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AI Fic: When You Came in the Air Went Out (1/1, NC-17, Tiedam)
TITLE: When You Came In the Air Went Out
AUTHOR: Mari
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Neal Tiemann/Adam Lambert, very slight David Cook/Kim Caldwell
SUMMARY: In which Neal is clueless, Adam has post-finale steam to burn off, and no one should ever doubt Joey Clement.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: So, originally I was writing this whilst thinking that the BoUH was not actually at the finale. BUT WAIT PICTORIAL EVIDENCE SAYS OTHERWISE. Whatever, I’m claiming it as Tiedam canon.
AUTHOR’S NOTE DEUX: Facetiously, damn.



Neal’s too busy watching Dave to give all that much of a shit about the rest of it. He does his job, he plays his guitar, David’s voice only cracks a little bit during the song and then again when he’s talking to the small and hyperactive dude who runs this shit--and Neal was actually introduced to him, the last time that they were all here to perform, but he makes it a point to let it fall right out of his head again--and then they chill like rock stars. Andy still can’t get out a sentence like that without falling into laughter, and they’ll be poking each other in the sides and unable to keep still throughout most of the show.

“Fuck me, it’s like being with Johns all over again,” Dave says, watching them in a kind of wonder, but whatever, man, this is his fishbowl. The other four of them are just playing in it. Neal slouches back in his chair, already bored in spite of himself, and doesn’t perk up again until the end, save for a brief second in which it looks as though Fergie’s going to flash something not meant to be shown to a family audience, and the cameraman spins away. Kyle puts his hands over his face to hold back his laughter, while Neal sinks down further in his seat, folds his arms across his stomach, and shoots David a look from beneath his lashes.

“You. Owe. Us,” he says, enunciating each word carefully. When the camera swings off and back towards the stage, he stabs out his finger for emphasis.

David smiles calmly for the camera that Neal had somehow not noticed and then, when that is gone, levels his own finger right back at Neal. “This is what made me able to put the band together in the first place, play nice,” he said. “It’s your paycheck.” Neal still puts on his most convincing scowl, and doesn’t actually care who is looking their way. “There’s going to be a party later, there’s going to be booze. You can hang on that long.” And as Neal sinks still lower in his chair, “It’s like I’m trying to go to the movies with children.”

Joey, the only one among them who isn’t fidgeting--and that includes David himself, Neal doesn’t care how cool and collected he’s trying to be--says mildly, “Camera,” and they all sit up and begin behaving themselves again.

“You’re Mommy,” Neal says to David.

David makes a face at him, keeping a careful eye out to see when the camera is going to circle back around. “Shut up,” he says. “Joey is totally Mommy. He has the hair for it.”

The camera gets an excellent shot of Neal laughing so hard that he nearly falls out of his seat.

Whatever, the short guy wins, Neal’s vaguely sure that he’s supposed to know their names by now, but they’ve been busy. Did David give them a tutorial before they showed up for the finale? Neal’s pretty sure that David came them a tutorial; he’s also pretty sure that he was drunk.

“Party now?” Neal asks David in a plaintive voice when the confetti finally stops falling from the ceiling.

“With alcohol?” Andy asks, not quite so sweetly.

David flicks Andy a sideways look before answering them, one at a time, “Yes,” and “You’re a mean drunk, dude.” Andy flips him off. “We’ll check the mouthwash to see if you got started early.”

As it turns out, heading to a party is slightly involved when you’re part of a band that sold one million records in the span of three months, and it’s hours later before they’re pulling up and blinking in the lights of what feels like most of the paparazzi in Los Angeles but is probably objectively no more than a dozen, tops. They manage to stare for all of about ten seconds before Andy is saying breezily, “Yeah, we’re going to slide in the back.” They leave David muttering something about Andy being mean sober, too, and slide into the party amidst a refreshing lack of camera flashes.

It’s already crowded inside, some faces that Neal remembers from his television and some that he doesn’t. He grabs a beer and sidles along the wall instead, preparing to spend a few hours getting pleasantly buzzed before he and the guys slide out the back again. They’ll be waiting in the SUV to make fun of Dave when he has to walk out through the front and play nice with the cameras. Joey joins him a few minutes later; they play a quiet game amongst themselves of seeing how long David and Kim can accidentally-on-purpose coordinate their drifting about the room so that they don’t actually have to come into contact with each other.

