommy's feet on the carpet in the hallway, and then a hesitant knock on his office door.
“Come in.” Adam sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and folding his hands in his lap. He smiled when Tommy stepped into the room, his heart thumping a little when he took in Tommy's appearance. It was still obvious that this was a man who was not used to dressing professionally, but today he almost looked the part. The suit jacket fit his slim build, and the pants reached the floor. The shirt underneath was more than a little rumpled, and Adam suspected that if he opened Tommy jacket it might be buttoned wrong, but overall, he was pleased. He told Tommy so, and was even more pleased at the gentle flush he saw spread across Tommy's cheeks before he dropped his head.
“Thank you, sir.” Tommy did a lot to ruin the look by shoving his hands in his pockets, but Adam resisted the urge to correct him.
“You don't have to call me 'sir', Tommy. For now, call me Mr. Lambert.” Adam leaned forward and grabbed a stack of folders off his desk, holding them out until Tommy got the hint and stepped forward to take them. “I need you to type letters to each of those clients. All the information you need is inside each file, and there's a folder of form letters for you to follow. Your desk is in the front hall. I'll call you on the intercom if I need you. Thank you, Tommy.” There was a brief, awkward moment when Tommy seemed rooted to the spot, the files dangling in the air, but then he stepped forward, his hand shaking only a little as he took the files, clutching them to his chest before leaving the room. Adam sat quietly, listening to the drag of Tommy's chair across the floor, and then the tell-tale noises of the typewriter as Tommy figured out how to work the antiquated technology. As the clicks and swishes filtered into Adam's office, he was reminded of why he insisted on typewriters. The methodical sound was calming, and as Tommy's typing became more regular, so did Adam's breathing.
The days turned into weeks, and a comfortable rhythm settled over the office. Adam assigned a series of menial tasks to Tommy, just waiting for the one that would push him to the edge and realize he was too good for this job, but it never came. Tommy learned how to make Adam's coffee exactly the way he liked it, half a sugar cube and barely a splash of milk, and most mornings a steaming cup was waiting for Adam on his desk when he arrived. He could hand Tommy a stack of hundreds of files, a jumbled disaster, and Tommy would plunk down on the floor silently, lay the files out in front of him and arrange them, even improving upon the system Adam had used for years. Better yet, when he was done, he would bring the files into Adam's office and ask if there were more that needed organizing, all without a sneer or a complaint. Adam's lips wanted to curve into a smile, and he wanted to tell Tommy how good he was, but instead he pointed towards a pile of books on the floor in the corner.
“Those books need to be put away, in alphabetical order. There's a step stool if you can't reach.” Adam watched over the notes he was pretending to read as Tommy struggled to carry more books than his small frame would allow, and fought the urge to leap up and help him carry them. Tommy climbed up onto the step stool, but even with its help he still had to reach above his head to get the books to the top shelf. His shirt slipped out of his waistband, and Adam's mouth went a little dry when he saw the strip of pale skin that was exposed. He watched the slim line of Tommy's body as it stretched out, standing on tip toes and fingers reaching as high as they could go. Adam's breath caught when his eyes made it to Tommy's arms, where the cuffs of his shirt had slipped down past his wrists. On one wrist, Adam was surprised to see red and black swirls, some kind of tattoo he couldn't recognize from this small glimpse, but it was what he saw on the other wrist that, in the future, would probably be called a turning point.
Adam could only see about three inches of Tommy's skin, but that was enough. There were scars, some thin and white and old, and some fresh, angry red and raised. There were even a few little band-aids in a straight line down the back of Tommy's forearm, and in the gaps between them Adam could see the cuts they were attempting to conceal. He must have made a soft noise, because Tommy dropped the book he'd been holding and turned, the look on his face akin to that of a spooked rabbit, all wide eyes and terror. Adam started to stand, a hand out to reassure Tommy when the phone broke the silence. Tommy looked hugely grateful as he darted out of the room, and Adam swore softly under his breath as he crept quietly to the door where he could watch Tommy.
“You have reached the office of Mr. Adam Lambert, how can I help you?” Tommy sounded out of breath and nervous, and Adam's fingers clenched tighter on the door jam.
“No, we're very happy with our long distance, thank you.” The door to the office swung open, and Adam watched as Tommy's eyes swept from the phone to the door, a hand raising to cover the mouthpiece. “If you'll have a seat, I'll be right with you.”
“Is he here? I need to talk to him, now.” Adam recognized that voice, high and light and sweet when he wanted it to be, but not now. Adam had no idea why the man was already on edge like this, but he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of it, and it didn't feel good.
“I'm sorry, sir. Just one moment and I'll - no, thank you, that is a very good offer but I don't think -”
“I'm going back now.” The man's voice was creeping up, getting louder, and Adam didn't need to see him to know the way he was posturing.
“No, please, just one minute!” Tommy's voice was near frantic, and Adam once again fought the urge to go rescue him. He wanted to see how Tommy would handle this.
The man scoffed, and Adam could see in his head the way one hip was cocked, a hand resting on it. “Submissive. He'll like you.”
“Excuse me?” Adam heard Tommy hang up the phone, the long-distance provider forgotten.
“I said, 'submissive'. It's not an insult honey, just an observation. Now, are you going to tell him I'm here, or should I just go barge in there?” Adam hurried to his desk at those words, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. As if on cue, his intercom buzzed.
“There's a Bradley Bell here to see you. Should I send him in?” Tommy was trying to control his voice, but Adam could hear the slight shake.
“Yes, send him in. Thank you, Tommy.” Adam sat back in his chair and and steeled himself for the hurricane that was about to burst through his door, surprised when Brad sauntered in quietly and sat down, a slightly confused look on his face.
“That secretary you've got there...he's something, isn't he?” If Adam didn't know Brad as well as he did, he would've sworn there was a note of jealousy to his tone. Adam chose to ignore it, smiling easily and honestly.
“He's very good.” Adam tried not to sound too wistful when he spoke, and he ignored the withering look Brad gave him when he apparently failed at that. “So, you needed to see me now, huh?” Brad rolled his eyes, but he moved on from talking about Tommy, and pulled a thick contract out of his bag.
“I need you to look this over, tell me if the producers are going to screw me. It's the best offer I've ever had, so...tell me if it's bullshit, okay?” Brad was confident on the outside, sometimes arrogant, but underneath he was this; determined, but a little nervous from one too many big chances gone wrong.
“Of course, that's what friends who are lawyers are for. I'll call you when I've had a look at it.” Adam stood and gave Brad a quick kiss on the cheek, and watched as he walked down the hall and out the door. He could hear the quick exhale that came from Tommy the instant the door was shut, and Adam wondered briefly if Tommy had been holding his breath the entire time. Adam shook his head and flipped through the contract, his eyes catching on certain words as he made notes. It was long and involved, and Adam was glad to spend the rest of the afternoon lost in the complexities of legal jargon instead of flicking back to the scared look on Tommy's face and the long-buried feelings it brought up.
The end of the day came sooner than he thought it would, and he shoved the contract in his briefcase to take home. On his way out, he stopped at Tommy's desk, giving him a thin smile. “Good work today.”
Tommy smiled back, but it was weak. “Thanks.” He reached up to push his hair behind his ear, but quickly dropped his hand back to his lap. Not quick enough, however for Adam to miss the still spreading red stain on the cuff of his shirt. None of the cuts that Adam had seen earlier that day were fresh enough to bleed like that, and in that moment something in Adam snapped.
