WIP amnesty fic dump
So. I tend to make a habit of thinking my own ideas are brilliant and plotting away happily -- but when it comes to actually writing the fics out and finishing them, well. I fail.
But I figure, 'one day!', so I keep them all privately locked in my LJ so I can work on them wherever I go.
Well. I've decided that these things are never going to be finished. And they're all so long that I had to make two posts. The J2/SPN one is longer than this one is (link below).
Mal/Inara/Simon {pg-13} random
I don't even know where I was going w/ this except 3somes of sexass ppl ftw.
The intercom crackles.
"Mal, I need to. See you in my shuttle." Inara's voice falters and instantly Mal is up, sensing danger. Inara doesn't invite him to her shuttle.
The door is shut, just as he expected, and he raises his knuckles to rap against the cold steel. "Come in, Mal." Inara's voice is still shaky and Mal allows his palm to hover over the gun at his hip.
He twists the handle and steps into the room. His senses are immediately assaulted by incense and a bright ring of candle light. He tales a moment to adjust, wondering if Inara's emergency related to setting one of her fancy smancy drapes aflame.
He's not greeted by the sight of flames, but what he comes across does in fact make his blood simmer. Simon is sprawled along one of the low couches, his silky shirt undone, chest bare. Inara hovers near, adorned in little more than a strategically drapes cloth. It falls over her shoulder, curving along the near bare skin of her back.
Mal swallows hard, glancing between the display of flesh and silk, wondering just what game was being played at here.
“I want you to do her like you do me,” Simon says, his voice low, eyes dropped. “I want to see what it looks like when you’re making me moan.”
He looks up, meets Mal’s gaze. His cheeks are flushed, and Simon catches his lower lip between his teeth. ‘I…”
Mal is torn, so shaken he can not find words. Inara stands before him, her face a mask. His hand trembles.
Her eyes soften and she encircles his wrist, raising it to her lips. The touch of them to his calloused fingertips is rose-petal soft. She locks eyes with him, her cheeks rounding.
He knows it is show the moment his hand drops to her shoulder, the moment she shudders as he slides silk from the curve of her neck and pressed his lips under her jaw.
Kradam {pg} pre-tour drabble
This was the first 'working out the dynamic' drabble that I tried to write, so it's kinda cheesy.
"Listen," Adam said, "If it works for that many of our fans, there's no way Katy won't like it."
He waved one hand lazily in the air and went back to flipping through the magazine on his lap. "You can always laugh it off as a joke, anyways. Listen to what those crazies wrote about me and Adam today, baby."
It wasn't the most convincing argument, but Kris found that trusting Adam's judgment had worked out pretty well from him before, so he plopped down beside Adam on the couch and nodded. "But we don't have to - "
Adam's eyebrow arched, his head still bowed towards the glossy pages. "You think you're the one-in-a-million who can resist all this, huh?" he said and slouched further down. Grey sweats and a tanktop and yeah, Adam was still infuriatingly attractive, but just because -
At the sound of Adam's laughter, Kris looked up; wrinkled his nose at just how hard Adam was laughing at him. "What! It's a valid question with you, don't make like it's not."
That wasn't entirely true, either, but Kris was allowed to be a little dramatic when plotting fictionalized sexcapades with his openly gay friend. It was, like, a rule or something.
"Kris," Adam said, serious - or as serious as Adam ever got about something he found trivial. "It's really no big deal. Just - be yourself. You're a ridiculously handy little hetero as it is. Just let everyone else assume what they want and ignore. I promise you that it's no big deal."
Which sounded simple in theory. Live and let live, yeah, Kris had that down at sixteen, thank-you-very-much, but running around, purposely flirting with an openly gay man - best friend or not - that. That seemed a bit extreme.
Adam's fingers curled around Kris's shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly. "What're you thinking?"
Kris wished he had an answer, but everything floating through his mind felt half-formed; wisps of smoke against a cloudy mirror. He couldn't tell puzzle out exactly how to go on with it, but Adam was his friend - he wouldn't steer him wrong. That Kris knew as truth and so - he knew his answer, no doubt.
"So - I just tease you plenty and name drop - what was it?"
Adam hits him with that stupid, blinding grin, and Kris's confidence in this plan skyrockets.
"Kradam," Adam says, and knocks his knee against Kris's.
"And with Katy?" Kris asks.
"You let me handle that." Adam smirked and plopped the magazine across both of their thighs. "Now, this is what I'm envisioning your tight little ass in on tour."
Kris let his head tip back onto the back of the couch. It was gonna be a long three months.