“Ten more minutes,” Neal predicts with some confidence. David’s drinking--there’s color in his cheeks--and if there’s one thing that he knows about his friend, it’s that the ability to respect boundaries or even acknowledge that they were objectively there at some point is inversely related to how much booze he’s had. Get him drunk enough, and he starts to drape himself over people like he’s auditioning to be their clothing.

Joey tilts his head to one side and looks at David contemplatively; Neal has learned that contemplatively is his most common expression, and is doled out for anything ranging from a chord he can’t quite manage to what’s going to go on the pizza that Art is not supposed to know that they’re all still eating. “Fifteen,” he says finally. The possibility of David somehow managing to not cross Kim’s path at some point that night and then forget that the two of them have broken up is never on the table for discussion. Neal decides that Joey and Kyle have a kind of faith in David’s ability to withstand temptation that can only be the result of not knowing him for nearly as long as Neal and Andy themselves have.

Speaking of Andy, Neal hears the kind of sound that only comes from a raised voice trying very hard to mute itself and raises his eyes towards the ceiling. “I don’t want to go look for him,” he says. “You go look for him.”

Joey settles himself more comfortably against the wall and takes another pull off of his beer. “I went and looked for him last time,” he says. “Let’s volunteer Kyle to go look for him.” As Kyle is not here to object to this particular plan, Neal thinks that that makes it an excellent one, and he and Joey solemnly clink their beer bottles against one another before they go back to watching the crowd. Neal can’t help but think that they’ve had some much wilder parties with Ryan and the roadies, but whatever, man, the booze is free, and he’s having fun.

“Huh.” Neal realizes that Joey is staring off, to where this year’s contestants are standing in a clump and being congratulated. “That’s the gay dude that pissed O’Reilly off so much?”

“When have you been watching the news?” Neal asks, though he does crane his neck to see who Joey is referring to. He sees a tall man with black hair and a dark jacket being enthusiastically hugged by a smaller one. Seriously, the shorter guy has his entire face pressed into the taller dude’s shoulder, like he means to burrow into him or something.

“When the rest of you lazy-asses are sleeping, that’s when,” Joey says without rancor. “Jesus, don’t drink yourself into a stupor every once in a while, you’ll be amazed what you’re awake for.” Neal swings his mostly-empty bottle at Joey’s arm, but he doesn’t mean it and Joey barely has to shift his weight to move out of range, and then he’s going back to watching the two guys. The taller one--the runner-up, Adam, Neal is pretty sure is his name--finally manages to disentangle himself, laughing. He keeps his arm around the winner’s--Kris, Neal is absurdly proud of himself for being able to keep the names of at least two of the major players straight-- shoulders until a small blonde walks up and takes Kris away again by kissing him soundly on the mouth.

“You watch the Daily Show, that doesn’t count,” Neal says. Adam looks up from the teenaged girl that he’s speaking to, meets Neal’s eyes for a second, goes back to his conversation. The tiny blonde is meanwhile leading Kris away by his wrist; he doesn’t look like he’s fighting her very hard. Head tilted to one side, Neal says, “Damn, I hope his girlfriend knows.”

“What girl--” Joey starts to say, but then someone comes by with a tray of champagne and they both forget what they were talking about.

*
Putting in a short appearance has turned into something more like three hours, but the booze is still free, so Neal’s going to call it a good night all around. He’s not drunk, but he has a decent buzz going for himself as he steps back from the main room and down a hallway that he doesn’t recognize so that he can get some air. David and Kim had finally run into each other, almost down to the second, twelve and a half minutes after he and Joey had stopped talking about them, so they’re agreeing to split the victory. Andy has managed not to get in a fight with anyone yet, though Kyle’s been pissed ever since he was informed that they elected him the person in charge of making sure it stays that way, and Neal doesn’t doubt that he might find some creative vandalism done to his stuff over the next few days.

Altogether, yeah. Been a good night.

Neal doesn’t exactly know what this building is used for when it’s not holding post-finale parties, other than that the big, neon 19 Entertainment logo out front means that it probably doesn’t see a lot of weddings. He does know that the labyrinth of back hallways kept separated from the main room is huge, and clearly designed solely for people who already know their way around the damned place and don’t need signs. It takes Neal something like five minutes to get lost, more like ten to decide that, okay, so the good night might become slightly less good if he doesn’t find a fucking way out of here soon. None of the uniformed waitstaff who have been giving out food and alcohol all night long are in sight.

