FIC: The Game - Part 2
Title: The Game
Author: ragman_rip
Pairing(s): Adam/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Extreme violence, language, prostitution, gunplay, object insertion, some gore, angst, non-con (once).
Word count: 24,570 (not including Spanish and Portuguese translations at the end).
Summary: Adam Lambert needs a vacation between the U.S. Glam Nation tour, and the European/Asian leg of the tour. Lane sends him to Rio de Janeiro to relax, but a fresh new sense of adventure leads Adam away from the cozy hotel and his beach plans. Embarking on an exotic sex fantasy, he gets a lot more than he paid for when he meets a young Brazilian man on the run from dangerous enemies.
Disclaimer: While I invented the OMC, Adam Lambert (or any of his mentioned or featured friends) does not belong to me, and this is utterly a work of fiction. Also, I adore Adam, so I’m not out to “do terrible things” to him in any way. It’s just an adventure tale with a few dark corners, for your entertainment. Not making a dime off of it, either. Please don’t repost in other places without permission, or tweet it to him (yikes). Thanks.
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A/N: BIG thanks to my betas, @AuntieMaim, @Ranmaru_san, and @Flynnsgirl; this would have been real hard to read without them! Any mistakes that remain are my own.
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Adam’s taxi left him on a narrow dirty street surrounded by structures that didn’t look entirely stable. The building the cabbie had gestured to was one of the few with lights on inside, but it looked more like a prison than a place that delivered fantasies. When the sun set, he was swallowed up by darkness as he hesitated.
“Well, inside is bound to be safer,” he muttered, and approached the building.
As the woman’s voice on the phone had instructed, he pressed the call button on the box by the door and read off the code number he’d written down. After a few deep breaths, the door opened, bathing him in yellow light. Another woman’s voice spoke to him in what might be Portuguese, her silhouette that of a tall and slender beauty. The whole situation felt very film noir except he was unsure of his lines and might actually be playing the victim.
I hope this isn’t just an elaborate way to rob and murder tourists. “Hello? It’s… Mr. Green, I have an appointment to discuss business? I’m sorry; I don’t speak, uh… I only speak English.”
“Oh, yes, come in,” she responded with a thick accent.
Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that the place really did look like a club. The woman beckoned for him to follow her into a sitting area and offered him a drink.
“No, thank you, I’m fine. Are you the person I discuss things with?”
“Sim, eu sou; yes, I am. Here is a book. You want a boy or a girl?”
“These are, ah, I don’t mean to offend, but we’re talking about adults, right?”
“Adults, yes, young. You want older?”
“No, young is good, a boy.”
“You look at this book, see a boy you like? I will get drinks.”
“Uh, sure. Okay.”
He picked up the large photo album, but scanned the room before opening it. The furniture appeared to be fancy, but it was probably well-made knock-offs. The emerald and gold decor looked much more lavish than the building that housed it, and it was hard to shake the impression of a brothel.
Shouldn’t have expected a movie set. Pick someone who looks like he can role play and get upstairs; or call another cab and admit defeat. Pressing his lips together in a firm line, he opened the album.
All of the photos were mixed, male and female, and they were candid shots, almost as if it was a real family album. Assuming that was for appearances, he started paying attention to the boys. Most were not tiny blonde twinks, but there were many tiny dark-haired twinks, with smooth caramel skin and bright brown eyes.
Yet the photo that caught his eye wasn’t a twink. He was in his early twenties, with some impressive muscle under tattooed caramel perfection. He held a toy gun, but the expression on his sculpted face was intensely serious - dangerous. Many of the people held a prop or two, all of them, he slowly realized, indicated the sort of fantasy they were offering. The tattoo that hooked him was a vine with red roses that decorated the collarbones. Each thorn tip was done to give the illusion of a drop of scarlet ink.
Beauty and pain….
Adam glanced up when the woman returned with a bottle of Patrón and two glasses on a tray. Grateful it wasn’t already opened, he rose to help her, pouring the tequila himself. Nervousness he had never felt in off-the-wall German sex clubs crept into his adventurous mood, threatening it. To fight it off, he drank.
Business was discussed quite matter-of-factly, and Adam started to hand over a wad of cash when the woman held out a hand to stall him.
