If You Really Fell (9/9)
Thank you so much for sticking with this until the end. I am very happy with my first Kradam fic, and guarantee that there will be more to come. Feel free to friend me if you want to keep up on any stories that may be posted in the near future. ;) Thanks again, and all comments are treasured.
Title: If You Really Fell (9/9)
Summary: Kris and Adam write a song together and it changes how they see each other forever.
Pairings: Kradam
Rating: NC-17
Final Length: 17,123 words
Disclaimer: They're real, this isn't.
But what did life even mean before them
It was dead, colorless, and empty
If they let you down, the world might end, what you know may die
You may be left with nothing but the memory of a different time
Still, in the end there’s no choice, only one thing to do
You’re stumbling toward hope, toward love, toward truth
TWO YEARS LATER...
Kris was late.
He was running as quickly as he could with a guitar strapped to his back, dodging puddles and ducking under awnings to keep it out of the rain. His case wasn’t waterproof and it was muggy out.
He had a gig at a club in half an hour - surely people would have already started lining up by now - and he had overrun in the New York City recording studio. Whenever he was in there, time seemed unimportant and accordingly he always seemed to lose track of it. But this was his first performance since the solo tour, and there was a lot of pressure for positive reception of the new songs he would be playing.
It wasn’t going to be a big audience, just a few key business people, music critics, and some very dedicated fans who hadn’t forgotten about him yet. He was still in the process of writing for his long-overdue and highly anticipated second album and was hesitant about the material already collected. And so he had asked 19E to set up a gig for him to test the songs out on an audience, figure out what was working, and maybe build some hype.
It was just the kind of thing he needed, to bring it back to the music after all the craziness he had endured over the past few years, and especially the past month.
The news of the Allens’ divorce had hit the tabloids almost instantly after they had signed on the dotted line. Kris hadn’t been able to leave his place in L.A. for a week. The speculation was all over the map: Had Kris Allen cheated? Had his fame been too much for Katy Allen to handle? Had Katy cheated? The press hadn’t been so interested in him since the American Idol tour. But none of it came very close to the truth, thankfully, and neither Kris nor Katy was providing any hints. His private life was going to stay private, and that was that.
The truth was that although they had moved on effectively since the idols tour (things really had worked for a little while), eventually old arguments arose and little problems became major. They couldn’t stop being jealous of each other’s friends. Katy didn’t like being left alone all the time. He accused her of being cryptic and not saying what she really meant. She didn’t think he was supporting her career enough.
It had really mounted up in the end. It also hadn’t helped that Kris was pretty positive by now that he was gay.
As Kris ran, a sopping wet poster in the street stuck to his sneaker. He reached down to peel it off and felt a familiar, yet dulling pang as he saw it was another one of those ads for Adam’s album, which had just come out.
It was pasted on every available surface in New York, and even though he had only been here for a week, Kris had practically memorized it.
It showed Adam lying on an old-fashioned iron bed, slightly reminiscent of his Rolling Stone cover, limbs akimbo, wearing bright purple pants and layers and layers of glistening jewelry. The room was dark and the lighting was greenish and glittery. He was sporting a pair of light sunglasses that showed a tiny, yet distinct glint of blue behind them. His expression was a version of his classic “come-hither” look, but there was something else there, too: a hint of sadness playing about his lips, or perhaps disappointment.
Not that Kris had analyzed it or anything.
As he darted through the stage door of the club, Kris had to admit to himself that he had been thinking about Adam a lot since his divorce, more than usual, even. Now that his marriage was in ruins, he couldn’t stop himself from asking what might have happened, what could have been.
It was useless to dwell on this, Kris reminded himself angrily, tuning his guitar with more venom than was necessary. There was no point. Adam had a different life now. He had just finished acting in a movie shot by his boyfriend, Bradley. He was a huge star, far bigger than Kris, had sold millions of records, had won two grammies, and now, Kris had heard through the grape vine, had plans to star in a Broadway musical. Adam’s life couldn’t be better. And Kris was doing fine, too, making the music he had always wanted to make. If they were so great separately, so successful, Kris was positive without a doubt that barging back into Adam’s life, causing chaos once again, wouldn’t solve any problems at all. Besides, he was somewhere on the other side of the country, beyond any hope of reaching.
And who was to say that they were the same two people who had stepped off that bus, anyway? Kris might be missing nothing at all.