“Motherfucker,” Neal mutters beneath his breath, very softly. In the stillness, it echoes back at him, almost disapproving. This is a family show, young man. “Yeah, whatever.” He turns another corner on a blind whim, nearly runs right over Joey’s supposedly gay Idol with the same tiny blonde who had been pulling him off through the crowd earlier. He has one hand in her hair and another on her waist, and he’s kissing her hard enough to put to rest any thoughts that Neal might have been entertaining to the tune of them being siblings.

“Fuck me running.” Neal takes a step back, hard, as the two of them leap apart from each other and color rises in both sets of cheeks. The blonde puts her hand over her mouth like she’s struggling not to laugh; the Idol puts his head down against the crook between her shoulder and her neck and makes a sound that’s very close to a giggle. Neal heard the same sound coming out of David when David finally got around to calling them all, the night that he won; he’s not going to judge.

“Yeah, um,” Kris says when he’s finally able to come up for air. “Sorry. We’re, uh--”

“Celebrating,” Neal finishes.

His cheeks still very bright, Kris makes an aimless gesture and says, “That.”

The blonde giggles herself and leans up against him for a moment before she says, “Baby, I think that we had better celebrate somewhere that’s not a hallway.”

Neal holds up his hands and answers quickly, “I’ll leave you to it.” He walks off and can’t stop himself from muttering beneath his breath, “Joey doesn’t know fucking anything.”

“Sorry?” And Neal jumps hard, because he was damned certain that this was an empty hallway a few seconds ago. “Okay, uh, sorry again.” And Neal realizes that it’s the runner-up, the taller guy, Adam, who is leaning up against a wall, playing with his cell phone and looking at Neal with curious, assessing eyes.

“Damn,” Neal says before he can stop himself, all right, he’s still just buzzed, but maybe it’s time for him to admit that it’s a hard buzz, “do neither one of you want to be at your own party?”

Adam’s laugh is startled; he has a good one. He waves his cell phone in Neal’s direction and says, “Bad manners. I’m going back in a minute.”

“Right.” Neal drags his hand through his hair and looks back the way he came and then the way that he had been intending to go, not seeing anything in particular that differentiates one from the other. “Take me with you when you go, all right, man?” Adam looks up sharply, then back down at his phone, something that looks like it wants to be a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he manages to hide it again. “‘Cause I don’t have any idea where I am.”

“No problem.” Adam finishes sending off his text; he doesn’t even manage to get the phone back into his jacket pocket before it’s chirping with a reply. He only glances at the screen for a second before his brow is beetling and he’s muttering, “You fucker.” When the phone does finally make it back into his pocket, it’s with more force than Neal is willing to bet was strictly necessary.

“Sounds pleasant,” Neal says, even though he doesn’t guess that it’s any of his business if the person on the other end of Adam’s phone is a fucker or not; he’s more than a little frustrated at the fact that he’s still managed to stay lost even though he swears that he’s seen this hallway before. Possibly more than once.

Adam’s eyebrow jerks up, just for a second. He manages to convey at least three different things at once, and only one of them flattering, until Neal kind of wants to compliment him on his fine muscle control. “Was supposed to meet someone later,” Adam says after a long pause. “They just told me that they’re not coming.” He shifts his shoulders a little bit, and even though Neal has known this guy for about six minutes, that is the gesture of someone looking to blow off steam if he’s ever seen one. And Neal maybe isn’t startled when he feels a little bit of heat starting to rise up his neck, because, hey, he’s buzzed and he knows himself.

“Sucks that they bailed on you,” is all that he says, though, and notices that Adam is starting to look just a bit confused as they struggle to find their way out of the hallways again. It eats people, he knew it.

Adam’s sideways look is half-surprised and half-shy, like there’s something that Neal ought to know and he can’t quite believe that Neal isn’t picking up on it. Neal will readily admit that he wasn’t paying that much attention during the show earlier that night, but come on, people standing outside of the building altogether probably picked up on the confidence that this guy was hurling off of the stage. “I am not arguing with that,” he says. Another shrug, not quite believable. “Whatever, we had a thing, but we’re not...a thing. They don’t owe me anything.”

