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[holycitygirl]

crickets. Damnation

She folds around him and the weight is heavier than it should be. He sinks. He's sinking. His need for her is symptomatic of the problem that used to be a part of his life. The one that - somewhere along the line- became the whole damned thing.

He doesn't know how to stop loving her.

He doesn't want to.

"Hold me." She whispers, turning her head into the naked flesh of the arm already around her. She wants it tighter. As tight as he can squeeze. She probably wants bruises.

He could say, "stop". He's said it before. He's played the role of brother, father, friend - he's pushed her away, ordered her to go, begged her to stay away for the good of all involved. She never listens.

She doesn't want to.

She isn't going to stop loving him.

She climbs on top of him and the softness of her lovely curls pushes him down another four or five inches. He's so deep. Too far down to still have hope of climbing back out. Besides - the desire in his belly is for more, not less. Pretending otherwise would just be another layer of lie, another sin smothering him and denying her.

The truth, if not exactly liberating, is simple. Her want fulfills his need and it's always easier to forfeit than to fight, especially when winning feels like losing and leaves him alone. He'll choose the alternative every time, when losing leaves him lost with her.



sugangel7. Appetite

He's nothing like his father, except in moments like this. There's this hyper-concern for something so inconsequential, this little piece of the bigger puzzle that he's latched onto because it frustrates him to no end that he can't figure out where it goes.

"I can't believe we don't have whole wheat pasta. Walter practically lives on the stuff. It's the only product with a label that doesn't make him cringe."

Even knowing that he's not going to listen, Olivia hears herself say one more time - "I'm not hungry."

She's a lot of things. Tired. Traumatized. Cold - even wearing the thick corded sweater that Walter practically manhandled her into five seconds after she walked in the door. None of those things will be helped by Peter's amazing Vegetarian lasagna. Most of them could be helped if he would just stop for five seconds and let it go.

"You have to eat." He insists, moving ingredients from pantry to counter. Convinced that this is all he can do to help, to make it better.

His pace is almost frantic and he almost runs into her when she pushes off the barstool and steps in front of him.

"I don't."

For the first time since she got home from the hospital, since she got home from over there - she dares to touch him. She puts both hands on his chest, presses down until she can feel the beat - beatbeat- of his racing heart.

And Peter doesn't move. He just stands frozen and finally lets their eyes meet. "I'm sorry."

This is his broken refrain, two unnecessary words that have been choked out of his constricted throat a half dozen times since he broke her out of that padded cell.

She doesn't pull away. "How were you supposed to know?"

"I knew."

She's heard that before as well. What was two months of anguish and near torture for her was just two weeks for him. Two weeks that he spent trying to pin the other Olivia down, trying to fool her into believing that he believed the lie when all it took was one look into her empty eyes to give the whole game away.

"I should have made her talk right away, but she avoided me - and I thought, I thought you regretted -"

"I don't regret anything." She promises and she doesn't. She doesn't regret crossing worlds to find him. She doesn't regret offering him the truth to get him back.

And she doesn't blame him for taking so long to return the favor. "I don't want to eat. I don't want you to be sorry. I just want to be here, with you. I just want you to be here with me. That's all I need.

It's what she's dreamed of every night since she figured it out. Peter's arms around her, the chance to hold onto something real and good in a life full of endless and -more often than not- frightening possibilities.



christig428 fatidical
--------------------------------------------------

Adam throws the bottle in the sink, huffing in exasperation as he stares in the mirror in disbelief. "You said this was going to happen."

Kris laughs. "I said it could happen, I really, really, hoped it wouldn't." He's not so much amused by the results as he is by Adam's reaction.

"But you put it into the Universe, this is totally your fault."

"You're right, Adam. It's my fault that you decided to do at home blonde highlights in blue black hair and it turned orange. If only I didn't have the gift of second sight or kept my mouth shut."

From his position in the doorway, casual stance all one shoulder against the frame, Kris can see both Adam's back and front. It's quite the decision, focus on the expanse of naked back or follow those bright eyes in the reflection. Things of beauty all stormy dark from disappointment and Kris' staring.

He isn't supposed to be here. Adam has asked him to stay away - "for a little while, at least". When Kris knocked on the door this disaster was already set in motion, already too far gone for him to really be able to stop.

Adam - inspite of his requests, invited him in. Didn't seem altogether unhappy to have company. He winks now, "Oh I would never want you to keep your mouth shut, baby....fuck though. What the fuck am I going to do?"