Kris/Jensen {pg} well, they WERE gonna do it
Yeaaaah. I am made of fail. Sorry Lit (& Styles & everyone else :/)
"You look fine," Kris says, and stills Katy's hands from further messing her hair.
"Fine?" she says. "Fine is not -- I have to work with her for months, Kris, what if she hates me? I can't just look fine."
Katy's eyes are wide, her knee brushing against Kris's as she jiggles her leg under the table. "Fine as in F-I-N-E." He brings her hands to his face and presses the back of them in turn to his lips.
"Well, if you have to spell it," she says, and shakes her head, a smile erasing the lines of worry from between her brows. Katy laces her fingers through his and squeezes, leaning in to return the favor, her touch light, eyes sparkling. She's gorgeous like this, Kris thinks, excited and hopeful, the candle light casting a warm glow on her cheeks.
"I'm so glad you're home," she says. Kris is, too, the second leg of his first national tour finally over. He has big plans for the coming months -- mainly involving the couch, Apple Jack and maybe, if he's feeling adventurous, the fuzzy bunny slippers Andrew had bought him when they passed thru Colorado.
jensen can't be there; kris kinda half-listens but is polite
+
When it rains, it pours is what Kris is thinking as he yanks the dishtowel off of the oven bar and wipes his hands. "Coming," he yells out and turns the element down, then picks up his phone to check the message that lights up the screen. Running late, call you when I have more time, sorry! it says, and Kris wretches open the front door with his free hand to find a slightly damp guy on the other side.
"Kris?" the guy says and it takes a little bit of juggling till Kris shoves his phone in his back pocket and extends his hand.
"Jensen, right? C'mon in, it really is coming down out there, isn't it?"
Jensen shakes his head, droplets sliding down his hair and neck, beading at the collar of his shirt. He's stops just inside the door, carefully wiping the soles of his shoes on the mat, and offers up a six pack from one hand and a bottle of red in the other. He smiles when Kris takes them from him.
"Thanks," Kris says, and "You can just take 'em off if you want. Not like i'm gonna put any on." Kris can see how Jensen and Danneel are matched, definitely. His simple black button down and designer jeans seem effortlessly attractive, though the boots he toes off are weatherbeaten, well-worn.
kris is like, 'you didn't have to come' & jensen is like, 'yeah, do you ignore your wife's orders? I didn't think so.'
And kris is finishing chili & they debate it a little and end up watching espn & maybe talk shit about each other teams?
+
katy asks how it went; kris admits it was cool, maybe mention of the guitar hero/actual guitar playing/ idk. just short, sweet, too the point. I liked him, he's a cool guy.
he seems cool,' kris says.
Lit: but what about ~fucking?
Ang: 'cool as in...' katy prompts, etc etc on the couch...
Ang: 'i don't know yet, exactly?' he phrases it as a question and blah blah
Ang: so there are hints of possibility and then they discuss later
+
J2 - jared breaking that jensen knew who kris was (W/E I AM INTENT THAT JENSEN WOULD LOVE KRIS'S MUSIC)
"you only like him cuz he makes you feel tall," jared cries
+
being kidnapped to golf --
and jensen is like: we have a call sheet tacked to our fridge, i know katy is on location and you're free
jen: "spare clubs, i stole em from the mini golf course"
kris: "ha ha, are size jokes the limit of your material?"
jen: "After 8 years, i've got a fucking goldmine full of em"
etc etc fuuuun yay boys sports
+
It's only a matter of professional courtesy -- watching the dvds, enjoying dean and thinking lil bro is annoying (SORRY SAM)
katy coming home and curling up with him, hiding her face "clowns are scary" and kris watching dean smash the remaining bits of his world apart, knowing the pain isn't real but hating seeing it on jeNsen's face anyways.
+
"Ok, that's just not fair," Adam says. "No way I should be stuck on tour letting sweaty, cheap perfume-scented women grope me while you get to hang with Jensen fucking Ackles."
"You're whining again," Kris says.
"I must have been a serial killer in my past life," Adam declares. Kris snorts into the receiver and leans back to settle in for the long haul. "Seriously. Like, I must have been the most terrible human being ever to deserve such cosmic karmic torture. It's like some delicious porn set-up."
"Well I did fondle his balls," Kris says. "And he's got an amazing stroke."
"Kristopher, you god damn cocktease, don't you dare. Why are all the hot ones straight and married?"
"Oh, yeah. I forgot about your 100% accurate hetero test. Married? 100% straight, no margin of error."
"Fuck you," Adam says, laughing.
Krale {pg-13} Couch sex
And Laura...I'm sorry, it just feels too unbelievable & forced. But I'll get thru my blocks eventually.