“See you in the morning, Mr. Ratliff.” He turned and walked sharply out of the building, the chill in the air doing nothing to cool his heated skin. When he got to his car, Adam sat down heavily in the driver’s seat, reaching into his briefcase. He pulled out a red Sharpie, rolling it between his fingers for a few long moments. In his rear-view mirror he watched as Tommy left the building, locking the door behind him and slipping into his old, battered car. Adam slid the Sharpie into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, the marker feeling like a ten pound weight, his heart pounding against it. He couldn't believe he was doing this again, but it felt like the decision had been made, and it wasn't up to him to say no.
***
Tommy's hands were shaking as he pushed open the door to the office the next morning, and he found himself tugging his sleeves down again and again, fingers brushing over the bandage on his wrist. He felt stupid and weak, and he couldn't believe he'd let himself get caught. He'd been doing it for almost longer than he could remember, the little black fabric bag with band-aids and tiny scissors and alcohol swabs something he grabbed and threw into his bag every day, like it was his wallet. And now, here he was, his first actual paying job in so long he'd had to borrow his roommates clothes for the interview, and he'd fucked it up. His fingers drummed against the desk, playing a bass line to a song he couldn't name, but that floated around in the back of his head whenever he was nervous. He chewed on his lower lip and rifled through the files on his desk, organizing and re-organizing until he heard the bell above the door jingle.
Adam walked in briskly, and for a brief moment Tommy thought he looked as nervous as Tommy felt. But then Tommy blinked, and when he looked again Adam was his usual self, put together and poised. Tommy's breath always caught in his throat a little when he looked at Adam, torn between wanting him and wishing he could be him. Adam was tall with broad shoulders and long legs, and his suits were obviously expensive; Tommy could tell by the way they fit him, slim but never too tight, and never falling off his shoulders like Tommy's jackets so often did. Adam ran a hand over his slick, black hair, but it was already perfect, and Tommy nervously reached up to tuck a chunk of his own straggly blond hair behind his ear. Tommy's eyes caught on the heavy rings on Adam's fingers, the silver metal and gleaming stones catching the light, and Tommy wondered if he'd ever seen Adam wear those before.
“Good morning, Mr. Ratliff.” Adam's voice was light, but Tommy could see something in his eyes that Adam was trying to hide. Tommy figured it was pity, which was what people always felt when they saw his scars and bandages.
“Morning.” He hated pity more than anything else, and he dropped his eyes to the files on his desk, chewing harder on his lip until the coppery taste of blood crept into his mouth. He felt Adam watching him for a few long moments, his cheeks flushing and he was still fighting the urge to bolt out the door when he heard the door to Adam's office shut and realized he was gone. He ran his tongue over lips, cringing at the taste of blood and opened the first file, sliding a clean sheet of paper into the typewriter. In seconds, the rhythmic sound of the typewriter filled the room, reminding him so much of music. He could breath easier with the rhythm in his ears, his fingers sliding over the keys like they used to over the frets of his guitar.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been working when the intercom on his desk buzzed, Adam's voice startling him. “Can I see you in my office? Please?” The last word was added almost as an afterthought, the pause before it weighted.
Tommy pushed the button, clearing his throat before responding. “I'll be right in.” The walk down the hall felt impossibly long until it didn't, and Adam's door was right in front of him. Tommy took a deep breath and pushed it open, closing it softly behind him and waiting. Adam crooked a finger at him, and Tommy moved forward like he was being pulled. He stopped at the edge of Adam's desk, and tried to decide what to do with his hands, stuffing them in his pockets then crossing them over his chest then dropping them to hang by his sides, the fingers of one hand drumming against his thigh.
Adam slid a piece of paper across the desk, and Tommy glanced down to it. He recognized it as a letter he'd typed a few days before, but now there were red marks on it, circling some of the words. Adam's voice was quiet when he spoke, but there was an edge to it that made Tommy shiver. “Look at it.”
Tommy looked, his brain screaming at him to focus. “Um...what?”
“Look at it. Do you see?” Adam jabbed at the letter with a finger, pointing at each one of the circled words in turn. “This letter has three typing errors, and I think this one is a spelling error.”
“I'm...sorry?” Tommy didn't know what to do, he shifted from foot to foot and pulled his lower lip into his mouth, pulling at the bits of loose skin with his teeth.
“This isn't the first time. I've let other go because you were new, but this has to stop. Do you know how this makes me look to clients?” Adam's voice was still careful, quiet, but somehow that made it much worse. Tommy would rather be screamed at, that he would know how to react to.
“I'm sorry, sir. I'm -” Tommy stopped instantly when Adam lifted his hand, pressing his lips together.
“Type it again, and do it right.” Adam lifted the letter off the desk and held it out with two fingers, and if there was something wrong with it.
Tommy took it and carried it back to his desk, spreading it out and looking it over until he thought he could type it in his sleep. He typed slow and careful, his eyes flicking from the keys to the paper and back again, making sure that every word was perfect. His teeth dug into his lower lip until it was puffy and raw, and just the gentle swipe of his tongue over the skin made him breathe in sharply. He pulled the letter out of the typewriter and read it over once, twice, enough times that his eyes were starting to blur and he headed back to Adam's office. The door was open, and he stepped in with a soft knock against the jam. Adam gestured for him to move forward, and Tommy slid the letter onto the desk, waiting.
“Could you go pick up my lunch? The usual, but with an extra pickle this time.” Adam didn't even look at him as he spoke, just kept flipping through a book.
“Um...aren't you going to proofread the letter?” Tommy's fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to push the letter closer to Adam.
“I'm sure it's fine.” He flipped a page in his book, the noise it made sounding incredibly loud in the still air of the room.
Tommy bent to pick up the empty coffee cup on Adam's desk, and just as he was about to turn to walk out of the room, Adam flicked his gaze up. Tommy could feel Adam's eyes on his lips, knew how ruined they looked without having to look in a mirror himself. Out of habit, he pulled his lip into his mouth, intending to hide it.
“When people come into my office, you are the first person they see, isn't that right?” Tommy nodded, and waited for Adam to continue. “What must it look like to see you sitting there with torn and bloody lips? It's disgusting, and you need to stop.”
“I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize...” Tommy resisted the urge to wipe the back of his hand over his lips, his fingers clenching tighter on the coffee cup in his hand.
“And another thing. The drumming, with your fingers. I can hear it in my office.” Adam leaned back, pausing, and Tommy responded before he could stop himself.
“I'm sorry, I'm a - I used to be a musician.” Tommy dropped his gaze to the floor, the admission of his failure hard to stomach, even now.
He could feel Adam's gaze burning through him, but when he looked up it wasn't anger he saw on Adam's face. It was interest, or curiosity maybe. And maybe Tommy was imagining it, but he thought he saw a sparkle in Adam's eyes and a twitch to his lips. “A musician. Well, get yourself some lip balm when you pick up lunch, and stop chewing on your lips.”
A few days went by, and gradually, Tommy relaxed. He carried a tube of lip balm around, one that he hated the taste of, and put it on every time he felt like pulling his lip into his mouth, doubling up whenever he had to go into Adam's office. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like the way his lips felt sliding together with the slick balm on them, especially now that they were smooth, no torn bits of skin. Every time he pulled the tube out, he thought of Adam, how Adam had told him to do this, and he let his lips curve into a little smile. Just touching the tube calmed him, brought his down, and he tried not to think too hard about what that might mean.