Kris, not so helpfully suggests, "Listen to me next time."

The answer that follows that is predictable. "I was bored."

These things only happen when Adam is bored. It's one of the main reasons why everyone Adam knows tries to keep him busy.

"I offered sex as an alternative." Kris reminds. Because he had. There was a text sent, a warning that fifty dollars had been spent in one of those discount stores really meant for professionals. Kris had said - "why don't we do something fun instead" and this wasn't what he had in mind.

Adam had turned him down flat, stubbornly sticking to the original plan. "You're still married."

"Technically."

"Good enough."

Coming closer, Kris dares to reach out and lay his hands along the slope of Adam's shoulders. "The tabloids already have everyone believing we've been at it for months."

Adam adjusts the towel around his neck, the only barrier between Kris' palms and his skin. "And you want to give that trash the satisfaction of being right?"

Kris can't resist the pull of want, he has to run his fingers through the wet strands, create paths through the contrast of light and dark. "If it meant saving your hair from amateur styling it was a sacrifice I was willing to make."

"...admit it, you're just horny. You don't give a shit what color my hair is. I could probably still have that fugly bullshit my DNA gave me and you'd want to do it. You're slutty, Kristopher. I'm going to have to take you on tour and follow you around on yours to keep you all to myself."

Adam doesn't pull away. Although his words express doubt and disapproval, his body tells another story. Adam leans back into the touch, the grip.

Kris edges closer until they fit together. "I admit nothing."

Then Adam is the one laughing. "Oh I can see it now, you aren't the only one that can see the future. It's going to be a long and gruelingly lovely life of trying to please you. Kris Allen's sex slave. They'll have to put it on my tombstone."

It's entirely easy to lift just a little and place his head on Adam's shoulder, to let their eyes meet across the distance and smile. "There are worst fates, I'm sure."

Adam's sigh is pleased, calm. "I can think of quite a few."

There's no sign though that he's backing down from his decision to wait.

"...so call your stylist and make an appointment, Tiger. I'll go home and download some porn off the internet."

That - and only that blatant kind of baiting gets a moan of frustration. "You're killing me. Seriously. You are actively trying to make me explode."

Kris slips his arms lower, pulls back slightly from the waist to kiss Adam's back tenderly. "No, actually I'm actively trying to make you change your mind."

Adam stiffens. "Not going to happen."

And it's the way he does it. Kris can tell - Adam isn't stiffening because he hates what Kris is doing, he's trying to stop himself from doing anything in return.

"Is that a fact?" Kris steps away and pretends he doesn't notice Adam's sound of protest. He grabs the bottle in the sink and throws it directly in the garbage as if to say "subject closed". If there is one thing the exchange revealed it's this - It's only a matter of time.

Fortunately, patience is one of the virtues Kris still has. "Well then, before I go - let me put one more thing out into the Universe. You're going to me mine, sooner or later, Adam Lambert. We have thirty days until the ink dries. We'll reach the end of your will power first."



stolen_kisses87 lost

Sometimes he just looks so disappointed in her. She catches his eye over the dinner table, in the pressroom, and she can tell what he's thinking. "You shouldn't have done this. You didn't have the right."

She can't and won't ever agree. It's her life. She didn't expose anyone but herself by jumping that day at the carnival. He didn't have to speak up, to join her. He could have walked away.

Sometimes she knows he wants to. She waits, trusts that one day he'll meet someone with a power that will make it possible. He'll find another invisible man and he'll be gone. Just like her father, but worse because he won't be dead. He'll vanish. Go missing. Be lost in all the ways that count.

At least to her.

Every second of every day she wishes she could be different. Claire wishes she could become the kind of girl he falls in love with. Strong, but passive. Women who stand by and let things happen, who need him to step in and make things better.

She can't because that's not how she was made. Even when Peter was her hero, he didn't save her from anything. She can't die. She no longer feels pain. What else is there? She's a damsel without any distress at her disposal, forced to lead because following was getting her nowhere.

If he can't understand that then maybe she shouldn't mind, maybe she should let him go.

The problem is she doesn't know how.

Never does she look at him, across a crowd or sitting right beside her, and see anything but the man who first made her realize she wasn't alone. Whether he approves of her methods or hates her for what she's done -he's still there, still watching her back at the moment.