“Which boy did you want?”
Without hesitation, Adam pointed, his finger touching the vine and roses around the pretty throat. “Him - gunplay sounds fun; very Al Capone.”
The madam, or whatever her title was, did hesitate. “Oh, yes…. Would you like to go up to the suite now? I will have your boy sent up to you.” Her smile was slow, but when he offered the money again, it widened as she took it.
Adam carried his glass with him, and when the woman offered him the bottle, he smiled and took it before following her up a flight of narrow stairs.
Told to wait only a few moments, he spent that time exploring the so-called suite. It was no bigger than his efficiency apartment from his pre-Idol days, except instead of a kitchenette, it had a huge bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub. More impressed with it before they’d turned the lights on, he turned them back off, only leaving on the soft yellow lights in the bathroom.
It was a little warm in the room, so he set the bottle and glass on a bedside table and went to the window. Unlatching it, he opened the old-fashioned panes outward just a little at first, but when the cooler night air flowed in, he pushed them all the way out against the shutters. Glancing out, he saw no fire escape or anything else except some pipes and the dark windows of the next building only ten or so feet away.
At a loss when no one came to the door, he sat on the bed and poured more tequila. So maybe I won’t get murdered, but it might be a scam? Wait and watch the tequila disappear or…?
A sound outside the window startled him. Going to investigate with glass in hand, he stuck his head out and looked around. The sound seemed to be coming from the roof. Glancing up, he was shocked to see the figure of a man above him. Vaulting over the rim of the roof, the man grabbed the pipes and went still, poised like someone repelling down a cliff.
Adam froze and watched as the man began to move down the pipes until he was level with the window. With a grunt, the strange man kicked out from the wall, struck it again on the opposite side of the pipes, and with a twist worthy of a gymnast, swung out feet first and launched himself at Adam.
Stumbling backward with a cry, Adam’s back struck the door as the man sailed through the open window and landed in a crouch on the carpet in front of him.
“Cierre para arriba. Todavía esté.”
Groping for the doorknob, which was digging into his back, Adam gulped when he saw the man draw a gun from the back of his jeans. “Holy shit.”
In the minimal glow of the bathroom lights, the face split into a white grin. “Turista americano. Perfecto.” Rising with the gun ready, the man stalked up to Adam. Reaching out to take the glass from him, he drank it all in two swallows with the gun aimed at Adam’s chest. “American, you’re here, you paid for game.”
“Oh, my God….” Adam forced himself to breathe deeply, his eyes leaping to the stylized vine tattoo at the collarbones, the roses dark in the dim room. “Yes… the game. That was… you scared the shit out of me.” Lifting trembling fingers, he touched the tattoo. “I loved this… I wanted to touch it.”
“You saw him? Where?”
“Saw who? I’m sorry, I sort of missed some of the scenario downstairs; that’s really good tequila.” He flinched when the muzzle of the gun was pressed, cold and hard, against his throat. “That doesn’t feel like a toy.”
“You were waiting for him, to fuck him.”
“Uh, someone; you, I think? I’m not that drunk.”
Adam winced when the man whirled at another sound from the window. At least the gun wasn’t touching him anymore, but as he settled into the idea that the fantasy might be more than role play in a brothel, his brain finally caught up to his body. Apparently, he’d guessed right about gunplay being fun.
“They are going to come here if they followed me. You know anything about him, you have to tell me.”
Smiling as tequila and a dizzying erection lent him courage, Adam placed his hands on the man’s back. “Yes, I’ll tell you about him, where he is, everything.” Improvising, he added, “You have to protect me from them, though, or I won’t tell you a damn thing.”
A loud boom sounded downstairs, like a door being broken down. Adam assumed it was a recording, but the production was impressive.
“Mierda. Tenemos que salir. Venido conmigo!”
“Did they tell you I speak… is that Spanish? I don’t….”
“Come with me, stupid tourist! They will kill us both!”
“Oh! Okay, got it, where do we go?” The man went to the window and started to toss a leg over the sill. “Whoa, wait - I’m not jumping out a window!”
“Not jump, slide. Grab the pipes; there are two a foot away.”
Adam approached, his fingers going to the man’s skin like they were magnetized. “Can’t we just - ” he began, looking longingly at the bed. He was grabbed and lifted, thrust bodily through the window. “Fuck!”
