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Glam Kink Meme Post #1

The Glam Kink Meme Post #1 is now open.

Have fun prompting, writing, reading, and feedbacking. :)

ETA: All prompts are listed here.

ETA2: All filled prompts are archived here.

ETA3 This post is now CLOSED to new prompts.

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Page 126 of 311
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janesgravity
Sep. 26th, 2010 06:29 am (UTC)
Re: Terrance Wants to dance...
Mmmmm ... Dante ... seconded :)
(Anonymous)
Sep. 26th, 2010 06:57 am (UTC)
FILL: Fly Away With You 1/??
I've grown lazy and started using song lyrics for titles again. The end is nigh.

Tommy is thrilled to be off the damned plane and out of Hong fucking Kong, long live the American Embassy and employees who understand that “I’m contractually obligated to be in Singapore in less than 24 hours” actually means “I’m contractually obligated to be in Singapore in less than 24 hours.” Tommy knows Adam well enough to know Adam would be more concerned about Tommy getting into the country and getting some food and sleep than about being down a bass player, but precisely because Adam’s concern would lie with his well-being Tommy wants even less to let him down. The humidity almost immediately leaves his clothes sticking and his entire body stifling, but he can worry about that later; right now he has tweets and texts to send and a phone call to Neil to make.

He asks the cab driver if they can swing by the venue before he drops his stuff at the hotel—Adam shuts off his phone during sound checks because of the possibility of interference, and Tommy would rather let Adam mother-hen for thirty seconds and then get used to Tommy being here and okay, than trying to fend him off from an hour’s worth of “Did you sleep? Do you need something to eat? Are you sure you’re going to be okay for the show?” later.

They pull into the venue, a big open-air stage that looks like the organisers expect all five acts to perform at once. Tommy slides out and scurries up the stairs, looking for a flash of jewellery somewhere on the vast expanse of playing space, and immediately finds himself flat on his ass with Adam nearly in his lap and the assorted bullshit from both of their messenger bags strewn hell to breakfast across the stage.

“You okay?” Adam asks, as soon as he’s got his breath back and started scrambling across the stage to collect half a dozen energy bars (and how he eats that shit Tommy will never understand, to him every single flavour tastes like old cardboard with that paste kindergarten kids use smeared overtop) and jamming them back into his bag with one hand while sweeping Tommy’s clothes from the day before into a pile with the other. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking—“

“You on your way to a fire or something?” Tommy asks, grabbing the leather strap on his journal and dumping it back into his bag before scooping up a handful of Adam’s pens and whatever postmodern novel it is he’s reading right now.

“Interview,” Adam tells him. “Sound check ran over—“

“Grab your stuff, I’ll get everything else,” Tommy interrupts. “Get your ass outta here.”

Adam stuffs his day planner into his bag and slings an arm around Tommy’s shoulders for a fast squeeze before hauling himself to his feet. “Get some sleep!”

“Yes, Mother,” Tommy agrees, rolling his eyes as Adam darts off through the vast space that, come evening, will hold their audience. By tonight he’ll be Singapore’s darling, assuming they don’t get themselves arrested; Tommy looked up homosexuality laws while he was stranded in the Hell Kong airport, and “unenforced since 1999” doesn’t give him a whole lot of comfort.

He tips the driver extra for waiting while he picked up his shit and all but falls into Monte’s and Brooke’s arms when he finally gets to the hotel; he probably could have slept on the plane, but he was too amped up. Brooke gives him a key-card to the room he’s sharing with Isaac, and Tommy heads up, making only a single concession to the other bed belonging to someone else, pulling on a pair of boxers before he collapses on top of the sheets and stuffs his complimentary earplugs in his ears.

He pulls the little leatherbound journal out of his bag to scribble a couple of lines about Eight Hours Alone In A Foreign Country; nothing fancy, but he can always copy the pages and hand them over to Adam and Monte if he thinks there’s anything there worth beating into some kind of lyrical shape. He flips it open, already reaching for one of the well-chewed 99-cent specials he carries in the side of his bag, and stops.
deliriousminuet
Sep. 26th, 2010 07:17 am (UTC)
Re: FILLED: The Kindness of Strangers (6/?)
This is unreasonably hot. In a /d/ kind of way. But I'm commenting non-anon!
janesgravity
Sep. 26th, 2010 07:24 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Fly Away With You 1/??
Wait, you can't leave it there, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
(Anonymous)
Sep. 26th, 2010 07:29 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Fly Away With You 1/??
:D *bounces happily*

--OP
etharei
Sep. 26th, 2010 07:48 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Fly Away With You 1/??
OMG. Please don't just leave it there? But I love this already ♥
xxvikixx
Sep. 26th, 2010 07:54 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Fly Away With You 1/??
NOOOO come back and post moar!!