She'll keep him as long as she can. She'll take what she gets, hope that she's wrong and maybe he'll stay.



nebt_het. Glam

After six wardrobe changes in a two hour set the last thing Adam wants to do is get dolled up for Brad's party. He's tired, dehydrated to the point that his skin sort of aches and just the thought of putting on something glittery and fabulous hurts.

There's the pants he wore on Letterman, silver and snug -but they're hot in more ways than one. Summer feels like it's here to stay so he can't very well wear any of his leather.

The last thing he wants to do is reapply his makeup. He would be happier slipping into his worn cotton sleep pants and going to bed, washing away the sweat and glam of a long day of living the dream.

"You don't have to go." He tells his reflection. The image, pale face and cloudy eyes edged with eyeliner and dark circles, doesn't argue. It agrees.

The three messages he's gotten in the hour since the party started tell a different story. They say "where are you?", they say "get your ass here pronto" and "you're missing all the fun."

He deleted every one as they came in, yet he's still contemplating the option. "Tell him no. You don't feel like it. You don't need this."

Adam's hand is hovering over the tissues when the next text chimes. He opens it begrudingly, only to find the one piece of fullproof motivation left.

"Kris just got here."

Brad plays dirty. That's always been fact. Adam is sure that Brad probably just invited Kris to get to him. Adam has been avoiding outings for weeks, laying low, more often than not choosing to stay in and hide out.

"You fucking suck." He types back. Because there is choice and then there is no choice. He can avoid Brad and Kris seperately, but not both of them together. He's a jealous bitch and if he doesn't go he'll just imagine a million different scenarios where Brad gets Kris drunk, or gets Kris high, and takes advantage.

Resistance is futile. The whole world seems to be involved in a conspiracy to make him break, to let Kris Allen win. Like Kris Allen always does.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Keep your hands to yourself."

The annoying beep precedes another cheeky comment, "Not me he wants, dollbaby. I'll behave. Will you?"

The problem - the reason for Adam's laying low - is he's not sure he can. Kris is just so pretty, so touchable. It was hard enough when Adam thought Kris didn't realize it. With the reckless bravado of a man who knows he's with a sure thing, Kris smiles too much, sits too close now. His hands find flesh like heat seeking missiles and fucking linger like grenades. The anticipation of explosion is unnerving.

Adam doesn't know if he can take another night, is quickly forgetting why he wanted to.

But he has to try.

Dressing isn't usually such a chore. At times it's the highlight of his day. Tonight, no matter what the temperature, he's going to go with layers. Build a second skin to stop Kris from finding the first.

One last ditch effort to slow the inevitable.



+gigglemonster. Sandpaper +

He's not authorized for field trips very often. His leash is short.

But this guy Peter is chasing is a particularly bad one, a thief with a lot more muscle than finesse. There are security guards in morgues in three different cities, the Miami police asked for help, and in the words of the man himself Neal is "still the best they got".

"I have to admit, I wondered -for a second - if you'd be able to pull this off."

Neal puts hand to chest, gasps, mock wounded. "You doubted that I would look wonderful in a swimsuit? Peter, I'm devastated."

Peter only laughs. "I would apologize, but your ego could use a little bruising."

He pouts.

"Fine, I'm sorry. It's just - a mental image of Neal Caffrey doesn't immediately lend to sun and sand. In my head you're a cityscape grey with matching Fedora."

Conversation doesn't usually go this far off point, not since Kate... not because Neal doesn't want things to go back to normal, just because he hasn't known if it could. "Think about it much, Peter? You can tell me. I'm sure Elizabeth wouldn't mind."

The thing is - he's missed the flirting. He's missed connecting to Peter on a level more superficial than "I'm here for you if you need me" and "we'll figure this out together." Some days he just wants to pretend it didn't happen. He wants to go back to the way they were when all Peter saw when he looked at him was smirk and smile, the con man without a care in the world.

He's missed making Peter stammer, almost blush.

"I'm - God, Neal, you are incorrigable."

Like sandpaper on wood, Neal's original goal was to rub this until it became smooth. Make their relationship a hand-crafted thing of beauty, solid - sturdy. He didn't want either one of them getting splinters. "I try."

"You succeed."

He doesn't ever get to escape, the invisible walls that box him in, the ghost created by what he did and what he didn't do.

So he plans on taking advantage, enjoying every minute of it. There's a killer by the pool with five million dollars worth of loot stashed somewhere. Neal might be the only one with the skills to find it.

