GlitterGasm - Part 3 (Chapter 2)
Double damn. Where the hell had he put that fucking thing?
Quickly hunting through his apartment, going by ear, Adam located his phone in the back pocket of the ruined jeans he had worn earlier that day. Another reason why he needed to do laundry this weekend.
"Hey! Danielle!" He exclaimed, a bit out of breath, but with a smile on his face. He had a lot to tell her.
The conversation ended up lasting for almost two hours as they caught up with each other, and it contained a mini freak out first on Danielle's and then on Adam's part, courtesy of him admitting to what kind of new job he had taken on. Adam didn't have secrets with Danielle, she was the first person he told pretty much everything. Her acceptance of him and his decisions made Adam wish that she had moved to New York with him. He missed her. When they hung up, Adam felt lighter, unburdened, but also exhausted, like he had written an exam he had zero time to prepare for.
A glance at his phone's display made him sigh. It had gotten pretty late. For a work night, anyway.
Adam returned to his bed and carefully tucked the 'New!Samples' folder underneath it with the rest. He flopped down on the mattress and, kicking his feet, wiggled under the blanket. Adam liked sleeping naked. As he drifted off, the theatre grad's last coherent thought was dedicated to the horror of early practice in the morning. Brooke was going to pick him up at 5 o’clock sharp. And Brad complained about starting at 9. Wuss.
In his dream, Adam stood on stage, rehearsing his solo in front of rows and rows of empty seats, except the one right before him, which was occupied by a pretty blond, smiling up at him with adoration in his eyes.
Practice the next day went fairly well. Adam’s run-throughs passed smoothly, and Brooke spent the better part of rehearsal fervently discussing the choreography with Scarlett; where, why, and in which way they thought adjustments needed to be made. Thus, Adam hadn’t yet had a chance to really talk to her, as the shared morning car rides were traditionally spent in silence (mourning the sleep they could've been getting if they were less dedicated to making the show a success). He had been grateful for the excuse not to talk, at least in part.
After much deliberation, and taking into account what Danielle had told him yesterday (which was basically that he needed to fess up to someone else about the fluffer business, someone who was actually in town to hold his hand if shit went loopy), Adam had decided to be upfront about his new cough career choice cough toward his long-time friend Brooke. (And he figured she would find out eventually anyway, not because she was a snoop, but because Adam was a terrible liar.) The reason why he was happy to delay that particular conversation was, frankly, that he had no idea how she would react. He dreaded a fallout.
When rehearsal reached its end and Adam went to change back into street clothes, there was a text message waiting for him. It was from Cassidy.
‘Next appointments scheduled 4 tmr 10-16; Thurs & Fri 11-16. (2day l8 call 13-18pm.) Hope you’re having a good time. Signed, Cass The Boss.’
Adam quickly texted back, ‘Thx 4 letting me know. I’ll be there.’
Still plenty of time until he was expected on set today. He pocketed his phone and looked around to check if he had forgotten anything. Nope, all good. He joined his friends in the lobby (they were lingering, chattering about some tv show or other), and he didn't feel bad about tuning them out to contemplate what he should do now. A twenty minute walk separated their theatre and the building where BrimstoneStudio rented space. Yesterday, he had needed to rush a bit, but it was workable. Late call, on the other hand, left a time gap of a good three hours filled with… nothing. It didn’t make sense to take the underground back to his place only to ride on the same line again soon afterwards, so Adam was left at loose ends.
Maybe he should check with Brooke for lunch plans. His stomach was clamouring for something to be done about the post-exercise low blood sugar level.
Cutting his musings short, Adam’s phone vibrated in his back pocket.
‘You better. I’ll cut your salary if you’re late.’
Adam snorted. He typed ‘S’ and then let his thumb stay on ‘u’ for a bit, watching the letter multiply across the screen, before adding ‘r’ and ‘e’.
He hit sent.