“Still rude.” Adam turns his head very slightly towards Neal, just far enough for Neal to see that his mouth his curving, though Adam is still looking at him like he can’t quite believe that Neal is real and is just waiting for the unpleasant center in this surprise.

“Well, okay.” And Adam laughs a little, and runs his hand over his hair, and then looks at Neal sideways again, a little uncertain and a little...a little something else. Like he might think that Neal’s a present, but not necessarily a present for him, while Neal is mostly thinking that this is the longest hallway that he’s ever found himself in in his life, but damned if Adam doesn’t have some nice shoulders and pretty eyes. Can’t blame that on the drinking, either; he’s never been particular about who actually comes onto the bus, so long as they have the ID to prove that the terms rhyming with “mate” can’t be applied to them. “It’s rude. It’s a dick move.”

“Seriously.” Neal stops, looks around. “Where the fuck?”

And Adam looks around, too, and laughs again from down low in his throat in a way that goes straight to Neal’s dick, and says, “I’ve never been here before, I have no idea. The one thing that we didn’t rehearse.” And he kind of winds up leaning against Neal, just slightly, as he pulls his phone from his jacket to check it again, and Neal catches himself wondering who that person is that Adam is spending so much time making certain that they aren’t going to come. He feels a little prickle of seriously, dude, knock that shit off, you’ve known him for fifteen minutes directed at himself; he still manages to be completely surprised when Adam uses the lean to twist his head around and, so casually that there is no fucking way he hasn’t been thinking on it for at least a few minutes and that’s more than a little hot, put his mouth against Neal’s. One of the quickest kisses that Neal has gotten in a long time, that’s for damned sure, as Adam parts his lips just slightly and is then leaning back again less than a second later when Neal doesn’t take the invitation. There’s a look in his eyes that Neal gets a feeling he’s worn before; for a few seconds, he wishes that he could just punch the entire fucking universe.

That has to put a look on his face, too, because if anything Adam leans back further. “Hey, sorry,” he’s already saying, “I just thought--” Fair enough, since Neal had also been thinking. He leans back in himself and hopes that that invitation that Adam had given him didn’t have a terribly short expiration date, or else the part where he’s putting his tongue into Adam’s mouth is very rude at best and likely to get him hit at worst. Adam makes a startled sound; Adam puts his hands against Neal’s waist. So the expiration was long enough.

Neal startles when Adam’s hands tighten against his jacket and Adam suddenly has him pushed back against the wall and their positions with respect to one another’s mouths reversed, not that anyone is going to find Neal complaining about that, no, really. “Huh, okay,” Adam says finally, breaking away but keeping his forehead resting against Neal’s. Neal’s already thinking that this is the best experience in being lost that he’s had since possibly ever. “I can work with this, too.” And Neal’s head is buzzing a little and maybe this isn’t a great thing for them to be doing, but whatever, call it Adam’s welcome into the official Idol family. Neal kind of wishes that he had gotten the same thing when he had come out to LA to be David’s guitarist, maybe he would have been nicer to the producers.

“Maybe Joey isn’t a total idiot,” Neal allows as he puts his hands against Adam’s hips, tugs him a little bit closer so that they can continue with the making out like teenagers part with as much skin touching each other as possible, and realizes that there are a few other things that might happen with the swiftness of a teenager if they don’t pull back. They have to be drugging the drinks out there in on the main floor.

“Oh, my God, I have been needing to blow off steam like this for weeks,” Adam mutters against Neal’s mouth, which might explain why at least one of them is attempting to climb the other like a pole, and then, “Huh?” when Neal’s muttered sentence catches up to him.

“Joey pointed you and the little dude out to me earlier, said one of you was gay,” Neal says, and shrugs. Adam has stopped kissing him and is leaning back even though he’s not breaking contact with his hands, looking at Neal suddenly like maybe he’s been in this situation before and it didn’t end quite so nicely that time around. Neal has got to stop wanting to punch the universe just because he thinks it would make a pretty noise, and especially once someone that he’s actually known for less than half an hour; that way led to a broken hand last time. Wanting to get rid of that look as soon as possible--and, fuck, he barely knows this guy, it’s not like he owes him anything--Neal adds, “Have you talked to your buddy about the way that he hugs?”