As usual, he startled when his intercom buzzed, the sharp crackling noise breaking through the haze he often fell into when typing. “Mr. Ratliff, come into the study.”
Tommy responded quickly, maybe a little too quickly when he heard how breathless he sounded. “Okay.” He pulled out his lip balm and put it on thickly, rubbing his lips together until it was smooth and even. He slipped the tube into his pocket and patted the lump it made, keeping his hand there as he walked down the hall, his footsteps echoing in his own ears. He didn't know what was waiting for him in the study, but he took a deep breath and pushed open the door, pulling his hand away from the tube in his pocket at the last minute.
Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't what he found. Adam was sitting on the sofa in the study, one of his legs curled underneath him, a smile spread across his face. He patted the cushion next to him, and Tommy only hesitated for a moment before moving. The sofa was soft and high, and Tommy sunk deep enough into it that his feet could only brush the floor. He felt his cheeks flush as he shifted, scooting forward until he could plant his feet, leaning back awkwardly against the arm rest.
“You're shy, aren't you, Tommy?” Adam's voice was soft, but not the scary kind of soft Tommy had heard before.
Tommy shrugged, looking up at Adam through his messy fall of blonde hair. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I used to be shy.” Adam must have seen the disbelief on Tommy's face, because he held up his hands, his smile softening just a touch. “I did, really. But I had to overcome my shyness if I wanted to get anywhere in life.”
Tommy nodded, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Well, I don't think you're shy.”
Adam's gaze darted away from Tommy for a moment, and when he spoke next his voice sounded far away. “I know I'm your boss, and this is probably outside the bounds of whatever our relationship is supposed to be...but I want you to feel free to talk to me, about anything.”
A pregnant pause filled the small room, and Tommy's heart dropped to his stomach when Adam continued. “The band-aids on your wrist. What's going on there?”
Tommy dropped his eyes to his lap, digging his fingers into the material of his pants and focusing on not chewing on his lip. He saw Adam's hand moving towards his, and he was surprised when he felt how soft it was resting against his. “Why do you cut yourself, Tommy?”
“I don't know.” Tommy shrugged and let Adam enfold one of his hands entirely in his own. “I've been doing it a long time.”
Adam nodded like that was an answer and stroked his fingers over the back of Tommy's hand. “Sometimes things just build up so much inside of you, nerves, fears, or stress and you feel like you might explode. The blood, it's like everything rushing free all at once, clearing out everything that's backing up inside, giving you a chance to start fresh, until the next time.”
Tommy looked up, his mouth hanging open just a little as he caught eyes with Adam. “I - yeah, that's part of it.”
“I'm going to tell you something, Tommy. Are you ready to listen?” Adam waited for Tommy to nod before continuing. “You will never, ever cut yourself again. Do you understand?”
Tommy hesitated for a moment and then nodded, feeling a sudden rush of something he couldn't describe.
“You don't need that anymore, it's all in the past. Right?” Tommy nodded again, and Adam squeezed his hand, gentle and reassuring, not letting go.
“Good. Can I ask you just one more question?” Adam's voice shifted from the soft, gentle tone to a more conversational tone, and Tommy was glad for the change.
“Yeah, of course.” Tommy shifted to turn his body more towards Adam, looking at him straight on for the first time since walking into the study.
“You told me you used to be a musician. What happened?”
Tommy shrugged, running his tongue over his lips and cringing at the taste of the balm. “The same thing that happens to everyone in LA. I moved here with a guitar, and eventually I had to choose between the guitar and food and a place to live. I chose food.”
Adam squeezed Tommy's hand again, a little harder this time. “You know, I used to be a singer. Before I was this.” He gestured with his free hand, those rings that Tommy thought were new glinting in the dim light of the room.
“Why did you stop?” Tommy could tell that Adam was remembering, the far away look in his eyes fascinating.
“It wasn't practical anymore. My parents pushed for me to go to law school for years, and after living without electricity and making just enough money to pay for the cab home...I took their advice.” Adam's face was soft, the angles that Tommy was used to blurring into curves that made Tommy's fingers itch to reach out and touch.
Tommy lowered his voice, sensing that Adam felt about his failed music career the same way Tommy did about his. “Were you good?”
“I thought so, but it doesn't always matter.” Adam pulled his hand away from Tommy's, folding them carefully in his lap and rearranging his face into what Tommy now realized was a mask of control. “You know what I want you to do, Tommy? I want you to go home early, and spend the afternoon doing something you love, anything. You deserve to relax. Will you do that for me, Tommy?”
Somehow, Tommy knew that wasn't really a question, but he wouldn't have said no even if it was. He took the long way home, driving down quiet, deserted streets, enjoying the quietness inside his own head even more. The second that Adam told him that he wasn't going to cut himself anymore it was like a wet, woollen blanket had been lifted off of him. He had tried to stop so many times over the years, but this time, because Adam has insisted he do it, everything was different. He could breathe easier, think clearer, and he arrived at the office early the next morning to leave a cup of coffee on Adam's desk, the little black bag Tommy had carried with him for so long resting against it. Tommy wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was more than a promise, because promises can be broken.
Tommy's good mood was shattered when Adam stormed out of his office, stalking towards Tommy's desk with a look in his eyes that made Tommy shrink back. The sound of Adam's hand slapping against Tommy's desk rang through the small room, and Tommy actually jumped, his eyes shooting up to Adam's face and then flicking away to anywhere but.
“All that you have to do is type, and answer the phones. Is that too much?” There was a hard, sharp edge to Adam's voice, and Tommy swore he could feel it against his skin. Adam's finger jabbed against the piece of paper he'd slammed on Tommy's desk, and the red Sharpie stood out against the white paper like an accusation.
“I'm sorry.”
“It seems like it might be too much.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize to me. Come into my office, and bring the letter.” Adam turned on his heel and walked swiftly down the hall. Tommy waited for the slamming of the door, but it never came. His legs shook as he stood, and the letter crumpled around the edges where he clutched it tightly in his fingers. When he got to Adam's office, Adam was sitting stock-still in his chair, fingers tented in front of him. “Shut the door, and put the letter on my desk.”
Tommy set the letter down and waited the next instruction coming quickly. “I want you to bend over the desk, and put your face very close to the letter.”
“What? I don't...” Tommy went instantly silent when Adam rose to his feet, his eyes following Adam until he couldn't see him anymore, until Adam was a warm presence at his back.
“Bend over, and put your elbows on the desk. Get your face very close to the letter, and then read it out loud.” Adam spoke slowly, like he was explaining the rules to an exasperating child. Tommy's cheeks coloured as he bent forward, the wood of the desk cool under his palms. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on the letter, and in that moment he could feel Adam move even closer, their thighs nearly touching.
Tommy's voice was shaking, and he didn't even try to stop it. He licked his lips in a vain attempt to moisten them, but it felt like his mouth was lined in sandpaper. “Dear Mr Lavalle, the subject of same-sex domestic partnerships...” His breath left him in a sudden huff when he felt Adam's hand come down hard against his ass, the thin fabric of his pants not providing much of a barrier.
“Continue.” Adam's voice was frustratingly level, like he was unaffected by what was going on. “Mr. Ratliff. Read.”
