fic: disneyland is about to close (nc-17) (kratt)
Title: Disneyland Is About To Close
Author: JM
Pairing: Kratt (Kris/Matt)
Rating: NC-17
A/N(s): I've never written any Idol fiction outside of Cake, so please be gentle. Just filling in a few requests on the Idol Porn Meme, this one by chrisrichfan . This isn't beta'd so forgive any mistakes.
Prompt - What happens when the wife is away, and the best friend is here to stay? A little more beers later... Things start to heat up.
Title taken from "Red Vines" by Aimee Mann
If it were an hour ago, he'd be in the lobby, evaporating in joy behind the cheap piano that no one plays because it's old and out of tune. The same song plays recurring ebony and ivory keys in his head but he's okay with that. He's okay dissolving some of his boredom from rehearsal after rehearsal, fittings and mic checks and dance routines that he's hoping don't look too cheesy on stage.
Soft knocking at his hotel door pulls him from his daze, crooked smile colliding across his lips. He sighs quietly, still considering that offer from Allison and Adam to catch a late movie. It seems to fade when the door eases open, fluffy red lips supporting a half-dizzy smile that chases down his own.
There's two six-packs in Kris' outstretched hands, flannel shirt already partially unbuttoned with those thick eyebrows cocked upward and chocolate eyes wild with life. He's almost leaning in the door, quiet politeness awaiting some kind of invite as if this wasn't his plan: his getaway-from-it-all because, as free as he is, he's still getting used to this Idol thing. This unspoken burden.
"Genuine or Bud Light?"
"Beer?"
"Nothing wrong with relaxing with a man's drink, right? I kinda need it Matt."
Matt eases back on his heels, brow raising. He catches the way Kris bites down on his bottom lip, contemplative over his silence. It draws up a smile on Matt's lips, shaking his head.
"Where's Anoop?" Matt wonders, unconsciously playing a Bob Dylan tune across the side of his gray sweat pants, watching Kris rock on his heels from his position still outside of the room.
"Think he decided to ditch us for some 'Megan Time,'" Kris replies. Matt nods, quiet snicker brushing his lips when Kris shrugs with a grin.
"Guess that means you're stuck with the real bore of the bunch, right man?" Matt asks, stepping aside. His quiet gesture is enough for Kris to ease inside the room, bopping toward Mat's bed before plopping down.
"Oh, come on. You can play host and entertainment," Kris jokes, snatching a beer from one of the cases. He's popping the cap and folding his legs before Matt manages to shut the door.
Matt chuckles, yanking up an old white T-shirt and draping it over his bent arm like a maître d'. "Well sir, will you be having the seared chicken with your beer tonight?"
Kris throws a hand over his mouth, laughing into it as Matt bends over in his own uncontrolled laughter. They're sharing quick glances between snickers, heads shaking, tension worn away, freedom inhaled in.
Matt catches Kris glancing at his cell phone, thumbing through it, thoughts heavy across his brow. He tilts his head before easing down onto the bed, edging up to the headboard while Kris settles into his spot on the corner.
"Haven't had much time to talk to her?"
Kris looks up, startled but it fades quickly. "Not really. It's all good. She understands."
"They always have to," Matt concedes, rubbing at the edge of his nose. He slouches against the headboard, pulling up a pillow to hug. "The loved ones always do. I mean, seriously, it's what this damn business is about. Emotion."
"And paradise just got so much happier because Matt's talking philosophy."
Matt struggles with a grin, eyes squinted at Kris. Tangerine warmth crosses him when Kris laughs in that silly manner again, helplessly adorable to most and so far from contrived.
"You've got jokes," Matt snorts, fingers pulling through his hair. "But I'm for real. I wax the truth, Kris."
"Yeah, well, they don't always understand," Kris remarks, washed out sigh leaving his lips. "Some days she just doesn't feel like talking because, you know, it's hard. As irrelevant as it may be, she just wants a day where it's not there."
"'s not irrelevant. It's realistic."
Kris nods, sipping on his beer. He looks at his phone again, Matt watching the way eyes burn holes through the blank screen. He feels his own throat constrict when Kris takes a big swallow of his beer this time, careless toss of his phone toward Matt.
"Freedom tonight my brother. No cares, no worries, no Idol-ness," Kris declares, toasting his beer in Matt's direction.
"Is that a word?" Matt wonders, lips twisted sideways.
Kris groans before tossing Matt a beer, exaggerated expressions and gestures silencing Matt momentarily.
Matt struggles with the cap as Kris downs the last of his, using the back of his hand to wipe away the slick sheen that brings Matt's attention to soft lips for a minute. He shakes his head, damning himself because, yeah, the fuck is he thinking about Kris Allen's lips for? Maybe it's been too long since he enjoyed himself in the company of anyone else besides Danny or Anoop or Allison or someone related to this Idol thing. The connection with Kris seemed to be a completely different entity that, in itself, felt more organic and less brought about by this fabricated connection with everyone else.