The look disappears, all right, if for not other reason than because Adam looks as if Neal has just managed to knock every available thought straight out of his head and against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. “You thought.” Adam stops. His expression suggests that he’s contemplating very hard on whether “thought” is even the right word in this context. Neal leans back against the wall and grins; all right, maybe a little bit of a stupid assumption, but it’s got him here and with a good-looking man also looking very amused directly in front of him, so call that a victory. “You thought that Kris was gay based upon the way that he hugs?”

“He does it like he’s trying to climb somebody.”

“That’s because he only comes up to most people’s shoulders,” Adam says amiably, his tone saying easily that this is the kind of thing that he’s allowed to say, the same way that Andy and Alexis used to push each other down stairs but Andy still sat Neal down and very solemnly threatened to garrote him with his own guitar strings if Neal hurt her. “Oh, my God, you seriously--”

It seems like a good time to shut Adam up. Neal finds great pleasure in doing so. They part a few seconds later, Neal muttering, “Just so you know, I don’t usually make out with guys in hallways.”

Adam has a slow and fleetingly wicked grin, like he doesn’t mind in the slightest that he’s turning Neal into more of a slut than he can remember being in a good, long while. “Do you ordinarily make out with guys at all?” Adam makes a slight face like he realizes that this is probably a little late to be asking the question, when Adam is still leaning up against Neal and keeping him half-pinned to the wall with his weight--and despite the fact that their relatively equal sizes meaning that Neal knows damned well he could break loose, if he wanted to, he’s liking the slight illusion that maybe he couldn’t--and after they’ve had their tongues in each other’s mouths, but whatever. Neal knows that there are shades of meaning here; he knows that he tastes like beer.

A slight shrug, another pressing of mouth to mouth and finding that Adam still isn’t turning his face away or sealing his lips together in refusal. “I’m kind of an omnivore,” is all that Neal says before he puts his hand against the front of Adam’s pants--which are too tight to allow Neal to slide his hand into them easily, Jesus, Neal’s kind of amazed that American Idol hasn’t levied with an FCC fine yet--and tugs Adam more closely against him with his other hand. Adam is laughing a little but coming willingly, even as he puts his own hand over Neal’s to still it.

“And maybe kind of slutty, okay, but I like it.” His grin is a flash of teeth against the side of Neal’s neck before he goes on, “I could have used someone like you over the last couple of days, oh, my God, you have no idea--” Which is why Neal is a little perturbed by the whole halting the handjob thing that Adam has going at the moment, until he finishes, “But I don’t get jerked off in hallways a lot, either.”

“My first time for it, too,” Neal says with a slight shrug. Adam laughs again, Neal is assuming at his matter-of-fact tone, but, hell, he’s not lying. He’s not backing away, but he’s at a bare minimum not lying.

“So could have used you three days ago,” Adam repeats before he finally lifts himself back and away from Neal’s body, this time without any apparent intentions to lean back. Neal finds himself mollified when Adam immediately grabs for his and starts tugging him off down the hallway. “Come on, there has to be a bathroom around here somewhere, even the caterers have to pee.”

“I don’t think that we passed that fork yet,” Neal answers brightly. He’s not sure of his sense of direction at all, but he’s about to get laid, he’s going to focus on the important things here.

Adam pauses long enough to scrutinize the branch, then to glance over his shoulder at Neal. “Again,” he said, “why weren’t you hanging around the rest of this week? Like I wasn’t going to turn down a good luck charm, fuck.”

“Don’t tell me all that hugging was fake,” Neal says, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Adam is shaking his finger at him and making a sound that the whole black-clad rock-god thing would probably suffer in the face of if Neal were to tell him just how much it sounds like a raspberry.

“What the fuck ever, I would jump in front of a train for Kris, but--” And just like that, they have a door. Adam barely pauses long enough for Neal to register his quicksilver grin before the door is hurled open and he’s being dragged inside, pressed up against a sink while Adam is kicking said door shut again behind him; wow, so the pushing Neal up against any surface that seems as if it will hold him is going to be a theme, then. And Neal’s pants are painted onto his ass, thighs, and groin to nearly the extent that Adam’s are, so it’s not altogether a shock when Adam finds his cock, palms it. Pleasurable, but not a surprise.

