Perfect Fit, Tom/Samy, NC17
Jul. 27th, 2011 07:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
steins_storiesTitle: Perfect Fit
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
steinsgrrl
Fandom: Tokio Hotel
Pairing: Tom/Samy Deluxe
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I in no way intend to insinuate that any of the below actually happened. It is simply a piece of written entertainment based on the public personas of real people.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Adult content
Author's Note: For scarletswidow for the THF Donation Drive. :)
Thank you toma_chelle and ophelia_seven for the beta, and to volare for the wonderful banner. You guys are awesome!
Summary:Tom finally gets to meet his idol, but in the most humiliating way possible.
He's got more important things on his mind.
Tom downed the last of his drink and nearly gagged as it hit the back of his throat. He didn't even remember what he was drinking, all he knew was that it was orange and acidic and the dregs at the end had much more alcohol than the fruity beginning.
Slamming the glass to the table with more force than he intended, Tom winced and looked around. The club was dark where they were, the colored lights flashing and strobing all over the dance floor, the bass booming through his chest and rattling his insides until his head spun and he started to think he would hurl right there at the table. He clenched his teeth together and tried to focus on the crowd, but the more he squinted and tried to find his brother in the mass of grinding hips and bobbing heads, the more sick he felt.
He needed Bill.
Last he remembered, some tall, dark, built son of a bitch had Bill backed up against the wall of the VIP area, flirting his way into his brother's heart. Or maybe just his pants. Whichever the case, Bill had told him he was going to dance with his Latino Lothario, but how long ago had that been?
He looked at his watch, but the hands could have fallen off its face, for all Tom could see them. He closed one eye and tried to focus, before huffing and dropping his arm to clutch at his stomach as his belly rolled again. He had to get to a bathroom.
Tom scooted carefully to the edge of the booth, his vision wavering as he scanned the bodies lining the balcony railing. They were dancing up here, as well, talking and drinking and laughing, and not caring two shits that Tom was about to be sick all over this trendy Italian tile they were standing on. His eyes skidded back to a giant, hulking figure, shrouded in the dark by the wall, and he stood on wobbly legs to make for their bodyguard.
Michael had his back to Tom, not doing such a great job of guarding Tom's body, as far as he was concerned. And when had he put on a suit coat, Tom wondered, but before the thought could go much further, Tom tripped over his own feet. His toe hit the back of his other shoe, and before he could stop himself, he was going down.
He squawked, involuntarily and embarrassingly, and reached out, grabbing for Michael's arm. Michael turned at the last moment and grunted as Tom's shoulder slammed into his belly. Then strong arms were pulling him up, gripping his upper arms carefully and holding him steady.
“Hey, man, careful now. You okay?” Michael's deep voice rumbled from above, just loud enough for Tom to hear over the steady thump that drove the dancers below them. Just loud enough for Tom to realize that the deep voice that rumbled from above him wasn't Michael's.
Tom looked up quickly, the room went into a death spin and his knees went weak. They went out from under him just about the time that his stomach rebelled and backfired. Just about the time that his stomach backfired and emptied its contents all down the front of the heather grey suit in front of him. Just about the time he realized that the man in the suit, the man he'd just hurled on, was Samy Deluxe.
At the startled, “Hey!” from the man who'd been his idol for over seven years, Tom groaned in embarrassment, clenched his eyes shut and prayed to pass the fuck out.
~~~
The first person Tom saw when he opened his eyes the next afternoon, was Bill. He sat on the other side of Tom's huge bed, his back against the headboard as he clicked away at the keys on his laptop.
Tom squinted at him before closing his eyes tightly against the brightness of the monitor in the dim room, and carefully covered his aching head with his pillow.
“Do you have to make so damn much noise?” He groaned, his voice muffled even to himself, but he was counting on their twin connection to translate for him.
“Well, good morning, Tomas,” Bill cooed, and Tom grimaced. There was a little too much glee in that greeting and Tom knew what was coming already. “Sleep well?”
“Ugh,” Tom grunted, and stank breath puffed around his face. At the roll of his stomach, he pulled the pillow off his head and breathed, deeply and carefully.
Bill chortled and Tom glared. “Where were you last night? I looked for you before--” Tom cut himself off with a grunt and covered his eyes with his palm.
“Before you ralphed all over Samy Deluxe, you mean?” Tom could hear the eyebrow raise in Bill's voice. “I was trying to get laid. What the hell were you doing?”
“Trying not to ralph on Samy Deluxe,” Tom answered with a groan.
“You so failed, big brother.” Bill closed his laptop with a click and scooted over until he was snuggled against Tom's side. Tom cracked an eyelid open and peered up at him; Bill leaned on one elbow, grinning down at Tom.
“You don't have to be so happy about it,” Tom said, rolling his eyes and regretting it, as the room made a little spin in response.
“Oh, but I do,” Bill snorted. “Did you see the guy I was dancing with? I was well on my way to getting a taste of that. Next thing I know, Marcus is pulling me off the dance floor to come retrieve you from the bathroom. Where I find you hunched over the toilet, and none other than Samy Deluxe standing over you, holding your braids and rubbing your back.”
“Oh god,” Tom choked into his fist. “Oh god, I don't remember any of that.” He pulled his knees up and tipped over, curling himself against Bill, who petted his cornrows in, what Tom was sure, was mock sympathy.
“I'm not surprised. Jesus, how much of that shit did you drink?”
“I don't know,” Tom huffed. “I don't even remember what it was.”
“Hm, well, whatever it was, it was a pretty orange. Though maybe not so pretty all over the front of Samy's suit.”
Tom whimpered.
“All over the front of Samy's Armani suit.” Bill rubbed it in with a tsk.
Tom groaned into a sob that was only half fake.
“There, there,” Bill patted Tom's shoulder, insincerely. “You always wanted to meet Samy Deluxe, right? Now you can be sure he'll remember meeting you.”
“Bill!” Tom whined, and Bill chuckled above him.
~~~
“Are you gonna call him or what?” Bill asked, on his way back into his closet. He'd finally decided to unpack from their latest trip and had spent the last two hours carefully folding and hanging clothes, taking care to store the couture properly. Now he was down to his last suitcase, and Tom still hadn't done what he'd come into Bill's room to do.
He'd made camp on Bill's bed, surrounded by his laptop, a half empty bag of potato chips, the most recent issue of “Car and Driver” and the half dozen fluffy pillows Bill kept on his bed. He toyed with his cell phone, tossing it from one hand to the other and biting his lip.
“What do I say?” Tom asked, as Bill emerged from the closet again. “Hi, Samy...yeah, this is Tom, um, yeah, sorry for barfing all over you last weekend?” Tom dropped the phone on the bed and cursed himself for being such a lightweight who couldn't hold his alcohol.
Bill stood at the end of the bed, furrowing his brows, and he planted a fist on his cocked hip. “Uh. Yeah. That's exactly what you say. You threw up on the guy! I got his number for you. Call him. Offer to clean his suit. If it were my suit, I'd be pissed. Armani costs money, Tom.”
Tom pinned him with a glare. “You're not helping me here.”
“I'll hold your hand, if you want,” Bill said, coming around the bed and sitting on the edge.
“Shut up.” Tom folded his hands in his lap in defiance.
“Call him.” Bill picked up the phone and held it out. When Tom didn't take it, Bill grunted and flipped it open, his thumb snapping at the buttons quickly while Tom tried in vain to grab it from him.
“No! Bill, give it--” he cried, before slumping back against the headboard in defeat.
