Fic- star-crossed wires (part 2)
PART 1
Tommy didn’t know whether he was supposed to be relieved or just depressed that Adam didn’t follow after him, and didn’t approach him in the next few days. He felt him looking though, sometimes, but whenever Tommy went to look, Adam’s eyes were elsewhere and he couldn’t help but wonder if he imagined it in the first place.
Strangely, or perhaps, not strangely at all, Adam’s eyes on him, imagined or not, was the only thing that felt good anymore. He forgot Adam isn’t right there hanging out with him, he didn’t sit near him at the campfires at night, and he bit his lip hard enough to wince when he thought of something and reminded himself to tell Adam later. Only Adam wasn’t going to be there later, or maybe ever because Tommy royally screwed that up. Tommy was the one who’d freaked out and done what he always did when he was scared, retreated inside, cut himself off and ran.
It’s not like screwing up is a new thing for him, Tommy knows that much. Fuck, if he’s feeling honest he knows he screwed up his fair share of good things. This is the first time it’s been this real, this instantaneous. When he’d turned tail and ran from his family, it had taken a few months for the empty lonely feeling to settle in, to realize at 13, that he’d cut off a part of himself, that he’d resigned himself to spend the rest of his life without that part. Because it had been hard, imperfect, scary.
He thought maybe it’s his brain or his heart or something trying to tell him to fix this now, while he still has a shot at healing the damage he’s done. He didn’t know if it’s really the reason or if it’s just wishful thinking. All he knew for sure is that he missed Adam so much it literally hurt.
Generally he felt like a miserable little shit, like he’d gone and fucked up the first good thing he’d had in forever.Then he started thinking about what had gone done, really thinking. It only made everything that much worse. He realized how much he freaked, and why? Because Adam has a good voice.
Out of the moment, he had no explanation, just a sudden bad feeling, a panic that had sent him running. Just because Adam could sing didn’t mean he shared his god parent, lots of people could sing, they weren’t all related to him. Which meant there is no proof Adam is his brother, which also means that Tommy freaked out for nothing. Overall, he feels like a self-sabotaging fuck-wit, and for that there is only one cure; Mia.
“You look like teen angst embodied, TJ.” Was the first thing out of her mouth, and yeah, that’s Mia, no beating around the bush, no niceties or platitudes, no bullshit. Tommy loves that about her. He slid into the seat beside her at the lunch table, slumped forward, face in his hands, wondering if he looks as tired as he feels.
“Whats the matter? Did somebody read your diary?” She asked, mouth smirking, but eyes lit with concern that she didn’t express in the way any normal girl would.
Tommy lifted his head enough to shake it, in such a shitty mood he can’t even be amused or pissed off by her teasing, he felt like a deflated balloon, like somebody let all the air and willpower out of him. “No, I’m just. I’m so fucking fucked up.” He said, voice raw and weary and so damned tired. He rested his head on her shoulder, burying his face into the nape of her neck and her dark hair. She smelled warm and familiar, like lavender shampoo and pot.
Mia’s tone softened out and her fingers stroke through the messy short hair on the back of his head when she talked again. “Oh Tommy, what the hell happened?”
She may be no nonsense but she’s still a girl and it feels so good, so easy to press against her, feel her all soft and curvy against him. He almost wanted to hide his face in her bosom; he would if he wasn’t mostly sure he’d get a smack for his trouble.
“I’m a screw up is what happened. I get one good thing, no...one awesome thing and I have to-” He stopped and just breaths for a moment. “I fuck it up, cause I fuck everything up. Because I, Mia, am a screw up.”
“You never cared about being a screw up, it’s hardly a new thing, you’ve been a screw up since you first came here three years ago, but you own that, Tommy. You own your screwed up-ness, which sort of makes you awesome. I’m just kinda of confused.” Mia said, way too logical and philosophical for somebody who spent her spare time growing illegal weeds. “So, what makes it different now?”
Tommy was a relaxed kind of miserable, Mia’s fingers tracing through his hair, across his scalp and the back of his neck, back up and down again. “He’s different, I don’t know, he meant something and it was...good, so good and it could have been awesome.” Tommy mumbled, voice thick with regret, muffled into Mia’s hair.