“Shut up. Grab the pipe!”
He reached out, grabbed the metal pipe, and hung on for dear life as the man pushed his boots out of the window, his legs swinging out to dangle over the street below. One look down was enough. Squeezing his eyes shut, he just held on tight.
“Move, idiot American,” the man ordered in a stage whisper. “Hand over hand, feet on the wall, move!”
Stage whisper; shit this is way over the line for a get-me-laid adventure. Got to chew out someone’s ass for this good - but first, getting down in one piece would be nice….
Forcing his eyes to open, he found the other pipe and grabbed it, setting his boots to the wall. Slowly, he took a step, and grabbed the pipes a little lower one hand at a time.
He hadn’t gotten more than a few feet down when the pipes rattled and shook with the other man’s weight. Looking up, Adam realized he’d just jumped through the air to grab them. He was still looking up when another boom sounded and angry men popped their heads and their guns out the window, screaming words Adam didn’t understand, but the threat was plain enough.
“Move! Slide!”
When the first shots were fired, Adam slid, a shout of horror torn from his throat. The pipes were smooth but his hands were burning when he stumbled to the street and fell back on his ass. He yelped and scrambled out of the way before the other man landed on him. A second later, he was hauled to his feet and dragged out of the way of what sounded like real bullets pinging around them.
“Run, American! Follow me and stay close!”
Adam pelted down a narrow backstreet after him, vaguely aware that his companion was dark haired and wearing jeans and a black cotton tank shirt. He was also an inch or two shorter, muscular, and moved with the confident grace of a predator running down its prey.
Except we’re the prey? Okay, this is nuts… and a long way to go for a fantasy fuck! He ran full-speed into the man’s back when he stopped short, but he merely set his legs and didn’t allow Adam’s weight to topple him.
“Quick, this way. Quietly.”
Frowning, Adam shut his mouth on the protest he was about to make and followed. When “this way” turned out to be a bunker-like basement hideout worthy of a Martin Scorsese film, his frown slipped away. There was a rickety table with a lamp glowing dimly on it, and two wooden chairs. A scary looking bathroom waited in the dark outside of the lamplight.
Most importantly, there’s a bed; sort of. It was a twin mattress and box spring on a dirty concrete floor, but after all that excitement, he’d have willingly had sex on a garbage pile.
Turning around, he watched the man as he locked the thick door. His hands were big, the forearms roped with thick veins as he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans again. Adam moved up behind him and slipped his hands around the narrow waist, fingers pressed to amazing abdominal muscles. The bulk of the gun and the curve of his ass felt so good on Adam’s stomach and aching dick.
“Haven’t fucked boys since I was one,” the deep voice rumbled, the Spanish accent making the words exotic and dirtier.
Adam chuckled. “I was planning to top, actually. That was a bit of a shock, but pretty wild; just what I needed maybe.”
He dislodged Adam and turned, but didn’t protest when he moved in close again. “Tell me about Julio.”
Smiling up into narrowed but beautiful black eyes, Adam stifled a sigh. “Do we have to keep up the story? Who’s Julio?”
“My little brother. The one you wanted to fuck.” The glare became more hostile.
“Okay, Julio the brother.” Trying to remember what that woman had said about the game he was paying for, Adam kept coming up empty. “Uh, I saw him with some guys, people like the ones that came after us.”
“Rodrigues, his men?”
“Yes, that was it; but I’ll tell you the rest in the morning.”
The man nodded, his shoulders slumping a little. “We can’t move until morning; they’ll be all over, looking for us.”
“So for now, some creature comforts are in order.”
One big hand gripped his face, making him go still. The fingers were calloused but the hold wasn’t hurting him. “You are… pretty boy.”
“Thanks, but I’m a pretty man, one who prefers not having his face grabbed, unless it’s in bed.”
The grin that lit the smooth-shaved caramel face made his knees feel weak. “Then we will go to the bed.”
“Yes… finally. Wait,” he said, when his companion began pulling his tank shirt off. “Let me do that.” Holding the shirt in one fist, Adam caressed and explored the body before him. It was covered in tattoos and words written in Spanish, glistening with sweat, and the jeans just starting to bulge. “What’s your name?”