Bill held the phone to his ear and grinned as Tom heard a soft click from the speaker. “Here, it's Samy. Talk,” Bill said, holding the phone out to Tom.
Tom took it, numbly, everything inside him quivering with nerves. He could feel his face flush before he even opened his mouth.
“Hey, who is this?” The tinny voice from the phone was starting to sound irritated.
Tom lifted the phone to his ear and swallowed hard.
“Um. Samy, it's me. Uh, Tom?” he said, and winced as he stammered over his own name. Soft, warm fingers threaded with Tom's as they rested on his lap, and Tom raised his eyes to Bill's encouraging look. He took a deep breath and tried again. “This is Tom Kaulitz.”
Samy chuckled on the other end of the line. “Hey! How are you? How's your head?”
He didn't sound mad. Samy didn't sound mad and Tom's shoulders relaxed for the first time in two days. “Good,” he answered. “I mean, it's good now. Yesterday sucked, though.”
“Had a pretty wicked headache, did you?” Samy's voice was low, and sounded like fine, dark silk to his ears.
Tom hummed and nodded, forgetting that Samy couldn't see him. “Bill took care of me, though.”
“He's a good man, your brother,” Samy said, and Tom had to agree. “So what's up, Tom?”
“Oh.” Tom sat up straighter and glanced at Bill again, who was gesturing silently for him to get on with it, already. Tom scowled mockingly at his brother and turned his attention back to the phone. “Man, I'm sorry about your suit. Bill said I made a huge mess of it, but, well, I don't really remember much.” Tom rubbed at his forehead and closed his eyes. “But I'm really sorry. I'd like to have it cleaned for you.”
“Nah, you don't need to worry about it, Tom. It's already done.” Tom heard the smile in Samy's voice and found himself smiling, too. “Suits clean, it's all good.”
“Let me pay you back, then,” Tom offered, hoping to make amends somehow. He didn't want Samy's only memory of him to be of Tom being sick all over him.
“Tell you what. You can pay me back by coming to my house on Saturday. I'm having a get together, nothing big, you know. A little barbeque with some family and good friends. I think you'd fit right in.”
Tom barely kept his jaw from falling open. “Are you sure?”
Samy chuckled. “I asked, didn't I? Besides, I've been waiting to meet you. Properly.”
Tom shot a look at Bill and covered the phone. “He wants me to come over Saturday,” he whispered, the question unspoken.
“Go,” Bill answered anyway. “I'll go shopping and meet you home later.” He squeezed Tom's hand and lifted his chin toward the phone. “Tell him yes.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” he told Samy, and got the time and directions from him before apologizing again for making a mess of his suit. He snapped the phone closed with Samy's warm laugh and forgiveness ringing in his ears.
~~~
Tom bit his lip and made up his mind. He grabbed his purple jersey from the hanger and laid it across his bed, followed by his more fitted jeans with the hole at the knee. Reaching into the top drawer of his bureau, he started to pull out the purple headband that matched the shirt, before reconsidering. Not today.
He closed the drawer and took the jersey with him into his shoe room, finding a white pair of sneakers with purple laces already loaded into them. He folded the clothes neatly and stacked them on the dresser, all ready for tomorrow. He wanted to look good when he met Samy again. Maybe if he looked good, really well put together, Samy wouldn't always see him as some loser kid who couldn't hold his liquor.
He stripped off his workout clothes and tossed them in the hamper on his way to the bathroom. He'd gotten up early to run on the treadmill and spend a little extra time lifting weights. For Tom, exercise was more than just taking care of his body and looking good for the fans; it was also his main source of stress relief. When the touring and traveling got to be too much, when the stalkers set up camp outside their gate, when Tom couldn't sleep in the night for worrying about record sales and tour dates, he worked out. And this morning, he'd been so nervous about meeting Samy again, he hadn't even had to set his alarm to get up early to work out.
The muscles of his arms twinged as he turned on the tap and tested the water temperature before adjusting the shower head to the 'massage' setting. After hanging a towel by the shower, he stepped under the spray.
In no time, plumes of steam rolled up around him as Tom closed his eyes and let his head fall back, hot water sluicing over his scalp, shoulders and back. His lips dropped open in a pleasured sigh as he felt himself finally relax, finally breathe.
He didn't know why he was getting so worked up over this. Samy was just a guy, too, right? Tom wasn't some teeny fangirl with delusions that his idol was some perfect god, like some girls thought of Tom. He knew better than that.
His brain knew better than that, but Tom had spent the last seven years to Samy's music, watching his videos and collecting his posters. Tom's face felt hotter than the water flowing over him.
Yeah, he'd collected posters. He'd practically wallpapered his room with them when he was younger. Now he had just a few favorites that hung next to his bed. A few favorites that he looked at sometimes...
Well, sometimes when he was alone. Tom felt his groin tighten with just the memory of the fantasies he'd had about Samy, and he squirted soap in his hands, rubbing it into a lather. He smoothed a palm over his chest, over his belly, until he reached his hardening cock, and his breath hitched in his throat.
Samy's tongue plunged into Tom's mouth again, and again, his hand sliding down Tom's belly, his fingers whispering over the smooth skin around Tom's cock, before slipping between his legs. His stomach flipped hard and the fire inside him grew hotter, grew wilder, as Samy cupped his balls in his large, gentle hands, rolling them between his fingers, then pressing lightly on Tom's perineum.
Tom broke their kiss, searching for air, panting as his legs fell open further. Samy's suckling kisses moved down his neck, then over his chest, and Tom arched up as soft lips nipped at the peaks of his nipples, pink tongue poking out to lap at them while Tom's dick got so hard, he was damn sure he could bust diamonds with the thing.
“Samy,” he groaned, canting his hips up in plea. Samy still suckled at his nipple, teasing it with his teeth, but his eyes danced under black lashes as he looked up at Tom. “Please,” was all he could grit out, and Samy blinked slowly at him before moving his mouth—oh god, that mouth—down the center of Tom's belly until his breath was hotly gusting over the head of Tom's cock. His braids tickled across Tom's skin as Samy dropped his head and rubbed his cheek across Tom's hardness, and Tom's feet pointed in pleasure. He grasped at Samy's shoulder, kneading the dark, toned skin under his fingers as Samy lifted Tom's cock and began to lap at the head. He licked up the line of precome that had dripped from the tip, and hummed a deep purr as he opened wet lips and swallowed Tom's length in one go.
It was everything Tom had not to thrust himself into Samy's throat. Not like it would matter if he did; Samy was a big man. He was a very big man, and he'd have no trouble holding a man like Tom down. That thought of Samy holding him down and just taking him, along with the sucking pressure, the wet heat of Samy's mouth over his dick, had him squirming and shaking, and suddenly, he was very, very close to the edge.
He pushed at Samy's shoulder. “Stop. Stop, stop,” he panted. “Too close.”
Samy let off his cock with a wet pop and one last lick before he moved off the bed to rummage in his side drawer. He came back with a bottle of lube, and Tom took a deep breath, wound his fingers into the sheets, and opened his legs wide enough for Samy to settle between them.
Tom's chest nearly heaved with his panting. He had one hand planted firmly against the deep blue tile of his shower, the other hand working his dick...working it hard, pumping so perfectly, just as Tom knew Samy would do it to him. He squeezed his eyes closed, water flowing over him as he fucked himself into his fist. He could almost feel Samy inside him now.
Tom hitched his knees up to his chest, bending himself nearly in half. As much as his muscles would complain later, Tom couldn't get enough of this right now.
Samy was inside him.
