The Road Less Travelled - Kradam - NC17
Title: The Road Less Travelled
Author: jeyhawk
Word Count: ~24,000+
Rating: NC17
Pairings: Kris/Adam, Kris/OMC(S), Adam/OMC
Beta: sbb23 as always. Thank you, BB! <333
Warnings Dark themes, potentially triggering situations. Further warnings under the cut.
Summary: Future fic. Sometimes the road to happiness is brightly lit, easily navigated, and smooth. Sometimes it isn't.
Notes: A huge thanks goes out to dansetheblues who went above and beyond the call of friendship to help me whip this bastard into shape. ILY, BB! <333
This is not my usual type of fic. It's a lot less happy-go-lucky and Kris doesn’t blush half as much as he usually does (he's busy being messed up and numb). But Adam's legs are still forever long, Kris gets hurt a lot, and it includes a terrible pun about The Truth, so I'm pretty sure you'll still recognize it as a jeyhawk fic.
The British spelling of the title is intentional.
WARNINGS [Highlight to read as they are spoilery]: None of these warnings apply to the Kris/Adam relationship.[ Rough sex, borderline abusive sex, prostitution, adultery.] Everything that happens in this fic is consensual, but sometimes people want things that are not good for them and for all the wrong reasons.
The Road Less Travelled
Kris gets the number at some industry event. It's one of those wink, wink, nudge, nudge, if you ever feel like letting off some steam things. He doesn't know why he saved it, or why, two months after his divorce, he decides to use it.
The call is ordinary, almost mundane; if someone taped it (and Kris thinks that maybe they do) it would seems almost like a normal business transaction. He answers all their questions with a flush climbing up his cheeks and shameful lust curling at the pit of his stomach.
"Do you have a preference?"
"Tall, dark hair."
"Do you want it to hurt?"
"Yes."
He sets up his first meeting on a Thursday with someone named Han. They give him a safe word (catnip), but he never uses it - not even when it hurts so much he thinks he's going to die. He needs it to hurt because that's the only way he can keep from thinking, remembering, wanting, needing.
One meeting becomes two, then three, then five, until it happens every other day. It's expensive, but he can afford it. Katy didn't ask for much in the divorce and this is the only indulgence he allows himself. He still lives in a hotel, but it's not the flashy one his management wanted to set him up in. It's smaller, tucked away on a back road, and his two-room suite is modest enough that he doesn't feel he has to apologize for using the bathroom.
Within a month he's covered in bruises - on his thighs, arms, shoulders and chest - ranging from dark purple to a fading yellow, and he doesn't sit down unless he has to. He knows he's pushing himself too far - that it's only a matter of time before someone notices - but he needs it. The only time he actually sleeps these days is after a session, when he's wrung out and aching all over. The rest of the time he greets dawn with burning eyes and his guitar resting limply over his knees wondering where the music went.
*
Adam is the only real person Kris sees these days, and only because Adam keeps pushing. He talks to his mom and Cale and Charles on the phone, but they're back in Arkansas and Kris can't make himself go there. He failed everyone, most of all himself, and it doesn't matter how many times they tell him it takes two people to end a marriage. He knows the weight belongs on his shoulders and no one else's.
Katy didn't distance herself with lame excuses and a busy schedule. Katy didn't feel better whenever he was away. Katy didn't fall in love with someone else. Katy didn't betray their vows. Kris did all of those things, and it eats him up inside. The worst part is that if he had the ability to go back in time and change the path of his life, he wouldn't change a single thing.
"It's kind of pretty, don't you think?" Adam says, stretching his legs out before him.
They're sitting on a bench overlooking the harbor. Above them seagulls shriek, circling the looming ships like vultures, and below them the harbor bustles with life. Kris follows one of the workers with his eyes, he's wearing an orange vest over his t-shirt and his bulging biceps makes Kris think of Han. He shifts in his seat and nods, it's pretty because it's ugly.
"Eat your ice cream," Adam says, nudging Kris with his shoulder. "I'm not cleaning up the mess if it melts all over your clothes."
Kris smiles, a lopsided tilt of his lips, and obediently licks at the messy ice cream. He can feel Adam watching him and want curls low in his belly. If he was another person he would make a show of it, licking at the ice cream like he would a cock, but he's just Kris Allen and he's done with taking risks.
"That's a nasty bruise," Adam says. He reaches out to touch a finger to Kris's bicep where the lower edge of a bruise is peeking out from under his shirt. "What did you do?"
Kris's breath sticks in his throat and he swallows thickly. "Tripped and fell," he murmurs, averting his gaze. Adam's fingers burn on his skin, gentle, so very gentle.
Adam pushes his sleeve up and makes a small sound at the back of his throat. "Fell," he says, voice dry. "Right."
For a moment his hand grips Kris's arm and Kris doesn't have to look to know he's aligning his fingertips with the dark ghost of someone else's touch. Then he pulls away and shakes his head.
Kris is breathless and hard, and he wishes he was somewhere - anywhere - else. He doesn't expect Adam to get it - how could he when Kris doesn't get it himself - but he expects Adam to say something. He doesn't, and when Kris looks up Adam is staring down at the docks, an unreadable look on his face.
Kris drops his ice cream into the trash can next to the bench and curls his hands into fists on his lap. His fingers are sticky with sugar and his lips feel numb. He guesses there's nothing to do now but wait.
*
Han is six feet tall with dark skin and narrow eyes. His hands are never gentle and Kris can feel him for days afterwards. Bryan is even taller with unruly brown hair and kind hands. He's young, probably younger than Kris, and he never makes Kris cry. When Kris finally reaches the end of his rope he's glad it's with Bryan.
He should have cancelled his appointment. Two days with hardly any sleep or food, and with a raging fever has made him slow and sluggish, unable to complete a thought and even less a sentence, but instead he pops a couple of painkillers and pretends that everything fine.
Bryan can tell that everything isn't fine, but it's his job to do what the client wants. So before their time is up Kris finds himself face down on the rug with Bryan deep inside him while his unforgiving fingers wring an orgasm out of Kris's tired body. He collapses afterwards, head swimming and breath burning in his throat. His heart trips too fast and too loud, and for several minutes he can't do anything but shiver and breathe.
"Fuck," Bryan says, crouching next to him. "Are you okay?"
Kris makes a sound at the back of his throat, pulling away from Bryan's gentle fingers on his forehead. He's not okay, he doesn't know if he will ever be okay again.
"You're burning up," Bryan says, licking his lips. "Shit."
Kris blinks at him, curling in on himself. Everything aches and his blood sings a sweet lullaby in his ears. He wants to sleep, everything will be okay if he can sleep.
"I'm calling your emergency contact," Bryan says behind him. "Okay?"
Kris makes a sound that's supposed to be no, but that Bryan interprets as yes. Kris thinks he would've as well, if he'd been Bryan. Kris is in no shape to be making decisions about his life at the moment. He hears Bryan fiddle with his phone and then mercifully, he passes out.
*
Kris wakes up in bed with cool, clammy fingers on his forehead and a pounding ache between his temples. He doesn't want to open his eyes, his stomach already knotting with tension, because he knows those fingers, knows that scent, and he doesn't want to see the disgust in Adam's eyes.
"I know you're awake," Adam says, and he sounds tired, sad.
Kris doesn't answer but he blinks his eyes open. Adam stares at him, anger visible in the tight set of his mouth and the frown between his eyebrows, but his fingers card through Kris's hair, slow and gentle.
"What the fuck were you…" Adam swallows, cutting himself off. "I'm not mad," he says instead, which is obviously a lie. "Not at you."
Kris looks away, sickened by the way want still slithers through his loins, making his heart beat faster. Even if Adam does want him, Kris doesn't deserve him. He turns away completely and curls up on his side, nauseous and stupid.
"The doctor's on his way," Adam says, moving his hand to touch Kris's shoulder. "Maybe you'd like to shower first."
Kris doesn't want to shower and he doesn't want to see a doctor, but he doesn't say anything when Adam helps him out of bed and leads him to the bathroom. He just silently notes Adam's heavy makeup, and fancy clothes, realizing he pulled Adam away from some party. He feels bad about it, but then, he feels bad about everything.
Adam doesn't leave the bathroom while Kris showers. Kris can see him move around outside, a black and blue shadow blurred by the pattern on the shower stall door. When Kris turns the water off and steps out of the shower, it's into a huge white towel and Adam's open arms. He wants to protest, the water will ruin Adam's fancy shirt for sure, but how can he say no when being cradled in Adam's arms is the only thing he wants.
Adam hugs him tight, and Kris hears his heart beating panic-fast against his ear. "You scared me," Adam says, his voice breaking on the words. "Jesus Christ Kris… I thought you were dead."
Kris lets his eyes slip shut and inhales Adam's familiar scent, rubbing his cheek against the soft silk of Adam's shirt. He wants to stay in this moment forever, wrapped up in terrycloth and Adam's arms, but of course the universe has other plans. There's a knock on the door and Adam lets his arms fall after dutifully knotting the towel in the back.
"That ought to be the doctor," he says. "Don't bother getting dressed."
Kris feels like a scolded child as he pads into the bedroom on bare feet and sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed. He smoothes the towel out over his thighs and stares straight ahead without seeing a thing. His head is full of cotton and even adjusting his position seems like too much work.
The doctor turns out to be a man in his early fifties with graying hair and clever blue eyes. Kris blushes miserably while he pokes and prods, examining Kris quickly and efficiently. He draws several vials of blood and takes a q-tip swab from Kris's urethra, explaining that he will call with the results once he gets them back from the lab.
Kris watches as he carefully puts the swab into a vial and packs it away with the blood samples. He feels exposed, as if he opened his heart for this stranger to see, even though he's barely said a word. Maybe it's because his heartache is written all over his skin, and in the sunken set of his eyes, he doesn't know.
Doctor Roberts, that's how he introduced himself, sits down on the edge of the bed with a prescription pad open on his lap. "I'm going to prescribe a mild dose of antibiotics, for what I suspect is an upper respiratory infection. If you don't notice a significant change for the better within a few days I want you to call me, okay?"
Kris nods, and pulls the sheets further up his chest, for some reason it seems vitally important that he cover up his nipples. Doctor Roberts bends forward and pulls a small tube out of his bag, putting it down on the nightstand.
