Title: Something Worth Celebrating
Author: Leela (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
leela_cat)
Pairing: Adam/Sauli/Tommy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 10x100
Author's notes: Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
glam_100, prompt #019: Celebration. Many thanks to thrace_adams for the beta.
Another bar, another band on stage, another bunch of strangers who think they know Tommy from seeing him play with Adam, or following him on Twatter. Such is his life, and he's not complaining. Except when he does.
His glass is empty, but he picks it up anyway. Tipping his head back, he licks out the last of the Jack. It's not enough. He needs a lot more to properly appreciate being alone again.
Rubbing his fingertips over the scarred table, he turns to ask if someone'll run the gauntlet for him, but his so-called friends have abandoned him.
Fuck!
/o\o/o\o/
Tommy waits a few minutes, or maybe it was only seconds. Giving his so-called friends far too fucking long to return to the table. He wraps a hand around the inky monsters on his arm, closes his eyes, and grounds himself.
When everything that matters is safely behind an I don't give a fuck, so fuck the hell off wall, he pushes himself upright. Some celebration this turned out to be. Hell, he's barely feeling the Jack.
Still, that's one of the few fucked up things in his life he can easily fix. He just needs another drink or three.
/o\o/o\o/
Tommy's at the bar, trying to drag the bartender's attention away from a couple of women who are at least as drunk as Tommy wants to be, when someone stands behind him. Too goddamn close behind him.
"Do you mind?" Tommy asks, bracing his hands on the counter. It takes everything he's got to resist the urge to turn around and deck the guy. And it's a guy, Tommy's sure of it, although he can't explain how he knows.
One of the women screeches with laughter, but the dude doesn't flinch. Instead, he moves closer.
Fists clenched, Tommy swings around.
/o\o/o\o/
"No!" Tommy plants his hands on Sauli's shoulders and shoves. The asshole rocks in place, but only his stupid hat moves. Fucking gym rat and his fucking muscles.
"Yes." Grabbing Tommy's hands, Sauli holds them in place. "We will talk." Then he offers one of those silly smiles that always makes Tommy want to celebrate life — or wipe it away with a slap or a kiss or some damn thing.
Tommy tugs, trying to get his hands free, but Sauli curls his fingers and tightens his grip.
"Don't do this." Tommy bites his lip to hold in the word please.
/o\o/o\o/
"Did you think we wouldn't notice?" Sauli says, all reproachful and big-eyed. His energy shines so brightly in the dim bar that Tommy can't believe no one's recognized Sauli.
Tommy shakes his head. In his experience, trying to explain only succeeds in digging him deeper in the shit.
"Come." Sauli turns and starts walking towards the door, still holding onto Tommy's hands, pulling him along.
Feet dragging on the floor, Tommy makes a half-hearted effort to resist. He loses that battle when he spies Mike standing near the door, looking smug.
"Traitor," Tommy mouths at Mike, but he stops fighting.
/o\o/o\o/
Sauli's car, far less recognizable than Adam's, is illegally parked outside. The bouncer nods at Sauli, who releases one of Tommy's hands and gives the dude a thin wad of folded bills.
For some mind-blowing and unknown reason, Tommy waits while Sauli does it.
They're almost at the car when Tommy hears a woman in line calling out his name in a questioning lilt, as if she's not quite sure it's him. His heart speeds up and he ducks his head. Thank fuck, he's in the car behind its darkened windows before the flash goes off. An escape worth celebrating.
/o\o/o\o/
Belted into the passenger seat, Tommy stares out the window. He's feeling twitchy, the kind of restless that always ends with him doing something stupid.
"Oh my god, Tommy."
Closing his eyes against the ache that Adam's voice opens up in his chest, Tommy slouches down in his seat and shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. He's been set up, and he knows it. Fucking Mike. Fucking Adam. Fucking Sauli.
Tommy's resentment evaporates when Adam leans over the back of his seat and drapes an arm over his shoulder and Sauli places a hand on Tommy's thigh.
/o\o/o\o/
The rest of the drive home happens in silence. Both Adam and Sauli keep touching Tommy, as if they're worried he'll disappear. Not a ridiculous idea, Tommy admits.
Instead of driving into the garage, Sauli stops in front of the house.
His restlessness transformed into passivity, Tommy waits for Sauli to get out, walk around, and open his door. He waits again for Adam to unfold himself out of the back seat.
They stand there for a second, in a lopsided triangle, then Adam says, "We're home," with that same silly grin he had when they celebrated Tommy moving in.
/o\o/o\o/
Once inside, faced with the truth of their lives, the truth he'd tried to escape, Tommy tilts his head until his fringe falls over his face and sucks his lower lip into his mouth.
"Tommy?" Sauli sighs his name.
A finger under Tommy's chin, Adam raises Tommy's head. "I thought you were happy," Adam says. "With us."
Tommy shrugs.
They wait patiently, wrapping him in their arms. Sauli lays his head on Tommy's shoulder. Adam caresses Tommy's back, plays with his hair.
"It was the Grammys," Tommy finally admits. "You were accepting the award, thanking Sauli for making everything possible."
/o\o/o\o/
"It was like—" Tommy chokes on the I didn't exist that had him grabbing his guitars, tossing shit into a duffel bag, and heading for Mike's.
But Adam and Sauli hear it anyway. They hold him, murmuring that they love him. Insisting that he's always with them — in their well-hidden matching tattoos and in their hearts.
Their ridiculous words make Tommy shuffle uncomfortably and draw color to his cheeks.
"Stay," Adam says.
Sauli echoes, "Yes, stay."
