There was a picture Tommy tweeted of himself with black lipstick on. Thus created this. The title is courteous of SinsRose. I asked for her help and she suggested this song by Depeche Mode. When I looked up the words, I realized that it pretty much fit perfectly. Dear SinsRose, I fucking love you.

Sea of Sin, I'm swimming in and I'm taking a dive

My mind's in need, so my body feeds and it keeps me alive

Lips leave a ghosted trail along his jaw line, his left hand resting lazily on a denim-covered thigh. His eyes are heavy with exhaustion, his head is buzzing with the champagne that they'd picked up before loading into the buses. He closes his weighted lids, relishing in the shivers rolling down his spine as those black lips grace his skin again, the breath warm like a kiss of summer. Summer— what are some other ess words? Sinful. Seductive. Sensual. Sexy. Ohh, yes, sexy. Very, very sexy. Smooth. Succulent. Soft. Sensitive. So very sensitive.

Aaah, but how to describe? A gentle moan falls off his tongue and into the open air as those black licorice lips touch the sweetest of spots on the side of his neck. If he must, he shall sum his description into three words. Three simple, ordinary, everyday words. Words you'd find in a family-friendly household. Words you could potentially hear in the work office or, hell, even in church. Three words.

Tease. Sultry. One more word, yes?

Tommy.

Thomas Joe Ratliff, the name spins around in his mind. Sensitive. Pretty. In-touch with his feminine side. Straight. But when he's drunk? Hell no. No, when pretty, little Thomas is drunk, he's as gay as they come. And right now, Adam's not minding one damn bit, to be honest. Sure, the others are laughing and staring and making jokes, but he really doesn't give a damn. He tilts his head back, exposing more of his neck to the bassist, who's straddling his waist. His left hand tightens a grip on the blond's thigh as Tommy's teeth nip the skin just below his right ear.

The squeak that is wrenched from Adam's throat is nothing shy of a porn star. He has to think to himself though; how did he get here? He knows booze got involved about an hour ago, but how did it end up that it was just Sasha, Brooke, Taylor, Terrance, himself and teasing little Tommy on one bus? He knows that if Longineu or Monte or Cam were here, right now, this would not be happening. He wouldn't have the cute bassist on his lap. He wouldn't be moaning and shivering. He'd be sitting on one end of the couch, Tommy at the other. And there would be no booze.

How depressing— no booze.

As it is, the three bottles purchased are nearly empty. Tommy leans back, his eyes glazed as he take another hearty swig before passing it back to Sasha. The dancers are laughing and joking. Hell, if Adam turns his head he can see Terrance and Taylor gettin' it aawwn. Oh yeah, totally fucking hot. But he doesn't turn his head. He keeps his focus on Tommy. Cute, elfish, little blond Tommy Joe Ratliff. Why? Because Tommy's fucking adorable right now.

It gets better and better as it gets wetter and wetter

Sea of Sin, know where you've been but I don't care

The bassist giggles, trailing his fingers over Adam's lips like their a locked mystery. But Adam knows that Tommy knows there's no mystery. They've tasted each other before. Hell, they tasted each other at the show. They've tasted temptation and sin and glitter and rock and fucking roll. That's all this is, right? Rock and roll. Play it for the crowds. Tommy did say, once upon a time back in November, that Adam could grab him and stuff. He even said it with a smile.

Yes, he remembers that very, very well.

Tommy rocks forward, his fingers tangled into the locks of Adam's dark mane. More tremors rock down Adam's spine at the feel of Tommy's bulge pressing into his own. Two Glambulges, rubbing in unison. Oh, the fans would die if they knew. His hand tightens further, before sliding up and gripping the twink's hip bone. Tommy gasps, rolling his hips again to get that friction, and he leans down, pressing his lips to Adam's. The singer traces a line of spit along the lower, black licorice lip. May I? Tommy's lips part like legs. You may.

Had the bassist eaten licorice after the show? He sure as hell tastes like it. Cool, sweet yet tart. Adam moans into Tommy's mouth, wet clicks and pops emitting and joining the noise of the bus. Sasha's catcalling them. Brooke's laughing. There's whistles and howls coming from the boys but the singer and his bassist aren't paying mind to them. Their focused on each other, and the way their tongues slide together. Adam catches Tommy's lower lip between his teeth, and he pulls gently, sucking sweetly.