“...the subject of same-sex domestic partnerships is one that I am especially interested in, and I am glad that your case has been referred to me.” Tommy breathed in sharply when the next blow came, harder than the first. He could feel heat already spreading across his ass and down his thighs, but he kept reading.
“My secretary has prepared research material on the issue that I think you will find illuminating.” The blows came faster now, every few words instead of only at the end of sentences. Tommy struggled to keep speaking, a soft moan trying to escape when he opened his mouth to finish the letter.
“Please feel free to contact me when you have read over the information, and we will discuss it at your earliest convenience.” The blows were coming hard enough to rock Tommy forward, his fingers scrabbling against the desk. He knew his voice had gone breathy, but he couldn't help it.
“Yours sincerely, Adam M. Lambert.” The final blows came with every word, and Tommy could barely get a breath between each one. Between his legs his cock was hard and rubbing against the edge of the desk, and he knew when he stood up there'd be a wet spot on the front of his thin wool pants.
As soon as the final blow was landed, a heavy silence fell over the room. Tommy struggled to slow down his breathing, to even it out, because even to his own ears it sounded wanton and needy. Tommy felt hot, like his skin was too tight and he needed out, his legs shaking as he rested heavily against the desk. He started when Adam ran a gentle hand over his ass, making the ache that much more obvious.
“Read it again.” Adam's voice was still level, but Tommy imagined he could hear a slight shake way down, almost not even there.
“What?” Tommy started to turn his head, but then Adam's hand settled firmly into the small of his back, pushing down just slightly and Tommy stopped. He dropped his eyes back to the letter and started reading.
“Dear Mr Lavalle...” The blows came hard and fast this time, so hard that Tommy could barely get the words out. He gasped whenever he could steal a breath, missing words in the letter but it seemed liked Adam wasn't listening anymore. His hand rose and fell so fast Tommy couldn't tell where one blow ended and the next began, and by the time he reached the end of the letter, his ass was burning and tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes. When the blows stopped, one of Adam's hands came to rest next to his on the desk, his fingers nearly touching Tommy's. Tommy lifted his pinkie just slightly, just enough to wrap it lightly around Adam's thumb. Adam's hand pulled away slowly, and Tommy fought the urge to case it with his own. He heard Adam straighten his clothes behind him, and saw out of the corner of his eye when Adam moved around to take his seat at the desk again.
“Go straighten yourself up and re-type the letter.” There was a slight flush spread across Adam's cheeks, and a sheen of sweat that Tommy had never seen before; the first chinks in the perfect armour he'd thought was unbreakable. Tommy stared in silence for a few seconds that felt like hours, and then picked up the letter with shaking hands and walked slowly out of the office.
His ass ached as he walked down the hallway, and he paused at his desk after setting the letter down and turned on his heel to head into the bathroom. He pushed in the little button lock on the door and fumbled with the buckle on his belt until he could push his pants down over his hips. He turned, standing up on his tiptoes until he could just see his ass in the large mirror over the sink. His pale skin was mottled, large marks that were red around the edges, deepening in the centre. Tommy could already imagine how dark purple the marks would turn, and he wondered how long they would last, how long they would hurt. He ran his fingers lightly over the skin feeling the spreading heat and the ache that wasn't quite sharp but wouldn't really be dull for a few days yet. He winced a little when he sat down in his desk chair, but then a little smirk spread across his face as he shifted to get that feeling to last longer.
At the end of the day, Tommy was packing up his things when Adam stuck his head out. “Mr Ratliff, good letter.” He smiled, a small smile but a real one. Tommy smiled back, and walked out of the building with his head held high. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this calm, no hint of panic creeping in around the edges, no building pressure in his belly. If he'd thought that yesterday was the start of something, today he was sure of it.
Part Two
Pairing: Adam/Tommy
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 15766
Warnings: D/S themes, mentions of self-injury
Summary: Tommy is a shy, struggling musician who's given up on his dreams and himself. Adam is a lawyer who's living a careful, measured life because he's afraid of the messy parts. Can they figure it out, together?
Notes: This is an AU based on the movie Secretary, an idea that was suggested to me a very long time ago by lyingdelilaah. Here is finally is, with help from my awesome beta janescott and my artist rude_bunny. Title belongs to Leonard Cohen and his amazing song I'm Your Man.
Art can be found here, and it's totally awesome, so please check it out! (Tommy's wearing a pencil skirt and heels...jsyk)
Tommy sauntered slowly through the office, his hips swaying as he walked. He smirked a little as he felt the pencil skirt clinging tight to his slim hips, the glossy black pumps on his feet lengthening his legs, but no longer making him stumble like they had in the beginning. He bent down smoothly, grabbing a folder off his desk with one hand, the cuff around his wrist jingling as he straightened. He rolled his shoulders, sighing softly when he felt the slight ache there. When he'd first seen the restraint, he hadn't been sure, but that had changed as soon as the collar was fastened around his neck. Now, when he lifted his hands to allow the bars to be attached between his wrists and his neck, it was like releasing a sigh, like a weight was lifting off his chest every time.
He walked with his head held high, folder in one hand, coffee cup in the other, pausing briefly when he passed the mirror in the hallway. His eyes were rimmed in black, liner smudged until his eyes looked huge and dark. His lips were smooth and glossy, and he pouted at his reflection before continuing, putting an extra sway in his hips as he nudged the door to the office open with his foot. He stood silently in the doorway until Adam looked up and noticed him, motioning him forward with a small smile and a crook of the finger. Tommy walked slowly, letting Adam see the way the skirt clung to him, the way his muscles flexed from the shoes, bending when he got to the desk to set down first the coffee and then the folder. He locked eyes with Adam and waited, watching as Adam's lips parted slightly, his tongue darting out to moisten them.
Then Adam was standing, pulling a small key from his jacket pocket and freeing Tommy's hands, his own fingers just barely skating over Tommy's slim hips and down over his ass. His breath was hot against Tommy's ear, and Tommy didn't try to stop the shiver that ran through him when Adam spoke. “Bend over, and place your palms flat on the desk.” Tommy obeyed, spreading his legs enough that he was steady in the heels and arching his back, knowing exactly what he looked like. The thick silver ring around his ring finger glinted in the dim light of the room, and Adam barely ghosted his fingers over the cool metal before sliding his hands down Tommy's sides. Adam's hands were hot as they worked the tight skirt up over Tommy's hips, and the gentle way he feathered his fingers over Tommy's smooth skin was the same now as it had always been. Later, when Tommy was straightening his skirt, tugging it down over sticky skin, those gentle fingers would stroke down his cheek, endearments whispered in his ear as Adam turned the key in the restraints.
“Thank you, Tommy. That will be all.” Adam's cheeks were always flushed afterwards, his hair a little ruffled, but Tommy would never mention it. He just sauntered slowly from the room, feeling right and strong and loved.
Six Months Earlier
Adam heard the front door slam, and moments later a small voice called out from the hallway.
“Hello?” The voice was unsure, nervous, and Adam straightened up, fixing his tie and smoothing a hand over his hair. He shifted a few pens around on his desk before folding his hands and calling out into the hallway.
