You Can Have Me
Title: You Can Have Me
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Word count: 2650
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst
Summary: The big picture isn't so pretty.
Disclaimer: Pure imagination. No disrespect intended.
Author's note: Grateful hugs to anya7lee and morganlight for the tea and sympathy.
You Can Have Me
They shower together first, their ritual, but the outside world sticks stubbornly to Adam’s skin. A masklike layer, thicker than any coat of makeup, too thick for his determined smile to crack. He can only envy Kris’s trick of turning permeable instantly.
“Adam,” Kris sighs appreciatively, Adammm, tough little whipcord body pliant in his arms. Over the past year, Adam has watched Kris whittle himself down to angles and muscle. Trying to disappear, he thinks, and you don’t even realize it.
Oblivious, saturated with the here and now, Kris arches into the press of Adam's fingertips and takes out his pleasure on the bruisable hollow of Adam's neck. You could stay there forever. You could escape into me. “Kris, not where it’ll show.”
“I know just the place.”
Water runs into Adam’s eyes, stinging with liner he applied on the other side of the Atlantic. The gritty illusion of two a.m. in the afternoon holds. Block it out. Be present for this. Right in front of him, real, is the image he takes to bed every night: Kris on his knees, glancing up through beaded lashes to gauge the success of his offering. The more Kris enjoys what he's doing, the more innocent he looks. Sucking Adam’s cock, he’s angelic. Adam strokes his smooth cheek and finally catches a glimpse of himself, Kris’s Adam, the Adam he misplaced on some Paris sidewalk. He can do it, he can come--become--with a long-held breath and a pearly splash on Kris’s parted lips, quickly washed away.
“Back where we started, huh,” Kris says from under the towel as Adam fluffs his damp hair. Adam flashes on their early roommate days. His beauty arsenal crowding their bathroom counter, Kris poking around and reading labels, intrigued rather than bemused. “Wow, I don’t have this many things in my fridge.” Adam halfway to adoring him already. “You really are curious, aren’t you? Your wife must love that.”
“Full circle,” Kris continues. He taps Adam’s thumb, mischievous. “You should’ve worn your special ring. No pun intended.”
Wrong memory, then. This one starts with the two of them backstage at the Prudential Center, alone in the dressing room. Kris, shirt half-buttoned, sidling up to the mirror and asking conspiratorially, “Do you have condoms?”
Adam managed not to poke himself in the eye with the kohl pencil, but the dash of Point Black went astray. “Yes,” he answered, matter-of-fact. He reached for a cotton swab and did a passable repair. We’re going to, how do I buy that stuff now that I might get recognized at the drugstore, look at him, look at us.
“Cool, I thought I might have to borrow some from Matt. I mean, I would’ve, but-- ”
Adam said unthinkingly, “I bet his are ribbed,” and they traded a snickering fit back and forth like an ice cream cone for five minutes.
Later, in yet another bathroom, Kris scrawled their initials on the fogged mirror, big exuberant letters for Adam to enclose in an even bigger heart, a private island for KA and AL. The two kids from American Idol, playing secret rendezvous. In the spirit of Truth or Dare, Adam confessed, “It’s incredibly hot to me that you haven’t done this before.”
“So when we’re finished, you won’t want my non-virgin ass anymore?”
“Only every day and twice on Sundays, Kris.” More giddiness, anticipation peaking. The distant bustle of the city conspiring with them, cozy as rain on the roof.
“You’re so quiet,” Kris said wondering, as though he’d just made his biggest discovery of the night. And how new was the rest, really, when they’d never had any use for boundaries? With the last one crossed, Adam could feel Kris’s heartbeat pumping in him like a heavy bass line. Could breathe his confessions against Kris’s mouth. “I don’t want to miss anything.”
Kris steals the towel and returns the favor. “It’s gotten so long,” he says, patting Adam’s wobbly spikes. “You look so good.”
Adam suppresses the petulant urge to argue that he looks like crap. He turns away from his own reflection, brooding eyes and blurred liner, the walk of shame personified. The self-pity doesn’t flatter him, either.
“You tired, babe?”