"The cream is for the rectal tearing. It prevents infection and also works as a local anesthetic which I think you will appreciate. You can use it up to five times a day."
Kris nods again and his blush spills in under the sheet.
"I shouldn't have to tell you to avoid anal intercourse until the tears are fully healed, but I think I might have to."
Kris squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away, tuning Dr. Roberts out as he starts talking about sexually transmitted diseases. He knows Han and Bryan are clean, it's in their contract, and they always used protection, but it doesn't matter. He's stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Hey," Dr. Roberts says, touching a cool hand to Kris's shoulder. "It's okay. There is nothing shameful in enjoying rough sex, but you have to remember to take care of yourself too. For the next few days I want you to do nothing but sleep, eat and drink water."
"Sleep…" Kris snorts, if it was only that easy.
"I could prescribe you some mild sleeping pills," Dr. Roberts says. "But to be honest I'd rather not."
"I don't want them," Kris says. "I just need to sort myself out."
Dr. Roberts pulls a card out of his pocket and puts it down next to the tube on the nightstand. Kris doesn't need his explanation to know what it is, the number for a therapist, but he still listens and nods in all the right places. There's no shame in seeking therapy, there's nothing wrong with being sad, everyone slips up some time. Kris wonders if everyone falls in love with their best friend, but he doesn't ask, it’s probably filed under ‘everyone slips up some time.’
Once he's done talking Dr. Roberts gets up from the bed, giving Kris a kind smile. "All the best in the future, Kris. I'll let you know about those test results."
"Thank you," Kris says, and he finds that he means it.
Dr. Roberts smiles once more and then he's gone, leaving Kris to his thoughts.
*
Once Dr. Roberts leaves Adam takes Kris home. He wanted to right after the divorce and Kris guesses he sees his chance now that Kris is in no state to argue. Besides Adam makes the choice easy, it's either Adam or his mom, and Kris couldn't bear to see the worry on his mother's face over what he's let himself become.
For a whole week Kris is waited on hand and foot, by Adam, Brad, Danielle, Drake and on one memorable occasion, Tommy. He gets all meals delivered to his bedside, there's an endless supply of feel-good movies, and no one asks any questions, not even Adam. He sleeps more than he thought he would be able to, but it's rarely more than two hours in a row before he wakes up from a dream he can't remember, and he eats more than he ingested in the last two months put together.
He knows it won't last. Once the bruises are faded and the fever but a memory, he starts waiting for the fall out. When it finally comes, it's nothing like he expected.
Ten days into his extended stay at Adam's place he's left alone for long enough to place a call to the agency, asking for Bryan. He wants to thank him, and apologize for the way he behaved. The receptionist (or whatever she is) tells him to set up a meeting and without thinking Kris makes an appointment for the next day at time he should be the only one in the house.
He feels horrible about it. Adam's place isn't plagued by paps, but what if someone sees Bryan coming or going and starts digging - what would they find? He doesn't have a lot of options though, the agency wouldn't let him set up a meeting in a public place and Adam canceled his room reservation. He doesn't trust himself enough to rent a room in a seedy motel for a few hours, because he's afraid that if they're anywhere but here, he'd beg for it.
Even though he knows he can't let anything happen, and he honestly just wants to thank Bryan, preferably with a check if Bryan'll let him, there's still a thrum of excitement at the pit of stomach as he opens the door to let Bryan in, checking over his shoulder to see if there are any paps lingering in the driveway.
"You look better," Bryan says as he toes off his shoes. "I almost thought you were going to die on me last time."
Kris smiles, rubbing his sweaty palms against his thighs. Bryan looks good, tan and healthy, in baggy blue jeans and a tight t-shirt. Kris looks at his hands, big and strong, and for a moment his mind flashes to the last time he had those hands on his body. The thought makes him flush while his dick swells and he averts his gaze. It's not about that this time. It will never be about that again.
Kris leads Bryan into the living room, but he's too nervous to sit down. "Nice place," Bryan remarks, looking around as he puts his bag down on the floor.
"It's not mine," Kris says, eyes flittering about the room as if he expects Adam to suddenly appear from behind one of the couches.
Bryan reaches out for him, his fingers touching Kris's shoulder before Kris finds the presence of mind to jump away.
"No," Kris almost shouts despite the desire welling up within him. "That's not… that's not why I called you."
Bryan looks down, raising his eyebrows and Kris has to fight an urge to cover himself.
"I just wanted to thank you," Kris says quickly. "You could have just left me there, but you didn't."
Bryan shrugs with a half smile. "It would have looked bad if you died. It's protocol to call the emergency contact if something like that happens."
Kris licks his lips and shifts his feet. "I'm sorry I put you through that."
Bryan makes a face. "It was pretty freaky and your boyfriend screamed bloody murder at me. I didn't think you were involved with anyone."
"I'm not," Kris says, shaking his head. "I wouldn't… I'm not."
Bryan laughs. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Kris murmurs, biting down on his lower lip. "Pretty sure."
"Oh," Bryan says. "It's like that."
Kris isn't sure what this virtual stranger got from his face, but he's right. It is like that and Kris doesn't see it changing any time soon.
"Anyway," Kris says, steering the conversation away from Adam. He's giving too much away already. Bryan never hinted that he knows who Kris is, but it's probably a pipe dream to think that he doesn't know Adam. "I just wanted to give you this." He fishes an envelope out of his back pocket and hands it to Bryan. "It's a check."
Bryan blinks, eyebrows shooting for his hairline.
"I left the recipient line empty," Kris says. "I'm thinking Bryan isn't your real name and if you don't want the money you can just give it away. I know you don't think you did anything special, but it meant a lot to me."
Bryan turns the envelope over in his hands a few times before tucking it into his bag unopened. "Thanks," he says and he sounds like he means it. "You know this isn't going to make me see the error of my ways, right?"
Kris actually laughs, it's been too long since he did that, and shakes his head. "I figured it wouldn't and it's not about that. It's just, thank you and a little bit goodbye."
Bryan smiles. "I think I'll miss you," he says. "And I'm happy that you seem happier. The sadness is your eyes always got to me."
It's only been eleven days, but somehow it feels like years and no time at all. Kris is happier here, even if he's more miserable at the same time. When Bryan reaches out again he doesn't shy away and they share a long hard hug. Of course that's when Adam decides to show up.
They get no warning before Bryan is pulled backwards with enough force to stumble and fall flat on his ass.
"What the FUCK is going on here?" Adam shouts, eyes focused on Bryan who is crawling away from him. "How dare you even touch him you good for nothing fucking WHORE?"
Kris gapes, he's never seen Adam so angry. Pure hatred burns out of his eyes and his mouth is so twisted he doesn't even look human. He takes a step towards Bryan, who lifts a hand to protect himself, and Kris realizes he’d better act before Adam does something he'll regret.
"Adam, no," he says, reaching out to grab Adam's arm. "He didn't hurt me."
"This time," Adam hisses, turning his eyes on Kris. "I saw the bruises."
"It's okay," Kris says. "I got this. Just… go wait in the kitchen. Please."
Kris's pulse thunders in his ears, and for a tense moment he thinks that Adam's going to break free and go after Bryan, then Adam deflates, visibly sinking in on himself.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, whatever. I'll be in the kitchen."
Kris bites down on his lower lip and waits until the door closes behind Adam before turning to Bryan.
"I'm so sorry about that," he says.
Bryan doesn't look upset, he looks thoughtful more than anything. "Are you sure he isn't your boyfriend?" he asks.
Kris nods, worrying at his lower lip. He's not sure why he took this risk in the first place, and this is why he shouldn't have. Maybe some tiny part of him wanted Adam to know, wanted him to react, but he didn't think the reaction would be this explosive. He looks at Bryan, who is scrambling up from the floor and grabbing his bag.
"I'm sorry," he says again. "He shouldn't have said those things."
Bryan shrugs. "We all say stupid things when we're in love," he says calmly, giving Kris a lopsided smile.
Kris opens and closes his mouth several times. He kind of wants to make Bryan say it again, and again, and again, milking the moment for all it’s worth, but in the end he just shakes his head.
"It's not like that," he says. "And again, I'm sorry."
"Goodbye, Kris," Bryan says. "It's been quite a ride knowing you."
"Bye," Kris echoes and he watches the door long after it's closed.
*
Adam's sitting on the kitchen counter with his head in his hands when Kris comes in, and he doesn't look up. Kris heart trips a mile a minute and his breath is stuck in his throat. He doesn't even know how to start this conversation.
"You know, I thought I might have to set up some rules," Adam says, face still in his hands. "Like… don't forget to eat and don't fret yourself into an early grave. I never thought I would have to make one for don't let your boyfriend hurt you while you're still under my roof."
"Adam…" Kris starts, moving closer to touch Adam's arm. "It wasn't like that."
"Yeah? Then tell me what it's like, Kris, 'cause I just don't get it."
Adam looks up and his eyes are so full of hurt Kris can't even deal with it. It seems that no matter what he does he keeps on hurting the people around him.
"I was stupid enough to think that if it would ever be a guy it would be me," Adam says, fixing his eyes above Kris's head. "Not some guy you met in a bar."
Kris snorts. "Adam… he's a prostitute."
Adam's eyes snaps down at that, locking with Kris's. "What?" he squeaks.
"He's a prostitute. From a high class escort agency." Kris averts his gaze, biting down on his lower lip. "Can you imagine the scandal if that little tidbit ever made the press?"
"Kris…"
Kris shrugs, pulling away from Adam. He moves to the window, staring out the garden without seeing a thing. His stomach is tied up in knots and he's going to throw up any minute now.
"I wanted to be punished," he says. "I wanted it to hurt."
"Why?" Adam asks, coming up to stand behind Kris.
Kris shrugs and shakes his head at the same time. He doesn't know how to explain it without putting everything out there. Adam's hands come up to rest on his shoulders, and Kris leans into the touch.
"I wanted to be overwhelmed," he finally says. "I didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to feel. I just wanted someone to take everything out of my hands."
"You can have that without pain," Adam murmurs, pressing his lips against Kris's hair. "You can let yourself lose control without waking up covered in bruises."
Kris should pull away, but instead he turns his head so that Adam's lips graces his temple and lifts his hand to cover Adam's on his shoulder. "I know," he whispers, closing his eyes. "I know."