Slowly...so slowly, he'd worked Tom open with thick, lubricated fingers. While Tom had winced at first, it wasn't long before he'd loosened up and Samy had worked in another finger. Then another. And just as Tom had become a quivering mess on the bed, close to begging Samy to get inside him, Samy had pulled his fingers out, and Tom nearly whimpered with the loss. But then Samy had taken him so carefully, worked his cock inside Tom's tender hole so slowly that, even though it was bigger than Samy's fingers, it had barely burned at all.
Samy's strokes were slow and easy at first, sliding home before pulling most of the way out, just the head left inside as he kissed Tom, lapping at his lips as Tom gasped around his tongue. Tom started anticipating the push in, tilting his hips up to meet each thrust, urging Samy faster...faster.
Samy grunted and grabbed the backs of Tom's knees, his fingers slipping a bit in the sweat he found there. He hooked Tom's legs over his shoulders, grasped Tom's hips hard in strong hands and pounded into him until Tom would have been hard pressed to even remember his own name. All he knew was the feeling of Samy inside him, fucking him so good, so right, and the face of that man above him, his eyes linked with Tom's and so full of pleasure and want and tenderness that it took away what little breath Tom had left.
Tom ran a hand over Samy's chest, scratching lightly around his dark nipples, proudly peaking in arousal, and over the black, curly hair on Samy's abdomen. He was sweaty, strong and perfect, and when Tom looked between them, between their bodies to where he could see Samy's cock sliding, slamming, in and out of him, Tom grabbed his own dick and started pumping. He stroked in tandem with the thrusts into him, the fire inside ready to explode as it built higher.
“Come on, baby,” Samy urged, his voice straining with the effort of speaking. “Come for me. Come on me.”
And that was all it took. That teasing, growing fire inside his groin exploded in waves of pleasure that hit him so hard, his toes curled and he pulled Samy down to him with his calves. As he pulsed around Samy's cock, spending itself so deep inside him, Tom called out Samy's name and painted their bellies with his come.
Tom shot thick ropes of come against the tile, watching with unseeing eyes as it splashed against the slippery surface and was washed away by the spray of the shower. He groaned as he milked the last drops from his dick, took a deep breath, and turned off the shower. He reached for the towel and buried his face in it, hanging on to the towel bar while he got his breath back.
Tom didn't know what would come of this get together, but he was pretty sure that wouldn't be it, he thought, with a pang. He hummed shortly as he wrapped the towel around his waist and got out of the shower; even if there was no possible way something like that could happen, he was hoping that, after this, he would at least be able to call Samy his friend.
~~~
Tom didn't know the woman who answered the door at Samy's house, all flowing robes and dreadlocked hair, but she smiled a big, welcoming smile and opened the door wider to let him in.
“Hi.” Tom raised his hand in a short wave. “I'm Tom.”
“Hey, Tom, I'm Lisa, Samy's cousin,” she answered with an even bigger grin, pushing a couple long locks behind her shoulders. “And I think I may have seen you before, just a time or two.”
Tom chuckled in response and ducked his head. “I guess you might have.” He looked toward the noise coming from the back of the house, and Lisa took his arm in hers, steering him into the back yard. They went through a huge kitchen with black granite counters and a floor that looked like cobblestone, and Tom wanted to peer through all the doors attached. He'd been a fan of Samy's for years, but he'd never really thought about what the guy's house would look like. He liked what he saw.
“You're just in time. I think Samy's just putting the meat on the grill,” she said, as they exited the door to the back yard.
Tom's stomach sank and he winced. This was a barbeque. And Tom didn't eat meat. Starting to sweat in the hot, August sun, he swept his eyes over the crowd of people in the back yard. The group wasn't huge, maybe thirty or so, people of all ages and colors
“Hey guys, this is Tom,” Lisa said, from the doorway, just loud enough to rise above the chatter of the people gathered in the back yard. A chorus of greetings answered, and Tom wished for Bill.
In situations like this, situations where he didn't really know anyone and was unsure of how to act, where to go, what to do, he usually relied on Bill. Bill could turn on his smile and use it as a buffer between himself and his nerves, and he would break the ice and lead the way for Tom to follow. And Tom didn't mind at all; he might act completely calm in social situations, but that's what it was; an act. Inside, he was flailing hard.
But Bill wasn't here, and he found himself feeling flushed in the face as he grimaced a smile and gave a little wave to the group on the lawn.
“Tom!” Samy turned from the grill, standing on the patio on the far side of the yard. He closed the grill lid and weaved his way through lawn chairs and kids playing in the grass. “Glad you could make it.” Samy looked amazing, his hair pulled back and tied at his nape, sunglasses perched on his head. He wore long, khaki shorts and a bright orange Hawaiian shirt that made Tom grin. When he finally reached Tom, he pulled him into a quick hug. Tom looked up at him, trying to breathe and play it cool as Samy grasped his shoulders with both hands. “I'm really glad you could make it.”
Nerves skittered in his belly as Samy threw a casual arm around Tom's neck and steered him toward the grill. Samy's arm was heavy on his shoulders, warmer than the sun that beat down on them, and Tom inhaled the sweet, musky scent of him. He smelled like coconut oil and grass and sunshine and Tom had the urge to turn his nose into Samy's shoulder for more.
“I need to flip these,” Samy said, breaking away from Tom as they reached the patio, and Tom looked around the yard as Samy tended the meat. There were two long picnic tables next to the patio, laden with bowls and trays of covered food, condiments, napkins weighted down by plastic cups and utensils, and Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He'd wondered what he'd be able to eat here, but he'd bet some of those bowls had something vegetarian in them.
Samy closed the grill and Tom turned at the sound. “I heard you don't eat meat,” he said, reaching into the cooler.
“Yeah,” Tom answered, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight uncomfortably. “Gave it up a couple years ago.”
“Why's that?” Samy held a bottle of beer by the neck and wrapped a giant hand around the bottle, swiping off the ice and water clinging to it.
Tom shrugged. “It was Bill's idea. He starting talking about how cruel the meat industry was. I thought he was crazy.” Tom laughed and Samy chuckled. “But then he showed me some videos he'd seen of packing plants, and...yeah.” Tom glanced at the grill, uneasily. He didn't want to preach about animal cruelty while standing in front of someone's barbeque. Especially Samy's. He scraped his foot on the concrete and looked back up at Samy, unsure where to go from there.
“Hey, no big deal. I'm not judging anyone, just curious.” He smiled a slow smile, his eyes, kind. “But I got you some veggie kabobs. Mushroom, onion, peppers, tomatoes. The works. Good?”
Tom grinned up at him, surprised. “Yeah, more than good.”
Samy twisted the cap off the beer in his hand and held it out to Tom, pulling it back with a sly smirk when Tom reached for it. “Sure you can handle this?”
Tom snorted and reached for the bottle again, his face flaming hot. As his fingers wrapped around it, grasping the slippery glass, Samy's fingers brushed over his, and Tom's breath caught in his throat. His eyes flew up to Samy's and found him gazing back steadily, his smile serene as he let go of the bottle and reached for his own.
A high-pitched squeal rose up behind him and a little girl ran between him and Samy, laughing as her pigtails bounced behind her. A smaller boy ran after her, all skinny legs and pumping arms, and he wailed as Samy scooped him up and held the child on his hip. In a slow, calm voice, Samy shushed him until the boy stopped squirming and looked up at Samy with a huff.
“Don't go chasing Becca through here, Elijah. This grill is hot and if she ran into it or you ran into it, it would burn. You don't want to get burned, do you?”
Elijah shook his head, solemnly. “No, Daddy.”