"Christ, what you do to me." Tommy holds on to them, returns their kisses, and knows they understand his answer.
That's something worth celebrating.
Author: Leela (
leela_cat)Pairing: Adam/Sauli/Tommy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 10x100
Author's notes: Written for
glam_100, prompt #019: Celebration. Many thanks to thrace_adams for the beta. Another bar, another band on stage, another bunch of strangers who think they know Tommy from seeing him play with Adam, or following him on Twatter. Such is his life, and he's not complaining. Except when he does.
His glass is empty, but he picks it up anyway. Tipping his head back, he licks out the last of the Jack. It's not enough. He needs a lot more to properly appreciate being alone again.
Rubbing his fingertips over the scarred table, he turns to ask if someone'll run the gauntlet for him, but his so-called friends have abandoned him.
Fuck!
Tommy waits a few minutes, or maybe it was only seconds. Giving his so-called friends far too fucking long to return to the table. He wraps a hand around the inky monsters on his arm, closes his eyes, and grounds himself.
When everything that matters is safely behind an I don't give a fuck, so fuck the hell off wall, he pushes himself upright. Some celebration this turned out to be. Hell, he's barely feeling the Jack.
Still, that's one of the few fucked up things in his life he can easily fix. He just needs another drink or three.
Tommy's at the bar, trying to drag the bartender's attention away from a couple of women who are at least as drunk as Tommy wants to be, when someone stands behind him. Too goddamn close behind him.
"Do you mind?" Tommy asks, bracing his hands on the counter. It takes everything he's got to resist the urge to turn around and deck the guy. And it's a guy, Tommy's sure of it, although he can't explain how he knows.
One of the women screeches with laughter, but the dude doesn't flinch. Instead, he moves closer.
Fists clenched, Tommy swings around.
"No!" Tommy plants his hands on Sauli's shoulders and shoves. The asshole rocks in place, but only his stupid hat moves. Fucking gym rat and his fucking muscles.
"Yes." Grabbing Tommy's hands, Sauli holds them in place. "We will talk." Then he offers one of those silly smiles that always makes Tommy want to celebrate life — or wipe it away with a slap or a kiss or some damn thing.
Tommy tugs, trying to get his hands free, but Sauli curls his fingers and tightens his grip.
"Don't do this." Tommy bites his lip to hold in the word please.
"Did you think we wouldn't notice?" Sauli says, all reproachful and big-eyed. His energy shines so brightly in the dim bar that Tommy can't believe no one's recognized Sauli.
Tommy shakes his head. In his experience, trying to explain only succeeds in digging him deeper in the shit.
"Come." Sauli turns and starts walking towards the door, still holding onto Tommy's hands, pulling him along.
Feet dragging on the floor, Tommy makes a half-hearted effort to resist. He loses that battle when he spies Mike standing near the door, looking smug.
"Traitor," Tommy mouths at Mike, but he stops fighting.
Sauli's car, far less recognizable than Adam's, is illegally parked outside. The bouncer nods at Sauli, who releases one of Tommy's hands and gives the dude a thin wad of folded bills.
For some mind-blowing and unknown reason, Tommy waits while Sauli does it.
They're almost at the car when Tommy hears a woman in line calling out his name in a questioning lilt, as if she's not quite sure it's him. His heart speeds up and he ducks his head. Thank fuck, he's in the car behind its darkened windows before the flash goes off. An escape worth celebrating.
Belted into the passenger seat, Tommy stares out the window. He's feeling twitchy, the kind of restless that always ends with him doing something stupid.
"Oh my god, Tommy."
Closing his eyes against the ache that Adam's voice opens up in his chest, Tommy slouches down in his seat and shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. He's been set up, and he knows it. Fucking Mike. Fucking Adam. Fucking Sauli.
Tommy's resentment evaporates when Adam leans over the back of his seat and drapes an arm over his shoulder and Sauli places a hand on Tommy's thigh.
The rest of the drive home happens in silence. Both Adam and Sauli keep touching Tommy, as if they're worried he'll disappear. Not a ridiculous idea, Tommy admits.
Instead of driving into the garage, Sauli stops in front of the house.
His restlessness transformed into passivity, Tommy waits for Sauli to get out, walk around, and open his door. He waits again for Adam to unfold himself out of the back seat.
They stand there for a second, in a lopsided triangle, then Adam says, "We're home," with that same silly grin he had when they celebrated Tommy moving in.
Once inside, faced with the truth of their lives, the truth he'd tried to escape, Tommy tilts his head until his fringe falls over his face and sucks his lower lip into his mouth.
"Tommy?" Sauli sighs his name.
A finger under Tommy's chin, Adam raises Tommy's head. "I thought you were happy," Adam says. "With us."
Tommy shrugs.
They wait patiently, wrapping him in their arms. Sauli lays his head on Tommy's shoulder. Adam caresses Tommy's back, plays with his hair.
"It was the Grammys," Tommy finally admits. "You were accepting the award, thanking Sauli for making everything possible."
"It was like—" Tommy chokes on the I didn't exist that had him grabbing his guitars, tossing shit into a duffel bag, and heading for Mike's.
But Adam and Sauli hear it anyway. They hold him, murmuring that they love him. Insisting that he's always with them — in their well-hidden matching tattoos and in their hearts.
Their ridiculous words make Tommy shuffle uncomfortably and draw color to his cheeks.
"Stay," Adam says.
Sauli echoes, "Yes, stay."
"Christ, what you do to me." Tommy holds on to them, returns their kisses, and knows they understand his answer.
That's something worth celebrating.
Current Mood: 
accomplished
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