“Nah, I got some sleep on the plane. Thank you, whiskey and soda.”
Kris hugs him, spontaneous and glad. “We can just lounge around in the fancy bathrobes, pretend to be rock stars. It’s fine if you’re not in the mood.”
Always. But first Adam wouldn’t mind doing something really daring, something they’ve never tried before. Go for a walk, maybe, or sit in a café. “Of course I’m in the mood. I haven’t gotten laid in three months.” Fuck, he didn’t mean to sound so bitchy. Atoning, he lifts Kris’s sharp little chin for a kiss. “I can’t wait to treat you like the rock star you are.”
The open curtains frame a rock-star view. A New York City panorama, lighting up in bands and squares as a hazy blue sky dissolves into a modest sunset. Inside Adam’s head, the big picture is smaller. Thirty-six hours in this silk-cushioned hideaway, then Kris flies home to an Arkansas winter and Adam boards a plane for L.A., where they could be warm year-round. Thirty-six hours, minus the hour or so since he arrived.
Block it out. He focuses in on Kris, loose-sprawled and squirming at the brush of Adam’s bangs as Adam marks a path down his spine with kisses. It’s a short detour to half a dozen ticklish spots, to teasing, but Adam isn’t tempted. Not when he’s almost there.
He knows exactly how many times they’ve gone to bed together. The total’s that low, the counter clicking at long intervals. Kris, made to be held and held down and loved, shivers with need whenever Adam spreads him. This time he actually cries out. Delicious. “Eye-fucking is just a figure of speech, Kris.”
“Not the way you do it,” Kris says strained, and sex adrenaline floods Adam’s veins, pure and uncut, not the harmless stuff he’s used to mainlining onstage.
“Like this?” He moves in for the closeup, so close that his breath skims Kris’s exposed cleft. He projects his concentration the way he projects his voice, gives Kris the full force of that heated, seeking energy. Holds him apart and takes him apart with suspense. You think instant gratification should take an hour, Kris once accused. Guilty.
Kris cries out again at the first touch of his tongue. Just the tip, penetrating briefly before flicking around the rim. “Like this?” Without waiting for an answer, he uses his thumbs, stretching that chastely tight, secret hole. His lips seal the opening he’s made, a lusty tribute of a kiss. And then he goes to work, darting licks inside, delicately pointed arrows pinning Kris to the mattress and making him writhe, wet. Kris can come like this, if he adds his fingers. “Do you want to, baby?” he pauses to ask. Kris takes about ten panting seconds to say, “Not yet.”
Adam wants. He wants everything his plunging cock can’t appreciate. “It’s OK, I’ll stop . . . ” One finger slips right in. A second takes some coaxing, his tongue probing alongside, easing the way. He’s painfully hard, but still he wants, because sex is worship and you don’t worship from a distance, you kneel at the altar with all your senses yearning. Kris’s devout fuck means yes, please, yes.
But no, not yet. “It’s OK,” Adam says again, over the noisy blood-rush in his own ears. He kneads the solid curves of Kris’s ass, bringing them both down, before patting around the sheets for the lube. “Three months,” he counters Kris’s bucking impatience. But his fingers are sliding gorgeously, frictionless, and, well, three months.
Hearing the familiar crinkle of plastic, Kris raises his head in instinctive protest. “Let’s not use a condom. Please.”
“Kris-- ”
“There’s no reason why we have to wait. Is there?”
It’s a symbol of commitment, one they haven’t earned yet. Adam thought they were agreed on that. Unless Kris is implying-- “Are you seriously asking me-- ”
Kris struggles up on one elbow. “No. No, shit. I know you wouldn’t, I know you’re faithful to me.”
Adam’s precarious mood is going to wreck this if he lets it get away from him. He runs his thumb over and over the glossy wrapper, steadying. “We’ve talked about this. We decided to save it.” As a gift to each other, in honor of their real beginning.
“I need it,” Kris says low. Staring at his tense-set shoulders, Adam relinquishes the wedding-night fantasy, the two of them naked and pristine together, starting fresh. He tosses the unopened packet to the carpet where Kris can see, and Kris says in that same muffled voice, “Thank you, Adam.”