He understands what Adam's offering, what he has maybe been offering all along, but he's not ready yet. It would be so easy to lose himself in Adam, but if he does that now he's never going to deal with everything that happened. He's just going to bury it under love, want, need and Adam deserves better. Kris deserves better. He made mistakes, but when it comes down to it, you can't rule your heart and maybe it's time he owns up to that.
*
The following day Adam leaves on a trip to New York with his band and for the first time since his breakdown Kris is left to his own devices for more than a couple of hours. Adam doesn't even arrange for someone to check up on him, maybe he can sense that Kris is in a better place emotionally. Kris makes good use of the time, dealing with a number of things he's been avoiding for weeks now.
He calls his mom, his dad and his brother, breaking the news that he's bisexual as gently as possible. It feels odd, but liberating to admit it out loud. It's like it wasn't real before it was out in open. He also tries to prepare them for a possible sex scandal in the vaguest terms he can think of. They need to know before the news of the past American Idol's fall from grace hits the newsstands.
They’re the hardest calls he's ever had to make, even worse than telling them about the divorce. When he told them about that he was so numb that the words didn't even register, and thinking back he can't remember what he said. This time he's hyper-aware, weighing his every word, and when he finally hangs up the phone for the last time his fingers tremble with nerves. He sits eerily still for the longest while, just breathing into the silence until it finally feels as if he can move without throwing up.
It wasn't bad, not exactly, he's pretty sure his family guessed that he was bisexual a long time ago (possibly around the time every other word out of his mouth was ‘Adam’), but it wasn't easy. He believes that his family would love him no matter what, but that doesn't give him the right to constantly push the boundaries and it feels like lately that's the only thing he's been doing.
Adam calls him later that night, still high from his performance, and the rough-wild edge to his voice settles deep in Kris's stomach. They don't talk about anything important, Adam spends most of the call trying (and failing) to describe his outfit, and Kris laughs so much his chest hurts. It's like they used to be before everything happened and when Kris hangs up he has the biggest smile on his face.
His phone beeps with a text message five seconds later and reading it he bursts out laughing all over again, clutching at his ribs.
Did I mention the hat? It's purple, very classy.
Kris doesn't answer, but the grin stays on his face. For the first time in forever he sleeps almost a full night, and even when he wakes up with dawn he feels fortified, as if he slept way more than five hours.
In the morning, after his second cup of coffee - right around the time normal people get up - Kris calls his handler, Lizzie, for the first time in forever. He knows she's been in steady contact with Adam, all of Kris's people have been, but Kris hasn't actually talked to her since everything went pear-shaped.
It's a good conversation, even though Kris obviously woke her up, and putting down the phone with a meeting planned two weeks from now, Kris feels so much better. He knows he's in for a lot of grief, posturing, and possibly threats from the record company, but somehow that doesn't worry him. He's been down at the very bottom - the only place to go from here is up.
He takes his breakfast out on the back porch and allows himself to enjoy the morning before making the hardest call of all. He hasn't talked to Katy since the divorce; he knows through his mom that she's back in Arkansas and doing fine, but he still expects the conversation to be beyond awkward. Unfortunately, the sunshine, the chirping birds and the bright spots of flowers in the flower beds do nothing to calm his nerves and he abandons his breakfast halfway through, grabbing his phone with clammy fingers.
Katy picks up after the third ring and hearing her voice is such a shock that Kris forgets he's supposed to say something.
"Kris?" she asks.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'm here."
He can almost hear her smiling, and something in his chest unclenches.
"How are you?" he asks, picking idly at a loose thread on his jeans.
"I've been better," she says, voice soft and low. "I don't know… I guess it's hard sometimes. I spent so many years loving you that I can't figure out how to even look at someone new."
Kris swallows. It's difficult to deal with the fact that he checked out of their marriage so long before she did. He loved her, he wanted it to work somehow, but in his heart he had already moved on.
"I'm sorry," he says, even though it's woefully inadequate.
She sighs. "I know you are," she says. "It doesn't make me feel better, but I know you didn't want it to end like this."
Kris doesn't answer, he looks out over the garden instead. There are so many things he would like to say to Katy, but he doesn't know where to start, or if he even should say them at all.
"How's Adam?" Katy asks, after a while.
"He's good," Kris answers. "He's in New York right now."
"Are you… I mean… I kinda thought with the divorce that you would…" Katy breaks off with a shaky sigh. "It's okay, I mean… It's okay if you are…"
"We're not a couple," Kris says, breathing out with a whoosh. "But I think… hope… that maybe with time we will be."
"I'm happy for you," Katy says weakly and Kris wonders how much it cost her to say that.
"You don't have to be," Kris says. "And if we ever come out as a couple the media will probably be pretty rough for you and I just want you to know that…" He takes a deep breath. "I really did love you, and I wanted it to work. It was never about being with you so I wouldn't have to be gay."
"I know." Katy sounds sad, almost wistful. "Part of me will probably always wish it turned out differently but I think we did the right thing. It wasn't just you and it wasn't just Adam, it was a million little things, you know?"
"Yeah," Kris murmurs. "Yeah, I do know."
They talk for a few more minutes before Kris lets her go with a promise to call again. He feels empty when he puts the phone down, and he wonders what she would say if she really knew.
It wasn't just Adam, and it was just a million little things. It was also Kris, and too many beers on too little sleep, and a man with fire in his pretty brown eyes. It was rushed and rough and over within an hour, but the bruises stayed for days and the guilt will stay forever. There's nothing to gain from telling her now, except maybe penance for his sins, but he can't do that to her. He's not sure he can even do it to himself.
The call leaves him in an odd mood and he spends the rest of the morning plucking out melancholy melodies on his guitar. He doesn't know if they'll ever make it into songs, but playing makes him feel better.
He has lunch at the kitchen table and then brings his guitar outside again. This time a song starts to come to him and when he takes a break, hours later, it's getting dark and he has five missed calls from Adam. He was so lost in his work, jotting down notes and strumming the melody that he didn't even hear the phone.
He grabs a snack from the kitchen and then calls Adam. He picks up after the first ring, sounding kind of breathless.
"What the actual fuck, Kris?" he demands by way of greeting.
Kris blinks, looking up at the dark sky. "Hello to you too."
Adam breathes out, his exhale whooshing over the microphone and Kris smiles. "You can't not pick up when I call," Adam says, sounding a little less angry. "I have a very active imagination."
"Over active," Kris corrects absently. It probably makes him an asshole but he likes that Adam worries.
"Whatever," Adam says and Kris knows him well enough to know he's smiling. "So how are you doing?"
"I'm good," Kris says, stretching his legs out before him. "The house's kinda empty without you."
"Your life is kinda empty without me," Adam responds and even though it's a joke, it's kind of sad how true it is.
"Yeah," Kris admits softly. "Yeah, it is."
Adam doesn't say anything for a few moments and Kris lets his eyes slip shut, listening to the sound of Adam moving around.
"I…" Adam starts but then he breaks off. "We'll talk when I get home, okay?"
"Okay," Kris says, blinking his eyes open again. "Want me to pick you up at the airport?"
Adam hesitates for a moment. "No, we've got a car arranged."
"Cool."
Kris stretches and yawns, glancing at the clock. It's getting late.
"So what were you doing when you didn't pick up the phone?" Adam asks and there's a nuance of something in his voice that Kris can't interpret. It's disconcerting; he knows enough of Adam's nuances to write a thesis about them.
"Messing around with my guitar," Kris answers, shrugging even though Adam can't see it. He's not ready to call it a song, but he thinks that maybe he's getting there.
"Yeah?" Adam sounds hopeful, as if he thinks it means more than it does, but then maybe it does mean more, it's been forever since Kris played with any kind of intent.
"Yeah," Kris answers.
"So… Did you write something?"
Kris makes a face, of course Adam would ask. "I don't know," he says. "I mean… I do know that I wrote something. I just don't know if it's any good."
"Play it for me?"
Kris is going to say no, he really is, but the thing with Adam is that he always gets his way in the end and maybe he kind of wants to play it for Adam even if he's not ready to admit it.
"It's not finished," he warns, but he's already reaching for the guitar, hitting the speaker on the phone and putting it on the table.
He plays the intro three times before he finally finds courage enough to form the words. The lyrics come slowly and his voice breaks here and there, but despite the melancholy haunting edge it's so obviously a love song and too obviously about Adam.
When he finishes, his fingers tremble against the strings and his heart bangs hard enough against his ribcage to make him feel dizzy. Adam isn't talking and for every moment of silence Kris's heart sinks lower in his chest. He thought that Adam knew. God knows that Kris can't keep his emotions off his face.
"Kris," Adam starts and his voice is soft, the kind of soft it only gets when he's about to tell Kris something he doesn’t want to hear.
Kris doesn’t even realize what he's doing until his hand is scrabbling over the table, and he disconnects the call with his heart lodged in his throat. Adam calls right back, of course, but Kris doesn't pick up. He just sits there and stares at Adam's face flashing across the screen. The call goes to voicemail and so do the three calls after that until Kris turns his phone off.
Then he just sits there, staring into the garden with a blush staining his cheeks. He doesn't know what to do with himself. Somehow being here, surrounded by all of Adam's things, sleeping in his goddamned bed, he forgot there was a reason they never talked about this. Kris can handle a lot of things, has handled a lot of things, but he doesn't know if he can handle Adam rejecting him.
It takes forever but he manages to get up from the chair, bringing his guitar and the dishes inside. He leans the guitar against the wall and puts the dishes into the dishwasher; then he just stands there staring at the shiny surface of the countertop, heart beating too fast and too loud. He knows that Adam loves him and he knows that somehow they will move past this. It will hurt and it will suck and it will be like getting divorced all over again only ten times more painful, but he will survive it.
The problem is that he doesn't think he'll ever get over Adam. He never felt like this about anyone before, not even Katy, and even thinking about moving on makes him feel breathless and panicked. This is why he never told Adam, because living with his stupid tangled-up too-intense feelings was bearable as long as he could pretend that someday they would be real - maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but some day far off in the future well beyond the horizon. Adam rejecting him would shut the door on that option, and maybe it would be better if he just left.
He's still thinking about it when the doorbell rings, nearly startling him out of his skin. He glances at his watch, it's 2 AM. He doesn't make any move to open it, yet he's not surprised when Brad's voice rings out through the house.