"Here's to it man," Matt finally says, saluting Kris with his beer as Kris opens another. Kris is nodding, smile larger than the Big Top Circus. Matt sips lightly while Kris chugs, falls back into those days when it didn't matter. Matt does his best to keep up.
***
"Ninety-nine bottles of... er, ninety-eight... Wait, what number was I on?"
Matt grins, swirling the contents of his third beer in the bottle. He tilts his head to look at Kris outstretched on the bed now, crooked starfish with his eyes on the ceiling and five empty bottles scattered around him on the bed. Matt's not even bothering to glance toward the ground to see how many bottles have joined that pack.
"Eighty-two?" Matt offers, nudging Kris with a foot when the other man giggles. "Not that I was keeping count."
"Right, right. I thought I got further," Kris says, a hiccup accompanying his giggle this time. He's waving his arms and legs, a kid creating snow angels in the snow, trying to find a comfortable resting point.
"So then why would you be on ninety-eight?" Matt asks, containing his own laughter behind his teeth.
"I don't know."
"Of course not," Matt says, finally cracking a small laugh. He takes a sip of his beer, face pinching at the warm taste. It's bitter against his lips.
There's a beeping, has been for the past half-hour that finally clicks, makes more noise, then fades away. Matt glances downward, swirling half-swallowed beer in his mouth, tasting it against the back of his teeth. It's Kris' phone, lifeless now.
"Shit, dude, it finally kicked the bucket," Kris remarks, rolling onto his side, somehow uncomfortably positioned on Matt's shins. His head is sort of propped on his hand, giggly eyes disproportioned with his downward frown. "What am I going to do if she calls?"
"You could always go back to your room and charge your phone," Matt remarks.
"Comfortable here," Kris sighs, almost curling around Matt's legs. "Plus I don't think walking more than teen feet in my condition is legal."
"Bro, you're hammered from drinking beer. What kind of life do you people lead in Arkansas?" Matt teases, unmoved by Kris' body resting on his legs. He doesn't run from it, finds a moment of uncertainty that grabs him, but it's dusted away anytime Kris looks up with eyes flickering words of tranquility. It's as if Kris needs it - comfort, warmth, tension dead and life wondrous again.
"Adam would freak right now. We have a 'friends without touches' rule going. It's stupid," Kris remarks, lazy smile. "And Danny would too because he's certain he's my best friend. He's sort of certain of a lot of things he's wrong about."
Matt snorts, nods. He lets Kris ease his head down on folded arms that are resting on Matt's thighs. Maybe three beers catches him off guard because at some point, while Kris is babbling on and on about the other Idols, he's petting Kris' head, comforting in another way.
"And Alli says she can't choose between Adam and I but, secretly, I know. The girl loves her Lambert," Kris remarks, words slowing some. "Which leaves you."
Matt quirks an eyebrow, pulls his hand away from Kris' head because it feels weird now, almost too much. Then Kris is lifting his head, eyes something like a car skidding in sleet on Michigan roads. Matt raises his brow, waits for it.
"Definitely my best friend here, man. I know Anoop's probably yours but, it's crazy, how I feel at home with you. Like we're the ones that do it just because," Kris declares, words clearer than early morning skies.
Matt's nodding, figuring words that just won't come because Kris is descending back down, fallen angel with mercy in his eyes for Matt's silence.
"You're something else Kris Allen," Matt whispers, foiled by Kris' grin and the way his face scrunches. "Something else."
***
When Kris eases off of Matt's legs to click off the light in the room, Matt assumes it's to sleep. The pad of a thumb across his bottom lip in the darkened room create patterns of a different tune in his head.
He can barely see Kris' eyes now but he doesn't need to. The touches say it all. The way Kris seems to be straddled in his lap, fingers probably prickling with the scrub of hairs along Matt's cheeks. Matt's unconsciously unbuttoning Kris' shirt before their lips first touch, Kris initiating it. They're soft, plush velvet like pillows. Matt can't help the way he keeps straining to reach up, feel them again and again until neither is resisting it.
Matt tastes beer against the roof of Kris' mouth when his tongue first enters. Kris' fingers are on his neck and shoulders now, balancing himself as Matt sweeps beneath the open shirt to trace his fingers along Kris' curved spine. The kisses almost seem pornographic, all the smacking and tongues and head movements. It cools, chills like ice in champagne when Matt gets Kris' shirt off. His thumb sweeps over a nipple, body shivering when Kris bites down on his bottom lip, tugs.
Fumbling is introduced to the melody as they roll around on the bed for a moment. Bottles clink, fall, Matt praying they don't break. He's got Kris on his side, still kissing any inch of Kris' face he can reach. He's almost breathless when Kris' fingers mold over his bare skin, his shirt lost somewhere.
"Kiss me," Kris pants, lower halves pressed firmly together. Matt loves that burn, that strong ache with every rub.
"Don't say it twice," Matt insists, dipping in, taking Kris' lips. He grins with another kiss when Kris' hands grip his face, hold him there. He sucks on the tip of Kris' tongue, wonders how long it's been since Kris let go like that.