“Mateo.”
Hand cupping the back of his neck, Adam slowly pulled him in for a kiss. “I’m Adam,” he whispered over closed lips. As those lips opened and began to respond to his, Adam reached down and opened both of their belts.
Mateo stopped him, but only to grasp the gun and pull it free of the jeans before they loosened. Breaking away from Adam, he went to place it on the floor next to the mattress before kicking off his boots and socks. He drew in a deep breath and then stood there, watching Adam cross the room.
Adam dealt with his footwear somewhat smoothly while pulling a beautiful cut cock out of Mateo’s jeans. Giving it a squeeze, he grinned at the hungry growl the man gave him in return. Adam’s guess was it had been awhile for him, girls or boys.
Fishing out the condoms and lube from his jacket, he tossed them on the mattress and stripped the jacket off. Letting it fall to the floor, the t-shirt and jeans followed it. Pale freckled fingers stroked his cock as a little smile quirked his lips, pleased that his companion stared at it.
Mateo pushed his jeans down and stepped out of them. Grabbing Adam by the hips, he watched him touch himself.
“I love it when I’m not the only commando boy in the room. Going to fight me for the top?” Adam asked, a smirk he hoped was charming stretching his face.
Tattooed biceps flexed, the hands not moving from their grip. “I think we are going to share, American.”
“Adam,” the singer corrected him and moved close to kiss him, trapping their dicks to rub against each other. He fell back with a yelp followed by a chuckle when Mateo pushed him bodily to the mattress on his back. The crinkle of foil under him made him sigh in contentment, and he abruptly knew he didn’t really care who topped first - it was going to be an awesome night.
Tomorrow, I might ask if Mateo’s his real name, but I bet it isn’t. Anyway, I can go back to my safe little hotel and put in some serious beach time. Then I can jack off to this memory for the rest of my life….
Mateo stretched out beside him, grabbed and squeezed Adam’s cock once, and then rolled onto his belly to lean on his forearms. “You fuck good, or I’ll pitch you off and take my turn early.”
Hands going to cup Mateo’s ass and stroke down the backs of the man’s thighs, running down more ink all over, Adam brought his mouth down to the firm and rounded ass a bit faster than he’d first planned. When his fingers got there, he spread cheeks that were as dark as the rest of him and groped for the lube.
Teasing the tight asshole with a slick fingertip, Adam whispered, “I fuck good.” On the man’s next exhaled breath, he pressed the finger in, having to work it through the clenched ring of muscle, but loving the feeling of making it give way. Bringing his tongue into the game, he licked and stroked, pressing in a second finger.
“Don’t….”
Adam paused. “Don’t?”
“Don’t make it too loose; I want to feel it, how you say… rough.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Fingers not inside his bedmate found a foil packet and tore it in his teeth. Pulling free to put it on, he knelt between spread tattooed legs and rolled lubricated latex down over an erection that felt like it might explode.
One hand on Mateo’s lower back, he lined it up. The ache was exquisite, flashes of memory from the evening’s insanity already cutting his breath short. Before he could lose it just by thinking about it, he pushed the head in, bulling it through muscle that hadn’t been opened quite enough for his cock.
“Mierda, sí… cogida, americano loco.”
“Crazy American? Hold on, bitch. Haven’t gotten crazy yet.”
Sliding one knee higher, Adam thrust his hips, driving his cock all the way up in one long gritty push. Lust stabbed into his body, flooding his balls.
He started breathing in a controlled, familiar manner, as if prepping his voice for a show. Grateful that he didn’t have to confess to his former vocal coach that it helped stave off an orgasm while actually heightening his sexual pleasure, he employed the technique now with earnest.
Dragging his cock back, he glanced down and watched it disappear as he thrust it up again. Mateo moved as if he was unable to hold still, muttering things in Spanish that might have been fun dirty bed talk if Adam could understand them.
Adam worked the body under him and his own to make it good. Hands on hips would pull the ass up as he thrust in, or his legs would catch and trap the other man’s legs and hold them immobile, thrusting just with his back and hips. Gathering speed, he let Mateo’s legs go and pushed them wide, yanking slender hips up higher to take his cock as he slammed it in and jerked it back, only to shove it deep again.