"Hello, hello, anybody home?"
Kris forces himself to let go of the counter, turning around to lean against it. "In the kitchen."
Brad swaggers in as if he owns the place, dressed in skin-tight bright purple jeans and a glittery top with downy feathers around the neckline. For someone who was obviously just pulled out of a club, he looks cheerful.
"There you are, sugar," he says, pulling the words out in a hilarious drawl. "You put his royal highness into quite a mood."
Kris rolls his eyes and shrugs, but his hands are getting sweaty. Brad tuts, shaking his head as if Kris is an errant child, and worms his phone out of his pocket with a hip shimmy that's probably illegal in some states. He taps the screen a couple of times and then lifts his phone to his ear, Kris doesn't ask who he's calling. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out.
"He's alive," Brad says into the phone, grinning at Kris as if he's mighty proud of him for that accomplishment.
He listens for half a second and then holds the phone out for Kris. Kris shakes his head. He doesn't want Adam to chew him out again.
"If you don't take it, I will sit on you and force you to talk to him," Brad says, the steel in his words belying his easy smile. "And I had beans for lunch."
Kris manages a half hearted smile and reaches out for the phone, hoping that Brad doesn't notice the tremor of his fingers. He brings the phone to his ear, looking anywhere but Brad.
"Hi," he says.
"Jesus fucking CHRIST on a fucking STICK you fucking ASSHOLE," Adam shouts and Kris pulls the phone away from his ear, giving Brad a pleading look.
Brad shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Sorry," Kris mumbles, turning his back on Brad because he's not sure he wants anyone to be able to read his facial expressions right now, least of all Adam's ex boyfriend.
"What were you thinking, Kris? Jesus FUCK."
Kris winces, flattening his free hand against the countertop. The stone is smooth and cold against his palm and he focuses on that instead of the hot flush of his cheeks and the churn of his stomach.
"Sorry," he says again, empty and pointless.
"You can't keep doing this to me," Adam says. "You can't."
"Sorry," he whispers, biting down hard on his lower lip. "I'll be gone when you get home."
"No, Kris, that's not what I…"
"Sorry," Kris says again and disconnects the call.
He hands the phone back to Brad. If Brad wants him to talk to Adam again, he will have to sit on him.
"Kris?" Brad asks, sounding uneasy, but Kris pushes past him, heading upstairs.
"Come on," Brad says, following after him. "He was just upset. You scared him."
Kris ignores him, pulling his bag out of the closet and tossing things into it in a haphazard mess. He doesn't care that it's the middle of the night. He has to get out. Away.
"You're going to break his heart," Brad says from the doorway.
"He'll get over it," Kris says harshly, throwing a handful of shirts into the bag. They spill over the edge, and one of them rolls out on the bed. Kris picks it up and forces it to stay on top of the pile.
"Fuck," Brad says, crossing the floor to wrap his arms around Kris from behind. "You don't want to do this."
"Yes, I do," Kris says, trying to shrug out of the embrace, but Brad is surprisingly strong for his size.
"No, you don't," Brad responds, tightening his hold enough that Kris can't breathe.
"I have to," Kris says, trying to flatten the pile enough that he can close the bag.
Brad smells of alcohol and some kind of lemony aftershave. Kris wonders when that smell became familiar.
"I don't know what to do anymore," he whispers, blinking rapidly. "Whatever I do, I end up hurting him and I just want…"
"To run away?" Brad asks. "Stick your head in the sand? You'll have to face him eventually."
"Not if I stay away," Kris mutters, trying to break free of the embrace with renewed vigor.
Brad lets go so suddenly that Kris stumbles forward, falling onto the bed with flailing arms. The edge of the bag catches his mouth and he rolls to the side with a pained sound, blood spilling down his chin.
"Oh fuck," Brad says, eyes wide as saucers.
Kris blinks against the tears that well up and runs his tongue over his teeth to see that they're all still in place. They are, but his mouth tastes like copper and when he raises his fingers to prod at his lips they come away sticky with blood.
"Shit," Brad says, color draining from his face and Kris wonders if he's going to faint.
Kris doesn't want to run away anymore, he's tired and miserable and his mouth hurts. Brad finally jerks out of his stupor and pulls Kris up from the bed, tugging him into the bathroom.
"Sit," he says, pointing at the toilet and Kris gratefully sinks down on it.
Brad runs a towel under the tap and gives it to Kris, making him press the cold terrycloth against his split lip.
"I'm sorry about that," Brad says, still looking queasy.
"It's okay," Kris mumbles into the towel. At least the pain served to clear his head. Brad's right, running away won't do him any good. He'd just end up in a motel room somewhere and next thing he'd be calling the agency, throwing himself back into a loop of meaningless sex and self-hatred.
"Adam's gonna kill me," Brad says, eyes opening wide.
Kris manages half a smile. It feels funny because his lip is already swelling. "We'll say I ran into a door."
As if on cue Brad's phone starts ringing and he shimmies it out of his pocket again, giving Kris a panicked look. Kris rolls his eyes at him. Brad is clearly overreacting.
"Adam? Hey," Brad says, sounding way too cheerful. "How are you?"
Kris rolls his eyes again, this time so hard he feels dizzy and Brad's face falls.
"Of course he's fine. Why wouldn’t he be fine?"
Brad fidgets, pulling at his glittery top.
"No, he's right here."
Brad winds the hem of his shirt around his fingers and Kris stares at the narrow strip of hair leading down into his pants. For some reason he figured Brad to be the type to wax.
"It's not my fault he doesn't want to talk to you," Brad whines. "Well, I don't know why."
Brad looks up. "Why don't you want to talk to Adam?"
Kris shrugs, tearing his eyes away from Brad's stomach with a flush. "I just don't," he says into the towel, not caring if he sounds like he's five.
"Adam wants to talk to you," Brad says, holding the phone out with a hopeful look.
Kris sighs and takes it. He can always hang up again. "Yeah," he mutters, pulling the towel away for a moment.
"Just hear me out this time," Adam says. "Okay?"
Kris hums in agreement, staring down at the floor by his feet. He didn't notice Brad's golden boots before; they're really kind of awesome.
"I love you," Adam says.
Kris waits for Adam to continue, but he doesn't.
"Is that all?" Kris asks when the silence stretches out, unable to keep from grinning. It hurts, and he's pretty sure his lip starts bleeding again.
"Well," Adam says. "I was planning on my speech being a lot longer than that, but I didn't want you to hang up again."
Kris chuckles and squeezes his eyes shut. "Just come home, Adam," he says softly. "Just come home."
He doesn't know what will happen when Adam comes home, but anything is better than this forced separation. He glances up to find Brad smiling at him with this weird look on his face that Kris can't place.
"Your lip's bleeding again," Brad whispers, or tries to whisper, the amount of alcohol in his system and the awesome acoustics of the bathroom conspire against him.
"Why's your lip bleeding?" Adam asks, clearly alarmed.
"Uhh…" Kris says, staring wide-eyed at Brad. "I walked into a door?"
He dabs at his lip with the towel and winces.
"Put Brad on again," Adam says. "I want to have a word with him."
Kris mouths ‘sorry’ at Brad as he hands the phone back, making a vague gesture towards the bedroom. "I'm gonna unpack my bag," he says, failing as much as Brad when it comes to whispering.
He flinches at Adam's falsetto What bag? that's loud enough to be heard even though Brad has the phone against his ear. Brad gives him an uncharitable look and waves him away.
It takes a lot longer to move everything back to its rightful place than it took to throw it into the bag and when Kris is finally finished the clock radio by the bed boasts 4AM and Brad's watching him from the door to the bathroom.
"You should wash your face," Brad says. "You look like an extra from a vampire movie."
Kris nods, but sits down on the edge of the bed instead of heading for the bathroom. His mind is reeling, confused thoughts playing a game of chase that has no rules. Brad sighs and comes over to sit next to him, slinging an arm across Kris's shoulders.
"Fucking things up with Adam is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done," Brad says. "Don't make that mistake."
Kris wants to say that he's not planning on it, but then he didn't plan on getting divorced either and that worked out well for him. He sighs, letting his head hang down between his shoulders. He thought he was making progress but maybe he's just been treading water all this time.
"I thought I'd be with Katy forever," he says, staring down on his hands. There are speckles of drying blood on his fingers, making him look as if he got into a bar fight.
"Forever is a very long time," Brad says, fingers tight on Kris's shoulder.
Kris shakes his head, Brad just doesn't get it. "I thought I'd be with her forever and then one morning I woke up and realized I’d completely checked out of our marriage. What kind of person does that make me?"
"The human kind," Brad says kindly.
Kris looks up at him and Brad stares back until Kris feels as if Brad can see into his soul, stripping away all his layers and leaving him bare. He wants to tell Brad, wants to tell him what he did, but maybe he doesn't have to. Maybe Brad can read between the lines and see that Kris did more than just check out emotionally. Maybe he doesn't care.
"People fuck up," Brad says. "That's how life goes and the only thing you can really do about it is to take a deep breath, close your eyes and try again."
Kris tears his eyes away, letting them flit about the room. "What if I fuck up again?" he asks. "What if I can't make it work? What if I wake up one morning and realize I'm not even there?"
"What if you walk away from the best thing to ever happen to you just because you're scared? What if you'll never feel this way about anyone ever again and you just let it go? What if it's really your happily ever after but you're too chicken shit to let it in? We could do this all fucking night, Kris, but when push comes to shove the only thing that matters is can you really let him go?"
Kris's heart pounds against his ribcage, blood singing in his ears. "I don't know," he whispers. "I really don't know."
"Well, maybe you ought to figure that out."
Brad sounds about as tired as Kris feels and Kris carefully shrugs his arm off his shoulders. "I'm gonna wash my face," he says and pushes himself up from the bed.
The emotional roller coaster of the last few days has him feeling empty, as if all of the emotion was drained out of him with the last crazy loop, and now he's just an empty shell. Maybe he needs time and space to sort himself out. More time than the few hours remaining until morning, more space than he'll ever get curled up between Adam's sheets.
Brad is asleep when Kris comes back out of the bathroom, body splayed over the bed. Kris watches him for the longest time, before silently walking out of the room. He heads downstairs and takes a seat on the couch to wait. He doesn't know exactly when Adam gets home, but it doesn't matter; he'll wait as long as he has to.