Brooke was waiting for him outside, a lit cigarette in hand. She carefully blew the smoke away from him when he bumped shoulders with her. Adam’s voice was too important to risk.
“You’re quiet this morning," she commented. "And you pretty much ran off on us yesterday without explanation. So what’s up, pumpkin? New loverboy?” Brooke grinned, taking another drag.
So much for avoiding that talk. No time like the present, Adam guessed, eyes glued to the toes of his sneakers.
“It’s not that. Or- I don’t know. Listen, how about we catch brunch at Monte’s? I kinda gotta talk to you about something, and I don’t want to do it here.”
Brooke looked at him for a moment, then tossed her hair out of her eyes and nodded. She took a last drag off her cigarette before she flipped it to the ground, stepping on it with relish. "Let's go."
Deciding to leave Brooke’s car where it was (because parking was a nightmare in this neighbourhood), the two of them strolled down the pavement side by side until, a short while later, they stepped into the familiar atmosphere of Monte’s. The smell of grilled cheese and chicken wings hung in the air. Red cushioned seats welcomed them.
Walking there, Adam had realized the diner was situated around the corner and a couple of blocks down from the glass front skyscraper that hosted BrimstoneStudio. Not too far for a coffee break sneak-out. Maybe he could take Tommy some time. But Adam was getting ahead of himself again - he hadn’t even talked to the guy outside of work yet. No need to go planning a honeymoon, silly.
Monte’s had been Adam’s favourite food hangout ever since he discovered it the second week after he moved to New York. At the end of an exhausting day of shopping, wandering around and turning corners whenever a store display caught his eye, he had sat down (more like collapsed) at Monte’s for a much needed break. Adam would swear to his grave that the piping hot lasagne he ordered that day was the best thing that had ever entered his mouth. Except cock. Yeah, yeah, one track mind.
He loved the food, the well-worn seats, and the haphazard ensemble of Rock’n’Roll and Punk memorabilia hanging on the walls. A personal collection. Monte, the chef cook and - you never would have guessed this - the owner of the establishment was a cool dude with a friendly smile, grungy vibe notwithstanding. Adam even had a favourite waitress here, a girl that had started working at the place a couple weeks prior to Adam stumbling across it. She had been a bubbly sixteen-year-old at the time, her hair as Kool-Aid red back then as it was now. Allison was like a little sister to Adam. He loved chatting with her. They had grown even closer during the long Wednesday afternoons of the last semester, which he had spent sitting in a corner booth, trying to finish his reading assignments while she topped up his coffee, giving a sympathetic smile and an encouraging pat on his back when he needed it. Monte’s was a safe haven, something the student dorms filled with theatre divas never could be. Competition was tough, and senior year, especially, had brought out the claws.
But that was behind him now, Adam mused. And what a rollercoaster ride it had been. Though it looked like his post-college life would be filled with craziness as well.
Pulled from his thoughts by the arriving waitress (it was not Allison this time, but a blonde called Orianthi, if Adam remembered correctly), he ordered the usual big salad plate with chicken breast strips on top that he and Brooke liked to share, and lattes for the two of them.
Then Adam began to talk.
All things considered, Brooke took the news pretty well. She wasn’t the biggest fan of Brad’s, especially after the breakup, but she did not judge the profession he followed, either. Adam kept the gushing over Tommy to a minimum. Nevertheless, he had a feeling that his friend had detected enough from what he said, as she gave him a knowing look whenever he so much as mentioned him. She listened intently and refrained from interruption, crunching her salad with a thoughtful expression on her face.
Afterwards, over the rim of her latte, she said: “Baby, just make sure this doesn’t screw with your career, please?” Her tone was half-exasperated, half-bemused.