Or you might be missing everything, a small voice inside his head told Kris as he stepped under the lights onto the creaky stage to a wave of respectful applause. He shook his head to clear it of such unhealthy thoughts, sat down on the stool, and lost himself in the music.
Pretty quickly, Kris had the entire crowd under his spell, as he always managed to do somehow. His presence was by no means domineering, his songs understated, but they “grabbed ahold of the soul and wouldn’t let go” as one reviewer had said in praise of his first album. Kris may not have been a pop teeny-bopper sensation, but he was respected and well-liked by critics and that was all Kris had ever hoped for.
Kris was loving the energy of this intimate club, every eye on him, swaying semi-drunkenly to the music, shouting out requests like they had known him forever.
“Alright, alright, I’ll play an old one, since I’ve been shoving all this new material down your throats,” he said, and the audience laughed.
The whole club cheered with recognition as Kris cued the band through the opening chords of Sweet Torture.
The ballad was slow, in 3/4 time. He was always embarrassed playing this song for an audience, sure that they would realize who it was about. He had stated in several interviews that it was written for Katy, to sway theories, but even she knew the truth. Kris had always wondered what Adam had thought - there was no way he wouldn’t have at least heard it on the radio. But he’s moved on, Kris reminded himself for the billionth time. Even if I haven’t...
When the song ended to tumultuous applause, Kris suddenly knew what he wanted to play next. He felt the chords in his bones, the rhythm in his fingertips.
“This next song,” he began softly, taking a deep breath and steeling himself, “none of you will have heard before. I wrote it with a friend a few years ago, and this person... they meant a lot to me. They still mean a lot to me. And I hope they know I miss them.”
Kris let his fingers form an F chord, motioning to the band to let him fly solo. The crowd seemed to be frozen in anticipation.
“This song is called If You Really Fell.”
Kris closed his eyes and played, the memories rushing through him. He couldn’t feel his body, couldn’t feel his hands moving, felt only the song and only Adam. He remembered the way Adam’s hair felt as he raked his palm through it, remembered the stretch of his skin as he dragged his fingernails down his back, remembered all of their ridiculous conversations, remembered his voice, laughing and singing and telling Kris he loved him. Every detail was clear, every image sharp but distant, too far away to matter, and yet somehow still did, was relevant every second, continued to change his life, every moment...
But what did life even mean before them
It was dead, colorless, and empty
If they let you down, the world might end, what you know may die
You may be left with nothing but the memory of a different time
Still, in the end there’s no choice, only one thing to do
You’re stumbling toward hope, toward love, toward truth
Kris broke down before he could finish the song, letting a G minor hang in the air. The room was completely silent for a full minute as Kris tried to pull himself together. This had been a mistake. He should never have played it. He was hiding his face with his hands, shaking uncontrollably, when suddenly a lone clap rung out through the room.
One by one, applause broke out, erupting into screams and whoops and the unmistakable sounds of sobbing. Kris peeked out from behind his hands in disbelief and took in the sight of the entire room on its feet, eyes streaming with tears, arms raised in the air, cheering him on.
Kris wiped his eyes. He couldn’t speak, just signaled the band and plowed on with his set, powered by a fierce emotion that he couldn’t define.
Not long after, Kris exited the stage door to see hundreds of people crowding around him, congratulating him, shoving copies of his album in his face for him to sign. And nearly everyone he spoke to asked him about that song. Why haven’t we heard that before? Are you recording it? Is it being released?
It was beautiful. I loved it. It was moving. I cried. Who was it about?
Kris just shook his head noncommittally and said, “Thank you,” about a hundred times, watching the plastic of his CD getting spattered with rain. Soon enough, however, he was being dragged back into the building by his manager, who was insisting that he had a ton of important people to talk to.
The important people had the same questions, but Kris gave no answers.
“You have to record it,” said one of his producers. “We’d be happy to have it on the album. We think it’s great.”
He shrugged. “Thanks, but I gotta check with the co-writer.”
But Kris had no plans to do so.
Finally, finally, he was allowed to leave. He grabbed his guitar and pushed the door open, thankful to see that the crowd had vanished, save for one figure off to the side, who had clearly been waiting for hours in the persistent rain.
“Sorry man, I gotta get back to the hotel,” said Kris, walking in the opposite direction, adjusting the case on his back.
“You sounded great.”