“In here.” Adam watched as his office door swung in, and took in the man that stepped through it. He was wet, dripping from the rain that was falling heavily outside, and it was making his hair stick flat to his head. From what Adam could tell, his hair was blonde, probably artificially so, and untidy bangs hung in the man's eyes. He was wearing a suit jacket that appeared to belong to someone much taller, and yet somehow his pants stopped a fair bit before his shoes started. In his hands he clutched a piece of paper, crumpled and damp, and he shuffled his feet, nervously pushing his hair from his face before pulling it back. On the surface, there was nothing special about the man, but something about him intrigued Adam, made him look again. There was a delicateness to his features, something that could be called pretty if he put some work into it, and there was something in his eyes, a quiet strength or maybe determination that Adam wanted to dig out.
“Are you the lawyer?” The man's voice was uneven, but he spoke loudly and with a confidence that Adam was sure was mostly being faked.
“Yes.” Adam answered simply, gesturing for the man the step into the room. He strode in with long steps, probably intending on looking sure of himself, but mostly succeeding in looking awkward. He thrust the crumpled piece of paper forward, a few drops of water dripping down onto Adam's desk. Adam followed the water with his eyes, and then looked up at the man's face, silently.
“The sign, it said 'secretary wanted'.” The man stumbled over his words, but stood his ground, and Adam crossed his arms in front of him.
“Yes, that's right.” Adam sat back in his chair and took in the man in front of him once more, watching the way he shifted under Adam's gaze. “Are you single?”
The man looked surprised for a moment, but shook his head. “Um, yes? Yeah, I am.”
“Do you live with your parents?”
“No, not anymore.”
“Do you live alone?”
“I live with friends, in a house. I just moved.”
Adam looked at the piece of paper in the man's hand, raising his eyebrows. “Is that your resume?”
“Um...well, sir, I've never really had a job before. This...these are my typing scores?” The man put the paper down on Adam's desk, flattening it with his hands before pushing it towards him.
“Tommy. Tommy Ratliff.” Adam tasted the name in his mouth, looking up at the man it belonged to and feeling like it fit. “Get me a cup of coffee, Tommy.”
Tommy's mouth opened in a little 'O', but he shook his head quickly, nodding. “Yes, yes sir.” Adam watched as Tommy hurried out of the room, tenting his fingers in front of him. He was very interested in this Tommy, maybe too interested. It took far longer than it should have for Tommy to return with a cup of coffee, but judging by the large water stain on the front of his shirt, and the clattering Adam had heard coming from the kitchenette, it hadn't been a simple task. Adam took the coffee from Tommy and set it aside without taking a sip, just to see Tommy's reaction, and then he sat forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on the desk.
“Why do you want to be a secretary, Tommy? It's really quite boring.”
“I like boring, sir. I need to be bored.” Tommy was picking at his fingernails and crossing and uncrossing his ankles in a way that was very distracting. That would have to stop.
Adam pressed forward, each question a kind of test. “I really only need a typist. Someone to make copies, mail letters. Very dull work.”
Tommy leaned forward, finally meeting Adam's eyes with the kind of quiet strength Adam had been looking for. “I love dull work.”
Adam stared at Tommy in silence for a few longs moments, impressed that Tommy managed to hold his gaze the entire time. “There's something about you, something special. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn't.” Tommy's answer was honest and free of guile, and Adam appreciated that more than anything. He nodded at Tommy's response, and handed him back his typing scores.
“Come in tomorrow, 9am. And find some clothes that fit you better, these are unacceptable.” Adam looked down at his desk, shuffling a stack of papers and watching through his lashes as Tommy blinked at him before finally turning and leaving his office. He paused at the door, looking back to Adam, then pulled the door shut behind him. When Adam heard the front door slam, he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the cup full of red Sharpies that sat on the corner of his desk and felt his heart race. He grabbed the cup and dumped it into the deep bottom drawer of his desk, sliding it shut with an audible thunk. He rubbed his hands over his face and leaned heavily on his elbows. He was definitely too interested.
The next morning at exactly five minutes to 9, Adam heard the door open and shut, listening to the soft footfalls of Tommy's feet on the carpet in the hallway, and then a hesitant knock on his office door.
“Come in.” Adam sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and folding his hands in his lap. He smiled when Tommy stepped into the room, his heart thumping a little when he took in Tommy's appearance. It was still obvious that this was a man who was not used to dressing professionally, but today he almost looked the part. The suit jacket fit his slim build, and the pants reached the floor. The shirt underneath was more than a little rumpled, and Adam suspected that if he opened Tommy jacket it might be buttoned wrong, but overall, he was pleased. He told Tommy so, and was even more pleased at the gentle flush he saw spread across Tommy's cheeks before he dropped his head.
“Thank you, sir.” Tommy did a lot to ruin the look by shoving his hands in his pockets, but Adam resisted the urge to correct him.
“You don't have to call me 'sir', Tommy. For now, call me Mr. Lambert.” Adam leaned forward and grabbed a stack of folders off his desk, holding them out until Tommy got the hint and stepped forward to take them. “I need you to type letters to each of those clients. All the information you need is inside each file, and there's a folder of form letters for you to follow. Your desk is in the front hall. I'll call you on the intercom if I need you. Thank you, Tommy.” There was a brief, awkward moment when Tommy seemed rooted to the spot, the files dangling in the air, but then he stepped forward, his hand shaking only a little as he took the files, clutching them to his chest before leaving the room. Adam sat quietly, listening to the drag of Tommy's chair across the floor, and then the tell-tale noises of the typewriter as Tommy figured out how to work the antiquated technology. As the clicks and swishes filtered into Adam's office, he was reminded of why he insisted on typewriters. The methodical sound was calming, and as Tommy's typing became more regular, so did Adam's breathing.
The days turned into weeks, and a comfortable rhythm settled over the office. Adam assigned a series of menial tasks to Tommy, just waiting for the one that would push him to the edge and realize he was too good for this job, but it never came. Tommy learned how to make Adam's coffee exactly the way he liked it, half a sugar cube and barely a splash of milk, and most mornings a steaming cup was waiting for Adam on his desk when he arrived. He could hand Tommy a stack of hundreds of files, a jumbled disaster, and Tommy would plunk down on the floor silently, lay the files out in front of him and arrange them, even improving upon the system Adam had used for years. Better yet, when he was done, he would bring the files into Adam's office and ask if there were more that needed organizing, all without a sneer or a complaint. Adam's lips wanted to curve into a smile, and he wanted to tell Tommy how good he was, but instead he pointed towards a pile of books on the floor in the corner.
“Those books need to be put away, in alphabetical order. There's a step stool if you can't reach.” Adam watched over the notes he was pretending to read as Tommy struggled to carry more books than his small frame would allow, and fought the urge to leap up and help him carry them. Tommy climbed up onto the step stool, but even with its help he still had to reach above his head to get the books to the top shelf. His shirt slipped out of his waistband, and Adam's mouth went a little dry when he saw the strip of pale skin that was exposed. He watched the slim line of Tommy's body as it stretched out, standing on tip toes and fingers reaching as high as they could go. Adam's breath caught when his eyes made it to Tommy's arms, where the cuffs of his shirt had slipped down past his wrists. On one wrist, Adam was surprised to see red and black swirls, some kind of tattoo he couldn't recognize from this small glimpse, but it was what he saw on the other wrist that, in the future, would probably be called a turning point.