Maybe Kris is right. There’s no soul sustenance to be found in bars, Adam counseled his audiences, the irony weighing heavier every night. There’s not much to be found in hotel rooms, either, so why not seize what they can?
Gripping his cock at the base, he guides it along the crease of Kris’s ass, nudging at his hole. Barebacking, fuck, another wild adrenaline surge as it hits home. He makes a second gliding pass. Watches the rounded head go in on the slightest push, watches Kris’s hole contract as it slips free. Drizzling lube, he watches that graphic zoom shot turn glistening. Fuck. “You should see us.”
“I’m wet enough already, do it . . .”
“You’ll be even wetter when I come in you.” Kris is opening himself to each tiny thrust, clever, trying to draw him farther. “I’m going to put my fingers in you and feel it. Feel--how wet you are from me.” Sweet sucking pulls, aching down the length of his cock. “And then I’m going to fuck you again.” Eyes falling shut, just waiting for the wave that’ll bury him. Not this one . . . not this one . . . oh.
It’s OK, he can do intense, intense is where he lives. Intense is where he can meet Kris, brought to begging gasps by his own victory. “Hush, baby,” he soothes. Nowhere left to go, he grinds his hips against Kris’s ass to prove it. There, see, that’s everything I’ve got.
Kris doesn’t let nakedness stop him from turning Adam’s pockets inside out. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“I could never.” And he couldn’t. Not even the first time they shared a bed, innocently, drifting off to Adam’s wind-down playlist. Just companionship. Still innocent the next morning. Just cuddling. He slipped out from under Kris’s arm without waking him. After breakfast, he found him sitting hunched at the piano, scribbling, not playing. Soft prickles of stubble on his jaw, softer mouth. “Kris, what’re we doing?”
Kris held up his notebook to show him the tentative start of a song: I chase you even in my sleep . . . “It’s not the what, is it? We’ve known that for a while. I just have to figure out the how.”
An unruly sort of happiness was rising in Adam’s throat, a song of his own, not quite his yet. “I think you’d better figure it out in your own bed from now on,” he said, calm and responsible.
“Yeah.”
Adam bent to drop a consoling kiss on Kris’s forehead, unable to give him even the kindest semblance of a rejection. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Kris--unassuming, uncompetitive Kris--is the most shameless duet partner Adam’s ever had. His full-voiced moans upstage Adam’s breathier ones, typical. But he takes direction eagerly, bracing himself for Adam’s pounding strokes, thighs planted wide. “Not gonna last,” he warns unnecessarily. He’s Adam’s to mold, flowing in Adam’s hands when Adam turns him for the finale. Seamless choreography, Adam anchoring Kris’s bent legs, barely a break in their rhythm. Kris flinging his arms above his head, flying high on surrender. So talented, but showing off on Adam’s behalf, not his own. Look what you do to me. And Adam looks hard, eye-fucks him, works him over from his finely carved biceps and chest to his thick straining cock, jerking now, spattering marble-pale skin as he says, shocked, “Adam.”
He’s all fucked and content, no help as Adam pulls out and straddles his hips for the baptism he’s been waiting for. “Still warm,” Adam says with satisfaction, pushing his cock slick through Kris’s come. “You’ve been saving it up for me, haven’t you?”
“God, you’re filthy.” Kris’s smile curves sleepily.
Adam doesn’t believe in the profane. It’s all making love. “Says the boy who likes to come on my face.”
“Your face was made to be-- ”
Adam wins this round by sliding back in, smeared and dripping. “Getting wetter,” he murmurs. The last pulses are worth holding still for, faint fluttering notes. “Oh, beautiful . . . ”
Kris tugs him down for a kiss. He’s filthy too, he’ll take Adam’s mouth no matter where it’s been, take it and open wide for his tongue. Welcome him and withhold nothing.
Adam’s not going to move, ever. So long as he and Kris are wrapped up like this, they’re speaking a common language. No touchy exchanges about his tabloid-sham social life. No painful questions about how he found Kris this afternoon, crashed out on top of the coverlet, arm tangled in the strap of his bag, dark circles rivaling Adam’s days-old MAC. No forced optimism about their future, the horizon as far off as ever, nothing in the middle distance but the next hotel room and the next song in Kris’s notebook.