“I like to win,” Adam finishes finally. He grins at Neal, bright and happy like he doesn’t even care about losing the largest talent show on the planet in the face of getting a hand job in a bathroom, and who is Neal to argue with that logic.

“Obviously,” he manages, dryly enough to make Adam laugh and still with a little hitch in the back of his voice that makes Adam’s pupils dilate. His eyes are very blue and very close; his eyeliner is smudging into dark shadows that turn him into someone else. He doesn’t look like his soul quite belongs in the laughing, smiling man who is pressing Neal back with one leisurely hand against his hip and taking his cock in the other, a few twisting tugs that say he knows exactly how to do this and Neal is already panting from the back of his throat. Adam even jumps a little when Neal takes advantage of having a door to guarantee some privacy to undo the front of Adam’s pants and take him in hand, like it never actually occurred to him that he might get something back in return.

“Oh,” Adam says in a low voice when Neal runs his thumb over the slit at the tip, mimics Adam’s own twists until he has him fully erect. “Oh, my god, sweetheart, you just keep doing that right there, all right?” While his own hand isn’t leaving Neal’s cock and there is a world of experience between every little flick and squeeze and he’s just doing the best that he can to keep up. “Squeeze me just a little harder, I like it a little--” And when Neal obeys faster than Adam obviously expected him to-- “Jesus fuck.”

“Omnivore,” Neal reminds him, smiling a little.

“Not arguing,” Adam says back, and now he’s the one who has that hitch in the back of his throat, that faint stutter that begs Neal to keep doing what he’s doing, but harder, faster. All of that, and Adam’s hand is barely faltering in its rhythm against Neal, even though Adam’s legs tremble every time that Neal does something that’s not just right but very right and he’s leaning against Neal as much to keep himself up as to keep Neal in place.

“Keep doing that, please, please, keep doing that,” Adam whispers against the side of Neal’s neck before he bites down on Neal’s earlobe, hard enough to make Neal jump and curse, and the sound of Neal swearing only makes Adam jerk against him that much harder. Neal doesn’t make a lot of noise during sex, generally, preferring to show with his hands how much someone is doing something right, and he can tell by the way that Adam’s movements are becoming slightly rougher, more determined, that he’s unaccustomed to and frustrated by that. Adam’s making enough noise for the both of them, Neal wants to say, if not for the fact that every practiced touch of Adam’s skin upon his own makes it harder to form thoughts, let alone speech. Adam is babbling a series of endearments against Neal’s shoulder and the side of his neck, voice so low that Neal is feeling him as much as hearing him. He would kind of like to know how he’s as beautiful as Adam keeps saying he is when Adam has his head pressed down and isn’t actually looking at him, but it’s bringing a fresh flush of want to crawl all along Neal’s body regardless of the place from which Adam is pulling it, and he’s not going to argue with results when he comes hard across Adam’s fingers and is suddenly very glad of the sink behind him as his knees unlock for a few precarious seconds.

“Here,” Neal grunts a few seconds later as he realizes that he stopped while he was chasing the colors painted across the insides of his own lids, and that Adam is still taut and trembling, pressed flush up against him. He tightens his grip the way that Adam seems to like, drags him down the length fast and rough, and is rewarded by Adam surging his hips forward and letting out a noise that was nearly a keen. Adam mouths at the side of Neal’s neck, seemingly wanting to touch him all over, and nearly breaks the skin as Neal slides his other arm around Adam’s back and holds onto him as Adam comes, hard, knees going unhinged and entire body sagging down against Neal. He’ll fall if someone doesn’t hold him up; it still takes him a few seconds to find both voice and feet again. Adam meets Neal’s eyes as he straightens and then reaches around him to turn on the water in the sink and clean the both of them up, the anxiety from earlier wanting to come back around his eyes but subdued, held back with something that is nearly defiance.

“So you don’t get hand jobs in hallways,” Adam says as he finishes putting himself away. “Do you get them in bathrooms a lot?”

Neal grins and watches as Adam’s mouth slowly curves back in a returning smile. “Find out,” he says, before he takes Adam by the hand and leads them back out the door, back to the party that he is now going to have to tell Dave that they are not allowed to leave.

End