“Can you find something else to do? Why don't you go see if Oma's doing okay? See if there's something you can do for her? She needs big boy help sometimes. You're a big boy, right?”
Elijah nodded, a tiny smile blooming away the pout from his lips, and Samy set him on his feet with a nudge toward the lawn. “Go on,” he said, but Elijah was already off, running at top speed toward an elderly, white haired woman sitting in a lawn chair.
“They never walk at this age; it's all run, run, run,” Samy said, glancing at Elijah and back at Tom.
The tension between them was broken, and Tom took a swig of his beer. It foamed up at the lip and he sucked the bitter bubbles out with a slurp. “I had forgotten you have a son.”
“I don't have him all the time,” Samy said, lifting the cover of the grill. He poked at the steaks and turned over Tom's kabobs before turning back to him. “His mother has custody, but I get him every other weekend or so. When I'm not on the road. And I try to keep him out of the public eye when I do have him.” He shrugged. “I'm not always successful.”
Tom frowned, nodding in understanding. He knew how hard it was to keep anything private when you're a celebrity.
“These are done. You wanna eat?” Samy asked, and at Tom's nod, he turned and raised his voice to be heard over the chatter. “Everyone get a plate and come get some food.” Gesturing toward the stack of plates on the nearest table, he said to Tom, “Get a plate and I'll serve you up first.”
~~~
Tom dried his hands and left the bathroom, turning the light off behind him, before making his way to the back yard. Stepping into the dim glow of the soft, early evening sunset, he looked around and realized that the lawn was empty. He cringed as he realized he was the last one to leave. So what did he do, now? He didn't know where Samy had gone off to, and even poking his head back in the door, he didn't hear the low murmur of Samy's voice. He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his feet to the edge of the patio. Tom didn't want to leave without thanking Samy for inviting him, but he didn't want to just stand here, either.
He lit a cigarette and surveyed the yard. Samy's friends and family had been welcoming and they'd treated him like part of the gang; like he belonged here. Samy's Oma had held court from her lawn chair, and Samy doted on her, just as everyone else did, making sure her glass was always full, that she wasn't too hot or too cold, making sure she had everything she needed. The kids had run around, playing tag and games that Tom didn't remember playing when he and Bill were younger, yelling and squealing until their parents collected them and set them to eating. The picnic was loud and boisterous and Tom had enjoyed the company.
Samy had asked Tom to sit with him in the grass and they'd talked as they ate. Tom was nervous at first, but soon loosened up as the time flew by. Elijah had run by, chasing that girl again, but this time with a hand full of grass he'd picked from the lawn. He'd thrown it at her, but missed and got Tom instead. Tom had just laughed at the boy's wide eyed chagrin and picked bright green blades of grass from his potato salad. Tom had opened his mouth to tease the him for having such bad aim when he'd realized that Samy had moved closer, sitting so close to him that their thighs touched.
Tom's smile froze on his face as he turned his head, his face in Samy's neck. He sucked a breath in, breathing in Samy's scent. Samy ran a hand over Tom's hair, gentle fingers picking carefully between Tom's cornrows, and goosebumps trickled down Tom's back. His eyes focused on the smooth skin of Samy's neck and his mouth watered with the need to open his lips and flick his tongue over it. Samy smelled so good, was so warm and was right there. Tom took a deep breath and willed himself to pull back and look up at him.
The look in Samy's eyes made Tom's belly go taut and he brought his hand to Samy's knee, squeezing it as if holding on tight would keep his world from spinning. But then Samy licked his lips and Tom was sure he was going to lose it. He felt himself tipping closer, his eyelids drooping to a close, when Samy laid a thick hand over the one on his knee and lifted Tom's fingers, bringing the knuckles to his lips and kissing them quickly, before moving away and picking up his beer to take a long swig.
Tom let out the lungful of air he'd been holding and picked up his own beer with shaky hands. He took a sip and plucked an errant tomato from his plate, popping it in his mouth as he shot a look at Samy from under thick, black lashes. Right about the time Tom realized he was veritably glowing from Samy's attention, he also realized that Samy's Oma was watching them.
He'd caught her eye, and she'd smiled at him before giving him a sly wink. Tom was sure his face had turned full-on crimson at that point, and he'd shot his eyes to Samy, who looked behind him to see where Tom was looking.
And then Samy had stood, grabbed Tom's wrist and hauled him up, leading him over to meet his Oma.
Tom stubbed his cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and figured he could make himself useful while he waited for Samy to come back. He started gathering plates, scraping them off into the garbage and stacking them on the table, and had almost gotten all of them when he heard a deep voice from the sliding doors.
“She liked you, you know.”
Tom turned as he reached for the final plate, holding it level so the fork in the middle of it wouldn't slide off. “Who liked me?”
“Oma. She told me when she was leaving with Elijah that she liked you a lot. Said you were a good man.”
Tom couldn't help but grin as he finished scraping the last of someone's potato salad into the garbage bag. “Oh yeah?”
When Samy spoke again, he was much closer; close enough that Tom could feel Samy's heat against his back. “She said you fit.”
Tom turned and nearly dropped the plate when Samy brushed a finger down Tom's cheek. He sucked in a breath and looked up to meet Samy's eyes. His mouth went dry and he nervously poked his tongue out to lick at his lip ring.
Samy's eyes were soft and such a dark brown, they were almost black as they caressed Tom's face up to Tom's eyes, searching them.
“I think you fit, too,” Samy said, his voice soft and velvet, and it warmed Tom against the chill of the breeze that had kicked up around them. “I've watched you, you know. Kept an eye on you as you were growing up, admiring the man you've become. I've waited to meet you, waited to be able to do this.” His thumb smoothed over Tom's bottom lip, left slack and wet. “Are you into this?”
Tom couldn't answer. He couldn't speak and he couldn't think, with this man in front of him, offering himself to Tom, offering something Tom had only fantasized about so secretly that he hadn't even told Bill. And now, Samy was here, touching him, and Tom closed his eyes, letting his face tip up. The fork and plate fell to the ground and he wound his fist in the front of Samy's shirt.
Samy's breath ghosted over his lips, minty and hot, before plush lips brushed tentatively against Tom's, and Tom stopped breathing, his entire world narrowed down to the feeling of Samy against his lips. With a low moan, Tom opened them and Samy plunged inside.
Tom had never had another man inside him, any part of him, mouth or anywhere else, except in his fantasies, but this felt like coming home. It felt so right when Samy wrapped strong arms around him and tipped his head back to lick at his tongue, nip at his lips until Tom was aching for more. He felt himself harden and the need to mold himself to Samy, rub himself against the man, was almost overwhelming.
And then Samy pulled back and looked down at him, echoing Tom's panting breaths with his own.
“What...why did...” Tom swallowed and he found himself focusing on Samy's lips, swollen and wet from their kisses.
“What do you want from this, Tom?” Samy curled a large hand behind Tom's neck and ducked his head to meet Tom's eyes when he dropped them. “Do you want a one time thing? Or do you want to give this a shot? Do you want more?”
Tom caught his bottom lip between his teeth. He knew what he wanted; he wanted everything, but what did Samy want? What was the right answer? Because he'd take one night, if that's all he could get. His stomach was swirling and his dick was hard, but in the end, he wasn't going to lie. If that meant he got nothing else from Samy but a handshake, then that's what he got. Pulling in a shuddering breath, he answered, “More.” His voice broke on the word and he cleared his throat, hoping to sound more confident than he felt. “I want more.”
A smile broke out on Samy's face. Watching it grow there was like watching the sun rise, and Tom knew that's what Samy had wanted to hear. The palm behind his neck pulled him forward and Samy's lips met Tom's again as Samy held Tom against him as if he belonged there, as if he was a perfect fit. And he was.