But Adam will have all the answers he can’t handle. He’s found the formula for truth serum, sweat and spit and come. Kris is already spilling secrets, his drawl simmered down to thick sweetness. “When you do that, it’s like you get bigger and bigger in me, until I can feel you everywhere.”
“Here?” Adam bites down gently on his lower lip.
“Yeah, definitely, and here,” a lazy upper-back arch cuing Adam to pinch his nipples. His hard body is all tender places. “It’s like you’re wearing me,” he adds dreamily, sounding truly high, Blueberry Haze high.
“You’re the only cock ring I need,” Adam says, guiding his hand down to feel.
Full circle. A loop, anyway. They’re stuck back there, where they missed their chance to do it right. He used to think that if anything wedged them apart, it would be her. But it’s him, longing to release the pause button and step out of this room with Kris’s hand in his, into the surround sound of the real world. Out of hiding.
“I can be more than that.” A light shove on Adam’s chest signals that it’s Kris’s turn. And Adam, yielding, wonders if he’s capable of resistance where Kris is concerned. “Let me take care of you. Rock star.”
Adam is going to say it. Not as an ultimatum, but almost. Kris, I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I’m detaching from you to protect myself, even though I don’t mean to or want to. I’m afraid.
“Adam?”
“Right here.” My love.
Smiling, Kris lays a hand over his own heart, romantic as a dozen red roses and unembarrassed. “Here.” In the closeup, connection is as simple as Kris sinking onto his cock, promising, “I’m going to ride you so hard.”
“I meant everything I said before,” Adam told the pensive boy at the piano, so there could be no misunderstanding between them. “A crush is fun. The chase can be fun. But at the end of the day, I want what I can have.”
Kris met his eyes, solemn and direct, no hesitation as he slipped the shiny new wedding band from his finger. “You can have me.”
“Slow, baby,” Adam says now. Soft, careful not to disturb the moment. “Let’s just stay here for a while.”
--End--
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Word count: 2650
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst
Summary: The big picture isn't so pretty.
Disclaimer: Pure imagination. No disrespect intended.
Author's note: Grateful hugs to anya7lee and morganlight for the tea and sympathy.
You Can Have Me
They shower together first, their ritual, but the outside world sticks stubbornly to Adam’s skin. A masklike layer, thicker than any coat of makeup, too thick for his determined smile to crack. He can only envy Kris’s trick of turning permeable instantly.
“Adam,” Kris sighs appreciatively, Adammm, tough little whipcord body pliant in his arms. Over the past year, Adam has watched Kris whittle himself down to angles and muscle. Trying to disappear, he thinks, and you don’t even realize it.
Oblivious, saturated with the here and now, Kris arches into the press of Adam's fingertips and takes out his pleasure on the bruisable hollow of Adam's neck. You could stay there forever. You could escape into me. “Kris, not where it’ll show.”
“I know just the place.”
Water runs into Adam’s eyes, stinging with liner he applied on the other side of the Atlantic. The gritty illusion of two a.m. in the afternoon holds. Block it out. Be present for this. Right in front of him, real, is the image he takes to bed every night: Kris on his knees, glancing up through beaded lashes to gauge the success of his offering. The more Kris enjoys what he's doing, the more innocent he looks. Sucking Adam’s cock, he’s angelic. Adam strokes his smooth cheek and finally catches a glimpse of himself, Kris’s Adam, the Adam he misplaced on some Paris sidewalk. He can do it, he can come--become--with a long-held breath and a pearly splash on Kris’s parted lips, quickly washed away.
“Back where we started, huh,” Kris says from under the towel as Adam fluffs his damp hair. Adam flashes on their early roommate days. His beauty arsenal crowding their bathroom counter, Kris poking around and reading labels, intrigued rather than bemused. “Wow, I don’t have this many things in my fridge.” Adam halfway to adoring him already. “You really are curious, aren’t you? Your wife must love that.”
“Full circle,” Kris continues. He taps Adam’s thumb, mischievous. “You should’ve worn your special ring. No pun intended.”