Above the man’s head, only one inked arm was stretched out, fist knotting the single thin sheet that was bunched up at the top of the bare mattress. The other arm was down, working under his body, trying to fist his dick. Grasping the elbow, Adam hauled the arm free and twisted it against his back.
“Rough enough for you, crazy Brazilian?”
“Ai, no caber ni un alfiler!”
“Hope you aren’t saying stop, because we never worked out a bilingual safe word.”
“It is packed, stuffed… you are….”
“I know,” Adam answered, grinning. “Who’s your papi.” Holding the wrist and forearm, he used it as a handle and drove into the man’s ass harder. “I’m going to come in your ass while you’re still hard and aching. Then, when I’m done, maybe I’ll let you come. Maybe I’ll help you come.”
The groan that won him sank into his balls and he knew it wouldn’t take much more. Tossing a swivel into his thrusts, he rode it when the man began to buck beneath him. Hard and fast, almost cruel, he stroked his cock deep until the pressure grew, sharpening almost into a delicious pain before it burst. Warm pleasure tore through him from his shuddering cock to his sweating scalp. Fingers that still held the trapped arm tingled at the tips, and he gasped out as it rushed through and dissipated long before his breathing could trip back to normal.
Willing his sated body to move, he drew back and pulled out, poised on his knees to strip off the condom. One quick knot in the end, and he tossed it to the floor. Before Mateo could move beyond flexing a sore arm, Adam shifted and pulled him over to his back, sitting perched on his thighs. He took the man’s hard dick in his hand and squeezed.
“You can still feel me in you, can’t you? Feel your ass stretched, sore and used. I made you buck for it. Imagine what I can do with my hand, my mouth?”
Mateo watched him, his expression bemused but flushed with passion. “You were the one waiting, you work in that place, you are prostitute?”
Adam threw his head back and laughed, barely managing not to let go of the dick in his hand. “No,” he answered as soon as he could. “I’m the paying customer. I’m just… aware of my talents.”
To prove it, he began an overhand, switch, underhand job of jacking that had the man’s eyes rolling back in his head in seconds. Adam enjoyed teasing him, pausing or changing rhythm when he got close. Only when the latest string of Spanish expletives outdid the rest in vigor did he go ahead and let the man blow, angling it to strike the shuddering inked abdominals he’d been admiring.
Tilting over and releasing him, Adam fell to the mattress beside him, both of them sweating and panting. “You’re going to break my heart and tell me this glorified movie set doesn’t have a shower, aren’t you?”
“Tub, no shower. Water’s cold.”
Adam huffed, pouting. Rolling onto his side, he let his fingers trace the vine and roses tattoo that had gotten him into this. It was hard to see details of the artwork in the minimal light. “The thorns; not all of them prick to make a blood drop. Is that deliberate?”
Mateo didn’t look at him. “Each drop is for a loved one lost. Each rose is the one who killed them. The skulls… are for their deaths.”
Something in his voice made Adam swallow the reply he’d been about to make. He hadn’t noticed any skulls on that particular tattoo. Settling on his back again, he sighed. It’s all story, he’s worked it all out. Maybe he gets bored going through the motions of the scenario and makes up gothic details to stay interested.
Mateo got up and went into the bathroom. Either he didn’t bother to close the door, or maybe there wasn’t one. Adam lay on a bare mattress that reeked of sweat and sex and felt exhaustion creep into every muscle. By the second yawn, he decided he could wait to get back to his hotel to shower.
Grabbing the wadded sheet, he hoped it might be a little clean and straightened it out over his legs and hips. There wasn’t a pillow in sight.
Water ran and splashed into a sink. When it stopped, he listened to his companion take a piss. “Isn’t paid love grand,” he whispered. I should wash my face…. Fuck it, it’s just eyeliner.
The moment he closed his eyes the images and sensations of their crazed escape from the brothel, or whatever it was, crowded in. A slow smile stretched his lips as he realized, now that he was safe and sated - he’d loved every insane heart-pounding second of it.
When Mateo returned and stretched out beside him, his shoulders-sweeping dark hair slightly damp, Adam pulled him closer and drifted off to sleep with his fingertips on the roses of the tattoo beneath his throat.
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Go to Part 3