[Next!]
Author: jeyhawk
Word Count: ~24,000+
Rating: NC17
Pairings: Kris/Adam, Kris/OMC(S), Adam/OMC
Beta: sbb23 as always. Thank you, BB! <333
Warnings Dark themes, potentially triggering situations. Further warnings under the cut.
Summary: Future fic. Sometimes the road to happiness is brightly lit, easily navigated, and smooth. Sometimes it isn't.
Notes: A huge thanks goes out to dansetheblues who went above and beyond the call of friendship to help me whip this bastard into shape. ILY, BB! <333
This is not my usual type of fic. It's a lot less happy-go-lucky and Kris doesn’t blush half as much as he usually does (he's busy being messed up and numb). But Adam's legs are still forever long, Kris gets hurt a lot, and it includes a terrible pun about The Truth, so I'm pretty sure you'll still recognize it as a jeyhawk fic.
The British spelling of the title is intentional.
WARNINGS [Highlight to read as they are spoilery]: None of these warnings apply to the Kris/Adam relationship.[ Rough sex, borderline abusive sex, prostitution, adultery.] Everything that happens in this fic is consensual, but sometimes people want things that are not good for them and for all the wrong reasons.
The Road Less Travelled
Kris gets the number at some industry event. It's one of those wink, wink, nudge, nudge, if you ever feel like letting off some steam things. He doesn't know why he saved it, or why, two months after his divorce, he decides to use it.
The call is ordinary, almost mundane; if someone taped it (and Kris thinks that maybe they do) it would seems almost like a normal business transaction. He answers all their questions with a flush climbing up his cheeks and shameful lust curling at the pit of his stomach.
"Do you have a preference?"
"Tall, dark hair."
"Do you want it to hurt?"
"Yes."
He sets up his first meeting on a Thursday with someone named Han. They give him a safe word (catnip), but he never uses it - not even when it hurts so much he thinks he's going to die. He needs it to hurt because that's the only way he can keep from thinking, remembering, wanting, needing.
One meeting becomes two, then three, then five, until it happens every other day. It's expensive, but he can afford it. Katy didn't ask for much in the divorce and this is the only indulgence he allows himself. He still lives in a hotel, but it's not the flashy one his management wanted to set him up in. It's smaller, tucked away on a back road, and his two-room suite is modest enough that he doesn't feel he has to apologize for using the bathroom.
Within a month he's covered in bruises - on his thighs, arms, shoulders and chest - ranging from dark purple to a fading yellow, and he doesn't sit down unless he has to. He knows he's pushing himself too far - that it's only a matter of time before someone notices - but he needs it. The only time he actually sleeps these days is after a session, when he's wrung out and aching all over. The rest of the time he greets dawn with burning eyes and his guitar resting limply over his knees wondering where the music went.
*
Adam is the only real person Kris sees these days, and only because Adam keeps pushing. He talks to his mom and Cale and Charles on the phone, but they're back in Arkansas and Kris can't make himself go there. He failed everyone, most of all himself, and it doesn't matter how many times they tell him it takes two people to end a marriage. He knows the weight belongs on his shoulders and no one else's.
Katy didn't distance herself with lame excuses and a busy schedule. Katy didn't feel better whenever he was away. Katy didn't fall in love with someone else. Katy didn't betray their vows. Kris did all of those things, and it eats him up inside. The worst part is that if he had the ability to go back in time and change the path of his life, he wouldn't change a single thing.
"It's kind of pretty, don't you think?" Adam says, stretching his legs out before him.
They're sitting on a bench overlooking the harbor. Above them seagulls shriek, circling the looming ships like vultures, and below them the harbor bustles with life. Kris follows one of the workers with his eyes, he's wearing an orange vest over his t-shirt and his bulging biceps makes Kris think of Han. He shifts in his seat and nods, it's pretty because it's ugly.
"Eat your ice cream," Adam says, nudging Kris with his shoulder. "I'm not cleaning up the mess if it melts all over your clothes."
Kris smiles, a lopsided tilt of his lips, and obediently licks at the messy ice cream. He can feel Adam watching him and want curls low in his belly. If he was another person he would make a show of it, licking at the ice cream like he would a cock, but he's just Kris Allen and he's done with taking risks.
"That's a nasty bruise," Adam says. He reaches out to touch a finger to Kris's bicep where the lower edge of a bruise is peeking out from under his shirt. "What did you do?"
Kris's breath sticks in his throat and he swallows thickly. "Tripped and fell," he murmurs, averting his gaze. Adam's fingers burn on his skin, gentle, so very gentle.
Adam pushes his sleeve up and makes a small sound at the back of his throat. "Fell," he says, voice dry. "Right."
For a moment his hand grips Kris's arm and Kris doesn't have to look to know he's aligning his fingertips with the dark ghost of someone else's touch. Then he pulls away and shakes his head.
Kris is breathless and hard, and he wishes he was somewhere - anywhere - else. He doesn't expect Adam to get it - how could he when Kris doesn't get it himself - but he expects Adam to say something. He doesn't, and when Kris looks up Adam is staring down at the docks, an unreadable look on his face.
Kris drops his ice cream into the trash can next to the bench and curls his hands into fists on his lap. His fingers are sticky with sugar and his lips feel numb. He guesses there's nothing to do now but wait.
*
Han is six feet tall with dark skin and narrow eyes. His hands are never gentle and Kris can feel him for days afterwards. Bryan is even taller with unruly brown hair and kind hands. He's young, probably younger than Kris, and he never makes Kris cry. When Kris finally reaches the end of his rope he's glad it's with Bryan.
He should have cancelled his appointment. Two days with hardly any sleep or food, and with a raging fever has made him slow and sluggish, unable to complete a thought and even less a sentence, but instead he pops a couple of painkillers and pretends that everything fine.
Bryan can tell that everything isn't fine, but it's his job to do what the client wants. So before their time is up Kris finds himself face down on the rug with Bryan deep inside him while his unforgiving fingers wring an orgasm out of Kris's tired body. He collapses afterwards, head swimming and breath burning in his throat. His heart trips too fast and too loud, and for several minutes he can't do anything but shiver and breathe.
"Fuck," Bryan says, crouching next to him. "Are you okay?"
Kris makes a sound at the back of his throat, pulling away from Bryan's gentle fingers on his forehead. He's not okay, he doesn't know if he will ever be okay again.
"You're burning up," Bryan says, licking his lips. "Shit."
Kris blinks at him, curling in on himself. Everything aches and his blood sings a sweet lullaby in his ears. He wants to sleep, everything will be okay if he can sleep.
"I'm calling your emergency contact," Bryan says behind him. "Okay?"
Kris makes a sound that's supposed to be no, but that Bryan interprets as yes. Kris thinks he would've as well, if he'd been Bryan. Kris is in no shape to be making decisions about his life at the moment. He hears Bryan fiddle with his phone and then mercifully, he passes out.
*
Kris wakes up in bed with cool, clammy fingers on his forehead and a pounding ache between his temples. He doesn't want to open his eyes, his stomach already knotting with tension, because he knows those fingers, knows that scent, and he doesn't want to see the disgust in Adam's eyes.
"I know you're awake," Adam says, and he sounds tired, sad.
Kris doesn't answer but he blinks his eyes open. Adam stares at him, anger visible in the tight set of his mouth and the frown between his eyebrows, but his fingers card through Kris's hair, slow and gentle.
"What the fuck were you…" Adam swallows, cutting himself off. "I'm not mad," he says instead, which is obviously a lie. "Not at you."
Kris looks away, sickened by the way want still slithers through his loins, making his heart beat faster. Even if Adam does want him, Kris doesn't deserve him. He turns away completely and curls up on his side, nauseous and stupid.
"The doctor's on his way," Adam says, moving his hand to touch Kris's shoulder. "Maybe you'd like to shower first."
Kris doesn't want to shower and he doesn't want to see a doctor, but he doesn't say anything when Adam helps him out of bed and leads him to the bathroom. He just silently notes Adam's heavy makeup, and fancy clothes, realizing he pulled Adam away from some party. He feels bad about it, but then, he feels bad about everything.
Adam doesn't leave the bathroom while Kris showers. Kris can see him move around outside, a black and blue shadow blurred by the pattern on the shower stall door. When Kris turns the water off and steps out of the shower, it's into a huge white towel and Adam's open arms. He wants to protest, the water will ruin Adam's fancy shirt for sure, but how can he say no when being cradled in Adam's arms is the only thing he wants.
Adam hugs him tight, and Kris hears his heart beating panic-fast against his ear. "You scared me," Adam says, his voice breaking on the words. "Jesus Christ Kris… I thought you were dead."
Kris lets his eyes slip shut and inhales Adam's familiar scent, rubbing his cheek against the soft silk of Adam's shirt. He wants to stay in this moment forever, wrapped up in terrycloth and Adam's arms, but of course the universe has other plans. There's a knock on the door and Adam lets his arms fall after dutifully knotting the towel in the back.
"That ought to be the doctor," he says. "Don't bother getting dressed."
Kris feels like a scolded child as he pads into the bedroom on bare feet and sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed. He smoothes the towel out over his thighs and stares straight ahead without seeing a thing. His head is full of cotton and even adjusting his position seems like too much work.
The doctor turns out to be a man in his early fifties with graying hair and clever blue eyes. Kris blushes miserably while he pokes and prods, examining Kris quickly and efficiently. He draws several vials of blood and takes a q-tip swab from Kris's urethra, explaining that he will call with the results once he gets them back from the lab.
Kris watches as he carefully puts the swab into a vial and packs it away with the blood samples. He feels exposed, as if he opened his heart for this stranger to see, even though he's barely said a word. Maybe it's because his heartache is written all over his skin, and in the sunken set of his eyes, he doesn't know.
Doctor Roberts, that's how he introduced himself, sits down on the edge of the bed with a prescription pad open on his lap. "I'm going to prescribe a mild dose of antibiotics, for what I suspect is an upper respiratory infection. If you don't notice a significant change for the better within a few days I want you to call me, okay?"
Kris nods, and pulls the sheets further up his chest, for some reason it seems vitally important that he cover up his nipples. Doctor Roberts bends forward and pulls a small tube out of his bag, putting it down on the nightstand.