Wrong memory, then. This one starts with the two of them backstage at the Prudential Center, alone in the dressing room. Kris, shirt half-buttoned, sidling up to the mirror and asking conspiratorially, “Do you have condoms?”
Adam managed not to poke himself in the eye with the kohl pencil, but the dash of Point Black went astray. “Yes,” he answered, matter-of-fact. He reached for a cotton swab and did a passable repair. We’re going to, how do I buy that stuff now that I might get recognized at the drugstore, look at him, look at us.
“Cool, I thought I might have to borrow some from Matt. I mean, I would’ve, but-- ”
Adam said unthinkingly, “I bet his are ribbed,” and they traded a snickering fit back and forth like an ice cream cone for five minutes.
Later, in yet another bathroom, Kris scrawled their initials on the fogged mirror, big exuberant letters for Adam to enclose in an even bigger heart, a private island for KA and AL. The two kids from American Idol, playing secret rendezvous. In the spirit of Truth or Dare, Adam confessed, “It’s incredibly hot to me that you haven’t done this before.”
“So when we’re finished, you won’t want my non-virgin ass anymore?”
“Only every day and twice on Sundays, Kris.” More giddiness, anticipation peaking. The distant bustle of the city conspiring with them, cozy as rain on the roof.
“You’re so quiet,” Kris said wondering, as though he’d just made his biggest discovery of the night. And how new was the rest, really, when they’d never had any use for boundaries? With the last one crossed, Adam could feel Kris’s heartbeat pumping in him like a heavy bass line. Could breathe his confessions against Kris’s mouth. “I don’t want to miss anything.”
Kris steals the towel and returns the favor. “It’s gotten so long,” he says, patting Adam’s wobbly spikes. “You look so good.”
Adam suppresses the petulant urge to argue that he looks like crap. He turns away from his own reflection, brooding eyes and blurred liner, the walk of shame personified. The self-pity doesn’t flatter him, either.
“You tired, babe?”
“Nah, I got some sleep on the plane. Thank you, whiskey and soda.”
Kris hugs him, spontaneous and glad. “We can just lounge around in the fancy bathrobes, pretend to be rock stars. It’s fine if you’re not in the mood.”
Always. But first Adam wouldn’t mind doing something really daring, something they’ve never tried before. Go for a walk, maybe, or sit in a café. “Of course I’m in the mood. I haven’t gotten laid in three months.” Fuck, he didn’t mean to sound so bitchy. Atoning, he lifts Kris’s sharp little chin for a kiss. “I can’t wait to treat you like the rock star you are.”
The open curtains frame a rock-star view. A New York City panorama, lighting up in bands and squares as a hazy blue sky dissolves into a modest sunset. Inside Adam’s head, the big picture is smaller. Thirty-six hours in this silk-cushioned hideaway, then Kris flies home to an Arkansas winter and Adam boards a plane for L.A., where they could be warm year-round. Thirty-six hours, minus the hour or so since he arrived.
Block it out. He focuses in on Kris, loose-sprawled and squirming at the brush of Adam’s bangs as Adam marks a path down his spine with kisses. It’s a short detour to half a dozen ticklish spots, to teasing, but Adam isn’t tempted. Not when he’s almost there.
He knows exactly how many times they’ve gone to bed together. The total’s that low, the counter clicking at long intervals. Kris, made to be held and held down and loved, shivers with need whenever Adam spreads him. This time he actually cries out. Delicious. “Eye-fucking is just a figure of speech, Kris.”
“Not the way you do it,” Kris says strained, and sex adrenaline floods Adam’s veins, pure and uncut, not the harmless stuff he’s used to mainlining onstage.
“Like this?” He moves in for the closeup, so close that his breath skims Kris’s exposed cleft. He projects his concentration the way he projects his voice, gives Kris the full force of that heated, seeking energy. Holds him apart and takes him apart with suspense. You think instant gratification should take an hour, Kris once accused. Guilty.