~~~
Author:
steinsgrrlFandom: Tokio Hotel
Pairing: Tom/Samy Deluxe
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I in no way intend to insinuate that any of the below actually happened. It is simply a piece of written entertainment based on the public personas of real people.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Adult content
Author's Note: For scarletswidow for the THF Donation Drive. :)
Thank you to
ma_chelle and ophelia_seven for the beta, and to volare for the wonderful banner. You guys are awesome!Summary:
Thankfully, Samy doesn't seem to hold it against him.
Tom downed the last of his drink and nearly gagged as it hit the back of his throat. He didn't even remember what he was drinking, all he knew was that it was orange and acidic and the dregs at the end had much more alcohol than the fruity beginning.
Slamming the glass to the table with more force than he intended, Tom winced and looked around. The club was dark where they were, the colored lights flashing and strobing all over the dance floor, the bass booming through his chest and rattling his insides until his head spun and he started to think he would hurl right there at the table. He clenched his teeth together and tried to focus on the crowd, but the more he squinted and tried to find his brother in the mass of grinding hips and bobbing heads, the more sick he felt.
He needed Bill.
Last he remembered, some tall, dark, built son of a bitch had Bill backed up against the wall of the VIP area, flirting his way into his brother's heart. Or maybe just his pants. Whichever the case, Bill had told him he was going to dance with his Latino Lothario, but how long ago had that been?
He looked at his watch, but the hands could have fallen off its face, for all Tom could see them. He closed one eye and tried to focus, before huffing and dropping his arm to clutch at his stomach as his belly rolled again. He had to get to a bathroom.
Tom scooted carefully to the edge of the booth, his vision wavering as he scanned the bodies lining the balcony railing. They were dancing up here, as well, talking and drinking and laughing, and not caring two shits that Tom was about to be sick all over this trendy Italian tile they were standing on. His eyes skidded back to a giant, hulking figure, shrouded in the dark by the wall, and he stood on wobbly legs to make for their bodyguard.
Michael had his back to Tom, not doing such a great job of guarding Tom's body, as far as he was concerned. And when had he put on a suit coat, Tom wondered, but before the thought could go much further, Tom tripped over his own feet. His toe hit the back of his other shoe, and before he could stop himself, he was going down.
He squawked, involuntarily and embarrassingly, and reached out, grabbing for Michael's arm. Michael turned at the last moment and grunted as Tom's shoulder slammed into his belly. Then strong arms were pulling him up, gripping his upper arms carefully and holding him steady.
“Hey, man, careful now. You okay?” Michael's deep voice rumbled from above, just loud enough for Tom to hear over the steady thump that drove the dancers below them. Just loud enough for Tom to realize that the deep voice that rumbled from above him wasn't Michael's.
Tom looked up quickly, the room went into a death spin and his knees went weak. They went out from under him just about the time that his stomach rebelled and backfired. Just about the time that his stomach backfired and emptied its contents all down the front of the heather grey suit in front of him. Just about the time he realized that the man in the suit, the man he'd just hurled on, was Samy Deluxe.
At the startled, “Hey!” from the man who'd been his idol for over seven years, Tom groaned in embarrassment, clenched his eyes shut and prayed to pass the fuck out.
The first person Tom saw when he opened his eyes the next afternoon, was Bill. He sat on the other side of Tom's huge bed, his back against the headboard as he clicked away at the keys on his laptop.
Tom squinted at him before closing his eyes tightly against the brightness of the monitor in the dim room, and carefully covered his aching head with his pillow.
“Do you have to make so damn much noise?” He groaned, his voice muffled even to himself, but he was counting on their twin connection to translate for him.
“Well, good morning, Tomas,” Bill cooed, and Tom grimaced. There was a little too much glee in that greeting and Tom knew what was coming already. “Sleep well?”
“Ugh,” Tom grunted, and stank breath puffed around his face. At the roll of his stomach, he pulled the pillow off his head and breathed, deeply and carefully.
Bill chortled and Tom glared. “Where were you last night? I looked for you before--” Tom cut himself off with a grunt and covered his eyes with his palm.
“Before you ralphed all over Samy Deluxe, you mean?” Tom could hear the eyebrow raise in Bill's voice. “I was trying to get laid. What the hell were you doing?”
“Trying not to ralph on Samy Deluxe,” Tom answered with a groan.
“You so failed, big brother.” Bill closed his laptop with a click and scooted over until he was snuggled against Tom's side. Tom cracked an eyelid open and peered up at him; Bill leaned on one elbow, grinning down at Tom.
“You don't have to be so happy about it,” Tom said, rolling his eyes and regretting it, as the room made a little spin in response.
“Oh, but I do,” Bill snorted. “Did you see the guy I was dancing with? I was well on my way to getting a taste of that. Next thing I know, Marcus is pulling me off the dance floor to come retrieve you from the bathroom. Where I find you hunched over the toilet, and none other than Samy Deluxe standing over you, holding your braids and rubbing your back.”
“Oh god,” Tom choked into his fist. “Oh god, I don't remember any of that.” He pulled his knees up and tipped over, curling himself against Bill, who petted his cornrows in, what Tom was sure, was mock sympathy.
“I'm not surprised. Jesus, how much of that shit did you drink?”
“I don't know,” Tom huffed. “I don't even remember what it was.”
“Hm, well, whatever it was, it was a pretty orange. Though maybe not so pretty all over the front of Samy's suit.”
Tom whimpered.
“All over the front of Samy's Armani suit.” Bill rubbed it in with a tsk.
Tom groaned into a sob that was only half fake.
“There, there,” Bill patted Tom's shoulder, insincerely. “You always wanted to meet Samy Deluxe, right? Now you can be sure he'll remember meeting you.”
“Bill!” Tom whined, and Bill chuckled above him.
“Are you gonna call him or what?” Bill asked, on his way back into his closet. He'd finally decided to unpack from their latest trip and had spent the last two hours carefully folding and hanging clothes, taking care to store the couture properly. Now he was down to his last suitcase, and Tom still hadn't done what he'd come into Bill's room to do.
He'd made camp on Bill's bed, surrounded by his laptop, a half empty bag of potato chips, the most recent issue of “Car and Driver” and the half dozen fluffy pillows Bill kept on his bed. He toyed with his cell phone, tossing it from one hand to the other and biting his lip.
“What do I say?” Tom asked, as Bill emerged from the closet again. “Hi, Samy...yeah, this is Tom, um, yeah, sorry for barfing all over you last weekend?” Tom dropped the phone on the bed and cursed himself for being such a lightweight who couldn't hold his alcohol.
Bill stood at the end of the bed, furrowing his brows, and he planted a fist on his cocked hip. “Uh. Yeah. That's exactly what you say. You threw up on the guy! I got his number for you. Call him. Offer to clean his suit. If it were my suit, I'd be pissed. Armani costs money, Tom.”
Tom pinned him with a glare. “You're not helping me here.”
“I'll hold your hand, if you want,” Bill said, coming around the bed and sitting on the edge.
“Shut up.” Tom folded his hands in his lap in defiance.
“Call him.” Bill picked up the phone and held it out. When Tom didn't take it, Bill grunted and flipped it open, his thumb snapping at the buttons quickly while Tom tried in vain to grab it from him.
“No! Bill, give it--” he cried, before slumping back against the headboard in defeat.
Bill held the phone to his ear and grinned as Tom heard a soft click from the speaker. “Here, it's Samy. Talk,” Bill said, holding the phone out to Tom.