"The cream is for the rectal tearing. It prevents infection and also works as a local anesthetic which I think you will appreciate. You can use it up to five times a day."
Kris nods again and his blush spills in under the sheet.
"I shouldn't have to tell you to avoid anal intercourse until the tears are fully healed, but I think I might have to."
Kris squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away, tuning Dr. Roberts out as he starts talking about sexually transmitted diseases. He knows Han and Bryan are clean, it's in their contract, and they always used protection, but it doesn't matter. He's stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Hey," Dr. Roberts says, touching a cool hand to Kris's shoulder. "It's okay. There is nothing shameful in enjoying rough sex, but you have to remember to take care of yourself too. For the next few days I want you to do nothing but sleep, eat and drink water."
"Sleep…" Kris snorts, if it was only that easy.
"I could prescribe you some mild sleeping pills," Dr. Roberts says. "But to be honest I'd rather not."
"I don't want them," Kris says. "I just need to sort myself out."
Dr. Roberts pulls a card out of his pocket and puts it down next to the tube on the nightstand. Kris doesn't need his explanation to know what it is, the number for a therapist, but he still listens and nods in all the right places. There's no shame in seeking therapy, there's nothing wrong with being sad, everyone slips up some time. Kris wonders if everyone falls in love with their best friend, but he doesn't ask, it’s probably filed under ‘everyone slips up some time.’
Once he's done talking Dr. Roberts gets up from the bed, giving Kris a kind smile. "All the best in the future, Kris. I'll let you know about those test results."
"Thank you," Kris says, and he finds that he means it.
Dr. Roberts smiles once more and then he's gone, leaving Kris to his thoughts.
*
Once Dr. Roberts leaves Adam takes Kris home. He wanted to right after the divorce and Kris guesses he sees his chance now that Kris is in no state to argue. Besides Adam makes the choice easy, it's either Adam or his mom, and Kris couldn't bear to see the worry on his mother's face over what he's let himself become.
For a whole week Kris is waited on hand and foot, by Adam, Brad, Danielle, Drake and on one memorable occasion, Tommy. He gets all meals delivered to his bedside, there's an endless supply of feel-good movies, and no one asks any questions, not even Adam. He sleeps more than he thought he would be able to, but it's rarely more than two hours in a row before he wakes up from a dream he can't remember, and he eats more than he ingested in the last two months put together.
He knows it won't last. Once the bruises are faded and the fever but a memory, he starts waiting for the fall out. When it finally comes, it's nothing like he expected.
Ten days into his extended stay at Adam's place he's left alone for long enough to place a call to the agency, asking for Bryan. He wants to thank him, and apologize for the way he behaved. The receptionist (or whatever she is) tells him to set up a meeting and without thinking Kris makes an appointment for the next day at time he should be the only one in the house.
He feels horrible about it. Adam's place isn't plagued by paps, but what if someone sees Bryan coming or going and starts digging - what would they find? He doesn't have a lot of options though, the agency wouldn't let him set up a meeting in a public place and Adam canceled his room reservation. He doesn't trust himself enough to rent a room in a seedy motel for a few hours, because he's afraid that if they're anywhere but here, he'd beg for it.
Even though he knows he can't let anything happen, and he honestly just wants to thank Bryan, preferably with a check if Bryan'll let him, there's still a thrum of excitement at the pit of stomach as he opens the door to let Bryan in, checking over his shoulder to see if there are any paps lingering in the driveway.
"You look better," Bryan says as he toes off his shoes. "I almost thought you were going to die on me last time."
Kris smiles, rubbing his sweaty palms against his thighs. Bryan looks good, tan and healthy, in baggy blue jeans and a tight t-shirt. Kris looks at his hands, big and strong, and for a moment his mind flashes to the last time he had those hands on his body. The thought makes him flush while his dick swells and he averts his gaze. It's not about that this time. It will never be about that again.
Kris leads Bryan into the living room, but he's too nervous to sit down. "Nice place," Bryan remarks, looking around as he puts his bag down on the floor.
"It's not mine," Kris says, eyes flittering about the room as if he expects Adam to suddenly appear from behind one of the couches.
Bryan reaches out for him, his fingers touching Kris's shoulder before Kris finds the presence of mind to jump away.
"No," Kris almost shouts despite the desire welling up within him. "That's not… that's not why I called you."
Bryan looks down, raising his eyebrows and Kris has to fight an urge to cover himself.
"I just wanted to thank you," Kris says quickly. "You could have just left me there, but you didn't."
Bryan shrugs with a half smile. "It would have looked bad if you died. It's protocol to call the emergency contact if something like that happens."
Kris licks his lips and shifts his feet. "I'm sorry I put you through that."
Bryan makes a face. "It was pretty freaky and your boyfriend screamed bloody murder at me. I didn't think you were involved with anyone."
"I'm not," Kris says, shaking his head. "I wouldn't… I'm not."
Bryan laughs. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Kris murmurs, biting down on his lower lip. "Pretty sure."
"Oh," Bryan says. "It's like that."
Kris isn't sure what this virtual stranger got from his face, but he's right. It is like that and Kris doesn't see it changing any time soon.
"Anyway," Kris says, steering the conversation away from Adam. He's giving too much away already. Bryan never hinted that he knows who Kris is, but it's probably a pipe dream to think that he doesn't know Adam. "I just wanted to give you this." He fishes an envelope out of his back pocket and hands it to Bryan. "It's a check."
Bryan blinks, eyebrows shooting for his hairline.
"I left the recipient line empty," Kris says. "I'm thinking Bryan isn't your real name and if you don't want the money you can just give it away. I know you don't think you did anything special, but it meant a lot to me."
Bryan turns the envelope over in his hands a few times before tucking it into his bag unopened. "Thanks," he says and he sounds like he means it. "You know this isn't going to make me see the error of my ways, right?"
Kris actually laughs, it's been too long since he did that, and shakes his head. "I figured it wouldn't and it's not about that. It's just, thank you and a little bit goodbye."
Bryan smiles. "I think I'll miss you," he says. "And I'm happy that you seem happier. The sadness is your eyes always got to me."
It's only been eleven days, but somehow it feels like years and no time at all. Kris is happier here, even if he's more miserable at the same time. When Bryan reaches out again he doesn't shy away and they share a long hard hug. Of course that's when Adam decides to show up.
They get no warning before Bryan is pulled backwards with enough force to stumble and fall flat on his ass.
"What the FUCK is going on here?" Adam shouts, eyes focused on Bryan who is crawling away from him. "How dare you even touch him you good for nothing fucking WHORE?"
Kris gapes, he's never seen Adam so angry. Pure hatred burns out of his eyes and his mouth is so twisted he doesn't even look human. He takes a step towards Bryan, who lifts a hand to protect himself, and Kris realizes he’d better act before Adam does something he'll regret.
"Adam, no," he says, reaching out to grab Adam's arm. "He didn't hurt me."
"This time," Adam hisses, turning his eyes on Kris. "I saw the bruises."
"It's okay," Kris says. "I got this. Just… go wait in the kitchen. Please."
Kris's pulse thunders in his ears, and for a tense moment he thinks that Adam's going to break free and go after Bryan, then Adam deflates, visibly sinking in on himself.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, whatever. I'll be in the kitchen."
Kris bites down on his lower lip and waits until the door closes behind Adam before turning to Bryan.
"I'm so sorry about that," he says.
Bryan doesn't look upset, he looks thoughtful more than anything. "Are you sure he isn't your boyfriend?" he asks.
Kris nods, worrying at his lower lip. He's not sure why he took this risk in the first place, and this is why he shouldn't have. Maybe some tiny part of him wanted Adam to know, wanted him to react, but he didn't think the reaction would be this explosive. He looks at Bryan, who is scrambling up from the floor and grabbing his bag.
"I'm sorry," he says again. "He shouldn't have said those things."
Bryan shrugs. "We all say stupid things when we're in love," he says calmly, giving Kris a lopsided smile.
Kris opens and closes his mouth several times. He kind of wants to make Bryan say it again, and again, and again, milking the moment for all it’s worth, but in the end he just shakes his head.
"It's not like that," he says. "And again, I'm sorry."
"Goodbye, Kris," Bryan says. "It's been quite a ride knowing you."
"Bye," Kris echoes and he watches the door long after it's closed.
*
Adam's sitting on the kitchen counter with his head in his hands when Kris comes in, and he doesn't look up. Kris heart trips a mile a minute and his breath is stuck in his throat. He doesn't even know how to start this conversation.
"You know, I thought I might have to set up some rules," Adam says, face still in his hands. "Like… don't forget to eat and don't fret yourself into an early grave. I never thought I would have to make one for don't let your boyfriend hurt you while you're still under my roof."
"Adam…" Kris starts, moving closer to touch Adam's arm. "It wasn't like that."
"Yeah? Then tell me what it's like, Kris, 'cause I just don't get it."
Adam looks up and his eyes are so full of hurt Kris can't even deal with it. It seems that no matter what he does he keeps on hurting the people around him.
"I was stupid enough to think that if it would ever be a guy it would be me," Adam says, fixing his eyes above Kris's head. "Not some guy you met in a bar."
Kris snorts. "Adam… he's a prostitute."
Adam's eyes snaps down at that, locking with Kris's. "What?" he squeaks.
"He's a prostitute. From a high class escort agency." Kris averts his gaze, biting down on his lower lip. "Can you imagine the scandal if that little tidbit ever made the press?"
"Kris…"
Kris shrugs, pulling away from Adam. He moves to the window, staring out the garden without seeing a thing. His stomach is tied up in knots and he's going to throw up any minute now.
"I wanted to be punished," he says. "I wanted it to hurt."
"Why?" Adam asks, coming up to stand behind Kris.
Kris shrugs and shakes his head at the same time. He doesn't know how to explain it without putting everything out there. Adam's hands come up to rest on his shoulders, and Kris leans into the touch.
"I wanted to be overwhelmed," he finally says. "I didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to feel. I just wanted someone to take everything out of my hands."
"You can have that without pain," Adam murmurs, pressing his lips against Kris's hair. "You can let yourself lose control without waking up covered in bruises."
Kris should pull away, but instead he turns his head so that Adam's lips graces his temple and lifts his hand to cover Adam's on his shoulder. "I know," he whispers, closing his eyes. "I know."