“That Lambert guy? So what’s the problem?” Mia asked pulling away far enough to look at Tommy’s eyes, he wondered if he looked as pathetic as he felt.
“I told you, I wrecked it.” Tommy said, his voice almost a whine.
“So you’re giving up? The hell, Tommy Joe? You’ve always been a screw up but I’ve never actually remembered you being a total chicken shit as well.” Mia said, cutting right through the whole thing, didn’t even bother to ask what he did, it probably didn’t matter in the long run. He can’t change what he’d already done.
“I mean, I know you’re all pretty but I’ve always been sure you had balls, so how ‘bout you locate them and do something about this whole mess, sugar?”
Tommy bit his lip, chewing it pink as he picked at the quicksilver polish on his nails. “What if I can’t?”
Mia rolled her eyes and settled her hands on his shoulders, steady and warm and surprisingly strong as she rubbed distracting little circles with her thumbs. “What if you can and you’re wasting your time whining to me like a little bitch?” She asked and grinned. The words weren’t really harsh, because Tommy knows her and knows Mia is loving and wonderful, she’s just...rough around the edges.
She made it sound so easy, like he can just go and fix it. He really didn’t see that happening, not with how he just ran off the way he did. Adam had got to be thinking that that was the rejection that Tommy promised wasn’t coming. If he were Adam, he wouldn’t want to forgive him.
“So...how the fuck am I supposed to fix it?”
Mia shrugged at him helplessly, her eyes have a little bit of shadow in them. It reminds Tommy of his own talk to Adam in the forest, about everybody having their issues.
“Hell if I know, Tommy. I’m no Daughter of Athena, you want wisdom, trying talking to Cam. However, with that mouth of yours.” She said, considering his lips thoughtfully. “I’d suggest a blowjob.” She finally said, grinning and pulling back enough to ruffle his hair fondly.
Tommy almost wanted to laugh. It’s sort of a close call before he has to remind himself how miserable he is, but it’s the closest he’d been since that afternoon in the forest with Adam.
“I’m serious TJ, your mouth is made for sinning. Just remember to cover those teeth and don’t be afraid to be a messy eater.” She added, going so far as to actually pinch Tommy’s cheek, like some kind of great Aunt at an awkward holiday get together.
Tommy couldn’t help the smile she pulls out of him, small and kind of feeble, but it’s still there, also with a blush, because it’s actually not sounding like the worst idea. He also may be a little eager to jump back into this thing with Adam with two feet, and what better way to prove that he wanted Adam than physically?
“You’re a vulgar bitch, you know that right?” Tommy asked her, pillowing his arms on the stone table in front of him, slumping forward and resting his chin in the pillow of his skinny arms.
“You say that as though it isn’t your favorite thing about me.” Mia said, grinning at him again, leaning in to press a messy and slightly obnoxious kiss to his cheek. He had to admit, Mia did what he thought she’d do--get him off his ass, talk him into trying to do something about his bullshit. He’s grateful, so he doesn’t bother with wiping at the sticky outline from her lip balm on his cheek As stupid as it is, that mark reminded him that he’s got somebody on his side, and it’s something, just enough, maybe.
Tommy somehow gathered enough courage to grab Adam’s wrist and pull him aside as he’s about to enter their Sword Combat class, the last one of the day before dinner. His palms were disgustingly sweaty and when Adam looked at him, his eyes were wide, so blue and shocked to see him.
Tommy had to wonder how it seemed he missed Adam even more intensely when he’s standing there in front of him again, for the first time in days. So close, and yet he seemed to be out of reach.
When he went to open his mouth he realized that he has no idea what to say and makes a sort of broken sound, like air getting caught in his throat, squeezed out of him too tightly to be comfortable.
“Tommy....What-” Adam voice is soft and open, and Tommy, he didn’t want to break him, even if Adam doesn’t break easily, he just, he never wanted to be the person who could make that earnest loving warmth leave Adam’s eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Adam’s voice corrected itself a little, made itself a little sharper, like Adam slid into his armor and Tommy didn’t even blame him for that.
“I...fuck, I should have written this shit down.” Tommy said, releasing his grip on Adam’s wrist and rubbing his palms against his thighs until they’re dry, warm with friction.
“I’m sorry, probably the best place to start. What I did the other day, Gods, that was screwed up.” Tommy said, tiredly.