Cale, lying in the dark, taking in his surroundings: the scratchy couch, hard even though Katy had made it up for him with blankets and sheets and pillows, and apologized profusely that they didn't have more room.
He'd laughed it off and they'd been drunk on a bottle of wine and a joint some stagehand from Idol had slipped Kris when he stopped into the studio earlier that day (this is during the let it be thing) and they'd laughed at Katy for being ditzy, and they'd played and tweeked the song arrangement to make it their own.
Cale knows Kris's style and limits better than his own, he sometimes thinks, which is telling in itself, but he can't dwell on it, especially not now. He's not sure if the twisting at the pit of his stomach is nerves over giong on stage in front of thousands of people tomorrow night or something else entirely.
Maybe. Maybe it's finally getting to be too much to handle, shoving down the desire he feels when he watches Kris sing, eyes slipping shut, fingers sliding over the strings so easy, so naturally.
Cale is lying on the couch, thinking this, trying not to bug himself out further -- because Kris is his friend, maybe his best one, and he doesn't wanna screw it up. They've got a good balance going: he helps keep Kris grounded, helps him remember where he's from and Kris? Well Kris helps keep Cale from straying the way he always worries he will. And he's trying to get comfortable, because they have an early day tomorrow; rehearsal and blocking and a run-thru and he punches the pillow into shape and stretches out and is running through chord progressions in his head, drumming his fingertips across the tops of his thighs when he hears it.
It's not -- it's faint and he thinks maybe the neighbors are trying to retaliate from earlier at first, but when the next moan comes, it's not from behind the wall, but from the other room. And he's not some puritanical saint, but. It's been a few years since he lived in the frat house, and there had been all sorts of rules. It was rare and far between that any of his brothers could hook a girl in, much less convince her to sneak in through the back-door and up the kitchen stairs.
Cale doesn't like to admit that he knows the sounds too well, though. That he knows Kris so well. Because it's Kris's bitten off groan that he can identify.
He feels trapped. He should have taken up the show's offer to be put up downtown in a hotel, but Katy had insisted. It's his own fault for being so naive and not thinking. They're newlyweds and barely have a few days in between together, of course they'd make the most of their time.
He fidgets on the couch, legs tangled beneath the suddenly all-too-heavy blankets. He hums to try and block it out, to focus on anything else, but the moaning coming from Kris and Katy's room only intensifies...
ANYWAYS. He gets keyed up and figures, 'what the hell' and starts jerking off under the blanket. BUT. Then the noise stops and the door to Kris and Katy's room creaks open and Cale jerks to a stop. Literally. He's frozen in place, his heart thumping against his breastbone, one hand down his shorts. Kris will never let him live this down.
BUT. Kris comes out and pretty much jumps him and tells Cale he wants him to fuck him and ANGST ANGST etc, Katy said it was ok, actually -- she got me ready for you annnd. WOO. Bonus pegging offscreen~
THE END SORRY I CANT DO IT NOW :/
Kradam {pg} Thanksgiving Fic
Started this for Shani while I was waiting at my jury duty day.
It was a mostly a wish and daydream for them to have Thanksgiving together, a promise muttered between tight hugs and tearful presses of lips to cheeks, but by a strange twist of fate, it actually turns out to be reality.
The label insists that Kris stay in LA to do promo for the record. The more his face is out there before Black Friday, the better, and they've timed Adam on the same schedule. Kris had insisted Katy head home and she'd acquiesced only after Adam himself promised that Kris would be in good hands. "No Stouffer's and Easy Mac and calling it a real meal," she'd said, and promised to deliver one of his mom's fresh sweet potato pies when she returned.
Anoop was in town, Matt and Megan and Ryder too, and they all lazily drag themselves to Adam's new house in the hills mid-afternoon. Adam's no chef, that much is certain, but he's excited over his new space, ready to break in the open, professional kitchen and host his first holiday.
"And by host, he means getting you all drunk while I slave away," Leila says, popping the re-basted turkey back into the oven. The scent of banana bread lingers in the air, thick slices laid out on the counter, crumbling warm and buttery on Kris's tongue when he breaks a chunk off and shoves it into his mouth. "I'd never," Adam mock-gasps, hand-to-heart, and grins wide and mischievous when his mother bats at him with an oven mitt. He catches her in his arms and squeezes tight, lips grazing her temple before she shoos them all away.
They watch the tail end of the parade, Ryder bouncing two feet from the screen and pulling on Megan's arm, chubby fingers wrapped tight around her wrist. "Santa, Mommy," he squeals, and Kris can feel his smile bubble up from within, Ryder's joy honest and open and infectious, planting itself in Kris's chest. Adam knocks his knee against Kris's and smiles across the space between them on the couch, soft and easy.