Any other progress he can make toward his own agenda, his own happiness regained, is extra. A bonus Neal will take like every valuable he's ever stolen -when the time is right.



cynthia_arrow. Enough

The television crews don't leave for weeks. After - life resumes slowly. Differently.

There are what seems like half a million staff meetings, mandatory counseling. They bring people in from the outside, from other hospitals - people who don't know anything about how it feels. To fear for your life. To fear for the lives of your friends.

Experts, specialists, tell them how to cope, how to rebuild. But months later those educated, experienced, men and women still haven't imparted any wisdom great enough to make it easier to sleep at night. They don't seem to know why most of the staff of Seattle Grace still can't close their eyes without seeing blood, without hearing footsteps - gunshots.

It doesn't get easier. To watch the woman you thought you wanted to spend the rest of your life with dote on a man hung up on another woman. To watch the man you've spent most of your life with so far - struggle for his own.

No one is the same. You aren't sure anyone ever will be again. After - there are a lot of transfers.

Even with increased security measures and the unlikely odds of lightning striking twice. People don't feel safe. There are seminars on how to deal with potentially volatile individuals, a two hundred page handbook on proper procedure given to everyone on the payroll.

Just the same - there is no peace of mind. No cure. They are the physcians - finding it impossible to heal themselves.

Some are worse than others. Where you fray, others fracture. Some fall apart completely. The stronger Derek gets physically the farther he pulls away from Meredith and the more she doesn't try to follow.

He comes to you for comfort, for commiseration. You find the same in him.

You find it easier to breathe when he's around - as trite and cliche as it sounds, he's the home . He's something stable in the shaking world. He didn't leave you, and every disaster you survive together increases your belief that he never will.

It's not about consolation.

She is the thing he lost. Their child -the dream he found too late. But you aren't just here because she isn't. The thing you know, you trust, is that what you have will always be enough. Enough to make the world feel a little less cold, a little less scary.

A little less the kind of place where good things only last long enough to be taken away.



dirtyzucchini. Confusion

Everyone has moments that define them, what made Raylan was something else.

Tim knows, as well as he knows his own scars, that Raylan's childhood can't be pinned down to the first slap, that last punch. He knows that the lean frame above him would have been slight even if Arlo left the second control was lost. He can't help but guess that it might not be so muscled, so hungry, if Raylan had had the chance to stay. If Raylan hadn't of had to spend so many years running.

There's a touch to his cheek so light he almost can't feel it when his eyes close. The shift of Raylan pulling away is the opposite. "What's the hurry?"

"No hurry. Just thought I'd get out of your hair. Don't want to wear out my welcome."

Everyone has more than one opportunity to change their destiny, to change themselves. What confuses Tim is how he can find so much comfort in Raylan -just the way he is, a solitary man so dead set destroying bad guys and himself.

He sits up and, not for the first time, Tim wonders if Raylan sees a distinction. The very picture of a stone-faced, no nonsense, lawman is just on the first boot, jeans still unbuckled, hat across the room on the chair. "Not possible. Come on - keep me company. It was a long day."

What he doesn't say is that if Raylan leaves it will be an even longer night. The man doesn't need another guilt trip. He probably only comes because Tim offers such a nice perspective. Accidental run ins with Winona and Ava's deliberate calls - Tim can see them in the slump of Raylan's shoulders. Raylan loves them, in his way, the best he can. He just doesn't know how to give them what they need.

What Tim needs is simple - easily offered and taken without the bravado of ownership. All he wants is to be able to slide his hands up along that straight spine, to coax a relaxation out of both of them that neither man finds on his own.



kashmir1. Jelly

Walter spends half the night trying to explain it to her. It doesn't work.

There's an elaborate experiment, three references to books with titles that she couldn't pronouce [let alone understand], and one ureka moment where the man figures out just exactly what should be done to stop the whole crazy thing.

She supposes there is something to be said about results, but Walter jumps up - starts running around the lab like the proverbial headless chicken - and she's not any closer to knowing what to write in her report.

Not until Peter comes up beside her with bread and a jar of grape jelly.

"It's really not that complicated." He assures her, scooping out some of the purple goodness and spreading it on a slice. "It's gravity." Once he has it coated, Peter holds the treat as far away from them as possible and let's it drop. It lands jelly side down.

"I thought that was Murphy's law?" She jokes. Stomach rumbling she takes the knife out of his hand, "And a total waste of dinner. I'm starving."