Adam could only see about three inches of Tommy's skin, but that was enough. There were scars, some thin and white and old, and some fresh, angry red and raised. There were even a few little band-aids in a straight line down the back of Tommy's forearm, and in the gaps between them Adam could see the cuts they were attempting to conceal. He must have made a soft noise, because Tommy dropped the book he'd been holding and turned, the look on his face akin to that of a spooked rabbit, all wide eyes and terror. Adam started to stand, a hand out to reassure Tommy when the phone broke the silence. Tommy looked hugely grateful as he darted out of the room, and Adam swore softly under his breath as he crept quietly to the door where he could watch Tommy.
“You have reached the office of Mr. Adam Lambert, how can I help you?” Tommy sounded out of breath and nervous, and Adam's fingers clenched tighter on the door jam.
“No, we're very happy with our long distance, thank you.” The door to the office swung open, and Adam watched as Tommy's eyes swept from the phone to the door, a hand raising to cover the mouthpiece. “If you'll have a seat, I'll be right with you.”
“Is he here? I need to talk to him, now.” Adam recognized that voice, high and light and sweet when he wanted it to be, but not now. Adam had no idea why the man was already on edge like this, but he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of it, and it didn't feel good.
“I'm sorry, sir. Just one moment and I'll - no, thank you, that is a very good offer but I don't think -”
“I'm going back now.” The man's voice was creeping up, getting louder, and Adam didn't need to see him to know the way he was posturing.
“No, please, just one minute!” Tommy's voice was near frantic, and Adam once again fought the urge to go rescue him. He wanted to see how Tommy would handle this.
The man scoffed, and Adam could see in his head the way one hip was cocked, a hand resting on it. “Submissive. He'll like you.”
“Excuse me?” Adam heard Tommy hang up the phone, the long-distance provider forgotten.
“I said, 'submissive'. It's not an insult honey, just an observation. Now, are you going to tell him I'm here, or should I just go barge in there?” Adam hurried to his desk at those words, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. As if on cue, his intercom buzzed.
“There's a Bradley Bell here to see you. Should I send him in?” Tommy was trying to control his voice, but Adam could hear the slight shake.
“Yes, send him in. Thank you, Tommy.” Adam sat back in his chair and and steeled himself for the hurricane that was about to burst through his door, surprised when Brad sauntered in quietly and sat down, a slightly confused look on his face.
“That secretary you've got there...he's something, isn't he?” If Adam didn't know Brad as well as he did, he would've sworn there was a note of jealousy to his tone. Adam chose to ignore it, smiling easily and honestly.
“He's very good.” Adam tried not to sound too wistful when he spoke, and he ignored the withering look Brad gave him when he apparently failed at that. “So, you needed to see me now, huh?” Brad rolled his eyes, but he moved on from talking about Tommy, and pulled a thick contract out of his bag.
“I need you to look this over, tell me if the producers are going to screw me. It's the best offer I've ever had, so...tell me if it's bullshit, okay?” Brad was confident on the outside, sometimes arrogant, but underneath he was this; determined, but a little nervous from one too many big chances gone wrong.
“Of course, that's what friends who are lawyers are for. I'll call you when I've had a look at it.” Adam stood and gave Brad a quick kiss on the cheek, and watched as he walked down the hall and out the door. He could hear the quick exhale that came from Tommy the instant the door was shut, and Adam wondered briefly if Tommy had been holding his breath the entire time. Adam shook his head and flipped through the contract, his eyes catching on certain words as he made notes. It was long and involved, and Adam was glad to spend the rest of the afternoon lost in the complexities of legal jargon instead of flicking back to the scared look on Tommy's face and the long-buried feelings it brought up.
The end of the day came sooner than he thought it would, and he shoved the contract in his briefcase to take home. On his way out, he stopped at Tommy's desk, giving him a thin smile. “Good work today.”
Tommy smiled back, but it was weak. “Thanks.” He reached up to push his hair behind his ear, but quickly dropped his hand back to his lap. Not quick enough, however for Adam to miss the still spreading red stain on the cuff of his shirt. None of the cuts that Adam had seen earlier that day were fresh enough to bleed like that, and in that moment something in Adam snapped.
“See you in the morning, Mr. Ratliff.” He turned and walked sharply out of the building, the chill in the air doing nothing to cool his heated skin. When he got to his car, Adam sat down heavily in the driver’s seat, reaching into his briefcase. He pulled out a red Sharpie, rolling it between his fingers for a few long moments. In his rear-view mirror he watched as Tommy left the building, locking the door behind him and slipping into his old, battered car. Adam slid the Sharpie into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, the marker feeling like a ten pound weight, his heart pounding against it. He couldn't believe he was doing this again, but it felt like the decision had been made, and it wasn't up to him to say no.
***
Tommy's hands were shaking as he pushed open the door to the office the next morning, and he found himself tugging his sleeves down again and again, fingers brushing over the bandage on his wrist. He felt stupid and weak, and he couldn't believe he'd let himself get caught. He'd been doing it for almost longer than he could remember, the little black fabric bag with band-aids and tiny scissors and alcohol swabs something he grabbed and threw into his bag every day, like it was his wallet. And now, here he was, his first actual paying job in so long he'd had to borrow his roommates clothes for the interview, and he'd fucked it up. His fingers drummed against the desk, playing a bass line to a song he couldn't name, but that floated around in the back of his head whenever he was nervous. He chewed on his lower lip and rifled through the files on his desk, organizing and re-organizing until he heard the bell above the door jingle.
Adam walked in briskly, and for a brief moment Tommy thought he looked as nervous as Tommy felt. But then Tommy blinked, and when he looked again Adam was his usual self, put together and poised. Tommy's breath always caught in his throat a little when he looked at Adam, torn between wanting him and wishing he could be him. Adam was tall with broad shoulders and long legs, and his suits were obviously expensive; Tommy could tell by the way they fit him, slim but never too tight, and never falling off his shoulders like Tommy's jackets so often did. Adam ran a hand over his slick, black hair, but it was already perfect, and Tommy nervously reached up to tuck a chunk of his own straggly blond hair behind his ear. Tommy's eyes caught on the heavy rings on Adam's fingers, the silver metal and gleaming stones catching the light, and Tommy wondered if he'd ever seen Adam wear those before.
“Good morning, Mr. Ratliff.” Adam's voice was light, but Tommy could see something in his eyes that Adam was trying to hide. Tommy figured it was pity, which was what people always felt when they saw his scars and bandages.
“Morning.” He hated pity more than anything else, and he dropped his eyes to the files on his desk, chewing harder on his lip until the coppery taste of blood crept into his mouth. He felt Adam watching him for a few long moments, his cheeks flushing and he was still fighting the urge to bolt out the door when he heard the door to Adam's office shut and realized he was gone. He ran his tongue over lips, cringing at the taste of blood and opened the first file, sliding a clean sheet of paper into the typewriter. In seconds, the rhythmic sound of the typewriter filled the room, reminding him so much of music. He could breath easier with the rhythm in his ears, his fingers sliding over the keys like they used to over the frets of his guitar.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been working when the intercom on his desk buzzed, Adam's voice startling him. “Can I see you in my office? Please?” The last word was added almost as an afterthought, the pause before it weighted.
Tommy pushed the button, clearing his throat before responding. “I'll be right in.” The walk down the hall felt impossibly long until it didn't, and Adam's door was right in front of him. Tommy took a deep breath and pushed it open, closing it softly behind him and waiting. Adam crooked a finger at him, and Tommy moved forward like he was being pulled. He stopped at the edge of Adam's desk, and tried to decide what to do with his hands, stuffing them in his pockets then crossing them over his chest then dropping them to hang by his sides, the fingers of one hand drumming against his thigh.
