And Babylon's Right Next Door by templemarker [AI RPS, Adam/Kris, NC17]
And Babylon's Right Next Door
by templemarker
Notes: I don't have a sweet clue how I ended up writing this, but I do know that it is all marcolette's fault. American Idol RPS? What? It's like I looked up and got assaulted by actual in-fact homosexuality. Between that and Kris Allen's general, uh, Kris-ness, I was clearly doomed. And by doomed I mean porn. For
kink_bingo, square "aphrodisiacs." NC17 out the wazoo; this is as close as I get to crack fic. DON'T DO DRUGS. Read it here or at the archive.
***
Kris had left Katy for all of six weeks when he decided he wanted to go out.
Adam had to admit he was surprised. "Are you sure? Baby, I love you, but you look like shit and you've been sleeping in a guest room. That shows."
Kris batted away Adam's concerns with a nonchalant wave of his hand--a hand that could use a good manicure, Adam noted critically--and said, "I need to get out of this fucking house, man. I've let myself stay cooped up for too long."
"Kristopher Allen, language," Adam mocked, already pulling out his phone to see what was going on tonight. He scrolled through the list of options, ignoring two texts from Brad and one from Maria, his publicist, and frowned. "The only thing worth doing is this club opening in West Hollywood--"
"Great. I'm going to go take a shower, we can head out at nine-thirty," Kris said dismissively, walking out of the kitchen and up to his room.
"--which is called 'Cajones,'" Adam finished weakly, setting the phone down on the counter and debating whether he should just take Kris to a nice straight little sports bar and be done with it.
His phone buzzed, and another fucking text from Brad showed up. "HAVE U GT UR BALLZ OUT????" it asked, just as obnoxiously as if Brad were actually there, and Adam sighed. Cajones it was.
He'd have to straighten his fucking hair. Fuck.
*
Adam had his PA arrange a car, since Kris had currently chased his PA away with his emo and a two-week paid vacation. Brad was in the car with his new fuck Paul, who probably wouldn't last the weekend but looked like he had a big dick, which had always been a selling point for Brad. Adam would know.
Big Dick Paul also came with a round of party favors, and Adam moodily watched the pair of them suck down poppers with something akin to but not exactly like jealousy. Stupid American Idol with its stupid drug clauses.
"What are those?" Kris piped up, curiously. Try as he might, Adam couldn't get him to come out in anything more fashionable than a black t-shirt with black jeans, and even then Kris complained that it made him looked depressed. The tiny fuck was hopeless; he didn't even realize how good his ass looked in those jeans. Adam resigned himself to being sober and fuckless the whole night--clearly he was going to have to watch Kris every second to keep him from being molested.
"Adam," Brad scolded, "you haven't introduced our wayward Southerner to the substances of our people? Shame!"
"Shut up, Brad," Adam snapped, "he doesn't need fucking poppers. It's bad enough I'm letting him go to WeHo, the paps are going to be all over his ass tomorrow."
"What are poppers?" Kris asks, insistent as a puppy and twice as fucking cute. Stupid American Idol with its stupid fraternization clauses.
"Poppers are aphrodisiacs," Big Dick Paul said with a surprisingly pleasant voice. Maybe he had more going on for him than originally assessed, Adam thought. "It's an alkyl nitrite compound that makes you feel hotter, sexier. Makes the fucking better, and it lasts longer." He held out an ampule of RUSH in the palm of his hand for Kris to inspect.
"I want to try one," Kris announced.
"NO," Adam shouted, just as Brad gleefully said, "Yes!" and Big Dick Paul tossed the container into Kris's lap. Adam scrambled to take it away, but Kris scooted down to the other side of the limo, the little fucker, while Brad held him back.
Adam watched, slightly horrified, as the sweet little Arkansas boy who had just left his wife to spend all his time in his gay best friend's house in Los Angeles shrugged, twisted off the top, and inhaled.
Kris shook his head a little, as if to clear the vapor from it, but instead his head got caught on the seat and he stared up at the sunroof of the limo. "Whoa," he said, and it was like every nightmare fantasy he'd ever had about Kris come true, "like, wow."
Brad was snort-giggling into Big Dick Paul's shoulder, and Big Dick Paul was looking indulgently at Baby's First Drug Use, and Adam was thinking about throwing himself out of the car before Simon Fuller put him in front of the firing squad.