Loving this already :D
(Anonymous)
Sep. 26th, 2010 09:07 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Fly Away With You 2/??
The handwriting on the first page is not small, spiky, and scrawled there in cheap blue or black ink. Adam teases Tommy about having henscratch for writing, and the text in front of him—rounded, a mix of cursive and print written with bright purple ink—is definitely not henscratch. Tommy considers for a moment whether it might be Adam’s; the day planner Adam stuck in his bag was obviously not a day planner after all, but Tommy’s journal, and so the book in Tommy’s hands must have come from Adam’s bag. Then he glances at the relatively large letters and glittery purple ink, and considers Adam’s hatred of gel pens, which somehow always magically clog up and refuse to write when he lays hands on them. Not Adam’s, then, or it’d be written in black ballpoint—not to mention even Adam’s writing isn’t that girly.

Which leaves the question: whose is it?

Tommy flicks through the journal quickly, looking for proper nouns that might identify the owner. If Adam was carrying it but it isn’t Adam’s, then it’s either a gift from a fan or it belongs to someone else on the tour, and he can’t see even one of the more near-fanatical fans writing him a letter this lo—

Tommy catches his own name on a page and sticks a thumb between the leaves before they can turn over. Then he’s glad he’s not drinking anything, because it would have gone all over the page when the phrase “Tommy’s delicate alibaster skin” jumped out at him. He skims a few lines and spots “carressed the curve of his spine,” and closes the book on a finger, pondering.

Somewhere, Adam is smiling for cameras and answering the same tired questions (the ones Tommy could practically answer for him by now, on topics, to wit, 1. his sexual orientation 2. his musical influences 3. his thoughts on Idol and lately, 4. the asshole at the beach), and when he’s done he’ll open his bag and discover Tommy’s book instead of his own. Adam isn’t the kind of curious that would lead him to pry, but he’s been in Tommy’s journal before, for reasons far more personal than trying to figure out who it belongs to. Most of the time it’s just browsing through the weird rest-stop graffiti Tommy’s scribbled down or checking out the various things Tommy’s kept from their tour stops, because to Tommy “journal” is shorthand for “that book you stuff full of memorable shit you don’t want to lose and occasionally actually tape or staple in place,” but somewhere in that book is a letter Adam tucked in it about two weeks after Tommy came back from his dad’s funeral.

It started with a crying fit Tommy doesn’t even remember the reason for anymore; all he remembers about that night is Adam murmuring something to everyone else on the bus and walking Tommy back behind the privacy curtain, where he bawled into Adam’s shoulder for only God and Adam know how long, and then woke up the next morning tucked neatly under Adam’s throw blanket. They never talked about Tommy just about having a nervous breakdown, but about two days later Tommy found two front-and-back pages full of encouragement and an offer to talk—which, in Adam-speak, is shorthand for “talk, scream at me, bawl, swear, and get it out of your system”—anytime tucked into his journal next to his most recent entry, and after that Tommy pretty much gave Adam free rein with the thing if he wanted it. He doesn’t think Adam’s ever actually gone through and systematically read the actual written entries (although on occasion he’s found and read aloud in a totally ridiculous Hollywood Trailer Man Voice for the entire group some of Tommy’s entries on things like Finding Vegetarian Food At 2AM In A Town Of 2000 People and one he’s pretty sure he wrote when he was drunk, about sex being an alien plot, because they’re always funnier when Adam reads them), but he knows he can, if he wants to, and some of what’s between those covers would curl the hair of people a lot less respectable than Adam. Compared to that, a book of porn written by some teenage fangirl who apparently had the guts to give it to Adam but not quite enough cajones to sign her name in it is small change.