Adam slid a piece of paper across the desk, and Tommy glanced down to it. He recognized it as a letter he'd typed a few days before, but now there were red marks on it, circling some of the words. Adam's voice was quiet when he spoke, but there was an edge to it that made Tommy shiver. “Look at it.”
Tommy looked, his brain screaming at him to focus. “Um...what?”
“Look at it. Do you see?” Adam jabbed at the letter with a finger, pointing at each one of the circled words in turn. “This letter has three typing errors, and I think this one is a spelling error.”
“I'm...sorry?” Tommy didn't know what to do, he shifted from foot to foot and pulled his lower lip into his mouth, pulling at the bits of loose skin with his teeth.
“This isn't the first time. I've let other go because you were new, but this has to stop. Do you know how this makes me look to clients?” Adam's voice was still careful, quiet, but somehow that made it much worse. Tommy would rather be screamed at, that he would know how to react to.
“I'm sorry, sir. I'm -” Tommy stopped instantly when Adam lifted his hand, pressing his lips together.
“Type it again, and do it right.” Adam lifted the letter off the desk and held it out with two fingers, and if there was something wrong with it.
Tommy took it and carried it back to his desk, spreading it out and looking it over until he thought he could type it in his sleep. He typed slow and careful, his eyes flicking from the keys to the paper and back again, making sure that every word was perfect. His teeth dug into his lower lip until it was puffy and raw, and just the gentle swipe of his tongue over the skin made him breathe in sharply. He pulled the letter out of the typewriter and read it over once, twice, enough times that his eyes were starting to blur and he headed back to Adam's office. The door was open, and he stepped in with a soft knock against the jam. Adam gestured for him to move forward, and Tommy slid the letter onto the desk, waiting.
“Could you go pick up my lunch? The usual, but with an extra pickle this time.” Adam didn't even look at him as he spoke, just kept flipping through a book.
“Um...aren't you going to proofread the letter?” Tommy's fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to push the letter closer to Adam.
“I'm sure it's fine.” He flipped a page in his book, the noise it made sounding incredibly loud in the still air of the room.
Tommy bent to pick up the empty coffee cup on Adam's desk, and just as he was about to turn to walk out of the room, Adam flicked his gaze up. Tommy could feel Adam's eyes on his lips, knew how ruined they looked without having to look in a mirror himself. Out of habit, he pulled his lip into his mouth, intending to hide it.
“When people come into my office, you are the first person they see, isn't that right?” Tommy nodded, and waited for Adam to continue. “What must it look like to see you sitting there with torn and bloody lips? It's disgusting, and you need to stop.”
“I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize...” Tommy resisted the urge to wipe the back of his hand over his lips, his fingers clenching tighter on the coffee cup in his hand.
“And another thing. The drumming, with your fingers. I can hear it in my office.” Adam leaned back, pausing, and Tommy responded before he could stop himself.
“I'm sorry, I'm a - I used to be a musician.” Tommy dropped his gaze to the floor, the admission of his failure hard to stomach, even now.
He could feel Adam's gaze burning through him, but when he looked up it wasn't anger he saw on Adam's face. It was interest, or curiosity maybe. And maybe Tommy was imagining it, but he thought he saw a sparkle in Adam's eyes and a twitch to his lips. “A musician. Well, get yourself some lip balm when you pick up lunch, and stop chewing on your lips.”
A few days went by, and gradually, Tommy relaxed. He carried a tube of lip balm around, one that he hated the taste of, and put it on every time he felt like pulling his lip into his mouth, doubling up whenever he had to go into Adam's office. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like the way his lips felt sliding together with the slick balm on them, especially now that they were smooth, no torn bits of skin. Every time he pulled the tube out, he thought of Adam, how Adam had told him to do this, and he let his lips curve into a little smile. Just touching the tube calmed him, brought his down, and he tried not to think too hard about what that might mean.
As usual, he startled when his intercom buzzed, the sharp crackling noise breaking through the haze he often fell into when typing. “Mr. Ratliff, come into the study.”
Tommy responded quickly, maybe a little too quickly when he heard how breathless he sounded. “Okay.” He pulled out his lip balm and put it on thickly, rubbing his lips together until it was smooth and even. He slipped the tube into his pocket and patted the lump it made, keeping his hand there as he walked down the hall, his footsteps echoing in his own ears. He didn't know what was waiting for him in the study, but he took a deep breath and pushed open the door, pulling his hand away from the tube in his pocket at the last minute.
Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't what he found. Adam was sitting on the sofa in the study, one of his legs curled underneath him, a smile spread across his face. He patted the cushion next to him, and Tommy only hesitated for a moment before moving. The sofa was soft and high, and Tommy sunk deep enough into it that his feet could only brush the floor. He felt his cheeks flush as he shifted, scooting forward until he could plant his feet, leaning back awkwardly against the arm rest.
“You're shy, aren't you, Tommy?” Adam's voice was soft, but not the scary kind of soft Tommy had heard before.
Tommy shrugged, looking up at Adam through his messy fall of blonde hair. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I used to be shy.” Adam must have seen the disbelief on Tommy's face, because he held up his hands, his smile softening just a touch. “I did, really. But I had to overcome my shyness if I wanted to get anywhere in life.”
Tommy nodded, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Well, I don't think you're shy.”
Adam's gaze darted away from Tommy for a moment, and when he spoke next his voice sounded far away. “I know I'm your boss, and this is probably outside the bounds of whatever our relationship is supposed to be...but I want you to feel free to talk to me, about anything.”
A pregnant pause filled the small room, and Tommy's heart dropped to his stomach when Adam continued. “The band-aids on your wrist. What's going on there?”
Tommy dropped his eyes to his lap, digging his fingers into the material of his pants and focusing on not chewing on his lip. He saw Adam's hand moving towards his, and he was surprised when he felt how soft it was resting against his. “Why do you cut yourself, Tommy?”
“I don't know.” Tommy shrugged and let Adam enfold one of his hands entirely in his own. “I've been doing it a long time.”
Adam nodded like that was an answer and stroked his fingers over the back of Tommy's hand. “Sometimes things just build up so much inside of you, nerves, fears, or stress and you feel like you might explode. The blood, it's like everything rushing free all at once, clearing out everything that's backing up inside, giving you a chance to start fresh, until the next time.”
Tommy looked up, his mouth hanging open just a little as he caught eyes with Adam. “I - yeah, that's part of it.”
“I'm going to tell you something, Tommy. Are you ready to listen?” Adam waited for Tommy to nod before continuing. “You will never, ever cut yourself again. Do you understand?”
Tommy hesitated for a moment and then nodded, feeling a sudden rush of something he couldn't describe.
“You don't need that anymore, it's all in the past. Right?” Tommy nodded again, and Adam squeezed his hand, gentle and reassuring, not letting go.
“Good. Can I ask you just one more question?” Adam's voice shifted from the soft, gentle tone to a more conversational tone, and Tommy was glad for the change.
“Yeah, of course.” Tommy shifted to turn his body more towards Adam, looking at him straight on for the first time since walking into the study.
“You told me you used to be a musician. What happened?”
Tommy shrugged, running his tongue over his lips and cringing at the taste of the balm. “The same thing that happens to everyone in LA. I moved here with a guitar, and eventually I had to choose between the guitar and food and a place to live. I chose food.”