“It’s...whatever, it’s over. I mean, there are things that people can do and things that they can’t. If you can’t, Tommy, I’m not about to hate you for that.” Tommy shook his head, gently settling his fingers unto Adam’s arms, digging in softly at his biceps, just above the crook of his elbow, he felt warm and real, solid.
“That isn’t what it is though, I just..I freaked out a second there.” Tommy confessed, the words coming now, like Adam had cracked the dam that was holding them all back and they started to flow out in a steady trickle, building momentum.
“And no...before you ask, it’s not-wasn’t the gay thing.” He added. Tommy has had his share of crushes before but this feels bigger, like his whole world is shifting and all he can do is hang on by his fingernails.
Adam looked tired, Tommy notices, when he leaned in closer, he’s sweaty, hair sticking at his forehead, he smells like grass, all blessedly real. “Alright, I believe you. It isn’t the gay thing. It was something though, and it really fucking hurt me. You just...Fuck, Tommy, you didn’t even say anything to me you were just gone.” Adam whispered and something twists up in Tommy’s guts, painful and sharp.
“It was something, it was.” Tommy said in a rush, pressing in close, thighs bumping together warmly, he tightened his hold on Adam’s biceps, a squeeze to make sure he really isn’t going anywhere, he nudged his nose against Adam’s and his cheek and reminds himself to breath. “I thought there was something, that would keep us apart, and I didn’t want to want something I couldn’t have but-” Tommy had to stop, to release the breath, something shaky, fragile and unsure of himself.
“There’s nothing there, and I don’t...I really, really like you, Adam.” Tommy said, smile so shy, so tentative. “This isn’t something that-...Please tell me I haven’t got you running scared?”
Adam looked like he’s about to say something, then he sighed, and in the heavy moments of silence they both heard the class being called together, knowing they had to go.
“Look this is...so not the time to do this. But I...” Adam caught the fallen look in Tommy’s eyes and let a hand go up to cup his cheek, rubbing his thumb against the high jut of his cheekbone.. “Hey, baby, that’s...it isn’t a no.” Adam confirmed, brushing their open mouths together lightly, just a quick wet slide, like a promise.
“That’s a, we have class but we’re gonna talk about this shit and I-Tommy, it takes more to send me running. I promise.” Tommy nodded, a shaky halting little motion, and squeezed Adam’s bicep with his fingers again before he forced himself to let go.
In class things went spectacularly wrong. The collar around the hellhound, a great snarling beast that Tommy is pretty sure could fill the living room of his old house, accidentally got snared around Allison’s sword as she demonstrated a maneuver. As she moved away, the blade tears it free to fall in the dirt. The collar is the only thing keeping the beast under control and it snarled more, drool dripping off it’s fangs and Tommy has no idea how but Adam is suddenly there, pushing a terrified Allison out of the way and stumbling back as the creature pounced forward, snapping its jaws, trying to grab at one of the demigods in front of it and tear them apart. Adam landed on his back with the wind knocked out of him, weaponless.
Tommy moved like lightening, heaving the sword in his hand at Adam, handle first and it landed beside him as he scrambled back on his elbows, pushing at the dirt with his feet and just trying to get away.
Adam grasped at the sword hilt, blade whistling through the air as he swung it around to defend himself. That got the creature to back up, his mouth not quite as close which loosens something in Tommy’s throat.
Adam was more graceful than he even thought, his body moved like poetry when he wants it too, and every line and muscle of his body was almost savagely beautiful as Adam half raised onto a knee, lunging forward at the creature, shoving up with the blade, impaling the creature’s neck with a wet sound. The hellhound made a terrible noise, something between a yelp and a howl of pain.
Its body slumped forward on Adam and for a horrible moment Tommy thought it was going to crush him under dead weight. That terror dissolved, though, as the carcass turned to golden dust, and was swept away in the summer breeze.
That’s the problem with monsters --they never die. You can kill them but they all turn to dust when you do and sooner or later, they get reborn into the depths of Tartarus. Tommy tried not to think about that, the futility of fighting for his life is the harsh biting reality of superhuman powers and it isn’t one he likes to remember.