Kris cries out again at the first touch of his tongue. Just the tip, penetrating briefly before flicking around the rim. “Like this?” Without waiting for an answer, he uses his thumbs, stretching that chastely tight, secret hole. His lips seal the opening he’s made, a lusty tribute of a kiss. And then he goes to work, darting licks inside, delicately pointed arrows pinning Kris to the mattress and making him writhe, wet. Kris can come like this, if he adds his fingers. “Do you want to, baby?” he pauses to ask. Kris takes about ten panting seconds to say, “Not yet.”
Adam wants. He wants everything his plunging cock can’t appreciate. “It’s OK, I’ll stop . . . ” One finger slips right in. A second takes some coaxing, his tongue probing alongside, easing the way. He’s painfully hard, but still he wants, because sex is worship and you don’t worship from a distance, you kneel at the altar with all your senses yearning. Kris’s devout fuck means yes, please, yes.
But no, not yet. “It’s OK,” Adam says again, over the noisy blood-rush in his own ears. He kneads the solid curves of Kris’s ass, bringing them both down, before patting around the sheets for the lube. “Three months,” he counters Kris’s bucking impatience. But his fingers are sliding gorgeously, frictionless, and, well, three months.
Hearing the familiar crinkle of plastic, Kris raises his head in instinctive protest. “Let’s not use a condom. Please.”
“Kris-- ”
“There’s no reason why we have to wait. Is there?”
It’s a symbol of commitment, one they haven’t earned yet. Adam thought they were agreed on that. Unless Kris is implying-- “Are you seriously asking me-- ”
Kris struggles up on one elbow. “No. No, shit. I know you wouldn’t, I know you’re faithful to me.”
Adam’s precarious mood is going to wreck this if he lets it get away from him. He runs his thumb over and over the glossy wrapper, steadying. “We’ve talked about this. We decided to save it.” As a gift to each other, in honor of their real beginning.
“I need it,” Kris says low. Staring at his tense-set shoulders, Adam relinquishes the wedding-night fantasy, the two of them naked and pristine together, starting fresh. He tosses the unopened packet to the carpet where Kris can see, and Kris says in that same muffled voice, “Thank you, Adam.”
Maybe Kris is right. There’s no soul sustenance to be found in bars, Adam counseled his audiences, the irony weighing heavier every night. There’s not much to be found in hotel rooms, either, so why not seize what they can?
Gripping his cock at the base, he guides it along the crease of Kris’s ass, nudging at his hole. Barebacking, fuck, another wild adrenaline surge as it hits home. He makes a second gliding pass. Watches the rounded head go in on the slightest push, watches Kris’s hole contract as it slips free. Drizzling lube, he watches that graphic zoom shot turn glistening. Fuck. “You should see us.”
“I’m wet enough already, do it . . .”
“You’ll be even wetter when I come in you.” Kris is opening himself to each tiny thrust, clever, trying to draw him farther. “I’m going to put my fingers in you and feel it. Feel--how wet you are from me.” Sweet sucking pulls, aching down the length of his cock. “And then I’m going to fuck you again.” Eyes falling shut, just waiting for the wave that’ll bury him. Not this one . . . not this one . . . oh.
It’s OK, he can do intense, intense is where he lives. Intense is where he can meet Kris, brought to begging gasps by his own victory. “Hush, baby,” he soothes. Nowhere left to go, he grinds his hips against Kris’s ass to prove it. There, see, that’s everything I’ve got.
Kris doesn’t let nakedness stop him from turning Adam’s pockets inside out. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“I could never.” And he couldn’t. Not even the first time they shared a bed, innocently, drifting off to Adam’s wind-down playlist. Just companionship. Still innocent the next morning. Just cuddling. He slipped out from under Kris’s arm without waking him. After breakfast, he found him sitting hunched at the piano, scribbling, not playing. Soft prickles of stubble on his jaw, softer mouth. “Kris, what’re we doing?”
Kris held up his notebook to show him the tentative start of a song: I chase you even in my sleep . . . “It’s not the what, is it? We’ve known that for a while. I just have to figure out the how.”
An unruly sort of happiness was rising in Adam’s throat, a song of his own, not quite his yet. “I think you’d better figure it out in your own bed from now on,” he said, calm and responsible.