Kris stopped dead, going over the likelihood that the voice belonged to who he thought it did. No chance, he realized. He lives in L.A, remember?
He shuddered and kept walking. He always let himself get carried away with scares like this.
“Thanks, man,” said Kris over his shoulder, waving a hand in recognition.
“No problem, Kris.”
He stopped again and breathed heavily, in and out, trying to come up with a good enough reason not to turn around. But he couldn’t.
He spun on his feet and looked.
The man was silhouetted, backlit against the yellowy light of the club streaming through its muggy, dusty windows. Steam was rising in spirals around the man’s feet where the rain spattered the burning pavement. He took a step forward, into the light.
Kris almost lost his balance. His guitar slipped and dropped to the street but he had no strength in his arms nor the will to look away.
Adam was standing there, one hand shoved in a pocket of those same grey jeans he used to always wear, the other carding through his own hair, nervously. Kris was pretty nervous himself. He didn’t know what to think. And nothing sensible to say came to mind either, just insane impulses to run over and hug the guy. Or kiss him. But he remained frozen, mouth gaping, eyes huge.
“Hey,” said Adam, almost sheepish.
“Hi. I mean hey,” Kris blurted eventually. Adam took another step forward.
“You’re really surprised.”
“Um. Yeah,” said Kris, who saw no point in denying it. “I really, uh, I wasn’t expecting, I mean. I thought you were in L.A.”
Suddenly Kris was very aware of the fact that Adam had seen his set, had watched him play those songs, had witnessed him break down in front of the entire club.
“I just got here,” said Adam, clearing his throat. “For rehearsals. I’m doing a show.”
“Right. I heard.”
Kris counted fifteen erratic heartbeats before he got up the courage to say something else. “Maybe we should catch up sometime. I’m staying at this hotel here for a while until I decide where to - ”
But he stopped short because suddenly Adam had grabbed his arm and was dragging him into an alley. Kris felt his back collide with a brick wall and groaned, unable to move as Adam gripped his shoulders and held him fast.
“We’re talking bullshit. Do you want this as much as ever, or not?” said Adam, quietly, intensely, with passion. “Because if not I swear to God I will walk away right now and never bother you again.”
After a couple of heart-stopping seconds, Kris mumbled feebly, “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“I dumped his poser ass the second I heard you got a divorce and flew here three hours later.”
Kris gulped, finding it impossible to look Adam in the eye. Their faces were so close.
“You only just heard?”
“I don’t look at magazines,” said Adam, raking him with his eyes hungrily. “You sounded beautiful up there. That song... it really gets me. Both of them.”
“Thanks,” muttered Kris weakly. He was beginning to lose feeling in his legs. “I hope you knew the first one was about you.”
“Yeah, I knew,” said Adam, initial aggressiveness melting, iron-grip loosening somewhat. “You have no idea how many times I listened to that song and cried over it.”
“I doubt it’s more than the amount of times I cried over you,” said Kris earnestly, staring up into Adam’s eyes.
“I really want to kiss you,” Adam whispered, leaning his forehead against Kris’. “I’ve wanted to kiss you so bad for two years and it never got any better. I kept thinking it would but the wanting only got worse and worse.”
“Then do it now,” he said softly, and then closed his eyes and tilted his chin upward the remaining three inches required to crash their mouths together.
It was like no time had passed at all, and at the same time felt like it had been twenty years rather than two. They opened to each other immediately, slow and sweet, Kris letting his hand cup Adam’s cheek. The sensation was so achingly familiar, he nearly let a sob escape into Adam’s mouth.
Kris dragged his lips to Adam’s jaw and breathed into his ear, “I never stopped loving you...”
Adam made a throaty moan and drew Kris’ head back with both hands, kissing him more deeply. Soon Kris was pulling at Adam’s hair and letting his head fall back and Adam was saying something about his apartment being only a few blocks away.
“Maybe you should just stay with me,” mumbled Adam into Kris’ neck, tongue kneading back and forth at his collarbone. “So you’re not in that hotel all by yourself. It makes sense.”
Kris smiled. Everything had always made sense with them, in the end.
*
Kris awoke, bleary-eyed, head still full of a vivid dream. He tried to shake it loose in his memory but the details were falling away as quickly as he attempted to hold on to them. Something about an ice cream truck, a new plum flavor...
But the dream was no longer important as he felt a warm hand tighten on his upper-arm, a body curled around him, legs tangled with his own.... and a soft, contented moan accompanied by a sloppy kiss pressed to the back of his neck.