What she doesn't say is "thank you," not until he produces a jar of peanut butter and a bottled water [out of seemingly nowhere], not until he smiles and turns to give her some space.

"Thanks. I couldn't do it without you." Something else that isn't supposed to be serious, even if it's true.

Walter spends the rest of the night trying to fix another thing he's broken. Together - it works out fine.



mylittlehottie. Public
They're not really supposed to be this public about it, but Kris leans over to whisper something in his ear and resisting isn't something Adam even thinks about.

Kris' lips graze his ear and what else is he supposed to do except reach up to grab Kris' neck, hold him in place, and take the kiss? It's too new to have worked up an immunity. It's been so long since Kris was this close, this often, and the first time Kris is actually his.

"What was that all about?" Kris asks, face just a little flushed from the heat of the moment.

A stranger might think there is more to it than that, that maybe Kris is shy and even a little ashamed. Adam learned quick that that wasn't the case. Kris doesn't get embarrassed. Those red cheeks, that dipped head, hide canary swallowing smiles and passion fighting to inflame.

"You're pushing it." Adam offers by way of explanation. Not a warning, a simple informative statement. "Just because this isn't the States doesn't mean people don't have cell phone cameras."

Kris laughs, all innocence personified. "I was just trying to tell you a secret."

"Really? And what secret is that?"

Even if they haven't been doing this long, Adam half expects declarations of love or some other sappy bullshit only Kris could pull off without sounding creepy. Instead he gets another head tilt, a stage whisper of "I have absolutely no idea where we are."

They've been walking for an hour and Kris swore at least three times that he remembered which direction the hotel was in, that he could get them back even if the sun set before they decided to return. "Good thing you are cute or you would be entirely useless."

"Is that so?"

The part that really wanted Kris to say "I love you," or "let's move here," or "I'm so happy we finally got together," pulls Kris in when he mocks anger and starts walking away. That part of Adam goes in for another kiss and doesn't stop when he hears a bunch of girls giggling, an exchange of excited words in French, and a decided click.



mrsfjl66. Quiz

"If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?" Adam reads, curling his lip at the idiotic question before shrugging and deciding to go with it.

"A Magnolia," Kris answers, in his best Scarlett O'Hara drawl.

"Dog?"

Kris laughs, "Golden Retriever?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of something in the Toy group."

The pillow closest to Kris on the couch goes flying. Adam just barely ducks in time. "Well you would be a big ole' glammed up Standard poodle."

"If you were a vegetable what vegetable would you be?" Adam continues, unfazed.

"Corn on the cob."

Adam tries to keep a straight face, "Now you are just making fun of yourself. Fruit?"

Kris winks, "Watermelon."

"You aren't taking this seriously."

Another pillow flies, "It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard and you know it."

Before Kris can grab the last one, Adam jumps up and throws himself on the couch. On Kris. "Well excuse me for trying to make you think."

There's a ticklefest which gets out of hand quickly, a wrestling match which leaves them both on the floor. The quiz ends up half ripped and crumbled underneath kissing boys, forgotten once a sexier past time presents itself.

Well - almost.

"Hey Kris," Adam pulls back, prompts. Reaching down to unbutton Kris' pants, to slide a hand underneath the underwear revealed and grip, "If you were a sexual position, what sexual position would you be?"

Kris gasps, "I'm not sure which - but if you'd like to perform any of them right about now, I'm up for suggestions."



dphrungus. Butterfly Effect

She believes that even the smallest of details matter.

Like -things totally didn't work out with Michael because one day she woke up and put on her brown skirt instead of her favorite bell bottoms. She wasn't comfortable enough, not confident enough, and that led to the stupid jerk cheating.

The cheat was one cheat too many, so the break up stuck. Michael left, which resulted in the lonely summer of the Price is Right and Steven. Boring Bob Parker and sad old ladies overbidding were the cause to the effect of passionate kisses that were so wrong in how right they felt.

One little decision, a silly outfit choice and her whole life changed - got better, gave her something real.

So when Steven complains now about how long it takes for her to get ready every time he actually takes her out - Jackie merely smiles and takes her time.

She's not going to lose him as easily as she got him.



crowgirl13. Trickster

In hindsight, daring Neal to steal the shoes off his feet probably wasn't a good idea. All it led to was an especially uncomfortable game of footsie at a pretty important dinner.

"Do you mind?"

All it led to was Neal's disarming smile, "Not in the least. On the contrary, it is my pleasure. Anything I can do to practice my skills and prove my usefulness."