"Like, my ass," Kris said wonderingly. "I can feel my ass."
"Baby, that's what we call a good night out," Brad said between those high-pitched giggles that had nearly gotten his stupid homo ass left of the side of the road more nights than one. Adam sent him a death-glare and then cautiously scooted over next to Kris. "Are you okay?" he asked, afraid to touch.
Kris's head swung around to look at him, and Adam wanted to cover his mouth in horror like Pollyanna at an orgy. Kris's eyes were dilated, his tongue swiping out to wet his mouth, and he latched onto Adam like a man on a mission. In short, he looked like sin, and if Adam was going to hell it sure as fuck wouldn't be because he mauled Kris Allen in the back of a limo. Under the influence. With an audience.
"Does your ass feel like this when it gets fucked?" Kris asked, like this was something that normally came out of his whitebread little mouth. That little mouth that was doing dirty dirty things to Adam's soul. And his dick. And his other parts.
"Adam wouldn't know," Brad said slyly, and Adam was most definitely not looking over to where Big Dick Paul had thrust a casual hand into Brad's tight tight pants and was doing things that should have sent straight, heterosexual Kris Allen running back to Arkansas but instead seemed to make Kris inch forward with interest writ on his face. "Adam doesn't get fucked, honey, but I can tell you--first time out, it better feel that good, otherwise your man's doing something wrong."
"So you fuck people?" Kris asked, his wide-eyed gaze moving back to Adam, dropping to his mouth and back up again. "Would you fuck me?"
Brad's holler of amusement could have been heard in fucking Nebraska.
"Shut it," Adam hissed, pushing himself farther away from Kris, which didn't really work because Kris followed him right into his lap.
"I think I really want you to fuck me, Adam," Kris said thoughtfully, shifting so that his ass was right the fuck on Adam's fucking dick, sweet gilded jesus he was not that strong. "I've thought about it. Before now, I mean."
"Wha-at?" Adam asked, suddenly out of breath with his hands flailing wildly, finally finding purchase on Kris's hips where he most emphatically did not want them to be. Even if they fit so very nicely there.
Kris shifted some more, like his entire mission in life was to torture the hell out of Adam; but that had been true since about five minutes after Adam had met him. Saying he had a crush was the easiest way to diffuse the tension in his body every time Kris fucking turned around and Adam thought about slamming into that gorgeous ass.
In short, he was doomed.
Finally Kris seemed to find a position that suited him, because he started rocking back and forth like some kind of secret exhibitionist mind ninja. That was the only way Adam could reconcile being in this situation with his ex-fuck, and his ex-fuck's new fuck, and his best friend-turned-fuck, like a demented gay telenovela. Or Queer as Folk. He must have seen this episode.
"I want someone to fuck me," Kris murmured into Adam's ear, falling forward towards Adam, "and I want that someone to be you." He took Adam's hand and shoved it down the back of his (admittedly looser) pants, so that Adam's fingers--entirely of their own unfortunate volition!--landed squarely on Kris's asshole, causing Kris to groan, cant back, and bring the tip of Adam's fingers into his body.
Fucking poppers and fucking sphincters. Adam threw in the towel and brought Kris's mouth to his with his free hand, pushing rhythmically in and out of Kris's ass with just the barest pressure until Kris was whining and pawing at him. Adam took his hand from Kris's head, biting Kris's lower lip to keep the kiss in place, and brought it down to Kris's dick, something Adam solemnly swore to explore further as soon as they got home. It took one, two thrusts, and Kris shuddered through his orgasm, Adam's index finger lodged to the knuckle in his ass and warmth spreading the front of his jeans.
Thank fucking god he wore the black ones, Adam thought as he reluctantly pulled himself from Kris and flipped Brad off, who looked halfway between coming and laughing his tits off.
Adam reached over to grab a cocktail napkin from the limo bar, Kris still slumped in his lap, hot breath tickling his neck. He was just starting to unbutton Kris to clean him up when Kris's hand snaked down to grasp Adam's cock, making him jump and swear.
"I still want you to fuck me," Kris mumbled, eyes half-lidded and sated, "and I want another popper, but also I think maybe we shouldn't go to that club tonight. What was it called? Testes?"