Tom took it, numbly, everything inside him quivering with nerves. He could feel his face flush before he even opened his mouth.
“Hey, who is this?” The tinny voice from the phone was starting to sound irritated.
Tom lifted the phone to his ear and swallowed hard.
“Um. Samy, it's me. Uh, Tom?” he said, and winced as he stammered over his own name. Soft, warm fingers threaded with Tom's as they rested on his lap, and Tom raised his eyes to Bill's encouraging look. He took a deep breath and tried again. “This is Tom Kaulitz.”
Samy chuckled on the other end of the line. “Hey! How are you? How's your head?”
He didn't sound mad. Samy didn't sound mad and Tom's shoulders relaxed for the first time in two days. “Good,” he answered. “I mean, it's good now. Yesterday sucked, though.”
“Had a pretty wicked headache, did you?” Samy's voice was low, and sounded like fine, dark silk to his ears.
Tom hummed and nodded, forgetting that Samy couldn't see him. “Bill took care of me, though.”
“He's a good man, your brother,” Samy said, and Tom had to agree. “So what's up, Tom?”
“Oh.” Tom sat up straighter and glanced at Bill again, who was gesturing silently for him to get on with it, already. Tom scowled mockingly at his brother and turned his attention back to the phone. “Man, I'm sorry about your suit. Bill said I made a huge mess of it, but, well, I don't really remember much.” Tom rubbed at his forehead and closed his eyes. “But I'm really sorry. I'd like to have it cleaned for you.”
“Nah, you don't need to worry about it, Tom. It's already done.” Tom heard the smile in Samy's voice and found himself smiling, too. “Suits clean, it's all good.”
“Let me pay you back, then,” Tom offered, hoping to make amends somehow. He didn't want Samy's only memory of him to be of Tom being sick all over him.
“Tell you what. You can pay me back by coming to my house on Saturday. I'm having a get together, nothing big, you know. A little barbeque with some family and good friends. I think you'd fit right in.”
Tom barely kept his jaw from falling open. “Are you sure?”
Samy chuckled. “I asked, didn't I? Besides, I've been waiting to meet you. Properly.”
Tom shot a look at Bill and covered the phone. “He wants me to come over Saturday,” he whispered, the question unspoken.
“Go,” Bill answered anyway. “I'll go shopping and meet you home later.” He squeezed Tom's hand and lifted his chin toward the phone. “Tell him yes.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” he told Samy, and got the time and directions from him before apologizing again for making a mess of his suit. He snapped the phone closed with Samy's warm laugh and forgiveness ringing in his ears.
Tom bit his lip and made up his mind. He grabbed his purple jersey from the hanger and laid it across his bed, followed by his more fitted jeans with the hole at the knee. Reaching into the top drawer of his bureau, he started to pull out the purple headband that matched the shirt, before reconsidering. Not today.
He closed the drawer and took the jersey with him into his shoe room, finding a white pair of sneakers with purple laces already loaded into them. He folded the clothes neatly and stacked them on the dresser, all ready for tomorrow. He wanted to look good when he met Samy again. Maybe if he looked good, really well put together, Samy wouldn't always see him as some loser kid who couldn't hold his liquor.
He stripped off his workout clothes and tossed them in the hamper on his way to the bathroom. He'd gotten up early to run on the treadmill and spend a little extra time lifting weights. For Tom, exercise was more than just taking care of his body and looking good for the fans; it was also his main source of stress relief. When the touring and traveling got to be too much, when the stalkers set up camp outside their gate, when Tom couldn't sleep in the night for worrying about record sales and tour dates, he worked out. And this morning, he'd been so nervous about meeting Samy again, he hadn't even had to set his alarm to get up early to work out.
The muscles of his arms twinged as he turned on the tap and tested the water temperature before adjusting the shower head to the 'massage' setting. After hanging a towel by the shower, he stepped under the spray.
In no time, plumes of steam rolled up around him as Tom closed his eyes and let his head fall back, hot water sluicing over his scalp, shoulders and back. His lips dropped open in a pleasured sigh as he felt himself finally relax, finally breathe.
He didn't know why he was getting so worked up over this. Samy was just a guy, too, right? Tom wasn't some teeny fangirl with delusions that his idol was some perfect god, like some girls thought of Tom. He knew better than that.
His brain knew better than that, but Tom had spent the last seven years to Samy's music, watching his videos and collecting his posters. Tom's face felt hotter than the water flowing over him.
Yeah, he'd collected posters. He'd practically wallpapered his room with them when he was younger. Now he had just a few favorites that hung next to his bed. A few favorites that he looked at sometimes...
Well, sometimes when he was alone. Tom felt his groin tighten with just the memory of the fantasies he'd had about Samy, and he squirted soap in his hands, rubbing it into a lather. He smoothed a palm over his chest, over his belly, until he reached his hardening cock, and his breath hitched in his throat.
Samy's tongue plunged into Tom's mouth again, and again, his hand sliding down Tom's belly, his fingers whispering over the smooth skin around Tom's cock, before slipping between his legs. His stomach flipped hard and the fire inside him grew hotter, grew wilder, as Samy cupped his balls in his large, gentle hands, rolling them between his fingers, then pressing lightly on Tom's perineum.
Tom broke their kiss, searching for air, panting as his legs fell open further. Samy's suckling kisses moved down his neck, then over his chest, and Tom arched up as soft lips nipped at the peaks of his nipples, pink tongue poking out to lap at them while Tom's dick got so hard, he was damn sure he could bust diamonds with the thing.
“Samy,” he groaned, canting his hips up in plea. Samy still suckled at his nipple, teasing it with his teeth, but his eyes danced under black lashes as he looked up at Tom. “Please,” was all he could grit out, and Samy blinked slowly at him before moving his mouth—oh god, that mouth—down the center of Tom's belly until his breath was hotly gusting over the head of Tom's cock. His braids tickled across Tom's skin as Samy dropped his head and rubbed his cheek across Tom's hardness, and Tom's feet pointed in pleasure. He grasped at Samy's shoulder, kneading the dark, toned skin under his fingers as Samy lifted Tom's cock and began to lap at the head. He licked up the line of precome that had dripped from the tip, and hummed a deep purr as he opened wet lips and swallowed Tom's length in one go.
It was everything Tom had not to thrust himself into Samy's throat. Not like it would matter if he did; Samy was a big man. He was a very big man, and he'd have no trouble holding a man like Tom down. That thought of Samy holding him down and just taking him, along with the sucking pressure, the wet heat of Samy's mouth over his dick, had him squirming and shaking, and suddenly, he was very, very close to the edge.
He pushed at Samy's shoulder. “Stop. Stop, stop,” he panted. “Too close.”
Samy let off his cock with a wet pop and one last lick before he moved off the bed to rummage in his side drawer. He came back with a bottle of lube, and Tom took a deep breath, wound his fingers into the sheets, and opened his legs wide enough for Samy to settle between them.
Tom's chest nearly heaved with his panting. He had one hand planted firmly against the deep blue tile of his shower, the other hand working his dick...working it hard, pumping so perfectly, just as Tom knew Samy would do it to him. He squeezed his eyes closed, water flowing over him as he fucked himself into his fist. He could almost feel Samy inside him now.
Tom hitched his knees up to his chest, bending himself nearly in half. As much as his muscles would complain later, Tom couldn't get enough of this right now.
Samy was inside him.