He really only has himself to blame for Neal's wink and the feel of cool air on his socked feet. Thank God for his beautiful wife and her insistence on clean and matching undergarments always. "Neal. Give me back my shoes - Neal. Don't you dare leave this table."

No one else seems to notice the bulge under his partners jacket or the beeline he makes for the bathroom. Luckily the booze has been flowing long enough for them not to notice how fast Peter follows.

Or maybe Peter is fooling himself there. Maybe they all think he has another reason.

In the bathroom, Neal is leaning against expensive marble - waiting. His fingers slide along the leather of Peter's loafers. "So what will you give me to return them to their rightful owner?"

"How about I don't report the incident to your parole officer and we call it even?" Peter steps closer, reaches around to take the shoes back without further negotiation.

Neal probably only lets him because Neal knows how uptight he can get. Peter won't be caught with his pants down, even for Neal- even knowing it would be worth it.

One kiss -that's all Neal will get tonight. Here. Beautiful, talented trickster that he is, anything more will only encourage him.



mrsfjl66. Omission

"And you just didn't think I needed to know?" Adam asks, in that way he has of not asking at all.

It's not - "Please explain your thought process, Kris". It's - "Wrong move, you dumb bastard."

Any other day Kris would fall on his sword, but today he's just not feeling it. He didn't get enough sleep last night. The flight in from Albuquerque was rough, the layover before it annoying. The last thing he needs at this particular moment is Adam's jealous bullshit. "No, Adam. I totally thought you needed to know. Actually, I didn't tell you on purpose in hopes that you would find out and lose your fucking mind over it. I enjoy coming home after two months away to a pissed off boyfriend."

Adam, in full prize fighter mode - jaw already set for the blow, doesn't even blink at the reminder that it's been far too long since they've been together. "Well, you could come home to nobody. That's an option."

Kris can't shake the feeling that they are falling apart. That this is exactly what he was worried about from the start and there is nothing he can do to stop it. "Yeah, Adam. I suppose it is."

He walks out of the room before it can get worse.

Before Adam can walk out on him.

+

He just wanted to come home and go to bed, wrap his arms around Adam and forget that he has to go back to New York in another week. He just wanted to wrap up the stupid press for his second album and settle in for awhile.

He didn't want to fight.

Adam stalks into the bedroom behind Kris and simply watches as Kris collapses on the bed.

When Kris opens his eyes Adam is grabbing a carry-on bag. "What are you doing?"

"Staying at Tommy's."

The look on Adam's face - determination and disappointment, just adds to the weight already pressing Kris down into the mattress. He sighs and stops looking altogether, rolling over and sitting up. Anything more from the emotive Adam Lambert and he'll end up through the floor.

"I'll go. Not like my bag isn't already packed." He grabs the duffle on the dresser.

Adam yanks it from his hand before he can take a step towards the door. "So I can't go to Tommy's, but you can shack up with your ex-wife?"

It was probably too much to ask that this didn't get ugly.

Probably too much to hope that they could retreat to their corners and catch their breath.

+

"I didn't shack up with anybody, Adam. For heaven's sake - when are you going to get that you are the only person in world that I want?" Kris' voice is a little weak. The strain shows one part exhaustion, one part hurt, with a dash of anger - just enough to taste.

For a second Adam looks like he might break - but in the end the one thing they have in common, besides their love of music and each other, is a stubborn streak a mile wide. "Maybe when you show it."

Kris knew, he knew when he made the decision to see Katy that it was a bad idea. He knew when she handed him that first glass of wine that he was going to have too many and stay too late and that somehow - some way - Adam was going to find out. "I needed to talk to her."

And maybe the truth is the wrong thing to share now. Adam flinches with the confession and Kris finally feels guilty.

They've been together for a while, but Katy is still an issue. Adam loves her, understands in his most rational moments that Kris will always be tied to her, but he hates - absolutely hates that Kris still goes to her to discuss major life decisions.

"Of course you did."

"It's not what you think." Kris starts, daring to reach out and touch Adam for the first time since he woke up alone.

All Kris can do is frown when Adam pulls away.

Frown and remember that winning isn't what he's after.

+

He misses Adam so much when he's not around. Things just aren't the same when they can't connect, can't touch. Adam starts doubting and Kris gets frustrated with the lack of faith.

That's why he wanted to talk to Katy. He asked Katy - what can I do? What can I do to make sure Adam realizes that he's the only thing that matters in my jam-packed life?