Adam was tempted to disown Brad then and there for the shit he was "whispering" across the limo, but instead he pulled Kris back down into a fierce kiss and thanked every deity of homosexuals everywhere for tiny bottles with stupid names.
by templemarker
Notes: I don't have a sweet clue how I ended up writing this, but I do know that it is all marcolette's fault. American Idol RPS? What? It's like I looked up and got assaulted by actual in-fact homosexuality. Between that and Kris Allen's general, uh, Kris-ness, I was clearly doomed. And by doomed I mean porn. For
kink_bingo, square "aphrodisiacs." NC17 out the wazoo; this is as close as I get to crack fic. DON'T DO DRUGS. Read it here or at the archive.
***
Kris had left Katy for all of six weeks when he decided he wanted to go out.
Adam had to admit he was surprised. "Are you sure? Baby, I love you, but you look like shit and you've been sleeping in a guest room. That shows."
Kris batted away Adam's concerns with a nonchalant wave of his hand--a hand that could use a good manicure, Adam noted critically--and said, "I need to get out of this fucking house, man. I've let myself stay cooped up for too long."
"Kristopher Allen, language," Adam mocked, already pulling out his phone to see what was going on tonight. He scrolled through the list of options, ignoring two texts from Brad and one from Maria, his publicist, and frowned. "The only thing worth doing is this club opening in West Hollywood--"
"Great. I'm going to go take a shower, we can head out at nine-thirty," Kris said dismissively, walking out of the kitchen and up to his room.
"--which is called 'Cajones,'" Adam finished weakly, setting the phone down on the counter and debating whether he should just take Kris to a nice straight little sports bar and be done with it.
His phone buzzed, and another fucking text from Brad showed up. "HAVE U GT UR BALLZ OUT????" it asked, just as obnoxiously as if Brad were actually there, and Adam sighed. Cajones it was.
He'd have to straighten his fucking hair. Fuck.
*
Adam had his PA arrange a car, since Kris had currently chased his PA away with his emo and a two-week paid vacation. Brad was in the car with his new fuck Paul, who probably wouldn't last the weekend but looked like he had a big dick, which had always been a selling point for Brad. Adam would know.
Big Dick Paul also came with a round of party favors, and Adam moodily watched the pair of them suck down poppers with something akin to but not exactly like jealousy. Stupid American Idol with its stupid drug clauses.
"What are those?" Kris piped up, curiously. Try as he might, Adam couldn't get him to come out in anything more fashionable than a black t-shirt with black jeans, and even then Kris complained that it made him looked depressed. The tiny fuck was hopeless; he didn't even realize how good his ass looked in those jeans. Adam resigned himself to being sober and fuckless the whole night--clearly he was going to have to watch Kris every second to keep him from being molested.
"Adam," Brad scolded, "you haven't introduced our wayward Southerner to the substances of our people? Shame!"
"Shut up, Brad," Adam snapped, "he doesn't need fucking poppers. It's bad enough I'm letting him go to WeHo, the paps are going to be all over his ass tomorrow."
"What are poppers?" Kris asks, insistent as a puppy and twice as fucking cute. Stupid American Idol with its stupid fraternization clauses.
"Poppers are aphrodisiacs," Big Dick Paul said with a surprisingly pleasant voice. Maybe he had more going on for him than originally assessed, Adam thought. "It's an alkyl nitrite compound that makes you feel hotter, sexier. Makes the fucking better, and it lasts longer." He held out an ampule of RUSH in the palm of his hand for Kris to inspect.
"I want to try one," Kris announced.
"NO," Adam shouted, just as Brad gleefully said, "Yes!" and Big Dick Paul tossed the container into Kris's lap. Adam scrambled to take it away, but Kris scooted down to the other side of the limo, the little fucker, while Brad held him back.
Adam watched, slightly horrified, as the sweet little Arkansas boy who had just left his wife to spend all his time in his gay best friend's house in Los Angeles shrugged, twisted off the top, and inhaled.
Kris shook his head a little, as if to clear the vapor from it, but instead his head got caught on the seat and he stared up at the sunroof of the limo. "Whoa," he said, and it was like every nightmare fantasy he'd ever had about Kris come true, "like, wow."
Brad was snort-giggling into Big Dick Paul's shoulder, and Big Dick Paul was looking indulgently at Baby's First Drug Use, and Adam was thinking about throwing himself out of the car before Simon Fuller put him in front of the firing squad.
"Like, my ass," Kris said wonderingly. "I can feel my ass."