“Yeah.”
Adam bent to drop a consoling kiss on Kris’s forehead, unable to give him even the kindest semblance of a rejection. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Kris--unassuming, uncompetitive Kris--is the most shameless duet partner Adam’s ever had. His full-voiced moans upstage Adam’s breathier ones, typical. But he takes direction eagerly, bracing himself for Adam’s pounding strokes, thighs planted wide. “Not gonna last,” he warns unnecessarily. He’s Adam’s to mold, flowing in Adam’s hands when Adam turns him for the finale. Seamless choreography, Adam anchoring Kris’s bent legs, barely a break in their rhythm. Kris flinging his arms above his head, flying high on surrender. So talented, but showing off on Adam’s behalf, not his own. Look what you do to me. And Adam looks hard, eye-fucks him, works him over from his finely carved biceps and chest to his thick straining cock, jerking now, spattering marble-pale skin as he says, shocked, “Adam.”
He’s all fucked and content, no help as Adam pulls out and straddles his hips for the baptism he’s been waiting for. “Still warm,” Adam says with satisfaction, pushing his cock slick through Kris’s come. “You’ve been saving it up for me, haven’t you?”
“God, you’re filthy.” Kris’s smile curves sleepily.
Adam doesn’t believe in the profane. It’s all making love. “Says the boy who likes to come on my face.”
“Your face was made to be-- ”
Adam wins this round by sliding back in, smeared and dripping. “Getting wetter,” he murmurs. The last pulses are worth holding still for, faint fluttering notes. “Oh, beautiful . . . ”
Kris tugs him down for a kiss. He’s filthy too, he’ll take Adam’s mouth no matter where it’s been, take it and open wide for his tongue. Welcome him and withhold nothing.
Adam’s not going to move, ever. So long as he and Kris are wrapped up like this, they’re speaking a common language. No touchy exchanges about his tabloid-sham social life. No painful questions about how he found Kris this afternoon, crashed out on top of the coverlet, arm tangled in the strap of his bag, dark circles rivaling Adam’s days-old MAC. No forced optimism about their future, the horizon as far off as ever, nothing in the middle distance but the next hotel room and the next song in Kris’s notebook.
But Adam will have all the answers he can’t handle. He’s found the formula for truth serum, sweat and spit and come. Kris is already spilling secrets, his drawl simmered down to thick sweetness. “When you do that, it’s like you get bigger and bigger in me, until I can feel you everywhere.”
“Here?” Adam bites down gently on his lower lip.
“Yeah, definitely, and here,” a lazy upper-back arch cuing Adam to pinch his nipples. His hard body is all tender places. “It’s like you’re wearing me,” he adds dreamily, sounding truly high, Blueberry Haze high.
“You’re the only cock ring I need,” Adam says, guiding his hand down to feel.
Full circle. A loop, anyway. They’re stuck back there, where they missed their chance to do it right. He used to think that if anything wedged them apart, it would be her. But it’s him, longing to release the pause button and step out of this room with Kris’s hand in his, into the surround sound of the real world. Out of hiding.
“I can be more than that.” A light shove on Adam’s chest signals that it’s Kris’s turn. And Adam, yielding, wonders if he’s capable of resistance where Kris is concerned. “Let me take care of you. Rock star.”
Adam is going to say it. Not as an ultimatum, but almost. Kris, I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I’m detaching from you to protect myself, even though I don’t mean to or want to. I’m afraid.
“Adam?”
“Right here.” My love.
Smiling, Kris lays a hand over his own heart, romantic as a dozen red roses and unembarrassed. “Here.” In the closeup, connection is as simple as Kris sinking onto his cock, promising, “I’m going to ride you so hard.”
“I meant everything I said before,” Adam told the pensive boy at the piano, so there could be no misunderstanding between them. “A crush is fun. The chase can be fun. But at the end of the day, I want what I can have.”
Kris met his eyes, solemn and direct, no hesitation as he slipped the shiny new wedding band from his finger. “You can have me.”
“Slow, baby,” Adam says now. Soft, careful not to disturb the moment. “Let’s just stay here for a while.”
--End--