He didn't want to lose Adam like he lost her. Katy - wonderful woman that she will always be, had slapped him in the back of his head and ordered him to tell Adam just that. This - this wasn't what she had in mind. He wasn't supposed to come home to an empty house and fall to sleep before Adam got home. They weren't supposed to wake up and start swinging.

Adam has crossed over to the window, the one with the beautiful ocean view that sold them on the house. Kris takes another step, then another, not stopping until he can touch Adam again. Lay his hand in the space between Adam's shoulder blades. "I love you."

Adam's shrug and laugh is unimpressed.

"I'm sorry." Kris moves his hand down, letting the other join it. He traces a point from the base of Adam's spine to his hips. "But...Hey, will you look at me?"

The turn is reluctant, but Adam makes it. There's a slight relaxing of his posture that Kris notices, even if he isn't sure how it was achieved.

"At some point you have to realize you can trust me. I didn't go to my ex-wife's house to hook up, or to get back together, or to compare her homecooking to yours and find you lacking. I went -"

"Why? Why did you go, Kris? Tell me something incredibly sweet and make me feel like shit. Because anything is better than thinking you're changing your mind."

Sometimes it's impossible for Kris to believe that Adam can be this insecure.

That Adam still thinks Kris is going to find someone better.

+

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me." Kris says, like it's absolute truth, not up for debate. "I went to ask Katy how I could convince you. I went to ask her how I fucked it up with her, so I wouldn't fuck it up with you."

Adam blinks this time. His mouth opens just a little, the tension finally gone.

"And you know what she said?"

Adam shakes his head side to side. His hands come up this time. His fingers curving through Kris' belt loops.

"She said not even I could fuck up true love."

Kris is ready when Adam ducks his head. He surges up on his toes to catch Adam's chin and those beautiful lips. The kiss is confirmation. Proof that they are both still here, wanting the same thing. "You think she's right?"

The sound of laughter is such a nice contrast to the silence of last night and the yelling of this morning. "Let's hope."

Any other day and Kris might let it slide, might make this the end of it and move on to the make-up sex. Today he's on edge and it seems like the right time - the right time to make everything clear.

"No. No hope. This is it, Adam. Just tell me what I have to do to make you believe in me. I know our lives are all over the place. I know we didn't have the ideal start. None of that changes the fact that I never want us to end."

The kiss Adam takes after that is what Kris has been waiting on.

It's "Welcome home" and "I love you too, you dumb bastard".



mcwonthelottery. Home

The revelation doesn't come like a gun shot, not like a sucker punch from the back, or even an explosion. It's subtle, sly. One day he wakes up and he's happy with two eggs over easy, Elizabeth's bold roast and easy smile - offered like christmas gifts over a nondescript dining room table, in a beautiful house with just the right amount of natural light.

The next day he's just as glad to have both, only - it somehow isn't the same because of outside forces.

Neal Caffrey's influence whispers - Mimosa with fresh picked strawberries, a little light cream and a buttered croisant drizzled in honey.

Peter's mouth waters and it's all ruined.

He wants to change the menu, call, invite over. Knowing Elizabeth would be all too fine with the idea somehow doesn't make it any easier to stomach. He still shouldn't. Yesterday his life was easy, his needs were simple, and allowing Neal in will only complicate. Giving Neal a part - doing nothing about the part that Neal has already stolen - would be a mistake. Peter knows it.

Only - he can't really stop. The involuntary, if it doesn't always assure innocence, provides a good defense for acquittal.

Before his plate reaches the table the number is dialed and acceptance gained. Ten minutes later his heart high steps with the ringing of the doorbell and it's really just a matter of chemistry.

Neal comes in with bag in hand, hat on head, and Peter wishes the place didn't suddenly feel more like home. Like everyone that matters in the big bad world is present and accounted for.

Neal relinquishes the bag of pastries to El, flips the hat down arm and onto the hat rack that mysteriously appeared in the foyer shortly after this whole thing started, and Peter wants time to freeze. Wants to know how they all got here.

Something tells him the right answer is the long way, the weird way, the only way possible. Neal walked right in -

He walks right in, every time, like this is where he belongs.

The revelation wasn't even necessary.

+

An hour later Neal leaves and Peter wants to follow. There is no denying it.

Elizabeth smiles and there's only a hint of sadness in the way her eyes shift. It's a hint that says - "I'm sad that you feel guilty", not, "you have something to feel guilty about".