He had never been happier - Adam had finally stayed in the bed.
*
Title: If You Really Fell (9/9)
Summary: Kris and Adam write a song together and it changes how they see each other forever.
Pairings: Kradam
Rating: NC-17
Final Length: 17,123 words
Disclaimer: They're real, this isn't.
But what did life even mean before them
It was dead, colorless, and empty
If they let you down, the world might end, what you know may die
You may be left with nothing but the memory of a different time
Still, in the end there’s no choice, only one thing to do
You’re stumbling toward hope, toward love, toward truth
TWO YEARS LATER...
Kris was late.
He was running as quickly as he could with a guitar strapped to his back, dodging puddles and ducking under awnings to keep it out of the rain. His case wasn’t waterproof and it was muggy out.
He had a gig at a club in half an hour - surely people would have already started lining up by now - and he had overrun in the New York City recording studio. Whenever he was in there, time seemed unimportant and accordingly he always seemed to lose track of it. But this was his first performance since the solo tour, and there was a lot of pressure for positive reception of the new songs he would be playing.
It wasn’t going to be a big audience, just a few key business people, music critics, and some very dedicated fans who hadn’t forgotten about him yet. He was still in the process of writing for his long-overdue and highly anticipated second album and was hesitant about the material already collected. And so he had asked 19E to set up a gig for him to test the songs out on an audience, figure out what was working, and maybe build some hype.
It was just the kind of thing he needed, to bring it back to the music after all the craziness he had endured over the past few years, and especially the past month.
The news of the Allens’ divorce had hit the tabloids almost instantly after they had signed on the dotted line. Kris hadn’t been able to leave his place in L.A. for a week. The speculation was all over the map: Had Kris Allen cheated? Had his fame been too much for Katy Allen to handle? Had Katy cheated? The press hadn’t been so interested in him since the American Idol tour. But none of it came very close to the truth, thankfully, and neither Kris nor Katy was providing any hints. His private life was going to stay private, and that was that.
The truth was that although they had moved on effectively since the idols tour (things really had worked for a little while), eventually old arguments arose and little problems became major. They couldn’t stop being jealous of each other’s friends. Katy didn’t like being left alone all the time. He accused her of being cryptic and not saying what she really meant. She didn’t think he was supporting her career enough.
It had really mounted up in the end. It also hadn’t helped that Kris was pretty positive by now that he was gay.
As Kris ran, a sopping wet poster in the street stuck to his sneaker. He reached down to peel it off and felt a familiar, yet dulling pang as he saw it was another one of those ads for Adam’s album, which had just come out.
It was pasted on every available surface in New York, and even though he had only been here for a week, Kris had practically memorized it.
It showed Adam lying on an old-fashioned iron bed, slightly reminiscent of his Rolling Stone cover, limbs akimbo, wearing bright purple pants and layers and layers of glistening jewelry. The room was dark and the lighting was greenish and glittery. He was sporting a pair of light sunglasses that showed a tiny, yet distinct glint of blue behind them. His expression was a version of his classic “come-hither” look, but there was something else there, too: a hint of sadness playing about his lips, or perhaps disappointment.
Not that Kris had analyzed it or anything.
As he darted through the stage door of the club, Kris had to admit to himself that he had been thinking about Adam a lot since his divorce, more than usual, even. Now that his marriage was in ruins, he couldn’t stop himself from asking what might have happened, what could have been.
It was useless to dwell on this, Kris reminded himself angrily, tuning his guitar with more venom than was necessary. There was no point. Adam had a different life now. He had just finished acting in a movie shot by his boyfriend, Bradley. He was a huge star, far bigger than Kris, had sold millions of records, had won two grammies, and now, Kris had heard through the grape vine, had plans to star in a Broadway musical. Adam’s life couldn’t be better. And Kris was doing fine, too, making the music he had always wanted to make. If they were so great separately, so successful, Kris was positive without a doubt that barging back into Adam’s life, causing chaos once again, wouldn’t solve any problems at all. Besides, he was somewhere on the other side of the country, beyond any hope of reaching.
And who was to say that they were the same two people who had stepped off that bus, anyway? Kris might be missing nothing at all.
Or you might be missing everything, a small voice inside his head told Kris as he stepped under the lights onto the creaky stage to a wave of respectful applause. He shook his head to clear it of such unhealthy thoughts, sat down on the stool, and lost himself in the music.