Slowly...so slowly, he'd worked Tom open with thick, lubricated fingers. While Tom had winced at first, it wasn't long before he'd loosened up and Samy had worked in another finger. Then another. And just as Tom had become a quivering mess on the bed, close to begging Samy to get inside him, Samy had pulled his fingers out, and Tom nearly whimpered with the loss. But then Samy had taken him so carefully, worked his cock inside Tom's tender hole so slowly that, even though it was bigger than Samy's fingers, it had barely burned at all.
Samy's strokes were slow and easy at first, sliding home before pulling most of the way out, just the head left inside as he kissed Tom, lapping at his lips as Tom gasped around his tongue. Tom started anticipating the push in, tilting his hips up to meet each thrust, urging Samy faster...faster.
Samy grunted and grabbed the backs of Tom's knees, his fingers slipping a bit in the sweat he found there. He hooked Tom's legs over his shoulders, grasped Tom's hips hard in strong hands and pounded into him until Tom would have been hard pressed to even remember his own name. All he knew was the feeling of Samy inside him, fucking him so good, so right, and the face of that man above him, his eyes linked with Tom's and so full of pleasure and want and tenderness that it took away what little breath Tom had left.
Tom ran a hand over Samy's chest, scratching lightly around his dark nipples, proudly peaking in arousal, and over the black, curly hair on Samy's abdomen. He was sweaty, strong and perfect, and when Tom looked between them, between their bodies to where he could see Samy's cock sliding, slamming, in and out of him, Tom grabbed his own dick and started pumping. He stroked in tandem with the thrusts into him, the fire inside ready to explode as it built higher.
“Come on, baby,” Samy urged, his voice straining with the effort of speaking. “Come for me. Come on me.”
And that was all it took. That teasing, growing fire inside his groin exploded in waves of pleasure that hit him so hard, his toes curled and he pulled Samy down to him with his calves. As he pulsed around Samy's cock, spending itself so deep inside him, Tom called out Samy's name and painted their bellies with his come.
Tom shot thick ropes of come against the tile, watching with unseeing eyes as it splashed against the slippery surface and was washed away by the spray of the shower. He groaned as he milked the last drops from his dick, took a deep breath, and turned off the shower. He reached for the towel and buried his face in it, hanging on to the towel bar while he got his breath back.
Tom didn't know what would come of this get together, but he was pretty sure that wouldn't be it, he thought, with a pang. He hummed shortly as he wrapped the towel around his waist and got out of the shower; even if there was no possible way something like that could happen, he was hoping that, after this, he would at least be able to call Samy his friend.
Tom didn't know the woman who answered the door at Samy's house, all flowing robes and dreadlocked hair, but she smiled a big, welcoming smile and opened the door wider to let him in.
“Hi.” Tom raised his hand in a short wave. “I'm Tom.”
“Hey, Tom, I'm Lisa, Samy's cousin,” she answered with an even bigger grin, pushing a couple long locks behind her shoulders. “And I think I may have seen you before, just a time or two.”
Tom chuckled in response and ducked his head. “I guess you might have.” He looked toward the noise coming from the back of the house, and Lisa took his arm in hers, steering him into the back yard. They went through a huge kitchen with black granite counters and a floor that looked like cobblestone, and Tom wanted to peer through all the doors attached. He'd been a fan of Samy's for years, but he'd never really thought about what the guy's house would look like. He liked what he saw.
“You're just in time. I think Samy's just putting the meat on the grill,” she said, as they exited the door to the back yard.
Tom's stomach sank and he winced. This was a barbeque. And Tom didn't eat meat. Starting to sweat in the hot, August sun, he swept his eyes over the crowd of people in the back yard. The group wasn't huge, maybe thirty or so, people of all ages and colors
“Hey guys, this is Tom,” Lisa said, from the doorway, just loud enough to rise above the chatter of the people gathered in the back yard. A chorus of greetings answered, and Tom wished for Bill.
In situations like this, situations where he didn't really know anyone and was unsure of how to act, where to go, what to do, he usually relied on Bill. Bill could turn on his smile and use it as a buffer between himself and his nerves, and he would break the ice and lead the way for Tom to follow. And Tom didn't mind at all; he might act completely calm in social situations, but that's what it was; an act. Inside, he was flailing hard.
But Bill wasn't here, and he found himself feeling flushed in the face as he grimaced a smile and gave a little wave to the group on the lawn.
“Tom!” Samy turned from the grill, standing on the patio on the far side of the yard. He closed the grill lid and weaved his way through lawn chairs and kids playing in the grass. “Glad you could make it.” Samy looked amazing, his hair pulled back and tied at his nape, sunglasses perched on his head. He wore long, khaki shorts and a bright orange Hawaiian shirt that made Tom grin. When he finally reached Tom, he pulled him into a quick hug. Tom looked up at him, trying to breathe and play it cool as Samy grasped his shoulders with both hands. “I'm really glad you could make it.”
Nerves skittered in his belly as Samy threw a casual arm around Tom's neck and steered him toward the grill. Samy's arm was heavy on his shoulders, warmer than the sun that beat down on them, and Tom inhaled the sweet, musky scent of him. He smelled like coconut oil and grass and sunshine and Tom had the urge to turn his nose into Samy's shoulder for more.
“I need to flip these,” Samy said, breaking away from Tom as they reached the patio, and Tom looked around the yard as Samy tended the meat. There were two long picnic tables next to the patio, laden with bowls and trays of covered food, condiments, napkins weighted down by plastic cups and utensils, and Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He'd wondered what he'd be able to eat here, but he'd bet some of those bowls had something vegetarian in them.
Samy closed the grill and Tom turned at the sound. “I heard you don't eat meat,” he said, reaching into the cooler.
“Yeah,” Tom answered, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight uncomfortably. “Gave it up a couple years ago.”
“Why's that?” Samy held a bottle of beer by the neck and wrapped a giant hand around the bottle, swiping off the ice and water clinging to it.
Tom shrugged. “It was Bill's idea. He starting talking about how cruel the meat industry was. I thought he was crazy.” Tom laughed and Samy chuckled. “But then he showed me some videos he'd seen of packing plants, and...yeah.” Tom glanced at the grill, uneasily. He didn't want to preach about animal cruelty while standing in front of someone's barbeque. Especially Samy's. He scraped his foot on the concrete and looked back up at Samy, unsure where to go from there.
“Hey, no big deal. I'm not judging anyone, just curious.” He smiled a slow smile, his eyes, kind. “But I got you some veggie kabobs. Mushroom, onion, peppers, tomatoes. The works. Good?”
Tom grinned up at him, surprised. “Yeah, more than good.”
Samy twisted the cap off the beer in his hand and held it out to Tom, pulling it back with a sly smirk when Tom reached for it. “Sure you can handle this?”
Tom snorted and reached for the bottle again, his face flaming hot. As his fingers wrapped around it, grasping the slippery glass, Samy's fingers brushed over his, and Tom's breath caught in his throat. His eyes flew up to Samy's and found him gazing back steadily, his smile serene as he let go of the bottle and reached for his own.
A high-pitched squeal rose up behind him and a little girl ran between him and Samy, laughing as her pigtails bounced behind her. A smaller boy ran after her, all skinny legs and pumping arms, and he wailed as Samy scooped him up and held the child on his hip. In a slow, calm voice, Samy shushed him until the boy stopped squirming and looked up at Samy with a huff.
“Don't go chasing Becca through here, Elijah. This grill is hot and if she ran into it or you ran into it, it would burn. You don't want to get burned, do you?”
Elijah shook his head, solemnly. “No, Daddy.”
“Can you find something else to do? Why don't you go see if Oma's doing okay? See if there's something you can do for her? She needs big boy help sometimes. You're a big boy, right?”