"I know you love me." she says, "I know you love him." Matter of fact. End of story. "Go. I'll be here when you get back."

It should probably be a little disturbing, a little unhealthy, the end of something instead of the start. It isn't.

Peter still wants to kiss Elizabeth soundly, he does - and marvels at the sound of her laughter when it's over, at the understanding she seems to always find before he even realizes that enlightment is something he should seek.

He's still getting a foothold into possibility when he rounds the corner to where his car is parked and finds Neal waiting.

"Took you long enough."

He feels the smile in his heart before it reaches head. It's slow and warm in contrast with the cool morning air. "What can I say? I'm slow. You knew this."

"You are smarter than you look." Neal concedes, standing up from the casual lean, holding Peter's keys by the ring - looped around his middle finger.

"Old habits?"

Neal winks, "New hobby. Want to see what else I can take when you're distracted?"

If Peter thought it was going to be different - thought they were going to be different - he was wrong. Peter didn't really think about it though, so it's not that hard to grab Neal by the lapels of his expensive jacket and pull him closer.

"Hey - watch the threads. Just because I've been waiting forever doesn't mean I'll let you manhandle me."

"I always manhandle you."

Carefully escaping the grip, while maintaining the proximity is something Neal makes look effortless. "Well, I have a feeling this time it's going to end differently."

Peter suddenly feels as if he should be taking notes.

+

The decision is probably something he should have lost sleep over, dwelled on, fought for longer than it took to drink two cups of coffee with his remarkably lovely wife.

It probably shouldn't have taken one short little car ride to Neal's place to throw out every rule he's lived by for ten years.

It doesn't.

The door to Neal's rooms close and there is no hesitation. It's a finally moment when his lips meet Neal's - one of those how did I ever live without, why haven't we been doing this for months, inevitable kind of epiphanies.

Neal's hands are soft, quick. They know where they want to go, where they plan on going, and they are there before Peter can so much as anticipate the pleasure.

He's got his own agenda, ridding button-holes of their buttons, uncovering defined arms and the small of a back he's watched long enough to guess the strength of without solid proof.

Proof is there shortly, when Peter can't stop kissing Neal's delicious neck long enough to let the man reciprocate. The resulting battle is a tangle of twists, a who is on top squabble that dances them across the room and into a twist of tangles amongst Neal's sheets.

Peter plans on memorizing the sound Neal makes when he trails two hands up two muscled calves and perfectly sculpted thighs. He plans on repeating the action like an experiment, seeing if a pattern can be detected in order to add that to everything he already knows and loves about Neal.

"Never knew you were a leg man." Neal gasps out, a kind of frustrated response when Peter duplicates the path -backwards, lingering this time on Neal's left ankle.

Irrationally disappointed that he can't taste every inch, the urge gives him pause. "What are we doing?"

The only answer Neal offers is a smile that should have feathers sticking out of it, a hook of that captive ankle around the Peter's ass and another kiss that puts the first ten to shame.

It leaves no more room for thinking.

+

Sleep comes as easy as everything else and when Peter wakes up it's around lunch time. It's to the gentle touch of Neal's fingers on his brow, tracing the curve of the wrinkles that accompany consciousness.

"Do I cause these?"

Neal is quiet in the aftermath, settled. It reminds Peter of how Neal gets when he's prepping for a job. It's the face he makes when he's about to lie, minutely different than the honest expression he gets when he's actually lying. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing."

Neal turns away, before turning back, and the shrug is the most believable shrug Peter has ever seen.

Peter grabs the nearest limb, Neal's forearm, to keep him in place. "Every worryline and grey hair I have. Yours."

"I'm sorry."

What comes next is probably necessary. For at least one of them to say, at some point.

"You should go home."

If he didn't exactly want that moment to be now, for Neal to be the one that said it, he takes it. Peter doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to not say something - but he knows like he knows that he should go home that Neal won't hear it.

Instead of forcing it, he lets go. Waits the two seconds it takes for Neal to move and says "I wish I could stay."

Neal's eyes tell him the same thing Elizabeth's had earlier, "I don't blame you for this," and "don't even bother blaming yourself". They say go and come back when you can.

The realization that this balancing act is now on him doesn't hit like a bolt of lightning. It slides in like a key into a safety deposit box that everyone is trusting him to turn.

Peter is strangely comfortable with the responsibility.