Adam hears someone talking but doesn't really register the who-factor. Their mouths separate for the briefest of breaths before gluing together again. It's comforting, having Tommy's lips on his, his tongue in his mouth. It's like the blond belongs right here. Adam's hands slide up, under Tommy's shirt, and they rest between his shoulder blades. He imagines, if it were possible, that he feels feathers of coal, because Tommy is an angel. An exterminating angel— a traveling executioner sent from Heaven. Sent to give him the prettiest death he ever knew.

Didn't Tommy once say that's what he dreamed?

Sea of Sin, through thick and thin for better or worse

My mind's in need, so my body feeds and it quenches my thirst

The atmosphere shifts and someone whispers in his hear. Someone tells him to take Tommy and go, they won't tell. Thank you, so fucking much. Adam shifts, wrapping Tommy's legs firmly around his waist and he cups the blond's ass, holding onto him as he stands. They stumble, but somehow manage to make it to the back of the bus. Make this private. The dancers can hear, because they probably won't remember by morning— but they can't watch. That's not allowed.

The singer throws the blond down onto the bed, smiling to himself as he drunkenly giggles in delight. He shuts the door, even going so far as to lock it. He turns back around, seeing that Tommy is wrestling himself out of his shirt. Adam shakes his head and crawls onto the bed like he's a wild cat. He takes Tommy's hands, guiding them gently and removing the article of clothing, before tossing it aside. He looks down at Tommy, his heart beating in his chest.

Flushed, swollen licorice lips. Whore's lips. Dark, needy eyes bordered with smudged liner and thick eyelashes that fan over his cheeks whenever he blinks. Slut's eyes. Pale skin from his forehead to his hips, tainted pink in the face with blood. Angel's skin. He needs to stop thinking. Adam licks his lips a little to moisten them; they're dry from lack of attention, not to mention need. Tommy inhales sharply, reaching out for the singer. Reaching out for him like he's God.

Adam buckles, taking Tommy's hand in his and lacing their fingers together. He leans down, catching those black lips. They might as well be tainted with cyanide. He could die right now and be happy. Perfectly happy would mean fucking Tommy and then dying. He presses their clasped hands into the mattress by Tommy's head, his free hand cupping the blond's cheek. Tommy's skin is so soft. Like baby skin.

You look cheaper and cheaper as we sink deeper and deeper

Sea of Sin, know where you've been 'cause I've been there

He reaches down with the unclasped hand and pops the button of Tommy's jeans. He hates it, but he lets go of Tommy's hand, peeling the skinny jeans away from Tommy's sweat-slicked thighs. When the fabric clears the bassist's ankles, he chucks them to the floor, taking in the ever arousing sight of Tommy's naked body. Creamy, unmarred flesh. Toned muscles, lean thighs, abs poking out as if they're meant to be hiding a little. Tommy's thin, but the ribs are padded. He's not sickeningly small in shape. And when Adam looks down further, his face flushes dark and hot.

Tommy smiles at him, one finger looping into the belt loops of Adam's pants. The singer nods, slinking off the bed for a moment to wrestle himself out of them. He discards them, the cool air of the small bedroom kissing his hot skin. Through the windows of Tommy's eyes, he sees a shine. Tommy's staring at his nipple rings with a devious smirk. Adam chuckles, slipping back onto the bed and hovering above the blond. Tommy's eyes are dark, teasing and taunting.

Adam presses a kiss to the side of the blond's neck, holding his fingers against the older man's lips. Tommy opens his mouth, letting the digits sink inside. His tongue swirls and shoves between them, moistening and slicking them up. For being quote-un-quote straight, he's very knowledgeable of what Adam wants him to do, and what he himself is doing. Adam learns this quickly, and in ways he wasn't expecting.

Calloused fingers rub his nipples, twisting the barbells. He arches into the touch, gasping against the crook of Tommy's neck and ripping his fingers from the man's mouth. A soft laugh emits from the bassist's throat, and it makes Adam tremble. He reaches down, nudging Tommy's legs apart so that he's spread like a beautiful eagle. He searches for a moment, before his index fingers prods the warm hole of Tommy's ass, and he slips it in slowly.