He understands what Adam's offering, what he has maybe been offering all along, but he's not ready yet. It would be so easy to lose himself in Adam, but if he does that now he's never going to deal with everything that happened. He's just going to bury it under love, want, need and Adam deserves better. Kris deserves better. He made mistakes, but when it comes down to it, you can't rule your heart and maybe it's time he owns up to that.
*
The following day Adam leaves on a trip to New York with his band and for the first time since his breakdown Kris is left to his own devices for more than a couple of hours. Adam doesn't even arrange for someone to check up on him, maybe he can sense that Kris is in a better place emotionally. Kris makes good use of the time, dealing with a number of things he's been avoiding for weeks now.
He calls his mom, his dad and his brother, breaking the news that he's bisexual as gently as possible. It feels odd, but liberating to admit it out loud. It's like it wasn't real before it was out in open. He also tries to prepare them for a possible sex scandal in the vaguest terms he can think of. They need to know before the news of the past American Idol's fall from grace hits the newsstands.
They’re the hardest calls he's ever had to make, even worse than telling them about the divorce. When he told them about that he was so numb that the words didn't even register, and thinking back he can't remember what he said. This time he's hyper-aware, weighing his every word, and when he finally hangs up the phone for the last time his fingers tremble with nerves. He sits eerily still for the longest while, just breathing into the silence until it finally feels as if he can move without throwing up.
It wasn't bad, not exactly, he's pretty sure his family guessed that he was bisexual a long time ago (possibly around the time every other word out of his mouth was ‘Adam’), but it wasn't easy. He believes that his family would love him no matter what, but that doesn't give him the right to constantly push the boundaries and it feels like lately that's the only thing he's been doing.
Adam calls him later that night, still high from his performance, and the rough-wild edge to his voice settles deep in Kris's stomach. They don't talk about anything important, Adam spends most of the call trying (and failing) to describe his outfit, and Kris laughs so much his chest hurts. It's like they used to be before everything happened and when Kris hangs up he has the biggest smile on his face.
His phone beeps with a text message five seconds later and reading it he bursts out laughing all over again, clutching at his ribs.
Did I mention the hat? It's purple, very classy.
Kris doesn't answer, but the grin stays on his face. For the first time in forever he sleeps almost a full night, and even when he wakes up with dawn he feels fortified, as if he slept way more than five hours.
In the morning, after his second cup of coffee - right around the time normal people get up - Kris calls his handler, Lizzie, for the first time in forever. He knows she's been in steady contact with Adam, all of Kris's people have been, but Kris hasn't actually talked to her since everything went pear-shaped.
It's a good conversation, even though Kris obviously woke her up, and putting down the phone with a meeting planned two weeks from now, Kris feels so much better. He knows he's in for a lot of grief, posturing, and possibly threats from the record company, but somehow that doesn't worry him. He's been down at the very bottom - the only place to go from here is up.
He takes his breakfast out on the back porch and allows himself to enjoy the morning before making the hardest call of all. He hasn't talked to Katy since the divorce; he knows through his mom that she's back in Arkansas and doing fine, but he still expects the conversation to be beyond awkward. Unfortunately, the sunshine, the chirping birds and the bright spots of flowers in the flower beds do nothing to calm his nerves and he abandons his breakfast halfway through, grabbing his phone with clammy fingers.
Katy picks up after the third ring and hearing her voice is such a shock that Kris forgets he's supposed to say something.
"Kris?" she asks.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'm here."
He can almost hear her smiling, and something in his chest unclenches.
"How are you?" he asks, picking idly at a loose thread on his jeans.
"I've been better," she says, voice soft and low. "I don't know… I guess it's hard sometimes. I spent so many years loving you that I can't figure out how to even look at someone new."
Kris swallows. It's difficult to deal with the fact that he checked out of their marriage so long before she did. He loved her, he wanted it to work somehow, but in his heart he had already moved on.
"I'm sorry," he says, even though it's woefully inadequate.
She sighs. "I know you are," she says. "It doesn't make me feel better, but I know you didn't want it to end like this."
Kris doesn't answer, he looks out over the garden instead. There are so many things he would like to say to Katy, but he doesn't know where to start, or if he even should say them at all.
"How's Adam?" Katy asks, after a while.
"He's good," Kris answers. "He's in New York right now."
"Are you… I mean… I kinda thought with the divorce that you would…" Katy breaks off with a shaky sigh. "It's okay, I mean… It's okay if you are…"
"We're not a couple," Kris says, breathing out with a whoosh. "But I think… hope… that maybe with time we will be."
"I'm happy for you," Katy says weakly and Kris wonders how much it cost her to say that.
"You don't have to be," Kris says. "And if we ever come out as a couple the media will probably be pretty rough for you and I just want you to know that…" He takes a deep breath. "I really did love you, and I wanted it to work. It was never about being with you so I wouldn't have to be gay."
"I know." Katy sounds sad, almost wistful. "Part of me will probably always wish it turned out differently but I think we did the right thing. It wasn't just you and it wasn't just Adam, it was a million little things, you know?"
"Yeah," Kris murmurs. "Yeah, I do know."
They talk for a few more minutes before Kris lets her go with a promise to call again. He feels empty when he puts the phone down, and he wonders what she would say if she really knew.
It wasn't just Adam, and it was just a million little things. It was also Kris, and too many beers on too little sleep, and a man with fire in his pretty brown eyes. It was rushed and rough and over within an hour, but the bruises stayed for days and the guilt will stay forever. There's nothing to gain from telling her now, except maybe penance for his sins, but he can't do that to her. He's not sure he can even do it to himself.
The call leaves him in an odd mood and he spends the rest of the morning plucking out melancholy melodies on his guitar. He doesn't know if they'll ever make it into songs, but playing makes him feel better.
He has lunch at the kitchen table and then brings his guitar outside again. This time a song starts to come to him and when he takes a break, hours later, it's getting dark and he has five missed calls from Adam. He was so lost in his work, jotting down notes and strumming the melody that he didn't even hear the phone.
He grabs a snack from the kitchen and then calls Adam. He picks up after the first ring, sounding kind of breathless.
"What the actual fuck, Kris?" he demands by way of greeting.
Kris blinks, looking up at the dark sky. "Hello to you too."
Adam breathes out, his exhale whooshing over the microphone and Kris smiles. "You can't not pick up when I call," Adam says, sounding a little less angry. "I have a very active imagination."
"Over active," Kris corrects absently. It probably makes him an asshole but he likes that Adam worries.
"Whatever," Adam says and Kris knows him well enough to know he's smiling. "So how are you doing?"
"I'm good," Kris says, stretching his legs out before him. "The house's kinda empty without you."
"Your life is kinda empty without me," Adam responds and even though it's a joke, it's kind of sad how true it is.
"Yeah," Kris admits softly. "Yeah, it is."
Adam doesn't say anything for a few moments and Kris lets his eyes slip shut, listening to the sound of Adam moving around.
"I…" Adam starts but then he breaks off. "We'll talk when I get home, okay?"
"Okay," Kris says, blinking his eyes open again. "Want me to pick you up at the airport?"
Adam hesitates for a moment. "No, we've got a car arranged."
"Cool."
Kris stretches and yawns, glancing at the clock. It's getting late.
"So what were you doing when you didn't pick up the phone?" Adam asks and there's a nuance of something in his voice that Kris can't interpret. It's disconcerting; he knows enough of Adam's nuances to write a thesis about them.
"Messing around with my guitar," Kris answers, shrugging even though Adam can't see it. He's not ready to call it a song, but he thinks that maybe he's getting there.
"Yeah?" Adam sounds hopeful, as if he thinks it means more than it does, but then maybe it does mean more, it's been forever since Kris played with any kind of intent.
"Yeah," Kris answers.
"So… Did you write something?"
Kris makes a face, of course Adam would ask. "I don't know," he says. "I mean… I do know that I wrote something. I just don't know if it's any good."
"Play it for me?"
Kris is going to say no, he really is, but the thing with Adam is that he always gets his way in the end and maybe he kind of wants to play it for Adam even if he's not ready to admit it.
"It's not finished," he warns, but he's already reaching for the guitar, hitting the speaker on the phone and putting it on the table.
He plays the intro three times before he finally finds courage enough to form the words. The lyrics come slowly and his voice breaks here and there, but despite the melancholy haunting edge it's so obviously a love song and too obviously about Adam.
When he finishes, his fingers tremble against the strings and his heart bangs hard enough against his ribcage to make him feel dizzy. Adam isn't talking and for every moment of silence Kris's heart sinks lower in his chest. He thought that Adam knew. God knows that Kris can't keep his emotions off his face.
"Kris," Adam starts and his voice is soft, the kind of soft it only gets when he's about to tell Kris something he doesn’t want to hear.
Kris doesn’t even realize what he's doing until his hand is scrabbling over the table, and he disconnects the call with his heart lodged in his throat. Adam calls right back, of course, but Kris doesn't pick up. He just sits there and stares at Adam's face flashing across the screen. The call goes to voicemail and so do the three calls after that until Kris turns his phone off.
Then he just sits there, staring into the garden with a blush staining his cheeks. He doesn't know what to do with himself. Somehow being here, surrounded by all of Adam's things, sleeping in his goddamned bed, he forgot there was a reason they never talked about this. Kris can handle a lot of things, has handled a lot of things, but he doesn't know if he can handle Adam rejecting him.
It takes forever but he manages to get up from the chair, bringing his guitar and the dishes inside. He leans the guitar against the wall and puts the dishes into the dishwasher; then he just stands there staring at the shiny surface of the countertop, heart beating too fast and too loud. He knows that Adam loves him and he knows that somehow they will move past this. It will hurt and it will suck and it will be like getting divorced all over again only ten times more painful, but he will survive it.
The problem is that he doesn't think he'll ever get over Adam. He never felt like this about anyone before, not even Katy, and even thinking about moving on makes him feel breathless and panicked. This is why he never told Adam, because living with his stupid tangled-up too-intense feelings was bearable as long as he could pretend that someday they would be real - maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but some day far off in the future well beyond the horizon. Adam rejecting him would shut the door on that option, and maybe it would be better if he just left.
He's still thinking about it when the doorbell rings, nearly startling him out of his skin. He glances at his watch, it's 2 AM. He doesn't make any move to open it, yet he's not surprised when Brad's voice rings out through the house.
"Hello, hello, anybody home?"