Adam was left there, sprawled out in the dirt of the combat arena, blessedly intact,chest heaving with heavy pants. Tommy felt like there was something keeping him frozen to the spot until finally he lets go and he and Allison and the rest of the class move to crowd around Adam as he slowly sits up, smile a little shaky.
“Adam, holy shit, you saved my ass. You are...so crazy and I...I can’t even believe you.” Allison said in a rush of breath, practically throwing herself on top of him, hugging him tightly like she can’t believe Adam would do something that crazy, that he did it for her. Adam’s smile was tired but genuine as he hugged her back and Tommy felt warm and fuzzy inside out as he smiled at him over Allison’s shoulder and mouths ‘thank you.’
Tommy just shook his head, because he wasn’t about to take credit for much of that, all he did was provide Adam with a weapon, Adam was the one who threw himself into danger, who put himself between a friend and a monster without a second thought and if anything is raw hero material, it’s that.
Tommy thought he can practically see a glow around him, like he’s more divine than ever, even bare faced, covered in streaks of dirt, he shines like a star, from the inside out.
Nobody rememberd later who the first one to notice it is, but it’s Allison’s words that ring around in his head when he thinks about it. She looked up as she pulled away and smiled like Christmas morning.
“Adam, your mark...your claim. See, I told you, I told you it would come.”
He looked up through his mess of bangs and sure enough, Adam’s parental claim was reflected in the shimmering, glowing symbol above his head; a golden lyre.
Apollo’s sign. Tommy’s father. Adam’s father. Their father.
Tommy’s stomach dropped out of him, seemed to move independent of his body and made him clutch his flat abdomen through his t-shirt. He remembers the feeling, like the first and last time he let anybody convince him to get onto a roller-coaster. It’s that moment at the top, where suddenly you go over that hump and you drop. You fall, out of control and speeding towards Earth, falling like a star from heaven.
Only this wasn’t a roller-coaster, there was no track, no seat belt harness, nothing and nobody to catch him and he just fell, speeding toward the ground, and when he lands he’ll crash, crash and burn and break apart into a thousand-million pieces of him that nobody would ever be able to piece back together.
Adam is Tommy’s brother. Tommy is Adam’s brother and Tommy can’t breath, can’t think, can’t feel past the rolling queasiness in his belly and the overwhelming, suffocating sense of loss.
Tommy stiffly managed to settle a hand on Adam’s shoulder, and his smile is so brittle and sharp Tommy thought he could cut himself on it. “Congratulations, brother.”
Adam came back to himself with those words, and something that had been lit and sparkling in his gaze goes out. Tommy hates to see it, he does, but he’s glad he’s not the only one hurting.
“Thank you.” Adam whispered back and Tommy, he can’t take anymore, he can’t pretend to be happy for Adam. As selfish as that is, it’s just too soon.
Tommy ducked out in the bustle of people around Adam and it was easy. Nobody noticed the broken look on his face or how Tommy had to keep wrestling down his feeling of nausea, of essential wrongness. Everything felt wrong, like it'dl never be right again.
He lost the battle with his body, spent his dinner in the bathroom, heaving the meager contents of his stomach out into the toilet, until his muscles hurt with the effort and his throat burned, mouth tasting sour. He doesn’t want to face anybody, especially not Adam, can’t bear to even think of seeing him, being reminded again.
Tommy thought he should be used to this, wanting things he just isn’t meant to have. He wants to be normal, or at least something close to it. Heroism isn’t for him, all that fighting, blood and gore and brutality. He’s not meant for that.
His hands gave it away, if nothing else did, they’re all fined-boned structure, long tapered fingers, smooth skin and callouses. They’re meant for music, meant for warm wood and smooth shiny finish, the bite of strings and fret boards. It’s delicate work, precise and beautiful, and that is what he’s meant for.
What those hands aren’t meant for are gripping handles, with hot sticky leather. They are not meant for heaving heavy metal and wood, swords, daggers and crossbows, they’re all instruments of death that don’t fit in his hand, that have always felt so wrong.
They aren’t meant for that and Tommy doesn’t want it, but he’s never had a choice in it. It’s all fight or die in the life of a demigod and finally, finally Tommy had something he could want, something he was allowed to want, something he’s able to have. Only not, because that thing that he wants, is his brother, of all things Adam could be.