Here under God's sky, His watchful eye

And all of the lies, my consolation prize

The sound that Tommy makes is beautiful. It's a cross between a cry and a moan. A yelp that trails off into the most sensual exhale of breath. It's insatiable, the sound. A harmony that no one else will ever get the pleasure of hearing. Adam starts slow, but eventually he's rolling his finger in waves, each extension touching Tommy's ecstasy point. Every touch nudges harder. Every touch grabs hold of a newer, fresher, louder moan and rips it from Tommy's throat. It's driving Adam crazier and crazier until he slips two fingers inside and he's just about losing his marbles.

Tommy screams, his body convulsing as his orgasm sprays up and hits Adam in the chest and part of his face. His smiles as Tommy pants, reaching over and wiping away the come that's dripping off of the singer's chin. The smile drops into a look of want as Tommy trails his tongue along his fingers. It's like he's eating whipped cream. It's so fucking beautiful. He leans down, kissing the blond hard and pulling his fingers out. He doesn't have anything with him, and he doesn't want to leave. So when he pulls away from Tommy's lips, he licks the palm of his hand several times.

The smile that pulls at the corner of Tommy's mouth pulls at Adam's heart, and he kisses that upturned corner. He lines himself up and shoves inch after inch into the blond. Pants and moans, but they're muffled by Adam's mouth. He's kissing Tommy hard, tasting those licorice lips again. The black is smeared, and Adam's sure he's got it on his lips too. He doesn't mind though. It means he's tasting sin. He's taking sin. He's taking his poison from his angel.

Sea of Sin, my second skin my home from home

When I'm in doubt, my hands reach out and I'm never alone

When he's sheathed, he lets go of himself. He closes his eyes, blindly reaching out and taking Tommy's hands in his. Their fingers lace, and Adam pulls the blond's arms above their heads. He gasps as Tommy clenches involuntarily around his cock. The tight, the pressure… It's so fucking good. It's never been this good, even sober. But maybe they're not drunk anymore. Maybe they're as sober as can fucking be and they're just so far gone into ecstasy that it doesn't matter anymore.

The idea is appealing. And the fact that it's probably true makes it even better.

They don't kiss. They breathe. They pant and moan, whispering each other's names. Their cheeks are pressed together, Tommy's legs wrapped around Adam's waist. Sweat drips off of Adam's skin and slides across Tommy's. Where does one end and the other begin? It's hard to tell, really. It's like they were born together this way. Born in this connection, in this position. Tommy's jaw is slack, his eyes closed. Adam's gnawing on his bottom lip, groaning into his angel's neck. He swears he can feel wings in Tommy's shoulders, spreading out and wrapping around them. He feels like he's flying.

The rhythm goes from a waltz to a swing, faster and erratic. Needy. Energetic. Adam's throat is dry because he finally let go of his fucking abused lip. He feels bad for Tommy though, who's had his mouth open the entire time. They're both gonna have bitches of dry mouth. Whatever. He dips his head a little lower, thrusting harder into Tommy as the blond moans a little louder. Like that's even possible. He's almost certain that the rest of the band can hear them from the other fucking bus.

Adam, please… Almost, almost… There, yes, yes!

It gets wetter and wetter as it gets better and better

Sea of Sin, know where you've been and I'm prepared

Stars fly through his vision as he comes hard and fierce into Tommy. He suddenly wonders, briefly, if it was a bad idea not to use a condom. But the worry vanishes as he collapses over Tommy, feeling the sweat sliding between their faces. He turns his head and kisses Tommy's cheek, before kissing his lips. Slowly, he pulls out, falling limp beside the blond. Sweat is making his hair stick to his neck and his face. He feels hot. He is hot. And it's not helping having an equally hot body beside him. He doesn't care though.

He opens his eyes, staring at Tommy's flushed face. The older man is exhausted, Adam can tell. He smiles, ghosting a kiss to the corner of Tommy's mouth. The blond smiles, his eyes gleaming as his fingers trail against Adam's cheek for a brief moment. The black lipstick is faded and smudged around his mouth. But that doesn't stop Adam from stealing another poisonous, licorice kiss.

Sea of Sin, know where you've been, yes I'm aware

Sea of Sin, know where you've been 'cause I've been there

Sea of Sin, know where you've been and I don't care