Kris forces himself to let go of the counter, turning around to lean against it. "In the kitchen."
Brad swaggers in as if he owns the place, dressed in skin-tight bright purple jeans and a glittery top with downy feathers around the neckline. For someone who was obviously just pulled out of a club, he looks cheerful.
"There you are, sugar," he says, pulling the words out in a hilarious drawl. "You put his royal highness into quite a mood."
Kris rolls his eyes and shrugs, but his hands are getting sweaty. Brad tuts, shaking his head as if Kris is an errant child, and worms his phone out of his pocket with a hip shimmy that's probably illegal in some states. He taps the screen a couple of times and then lifts his phone to his ear, Kris doesn't ask who he's calling. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out.
"He's alive," Brad says into the phone, grinning at Kris as if he's mighty proud of him for that accomplishment.
He listens for half a second and then holds the phone out for Kris. Kris shakes his head. He doesn't want Adam to chew him out again.
"If you don't take it, I will sit on you and force you to talk to him," Brad says, the steel in his words belying his easy smile. "And I had beans for lunch."
Kris manages a half hearted smile and reaches out for the phone, hoping that Brad doesn't notice the tremor of his fingers. He brings the phone to his ear, looking anywhere but Brad.
"Hi," he says.
"Jesus fucking CHRIST on a fucking STICK you fucking ASSHOLE," Adam shouts and Kris pulls the phone away from his ear, giving Brad a pleading look.
Brad shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Sorry," Kris mumbles, turning his back on Brad because he's not sure he wants anyone to be able to read his facial expressions right now, least of all Adam's ex boyfriend.
"What were you thinking, Kris? Jesus FUCK."
Kris winces, flattening his free hand against the countertop. The stone is smooth and cold against his palm and he focuses on that instead of the hot flush of his cheeks and the churn of his stomach.
"Sorry," he says again, empty and pointless.
"You can't keep doing this to me," Adam says. "You can't."
"Sorry," he whispers, biting down hard on his lower lip. "I'll be gone when you get home."
"No, Kris, that's not what I…"
"Sorry," Kris says again and disconnects the call.
He hands the phone back to Brad. If Brad wants him to talk to Adam again, he will have to sit on him.
"Kris?" Brad asks, sounding uneasy, but Kris pushes past him, heading upstairs.
"Come on," Brad says, following after him. "He was just upset. You scared him."
Kris ignores him, pulling his bag out of the closet and tossing things into it in a haphazard mess. He doesn't care that it's the middle of the night. He has to get out. Away.
"You're going to break his heart," Brad says from the doorway.
"He'll get over it," Kris says harshly, throwing a handful of shirts into the bag. They spill over the edge, and one of them rolls out on the bed. Kris picks it up and forces it to stay on top of the pile.
"Fuck," Brad says, crossing the floor to wrap his arms around Kris from behind. "You don't want to do this."
"Yes, I do," Kris says, trying to shrug out of the embrace, but Brad is surprisingly strong for his size.
"No, you don't," Brad responds, tightening his hold enough that Kris can't breathe.
"I have to," Kris says, trying to flatten the pile enough that he can close the bag.
Brad smells of alcohol and some kind of lemony aftershave. Kris wonders when that smell became familiar.
"I don't know what to do anymore," he whispers, blinking rapidly. "Whatever I do, I end up hurting him and I just want…"
"To run away?" Brad asks. "Stick your head in the sand? You'll have to face him eventually."
"Not if I stay away," Kris mutters, trying to break free of the embrace with renewed vigor.
Brad lets go so suddenly that Kris stumbles forward, falling onto the bed with flailing arms. The edge of the bag catches his mouth and he rolls to the side with a pained sound, blood spilling down his chin.
"Oh fuck," Brad says, eyes wide as saucers.
Kris blinks against the tears that well up and runs his tongue over his teeth to see that they're all still in place. They are, but his mouth tastes like copper and when he raises his fingers to prod at his lips they come away sticky with blood.
"Shit," Brad says, color draining from his face and Kris wonders if he's going to faint.
Kris doesn't want to run away anymore, he's tired and miserable and his mouth hurts. Brad finally jerks out of his stupor and pulls Kris up from the bed, tugging him into the bathroom.
"Sit," he says, pointing at the toilet and Kris gratefully sinks down on it.
Brad runs a towel under the tap and gives it to Kris, making him press the cold terrycloth against his split lip.
"I'm sorry about that," Brad says, still looking queasy.
"It's okay," Kris mumbles into the towel. At least the pain served to clear his head. Brad's right, running away won't do him any good. He'd just end up in a motel room somewhere and next thing he'd be calling the agency, throwing himself back into a loop of meaningless sex and self-hatred.
"Adam's gonna kill me," Brad says, eyes opening wide.
Kris manages half a smile. It feels funny because his lip is already swelling. "We'll say I ran into a door."
As if on cue Brad's phone starts ringing and he shimmies it out of his pocket again, giving Kris a panicked look. Kris rolls his eyes at him. Brad is clearly overreacting.
"Adam? Hey," Brad says, sounding way too cheerful. "How are you?"
Kris rolls his eyes again, this time so hard he feels dizzy and Brad's face falls.
"Of course he's fine. Why wouldn’t he be fine?"
Brad fidgets, pulling at his glittery top.
"No, he's right here."
Brad winds the hem of his shirt around his fingers and Kris stares at the narrow strip of hair leading down into his pants. For some reason he figured Brad to be the type to wax.
"It's not my fault he doesn't want to talk to you," Brad whines. "Well, I don't know why."
Brad looks up. "Why don't you want to talk to Adam?"
Kris shrugs, tearing his eyes away from Brad's stomach with a flush. "I just don't," he says into the towel, not caring if he sounds like he's five.
"Adam wants to talk to you," Brad says, holding the phone out with a hopeful look.
Kris sighs and takes it. He can always hang up again. "Yeah," he mutters, pulling the towel away for a moment.
"Just hear me out this time," Adam says. "Okay?"
Kris hums in agreement, staring down at the floor by his feet. He didn't notice Brad's golden boots before; they're really kind of awesome.
"I love you," Adam says.
Kris waits for Adam to continue, but he doesn't.
"Is that all?" Kris asks when the silence stretches out, unable to keep from grinning. It hurts, and he's pretty sure his lip starts bleeding again.
"Well," Adam says. "I was planning on my speech being a lot longer than that, but I didn't want you to hang up again."
Kris chuckles and squeezes his eyes shut. "Just come home, Adam," he says softly. "Just come home."
He doesn't know what will happen when Adam comes home, but anything is better than this forced separation. He glances up to find Brad smiling at him with this weird look on his face that Kris can't place.
"Your lip's bleeding again," Brad whispers, or tries to whisper, the amount of alcohol in his system and the awesome acoustics of the bathroom conspire against him.
"Why's your lip bleeding?" Adam asks, clearly alarmed.
"Uhh…" Kris says, staring wide-eyed at Brad. "I walked into a door?"
He dabs at his lip with the towel and winces.
"Put Brad on again," Adam says. "I want to have a word with him."
Kris mouths ‘sorry’ at Brad as he hands the phone back, making a vague gesture towards the bedroom. "I'm gonna unpack my bag," he says, failing as much as Brad when it comes to whispering.
He flinches at Adam's falsetto What bag? that's loud enough to be heard even though Brad has the phone against his ear. Brad gives him an uncharitable look and waves him away.
It takes a lot longer to move everything back to its rightful place than it took to throw it into the bag and when Kris is finally finished the clock radio by the bed boasts 4AM and Brad's watching him from the door to the bathroom.
"You should wash your face," Brad says. "You look like an extra from a vampire movie."
Kris nods, but sits down on the edge of the bed instead of heading for the bathroom. His mind is reeling, confused thoughts playing a game of chase that has no rules. Brad sighs and comes over to sit next to him, slinging an arm across Kris's shoulders.
"Fucking things up with Adam is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done," Brad says. "Don't make that mistake."
Kris wants to say that he's not planning on it, but then he didn't plan on getting divorced either and that worked out well for him. He sighs, letting his head hang down between his shoulders. He thought he was making progress but maybe he's just been treading water all this time.
"I thought I'd be with Katy forever," he says, staring down on his hands. There are speckles of drying blood on his fingers, making him look as if he got into a bar fight.
"Forever is a very long time," Brad says, fingers tight on Kris's shoulder.
Kris shakes his head, Brad just doesn't get it. "I thought I'd be with her forever and then one morning I woke up and realized I’d completely checked out of our marriage. What kind of person does that make me?"
"The human kind," Brad says kindly.
Kris looks up at him and Brad stares back until Kris feels as if Brad can see into his soul, stripping away all his layers and leaving him bare. He wants to tell Brad, wants to tell him what he did, but maybe he doesn't have to. Maybe Brad can read between the lines and see that Kris did more than just check out emotionally. Maybe he doesn't care.
"People fuck up," Brad says. "That's how life goes and the only thing you can really do about it is to take a deep breath, close your eyes and try again."
Kris tears his eyes away, letting them flit about the room. "What if I fuck up again?" he asks. "What if I can't make it work? What if I wake up one morning and realize I'm not even there?"
"What if you walk away from the best thing to ever happen to you just because you're scared? What if you'll never feel this way about anyone ever again and you just let it go? What if it's really your happily ever after but you're too chicken shit to let it in? We could do this all fucking night, Kris, but when push comes to shove the only thing that matters is can you really let him go?"
Kris's heart pounds against his ribcage, blood singing in his ears. "I don't know," he whispers. "I really don't know."
"Well, maybe you ought to figure that out."
Brad sounds about as tired as Kris feels and Kris carefully shrugs his arm off his shoulders. "I'm gonna wash my face," he says and pushes himself up from the bed.
The emotional roller coaster of the last few days has him feeling empty, as if all of the emotion was drained out of him with the last crazy loop, and now he's just an empty shell. Maybe he needs time and space to sort himself out. More time than the few hours remaining until morning, more space than he'll ever get curled up between Adam's sheets.
Brad is asleep when Kris comes back out of the bathroom, body splayed over the bed. Kris watches him for the longest time, before silently walking out of the room. He heads downstairs and takes a seat on the couch to wait. He doesn't know exactly when Adam gets home, but it doesn't matter; he'll wait as long as he has to.
[Next!]