When he asked her if that was all she was going to say, she fiddled with her pack of cigarettes and glanced out of the diner’s window, as if she sensed that BrimstoneStudio was only a short distance away. She sighed, and added; “I understand that you’re doing it for the money. And it must all look shiny and wonderful right now, but what you’ve got to remember is that it’s all fake; the glitter, the men. Don’t make a decision that you’re going to regret later, and don’t let yourself get sucked into that world. Theatre is your life. Singing, on stage, that’s where you belong.” For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something else, something more, but in the end she left it at that.
“I… thanks. I won’t screw it up.” Adam gave her a one-armed hug across the table. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his chest. His friends were awesome. If Danielle and Brooke reacted like this, how bad could things really get?
Plus, Adam found that he would have been lying if he had claimed he wasn't looking forward to another day at the office. Studio. Whatever.
Adam arrived on set with a good half an hour to spare. And kind of wished he hadn’t.
It was pure chaos.
Cables were being unreeled as Lisa and Zac wheeled lamps about, a guy who hadn’t been there yesterday (Isaac? Was that the other sound tech Brad had been talking about?) seemed to be testing some sort of electronic equipment, also trailing cables behind him as he darted in a zigzag line across the room, and people were running around shouting over the din of the set being arranged and re-arranged at Sasha’s bidding. How everyone wasn’t constantly tripping over each other’s feet, Adam could not begin to fathom. He stood rooted just inside the entranceway, the door cold against his back, watching the pandemonium unfold. Nobody noticed him.
At least he thought so, until he felt a tap on his shoulder which came so unexpected it made him jump out of his skin. Well, figuratively speaking.
It was Tommy. He serenely smiled up at Adam, completely unruffled by the hectic energy everyone else was projecting. He looked like Sutan hadn’t gotten hold of him yet, dressed in black skinny jeans, boots and a shirt covered in skulls, wearing next to no make-up. He was holding a little red plastic spoon in one hand.
“You’re early,” Tommy said, or Adam thought he did. He couldn’t be too sure since he had to rely on lip-reading skills for interpretation, and Tommy’s lips were distracting. Adam wanted to kiss, but was mentally stuck on oooh pretty and silver duct tape, which caused him to blush and otherwise stay frozen in place, not sure if he was allowed to touch in the light of day. Either way, Tommy didn’t seem to mind his lack of response, or hadn’t expected one in the first place. He ducked his head, twirling the spoon between his fingers, and Adam watched his smile turn mischievous for a moment.
Oh great. That smile only has one meaning. T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
Not that this knowledge had any influence on the decision to follow Tommy when he indicated for Adam to do so. With practiced ease, the pornstar guided them through the minefield of undercaffeinated assistants, chairs, cables, and other assorted death traps.
They rounded the corner of a fake wall, which seemed to be a set piece that had been abandoned, or possibly not yet installed, and ended up in front of… a row of refrigerators?
Shiny, huge, modern ones, not at all like Adam’s crappy old thing at home.
The ruckus hadn’t dimmed, but they were mostly obscured from view when Tommy leaned up close and spoke directly into Adam’s ear. “I hope you like ice cream.”
Adam suppressed a shiver as Tommy’s breath ghosted over sensitive skin. Then the actual words registered, and he blinked.
“Are you kidding me? I love ice cream. Especially French Silk…” He trailed off as Tommy stepped away and got busy rummaging in a freezer compartment. Chasing body contact, Adam sidled up close, looking over the smaller man’s shoulder.
Tommy cursed. “Terrance must’ve warned them. They’re hiding the Häagen Dazs, those fuckers. Or do you want strawberries?” He held up a case of red fruit for Adam’s inspection.
“I- what?” But Tommy had already dropped the case back where he found it, and yanked open another drawer, poking around what looked like a variety of frozen food cartons.
“You check the top compartment. I can’t reach,” Tommy ordered. Everything about him said he was a man on a mission. So. Freaking. Adorable.
Of course Adam complied. He stretched up and went by feel as he stuck his hand into the cold. Seemed like he had gotten the vegetable stash. Oh wait, underneath… Was that-?