Pretty quickly, Kris had the entire crowd under his spell, as he always managed to do somehow. His presence was by no means domineering, his songs understated, but they “grabbed ahold of the soul and wouldn’t let go” as one reviewer had said in praise of his first album. Kris may not have been a pop teeny-bopper sensation, but he was respected and well-liked by critics and that was all Kris had ever hoped for.
Kris was loving the energy of this intimate club, every eye on him, swaying semi-drunkenly to the music, shouting out requests like they had known him forever.
“Alright, alright, I’ll play an old one, since I’ve been shoving all this new material down your throats,” he said, and the audience laughed.
The whole club cheered with recognition as Kris cued the band through the opening chords of Sweet Torture.
The ballad was slow, in 3/4 time. He was always embarrassed playing this song for an audience, sure that they would realize who it was about. He had stated in several interviews that it was written for Katy, to sway theories, but even she knew the truth. Kris had always wondered what Adam had thought - there was no way he wouldn’t have at least heard it on the radio. But he’s moved on, Kris reminded himself for the billionth time. Even if I haven’t...
When the song ended to tumultuous applause, Kris suddenly knew what he wanted to play next. He felt the chords in his bones, the rhythm in his fingertips.
“This next song,” he began softly, taking a deep breath and steeling himself, “none of you will have heard before. I wrote it with a friend a few years ago, and this person... they meant a lot to me. They still mean a lot to me. And I hope they know I miss them.”
Kris let his fingers form an F chord, motioning to the band to let him fly solo. The crowd seemed to be frozen in anticipation.
“This song is called If You Really Fell.”
Kris closed his eyes and played, the memories rushing through him. He couldn’t feel his body, couldn’t feel his hands moving, felt only the song and only Adam. He remembered the way Adam’s hair felt as he raked his palm through it, remembered the stretch of his skin as he dragged his fingernails down his back, remembered all of their ridiculous conversations, remembered his voice, laughing and singing and telling Kris he loved him. Every detail was clear, every image sharp but distant, too far away to matter, and yet somehow still did, was relevant every second, continued to change his life, every moment...
But what did life even mean before them
It was dead, colorless, and empty
If they let you down, the world might end, what you know may die
You may be left with nothing but the memory of a different time
Still, in the end there’s no choice, only one thing to do
You’re stumbling toward hope, toward love, toward truth
Kris broke down before he could finish the song, letting a G minor hang in the air. The room was completely silent for a full minute as Kris tried to pull himself together. This had been a mistake. He should never have played it. He was hiding his face with his hands, shaking uncontrollably, when suddenly a lone clap rung out through the room.
One by one, applause broke out, erupting into screams and whoops and the unmistakable sounds of sobbing. Kris peeked out from behind his hands in disbelief and took in the sight of the entire room on its feet, eyes streaming with tears, arms raised in the air, cheering him on.
Kris wiped his eyes. He couldn’t speak, just signaled the band and plowed on with his set, powered by a fierce emotion that he couldn’t define.
Not long after, Kris exited the stage door to see hundreds of people crowding around him, congratulating him, shoving copies of his album in his face for him to sign. And nearly everyone he spoke to asked him about that song. Why haven’t we heard that before? Are you recording it? Is it being released?
It was beautiful. I loved it. It was moving. I cried. Who was it about?
Kris just shook his head noncommittally and said, “Thank you,” about a hundred times, watching the plastic of his CD getting spattered with rain. Soon enough, however, he was being dragged back into the building by his manager, who was insisting that he had a ton of important people to talk to.
The important people had the same questions, but Kris gave no answers.
“You have to record it,” said one of his producers. “We’d be happy to have it on the album. We think it’s great.”
He shrugged. “Thanks, but I gotta check with the co-writer.”
But Kris had no plans to do so.
Finally, finally, he was allowed to leave. He grabbed his guitar and pushed the door open, thankful to see that the crowd had vanished, save for one figure off to the side, who had clearly been waiting for hours in the persistent rain.
“Sorry man, I gotta get back to the hotel,” said Kris, walking in the opposite direction, adjusting the case on his back.
“You sounded great.”
Kris stopped dead, going over the likelihood that the voice belonged to who he thought it did. No chance, he realized. He lives in L.A, remember?
He shuddered and kept walking. He always let himself get carried away with scares like this.