Tommy ended up back in his cabin, hid himself in his bed and claimed sick. He pretended to sleep the next day when Adam moved into the Apollo cabin. He listened to Adam and Monte’s footsteps as they settle in his things, focusing too hard on the beat and rhythm of Adam’s breath, his honey-warm voice as he talked in low tones to Monte.
Once they’re gone, he can’t hold back the tears, hot, salty and shameful. He pressed his face into the pillow and shuddered with it, sobs that wrack his body and make his chest hurt. Tommy can’t remember the last time he cried and now he cries not just for Adam but for everything; every wrong and every hurt, all of them stinging and real. Adam, Adam is the last, the last thing he could take, the thing that broke him.
He continued to plead sick the next two days, heaving himself out of his bed long enough to shower in the boys’ bathroom, and make an appearance at lunch. He doesn’t know if he should count himself lucky or not that he looks bad enough that nobody disputed his claim of illness.
He tried not to sleep, sleeping was the worse part. The subconscious doesn’t care about the guilt, the fact that Adam must be disgusted by him, by what they had, based on the way Adam avoids getting to close to him or looking at him. The subconscious doesn’t care about family ties or rules or expectations, it only cares about want, deep primal need, about the place where none of those other things matter and that part is the worst.
Tommy dreamed in technicolor sensation, bright colors and vivid touch. He dreamed of that first night on the beach, pot-smoke, sandy dunes, silver moonlight and Adam’s freckles. He remembered Adam’s weight on him, over him, pressing him down into the sand blocking out the rest of the world except for their bodies pressed together, flushed hot friction and Adam’s kisses, soft lips and wet tongue.
He woke with a jolt, the cabin empty in the afternoon with everything awash in golden light, tangled in his sheets and cock throbbing where it’s curved up against his hip. Fuck it, he thought, forget the guilt and shame and the rules of ‘supposed to’, none of those things change his wants. They don’t make them go away.
Tommy caressed his hand down his belly, snaking it under the waistband of his sleep pants, grasping at his cock with sweaty fingers, squeezing the base and shuddering as he pulls. He thought all the while that he shouldn’t, that this was bad and wrong and terrible. He can’t stop though, his hand settled into a sweet teasing rhythm leaving him sweaty, desperate. He squirmed on the bed, kicking down his covers, hips arching into the rhythm of his hand. Quick jerky pulls, thumbing the flushed wet tip, he imagined Adam’s hands, bigger than his own, thicker fingers, smooth soft skin, un-calloused and just the right touch around him.
He tried not to think, tried to tune it all out and focus on the familiar sensation of his hand on himself. That at least is normal, something he’d done hundreds (probably more like thousands) of times but somehow it’s all more illicit, more wrong. Like he’s spread wide open mentally, and anybody who saw him could look and just know. Know what he was thinking about, what he wanted as he frantically tugged at his cock.
He wasn’t sure which part of that he hated more, the fact that people would see all his dirty laundry hung there in their faces to be judged, or the fact that people could look at him and just paw around in his head. Tommy liked the thought that his emotions are locked up in his head, where people can’t get at them, can’t watch as they mix together and fizzle like bad chemistry, like the moment before a mini explosion singes off your eyebrows. They’re tearing him up into pieces, but at least nobody has to know it but him.
Tommy squirmed a little, down in the bed, hand squeezing at the base of his cock a moment trying to remind himself that he has to actually breath, because he’s getting all dizzy and lightheaded. It didn’t stem the want, not even a little, his blood was still rushing around his body, a roar in his ears. He tried to convince himself he’s not thinking of Adam as he twisted his fingers at his nipple, the sensation bright and sharp. His hand came stuttering back to life in it’s movements, fingers tight. His body is a fucking traitor,Tommy gave up fighting.
It was embarrassingly short, even for jerking off. Tommy came with a soft strangled sound, his balls tight and tingling, he paints hot ribbons of white across his stomach. He felt it, slick and shameful hot, gathering in the little dip of his bellybutton. He lazes in the aftermath, feeling so dirty, sticky with come drying on his skin, he let his senses buzz with thoughts of Adam, wished he were there to curl up against.
He felt like he’s not as guilty as he ought to be when he finally uses a couple tissues to mop up the mess.
PART 3