Bingo.
Triumphant, Adam presented an ice cream tub to Tommy. The blond’s eyes gleamed. Like a kitty cat that had smelled blood, he scrambled up on the inside lid of the fridge, trusting that Adam would catch him if he lost balance. Together, they fished down an armful of Häagen Dazs ice cream, when suddenly Tommy grabbed Adam by the shirt and pressed a finger to his lips. Bewildered, Adam mouthed ‘What?’, but a split-second later, he heard it, too.
“…better go check on Tommy. I suspect he’s already raiding our supplies.” Sasha’s voice sounded nearby. A deer-in-headlights look passed over Tommy’s face, but he seemed to have an escape route planned, because the next thing Adam knew was Tommy had hip-checked the fridge door closed, and he was being tugged along out of sight.
After flitting through a narrow pathway between two partitions, Tommy abruptly shoved Adam into a wall that turned out to be a curtain, and then his back thumped into an actual wall, halting their progress.
Adam’s heart was beating too fast, dizzy with the other man crammed snug against him in the little niche. The tubs of ice cream bit their frosty surfaces into his chest. Tommy was looking up at him, noses almost touching.
“Tommy why are uhmmmm-”
The blond stopped whatever Adam had meant to say by kissing him. Not soft and sweet like yesterday in the parking lot. This was a fierce, breath stealing, full on open-mouthed kiss, bodies pressed close.
Someone walked past them on the other side of the curtain. Only afterwards did Tommy let up, drawing back with a twinkle in his eye. He twisted to peek outside, careful not to move the curtain too much. Adam’s hands had found their way to Tommy’s waist, and he drew a breath to inquire if the coast was clear, but got a hand clasped over his mouth for his trouble. Adam wouldn’t have that, though. Feeling giddy and delightfully childish, he licked Tommy’s palm, making Tommy squeal and draw back, attention zeroing in on Adam again with a grin.
Adam guessed that meant it was safe to talk. He decided to steal a quick kiss first. Or not so quick, as he discovered kissing Tommy was kind of addictive. With the immediacy of being chased gone, Tommy relaxed, all pliant and letting Adam control the dance of their tongues. A heady rush tingled along Adam’s nerves. Finally tearing himself away from the kiss, he asked, trying to appear less out of breath than he was, “So, do you always disappear on them before a shoot?”
“Only when there is food involved.”
As if spurred into action by the reminder, Tommy’s hand came up to twist off a lid from the Häagen Dazs containers. He held up the underside for Adam to lick clean while he magicked the little red plastic spoon from somewhere, and dug in. The ice cream tasted delicious, and Adam wanted more of it, but he also wanted to kiss the man in his arms again.
Conflicting interests, the best kind.
Tommy moaned around the spoon. The sound was purely unselfconscious and, as far as Adam was concerned, way too sexy to be wasted on food.
“Cookies and Cream,” Tommy said, as if that explained everything. He helped himself to another spoonful, then tilted his head up, offering his half-open mouth with the treat melting inside. Adam got the hint and leaned down.
Tommy Joe, I like how you think. Oh God that ice cream really is amazing.
Licking the taste from the pretty boy's tongue could only be described with one word: heaven.
“Oh, you said you like French Silk, you’ve gotta try these.” Tommy ripped open a tub of ‘Vanilla Chocolate Chip’ and another labelled ‘Dulce de Leche’. This time, he fed a spoon to Adam and one from the other flavour to himself, before mashing their mouths together in a kiss. Caramel goodness mixed with vanilla and pieces of dark chocolate. A mini orgasm right there. Tommy seemed to agree with him if the moan lost between them was anything to go by, and when they broke apart to add more ice cream, Tommy whispered; “You’re a really good kisser.” Adam tried to mumble a thank you, or maybe a you too around the new serving of sweetness melting inside his mouth, but then Tommy's lips were touching his, and everything else ceased to matter.
Part IV