Elijah nodded, a tiny smile blooming away the pout from his lips, and Samy set him on his feet with a nudge toward the lawn. “Go on,” he said, but Elijah was already off, running at top speed toward an elderly, white haired woman sitting in a lawn chair.
“They never walk at this age; it's all run, run, run,” Samy said, glancing at Elijah and back at Tom.
The tension between them was broken, and Tom took a swig of his beer. It foamed up at the lip and he sucked the bitter bubbles out with a slurp. “I had forgotten you have a son.”
“I don't have him all the time,” Samy said, lifting the cover of the grill. He poked at the steaks and turned over Tom's kabobs before turning back to him. “His mother has custody, but I get him every other weekend or so. When I'm not on the road. And I try to keep him out of the public eye when I do have him.” He shrugged. “I'm not always successful.”
Tom frowned, nodding in understanding. He knew how hard it was to keep anything private when you're a celebrity.
“These are done. You wanna eat?” Samy asked, and at Tom's nod, he turned and raised his voice to be heard over the chatter. “Everyone get a plate and come get some food.” Gesturing toward the stack of plates on the nearest table, he said to Tom, “Get a plate and I'll serve you up first.”
Tom dried his hands and left the bathroom, turning the light off behind him, before making his way to the back yard. Stepping into the dim glow of the soft, early evening sunset, he looked around and realized that the lawn was empty. He cringed as he realized he was the last one to leave. So what did he do, now? He didn't know where Samy had gone off to, and even poking his head back in the door, he didn't hear the low murmur of Samy's voice. He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his feet to the edge of the patio. Tom didn't want to leave without thanking Samy for inviting him, but he didn't want to just stand here, either.
He lit a cigarette and surveyed the yard. Samy's friends and family had been welcoming and they'd treated him like part of the gang; like he belonged here. Samy's Oma had held court from her lawn chair, and Samy doted on her, just as everyone else did, making sure her glass was always full, that she wasn't too hot or too cold, making sure she had everything she needed. The kids had run around, playing tag and games that Tom didn't remember playing when he and Bill were younger, yelling and squealing until their parents collected them and set them to eating. The picnic was loud and boisterous and Tom had enjoyed the company.
Samy had asked Tom to sit with him in the grass and they'd talked as they ate. Tom was nervous at first, but soon loosened up as the time flew by. Elijah had run by, chasing that girl again, but this time with a hand full of grass he'd picked from the lawn. He'd thrown it at her, but missed and got Tom instead. Tom had just laughed at the boy's wide eyed chagrin and picked bright green blades of grass from his potato salad. Tom had opened his mouth to tease the him for having such bad aim when he'd realized that Samy had moved closer, sitting so close to him that their thighs touched.
Tom's smile froze on his face as he turned his head, his face in Samy's neck. He sucked a breath in, breathing in Samy's scent. Samy ran a hand over Tom's hair, gentle fingers picking carefully between Tom's cornrows, and goosebumps trickled down Tom's back. His eyes focused on the smooth skin of Samy's neck and his mouth watered with the need to open his lips and flick his tongue over it. Samy smelled so good, was so warm and was right there. Tom took a deep breath and willed himself to pull back and look up at him.
The look in Samy's eyes made Tom's belly go taut and he brought his hand to Samy's knee, squeezing it as if holding on tight would keep his world from spinning. But then Samy licked his lips and Tom was sure he was going to lose it. He felt himself tipping closer, his eyelids drooping to a close, when Samy laid a thick hand over the one on his knee and lifted Tom's fingers, bringing the knuckles to his lips and kissing them quickly, before moving away and picking up his beer to take a long swig.
Tom let out the lungful of air he'd been holding and picked up his own beer with shaky hands. He took a sip and plucked an errant tomato from his plate, popping it in his mouth as he shot a look at Samy from under thick, black lashes. Right about the time Tom realized he was veritably glowing from Samy's attention, he also realized that Samy's Oma was watching them.
He'd caught her eye, and she'd smiled at him before giving him a sly wink. Tom was sure his face had turned full-on crimson at that point, and he'd shot his eyes to Samy, who looked behind him to see where Tom was looking.
And then Samy had stood, grabbed Tom's wrist and hauled him up, leading him over to meet his Oma.
Tom stubbed his cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and figured he could make himself useful while he waited for Samy to come back. He started gathering plates, scraping them off into the garbage and stacking them on the table, and had almost gotten all of them when he heard a deep voice from the sliding doors.
“She liked you, you know.”
Tom turned as he reached for the final plate, holding it level so the fork in the middle of it wouldn't slide off. “Who liked me?”
“Oma. She told me when she was leaving with Elijah that she liked you a lot. Said you were a good man.”
Tom couldn't help but grin as he finished scraping the last of someone's potato salad into the garbage bag. “Oh yeah?”
When Samy spoke again, he was much closer; close enough that Tom could feel Samy's heat against his back. “She said you fit.”
Tom turned and nearly dropped the plate when Samy brushed a finger down Tom's cheek. He sucked in a breath and looked up to meet Samy's eyes. His mouth went dry and he nervously poked his tongue out to lick at his lip ring.
Samy's eyes were soft and such a dark brown, they were almost black as they caressed Tom's face up to Tom's eyes, searching them.
“I think you fit, too,” Samy said, his voice soft and velvet, and it warmed Tom against the chill of the breeze that had kicked up around them. “I've watched you, you know. Kept an eye on you as you were growing up, admiring the man you've become. I've waited to meet you, waited to be able to do this.” His thumb smoothed over Tom's bottom lip, left slack and wet. “Are you into this?”
Tom couldn't answer. He couldn't speak and he couldn't think, with this man in front of him, offering himself to Tom, offering something Tom had only fantasized about so secretly that he hadn't even told Bill. And now, Samy was here, touching him, and Tom closed his eyes, letting his face tip up. The fork and plate fell to the ground and he wound his fist in the front of Samy's shirt.
Samy's breath ghosted over his lips, minty and hot, before plush lips brushed tentatively against Tom's, and Tom stopped breathing, his entire world narrowed down to the feeling of Samy against his lips. With a low moan, Tom opened them and Samy plunged inside.
Tom had never had another man inside him, any part of him, mouth or anywhere else, except in his fantasies, but this felt like coming home. It felt so right when Samy wrapped strong arms around him and tipped his head back to lick at his tongue, nip at his lips until Tom was aching for more. He felt himself harden and the need to mold himself to Samy, rub himself against the man, was almost overwhelming.
And then Samy pulled back and looked down at him, echoing Tom's panting breaths with his own.
“What...why did...” Tom swallowed and he found himself focusing on Samy's lips, swollen and wet from their kisses.
“What do you want from this, Tom?” Samy curled a large hand behind Tom's neck and ducked his head to meet Tom's eyes when he dropped them. “Do you want a one time thing? Or do you want to give this a shot? Do you want more?”
Tom caught his bottom lip between his teeth. He knew what he wanted; he wanted everything, but what did Samy want? What was the right answer? Because he'd take one night, if that's all he could get. His stomach was swirling and his dick was hard, but in the end, he wasn't going to lie. If that meant he got nothing else from Samy but a handshake, then that's what he got. Pulling in a shuddering breath, he answered, “More.” His voice broke on the word and he cleared his throat, hoping to sound more confident than he felt. “I want more.”
A smile broke out on Samy's face. Watching it grow there was like watching the sun rise, and Tom knew that's what Samy had wanted to hear. The palm behind his neck pulled him forward and Samy's lips met Tom's again as Samy held Tom against him as if he belonged there, as if he was a perfect fit. And he was.