“Thanks, man,” said Kris over his shoulder, waving a hand in recognition.
“No problem, Kris.”
He stopped again and breathed heavily, in and out, trying to come up with a good enough reason not to turn around. But he couldn’t.
He spun on his feet and looked.
The man was silhouetted, backlit against the yellowy light of the club streaming through its muggy, dusty windows. Steam was rising in spirals around the man’s feet where the rain spattered the burning pavement. He took a step forward, into the light.
Kris almost lost his balance. His guitar slipped and dropped to the street but he had no strength in his arms nor the will to look away.
Adam was standing there, one hand shoved in a pocket of those same grey jeans he used to always wear, the other carding through his own hair, nervously. Kris was pretty nervous himself. He didn’t know what to think. And nothing sensible to say came to mind either, just insane impulses to run over and hug the guy. Or kiss him. But he remained frozen, mouth gaping, eyes huge.
“Hey,” said Adam, almost sheepish.
“Hi. I mean hey,” Kris blurted eventually. Adam took another step forward.
“You’re really surprised.”
“Um. Yeah,” said Kris, who saw no point in denying it. “I really, uh, I wasn’t expecting, I mean. I thought you were in L.A.”
Suddenly Kris was very aware of the fact that Adam had seen his set, had watched him play those songs, had witnessed him break down in front of the entire club.
“I just got here,” said Adam, clearing his throat. “For rehearsals. I’m doing a show.”
“Right. I heard.”
Kris counted fifteen erratic heartbeats before he got up the courage to say something else. “Maybe we should catch up sometime. I’m staying at this hotel here for a while until I decide where to - ”
But he stopped short because suddenly Adam had grabbed his arm and was dragging him into an alley. Kris felt his back collide with a brick wall and groaned, unable to move as Adam gripped his shoulders and held him fast.
“We’re talking bullshit. Do you want this as much as ever, or not?” said Adam, quietly, intensely, with passion. “Because if not I swear to God I will walk away right now and never bother you again.”
After a couple of heart-stopping seconds, Kris mumbled feebly, “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“I dumped his poser ass the second I heard you got a divorce and flew here three hours later.”
Kris gulped, finding it impossible to look Adam in the eye. Their faces were so close.
“You only just heard?”
“I don’t look at magazines,” said Adam, raking him with his eyes hungrily. “You sounded beautiful up there. That song... it really gets me. Both of them.”
“Thanks,” muttered Kris weakly. He was beginning to lose feeling in his legs. “I hope you knew the first one was about you.”
“Yeah, I knew,” said Adam, initial aggressiveness melting, iron-grip loosening somewhat. “You have no idea how many times I listened to that song and cried over it.”
“I doubt it’s more than the amount of times I cried over you,” said Kris earnestly, staring up into Adam’s eyes.
“I really want to kiss you,” Adam whispered, leaning his forehead against Kris’. “I’ve wanted to kiss you so bad for two years and it never got any better. I kept thinking it would but the wanting only got worse and worse.”
“Then do it now,” he said softly, and then closed his eyes and tilted his chin upward the remaining three inches required to crash their mouths together.
It was like no time had passed at all, and at the same time felt like it had been twenty years rather than two. They opened to each other immediately, slow and sweet, Kris letting his hand cup Adam’s cheek. The sensation was so achingly familiar, he nearly let a sob escape into Adam’s mouth.
Kris dragged his lips to Adam’s jaw and breathed into his ear, “I never stopped loving you...”
Adam made a throaty moan and drew Kris’ head back with both hands, kissing him more deeply. Soon Kris was pulling at Adam’s hair and letting his head fall back and Adam was saying something about his apartment being only a few blocks away.
“Maybe you should just stay with me,” mumbled Adam into Kris’ neck, tongue kneading back and forth at his collarbone. “So you’re not in that hotel all by yourself. It makes sense.”
Kris smiled. Everything had always made sense with them, in the end.
*
Kris awoke, bleary-eyed, head still full of a vivid dream. He tried to shake it loose in his memory but the details were falling away as quickly as he attempted to hold on to them. Something about an ice cream truck, a new plum flavor...
But the dream was no longer important as he felt a warm hand tighten on his upper-arm, a body curled around him, legs tangled with his own.... and a soft, contented moan accompanied by a sloppy kiss pressed to the back of his neck.
He had never been happier - Adam had finally stayed in the bed.
*