Jeans unbuttoned, unzipped, starting to shimmy down until they're trapped around Kris' thighs. Matt on his back now, teeth carving his name into the side of Kris' neck. Piano keys, he sees piano keys while playing along Kris' ribs, down his back. He's creating a ballad, slow, striking melodies around the small of Kris' back, dipping beneath boxer-briefs.
"Oh." Matt knows Kris can't see the blush across his cheeks when Kris gasps, realizes Matt's not wearing anything beneath those baggy sweat pants. He growls when Kris' fingers feel the wiry brown pubes, thumb careful about dipping lower to feel that straining erection.
"Lips," Matt pleads, trying to silence his own groans as Kris twists a nipple between index and thumb.
Their kisses are wet dream worthy. Matt's licking at Kris' bottom lip, sucking it, trying to memorize every soft piece of tissue. Kris is grinding down, humping, and Matt knows it probably feels even better the moment he slides Kris' briefs down to tangle with his jeans.
He's never had a cock, besides his own, against his stomach before. Never felt the way it throbs, drips, makes him excited with a heady drunkenness. It's a curiosity that brings his hand down, palming the tip, grabbing it.
"Shit."
He grins, loves the heavy panting in his ear as he strokes Kris, tilting his head backward and to the side, catching Kris' lips again. He shakes into the kiss, legs almost tangling around Kris' hips the moment the other man grabs his erection, hand buried in Matt's sweats.
Teeth nipping at Kris' chin, tongue reaching up to lick at Kris' bottom lip again, trying to lick away any remains of beer. His strokes are fast, unrelenting while Kris is gentle, technical with Matt's cock.
"Oh Kris. Kris, man, I..."
"Mmm," Kris moans, kisses away stuttered words from Matt's lips.
They're rolling, rumbling, trying not to tangle in sheets as Kris licks his palm, wets it. Matt bites down on his own bottom lip when that slick hand grips him, tugs on his cock. His body is warm, brow slick with sweat and he wants to blame the alcohol. God knows he hopes the alcohol is doing all of this.
"Oh, not so fast."
"I like it fast."
A snort and Matt's eyes are rolling to the back of his head when everything speeds up below his waist.
"I like it hard. Slow and hard."
Matt grins, complies for a few minutes, letting Kris' tongue play at the seam of his lips.
Kris' fingers dragging down his back, probably leaving red marks, breath wet against Matt's neck as he thumbs around the wet head of Kris' dick. He swallows, once, twice, tries to remember his own name when he looks down, pieces together Kris' crumpled face.
"Close?"
"Oh.. Oh you have no idea. Keep playing with the..." Matt already knows, rubbing the underside, and Kris is nodding, practically whining.
It's like a good slow jam, cymbals and snare drum with keyboards and 808's. His lips are running along Kris' chin, down his Adam's apple, around the side, over collarbone and, salty good, back up again. Kris has pulled down the front of his sweats, pulling on the foreskin, licking his fingers again before stroking Matt. He's keeping that wet friction that Matt loves, usually wants from a pair of lips and a tongue.
He thinks about it, how it'd be. He could probably suck Kris, thinks there's enough alcohol between the both of them to fuel that kind of act. It's all in the biology, the way the chemistry fizzles. The way Kris sounds, nothing like when he's just talking but more like when he's singing.
"Can't hold out."
"I think I want to taste it," Matt whispers and it probably doesn't have a chance to fully register before Kris' fingers are digging into his forearm, body quaking. Matt grins, sideways and proud when that hot liquid coats his fingers, right along Kris' stomach. It keeps going and Kris can't stop mumbling. It's been too long, Matt knows.
Kris is drained but he's still talking, still encouraging. When Matt goes to finish himself, tries to roll away, Kris won't let him. Kris pulls on his balls, holds the base while Matt strokes the tip. Their eyes are trying to meet in the dark and, hollowing his chest of all breath, Matt can't take it.
"On me. It's all right bro."
Matt's swallowing, constant, trying to rid himself of that dryness. He can see Kris nodding, wanting it. Squeezing his balls, thumb rubbing the underside along the vein of Matt's cock.
He's grunting, hard like he does when it's good. And this is good, damn good. It's amazing, the way his body tingles when he comes. He's striping Kris' stomach and chest, unaware his body has this much to give. He's too sensitive when Kris tries to pull more out, giggling and gasping for breath. He's awestricken when Kris lifts his fingers, licks away the remaining drops like it's that beer he was nursing earlier. And there's nothing wrong with it, not now.
***
Their naked, beneath the sheets, Matt holding Kris. He's mouthing along Kris' shoulder, letting the other man sleep quietly. He's still being comforting, playing out scenarios in his head. It doesn't matter which way it goes. He knows better. He knows it's like a good song - the world falls away for those few minutes and everything is about that emotion.
He knows it's this kind of change that makes the best friend even more important.