"Baby, that's what we call a good night out," Brad said between those high-pitched giggles that had nearly gotten his stupid homo ass left of the side of the road more nights than one. Adam sent him a death-glare and then cautiously scooted over next to Kris. "Are you okay?" he asked, afraid to touch.
Kris's head swung around to look at him, and Adam wanted to cover his mouth in horror like Pollyanna at an orgy. Kris's eyes were dilated, his tongue swiping out to wet his mouth, and he latched onto Adam like a man on a mission. In short, he looked like sin, and if Adam was going to hell it sure as fuck wouldn't be because he mauled Kris Allen in the back of a limo. Under the influence. With an audience.
"Does your ass feel like this when it gets fucked?" Kris asked, like this was something that normally came out of his whitebread little mouth. That little mouth that was doing dirty dirty things to Adam's soul. And his dick. And his other parts.
"Adam wouldn't know," Brad said slyly, and Adam was most definitely not looking over to where Big Dick Paul had thrust a casual hand into Brad's tight tight pants and was doing things that should have sent straight, heterosexual Kris Allen running back to Arkansas but instead seemed to make Kris inch forward with interest writ on his face. "Adam doesn't get fucked, honey, but I can tell you--first time out, it better feel that good, otherwise your man's doing something wrong."
"So you fuck people?" Kris asked, his wide-eyed gaze moving back to Adam, dropping to his mouth and back up again. "Would you fuck me?"
Brad's holler of amusement could have been heard in fucking Nebraska.
"Shut it," Adam hissed, pushing himself farther away from Kris, which didn't really work because Kris followed him right into his lap.
"I think I really want you to fuck me, Adam," Kris said thoughtfully, shifting so that his ass was right the fuck on Adam's fucking dick, sweet gilded jesus he was not that strong. "I've thought about it. Before now, I mean."
"Wha-at?" Adam asked, suddenly out of breath with his hands flailing wildly, finally finding purchase on Kris's hips where he most emphatically did not want them to be. Even if they fit so very nicely there.
Kris shifted some more, like his entire mission in life was to torture the hell out of Adam; but that had been true since about five minutes after Adam had met him. Saying he had a crush was the easiest way to diffuse the tension in his body every time Kris fucking turned around and Adam thought about slamming into that gorgeous ass.
In short, he was doomed.
Finally Kris seemed to find a position that suited him, because he started rocking back and forth like some kind of secret exhibitionist mind ninja. That was the only way Adam could reconcile being in this situation with his ex-fuck, and his ex-fuck's new fuck, and his best friend-turned-fuck, like a demented gay telenovela. Or Queer as Folk. He must have seen this episode.
"I want someone to fuck me," Kris murmured into Adam's ear, falling forward towards Adam, "and I want that someone to be you." He took Adam's hand and shoved it down the back of his (admittedly looser) pants, so that Adam's fingers--entirely of their own unfortunate volition!--landed squarely on Kris's asshole, causing Kris to groan, cant back, and bring the tip of Adam's fingers into his body.
Fucking poppers and fucking sphincters. Adam threw in the towel and brought Kris's mouth to his with his free hand, pushing rhythmically in and out of Kris's ass with just the barest pressure until Kris was whining and pawing at him. Adam took his hand from Kris's head, biting Kris's lower lip to keep the kiss in place, and brought it down to Kris's dick, something Adam solemnly swore to explore further as soon as they got home. It took one, two thrusts, and Kris shuddered through his orgasm, Adam's index finger lodged to the knuckle in his ass and warmth spreading the front of his jeans.
Thank fucking god he wore the black ones, Adam thought as he reluctantly pulled himself from Kris and flipped Brad off, who looked halfway between coming and laughing his tits off.
Adam reached over to grab a cocktail napkin from the limo bar, Kris still slumped in his lap, hot breath tickling his neck. He was just starting to unbutton Kris to clean him up when Kris's hand snaked down to grasp Adam's cock, making him jump and swear.
"I still want you to fuck me," Kris mumbled, eyes half-lidded and sated, "and I want another popper, but also I think maybe we shouldn't go to that club tonight. What was it called? Testes?"
Adam was tempted to disown Brad then and there for the shit he was "whispering" across the limo, but instead he pulled Kris back down into a fierce kiss and thanked every deity of homosexuals everywhere for tiny bottles with stupid names.