Adam squeezed Tommy's hand again, a little harder this time. “You know, I used to be a singer. Before I was this.” He gestured with his free hand, those rings that Tommy thought were new glinting in the dim light of the room.
“Why did you stop?” Tommy could tell that Adam was remembering, the far away look in his eyes fascinating.
“It wasn't practical anymore. My parents pushed for me to go to law school for years, and after living without electricity and making just enough money to pay for the cab home...I took their advice.” Adam's face was soft, the angles that Tommy was used to blurring into curves that made Tommy's fingers itch to reach out and touch.
Tommy lowered his voice, sensing that Adam felt about his failed music career the same way Tommy did about his. “Were you good?”
“I thought so, but it doesn't always matter.” Adam pulled his hand away from Tommy's, folding them carefully in his lap and rearranging his face into what Tommy now realized was a mask of control. “You know what I want you to do, Tommy? I want you to go home early, and spend the afternoon doing something you love, anything. You deserve to relax. Will you do that for me, Tommy?”
Somehow, Tommy knew that wasn't really a question, but he wouldn't have said no even if it was. He took the long way home, driving down quiet, deserted streets, enjoying the quietness inside his own head even more. The second that Adam told him that he wasn't going to cut himself anymore it was like a wet, woollen blanket had been lifted off of him. He had tried to stop so many times over the years, but this time, because Adam has insisted he do it, everything was different. He could breathe easier, think clearer, and he arrived at the office early the next morning to leave a cup of coffee on Adam's desk, the little black bag Tommy had carried with him for so long resting against it. Tommy wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was more than a promise, because promises can be broken.
Tommy's good mood was shattered when Adam stormed out of his office, stalking towards Tommy's desk with a look in his eyes that made Tommy shrink back. The sound of Adam's hand slapping against Tommy's desk rang through the small room, and Tommy actually jumped, his eyes shooting up to Adam's face and then flicking away to anywhere but.
“All that you have to do is type, and answer the phones. Is that too much?” There was a hard, sharp edge to Adam's voice, and Tommy swore he could feel it against his skin. Adam's finger jabbed against the piece of paper he'd slammed on Tommy's desk, and the red Sharpie stood out against the white paper like an accusation.
“I'm sorry.”
“It seems like it might be too much.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize to me. Come into my office, and bring the letter.” Adam turned on his heel and walked swiftly down the hall. Tommy waited for the slamming of the door, but it never came. His legs shook as he stood, and the letter crumpled around the edges where he clutched it tightly in his fingers. When he got to Adam's office, Adam was sitting stock-still in his chair, fingers tented in front of him. “Shut the door, and put the letter on my desk.”
Tommy set the letter down and waited the next instruction coming quickly. “I want you to bend over the desk, and put your face very close to the letter.”
“What? I don't...” Tommy went instantly silent when Adam rose to his feet, his eyes following Adam until he couldn't see him anymore, until Adam was a warm presence at his back.
“Bend over, and put your elbows on the desk. Get your face very close to the letter, and then read it out loud.” Adam spoke slowly, like he was explaining the rules to an exasperating child. Tommy's cheeks coloured as he bent forward, the wood of the desk cool under his palms. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on the letter, and in that moment he could feel Adam move even closer, their thighs nearly touching.
Tommy's voice was shaking, and he didn't even try to stop it. He licked his lips in a vain attempt to moisten them, but it felt like his mouth was lined in sandpaper. “Dear Mr Lavalle, the subject of same-sex domestic partnerships...” His breath left him in a sudden huff when he felt Adam's hand come down hard against his ass, the thin fabric of his pants not providing much of a barrier.
“Continue.” Adam's voice was frustratingly level, like he was unaffected by what was going on. “Mr. Ratliff. Read.”
“...the subject of same-sex domestic partnerships is one that I am especially interested in, and I am glad that your case has been referred to me.” Tommy breathed in sharply when the next blow came, harder than the first. He could feel heat already spreading across his ass and down his thighs, but he kept reading.
“My secretary has prepared research material on the issue that I think you will find illuminating.” The blows came faster now, every few words instead of only at the end of sentences. Tommy struggled to keep speaking, a soft moan trying to escape when he opened his mouth to finish the letter.
“Please feel free to contact me when you have read over the information, and we will discuss it at your earliest convenience.” The blows were coming hard enough to rock Tommy forward, his fingers scrabbling against the desk. He knew his voice had gone breathy, but he couldn't help it.
“Yours sincerely, Adam M. Lambert.” The final blows came with every word, and Tommy could barely get a breath between each one. Between his legs his cock was hard and rubbing against the edge of the desk, and he knew when he stood up there'd be a wet spot on the front of his thin wool pants.
As soon as the final blow was landed, a heavy silence fell over the room. Tommy struggled to slow down his breathing, to even it out, because even to his own ears it sounded wanton and needy. Tommy felt hot, like his skin was too tight and he needed out, his legs shaking as he rested heavily against the desk. He started when Adam ran a gentle hand over his ass, making the ache that much more obvious.
“Read it again.” Adam's voice was still level, but Tommy imagined he could hear a slight shake way down, almost not even there.
“What?” Tommy started to turn his head, but then Adam's hand settled firmly into the small of his back, pushing down just slightly and Tommy stopped. He dropped his eyes back to the letter and started reading.
“Dear Mr Lavalle...” The blows came hard and fast this time, so hard that Tommy could barely get the words out. He gasped whenever he could steal a breath, missing words in the letter but it seemed liked Adam wasn't listening anymore. His hand rose and fell so fast Tommy couldn't tell where one blow ended and the next began, and by the time he reached the end of the letter, his ass was burning and tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes. When the blows stopped, one of Adam's hands came to rest next to his on the desk, his fingers nearly touching Tommy's. Tommy lifted his pinkie just slightly, just enough to wrap it lightly around Adam's thumb. Adam's hand pulled away slowly, and Tommy fought the urge to case it with his own. He heard Adam straighten his clothes behind him, and saw out of the corner of his eye when Adam moved around to take his seat at the desk again.
“Go straighten yourself up and re-type the letter.” There was a slight flush spread across Adam's cheeks, and a sheen of sweat that Tommy had never seen before; the first chinks in the perfect armour he'd thought was unbreakable. Tommy stared in silence for a few seconds that felt like hours, and then picked up the letter with shaking hands and walked slowly out of the office.
His ass ached as he walked down the hallway, and he paused at his desk after setting the letter down and turned on his heel to head into the bathroom. He pushed in the little button lock on the door and fumbled with the buckle on his belt until he could push his pants down over his hips. He turned, standing up on his tiptoes until he could just see his ass in the large mirror over the sink. His pale skin was mottled, large marks that were red around the edges, deepening in the centre. Tommy could already imagine how dark purple the marks would turn, and he wondered how long they would last, how long they would hurt. He ran his fingers lightly over the skin feeling the spreading heat and the ache that wasn't quite sharp but wouldn't really be dull for a few days yet. He winced a little when he sat down in his desk chair, but then a little smirk spread across his face as he shifted to get that feeling to last longer.
At the end of the day, Tommy was packing up his things when Adam stuck his head out. “Mr Ratliff, good letter.” He smiled, a small smile but a real one. Tommy smiled back, and walked out of the building with his head held high. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this calm, no hint of panic creeping in around the edges, no building pressure in his belly. If he'd thought that yesterday was the start of something, today he was sure of it.
Part Two