“Okay,” Tommy says to the empty room. “Fifteen-minute pop quiz on how many factual errors about gay sex the straight guy can pick up,” and he flips the book open again.
janesgravity
Sep. 26th, 2010 09:32 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Fly Away With You 2/??
Saying I love you is getting repetitive. But. I love you. *_*
(Anonymous)
Sep. 26th, 2010 09:49 am (UTC)
Adam/Anyone, romantic!Adam
I'd love to read about a struggling!Adam always saving some money to give his boy little romantic surprises, like a fancy dinner or tickets for that show the other really wants to see. IDK, just give me the sapz, kay? :D AU or pre-idol, you decide.
antigone921
Sep. 26th, 2010 09:55 am (UTC)
Re: FILLED: The Kindness of Strangers (6/?)
More please.
(Anonymous)
Sep. 26th, 2010 10:05 am (UTC)
Re: Adam/Anyone, romantic!Adam
OUPADFHA this is adorable DO WANT
(Anonymous)
Sep. 26th, 2010 10:13 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Fly Away With You 2/??
And you're doing it PERFECTLY.
(Anonymous)
Sep. 26th, 2010 10:28 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Fly Away With You 2/??
SO FUCKING GOOD OMG, BB! Can't wait for the next bit!

The last sentence was fucking hilarious :D
(Anonymous)
Sep. 26th, 2010 10:31 am (UTC)
FILL: Fly Away With You 3/??
Tommy doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up he’s in the middle of a story about him and Adam and unspeakable things involving a makeup chair, which makes no more sense to him on a second reading than on a first. Some of the details just aren’t ringing; instead they’re pinging something in the back of Tommy’s head that suggests maybe this is Sasha’s or Cam’s. He can’t quite put his finger on what it is, exactly, and all he can sum it up with is Adam’s freckles: he’s covered in the damned things from head to toe, all down his back and across his chest and face and hell, even speckled over his lips and eyelids (and for all Tommy knows, less mentionable areas than his lips), and this is not exactly uncommon knowledge. Adam’s talked about it in interviews and anybody with Google can find pictures of him as a kid where they’re not covered in a layer of concealer, but in spite of his dialogue being damned near perfect there’s not a single mention of freckles anywhere—even though the author’s apparently been to enough meet and greets and aftershow signings to know Tommy nibbles on his thumbnail when he’s tired.

He’s puzzling over some of the weird details—like realising halfway through the phrase “open brown puppy eyes,” which he’s pretty sure needs a hyphen somewhere, that his “pop quiz” score is still sitting at zero even though the prose itself sounds like it was written by someone who still believes M.A.S.H. can really tell the future—when Isaac comes in, stripping off a T-shirt to change into another T-shirt, pausing only long enough to see Tommy’s awake.

“Better than Hong Kong?” he asks, and Tommy flips the book shut.

“Definitely. Food?”

“Hotel restaurant,” Isaac confirms. Then he nods at the book. “Journal?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, deciding it’s way easier than explaining how he’s hijacked a book of badly-written porn Adam’s either too amused or too kind to throw away, and tosses it in his messenger bag to give back to Adam later. “I’m gonna get a shower, I probably smell like shit.”

“Nah,” Isaac says. “You don’t smell like shit, you smell like a guy who hasn’t showered in three days.”

Tommy flicks him off and heads for the shower, where he finds himself puzzling one more time over some of the bizarre detail in the book sitting in his messenger bag. He closes his eyes while he rinses out his hair and tries to think his way through one of the sequences he read, which might have freaked him out five months ago before he was kissing and grinding with another guy almost every single night. Tommy’s never given head, but based on a somewhat drunken explanation from Adam and his own experience on the receiving end he can’t find a single error in the description he just read—a description written by someone who still hasn’t gotten past thinking “virgin entrance” is a perfectly acceptable way to describe Tommy’s ass.

The prose is horrible, but when Tommy runs it through his head he comes to the distressing conclusion that maybe Adam shouldn’t read the last entry in his journal, especially if they’re going to be poking fun at this thing tonight . . . especially if they’re not changing the show, and he’s pretty sure they’re not. Suddenly he wishes he hadn’t read the damned book, because with a good editor some of what’s in it could be really fucking hot. He swops his hair out of his face and turns off the shower, silently cussing at Adam for carrying the damned thing and for being what Tommy’s heard a few fans call the Gay Messiah, “converting people all over the place.” He’s still pretty sure he’s straight, but if he was ever going to try

“Did you drown in there?” Isaac calls through the door, and Tommy swears at his own reflection before wrapping a towel around his hair and another around his waist.

“Can I dry off in peace?” he shouts back, and when Isaac doesn’t answer Tommy assumes he’s left. He pokes his head out of the bathroom, then wanders back into the room to throw on the lightest jeans he owns and a T-shirt. He glares balefully at his messenger bag on his way out of the room, hurrying down the stairs to catch up with everyone—he reset his watch in Hong Kong, and he doesn’t know what happens if you’re late for dinner in Singapore.

6:30am. More after sleep.
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