They're half watching the dog show after, Anoop telling Kris about the pet Schnauzer his mom had and how it used to steal his socks all the time, pure breeding be damned, when Allie bursts through the front door. "Up and at it, bitches," she says, bouncing into the room, all teenage energy and ridiculous excitement. Kris thinks she really does resemble the Koolaid Man and is replaying Dane Cook sketches in his head when she plops herself between him and Adam, squirming and shoving him sideways with her shoulder.
"Violent," he says, and tugs on her hair, the strands course with dye and tangling between his fingers. She snorts and jams her elbow even harder into his ribs, cackling like a demented witch.
The heavy aroma of turkey and onions and stuffing settle over the house like a blanket, familiar. It's making Kris's stomach growl already. He settles back on the couch: soft, warm leather that he could melt into happily, just sink, sink, sink. Adam definitely does have the creature comforts down pat and Kris is going to tell him so, maybe a little later, when the edges of his vision aren't quite as hazy, sleep creeping in, perfect, a long-missed friend.
It's long fingers poking him in the stomach that drag him away from the edge. Kris bats ineffectually at whoever his brand new nemesis is, muttering a curse under his breath. He blinks his eyes open, the light sharp and unwanted, and is met with Matt's wild grin, head tilted to the side.
"C'mon, lazy booooones," Matt drawls, his voice lilting into a makeshift melody. "Get yer ass up, we need a little tradition up in here."
"Whaaa," Kris manages. The leather is enveloping him and he must have slipped down, because it brushes supple against his cheek. The scent is familiar, comforting (home), and Kris wants nothing more than to nuzzle in and drift off again. Naps. Naps are a Thanksgiving tradition Kris is down with.
Matt pouncing on him fully kind of ruins that.
"Get up. I dunno how you do it at home, but it's not T-day without a little pigskin and grit." Kris turns his head to the side, Matt's breath puffing too hot against his neck, and winds up looking straight at Adam. He's leaning against the doorway, fingers curled around a mug of something steaming hot and fragrant. His mouth curves up in a smile.
"I see I'm interrupting," he says, and his laughter can't stay beneath the surface for long. Kris rolls his eyes and shoves Matt hard, happily rewarded when he lands on the floor with a dull thud.
"Can't we just watch the Colts --" Kris tries, but Matt's having none of it. He grabs Kris's hands and tugs him upright. Kris sighs.
Adam rolls his eyes again, but smiles. "Well you all have fun," he says, and turns to head back to the kitchen instead of following Matt outside. Kris catches him by the wrist.
"Oh, no," he says. "If I have to do this, so do you."
Adam gives him that look, the one he usually reserves for post-menopausal woman covered head-to-toe in glitter. Kris thinks it's only fair that he breaks out the puppy-dog eyes, then, if Adam's gonna be like that.
"Fine," Adam sighs. "You're gonna be sorry, though. I don't know a thing about football."
"That's why you'll be on the other team," Kris says, and grins. He flexes his fingers around Adam's wrist, evening the resistance when Adam tugs to get free.
"Gotta let go," he says. "I'm not horsing around with you Neanderthals in these pants." It's only then that Kris notices the leather, buttery warm against the backs of his knuckles where they graze at Adam's hip. Home, he thinks, and raises his gaze to meet Adam's.
"Uh, yeah," Kris mutters, and drops Adam's wrist, his heartbeat pounding in his fingertips. He edges towards the doorway. "Be quick, though," he tosses back, and sucks in a huge gulp of air once he's out the back door.
Allison and Anoop are swinging Ryder between them, his hands clasped tight in their own, Matt and Megan standing not far off. The day is warm, muggy even, and the air feels heavy in Kris's lungs, his chest tight. "Hey," Megan says, and he snaps to attention, mentally forcing himself to relax.
[ J2/SPN portion]
But I figure, 'one day!', so I keep them all privately locked in my LJ so I can work on them wherever I go.
Well. I've decided that these things are never going to be finished. And they're all so long that I had to make two posts. The J2/SPN one is longer than this one is (link below).
Mal/Inara/Simon {pg-13} random
I don't even know where I was going w/ this except 3somes of sexass ppl ftw.
The intercom crackles.
"Mal, I need to. See you in my shuttle." Inara's voice falters and instantly Mal is up, sensing danger. Inara doesn't invite him to her shuttle.
The door is shut, just as he expected, and he raises his knuckles to rap against the cold steel. "Come in, Mal." Inara's voice is still shaky and Mal allows his palm to hover over the gun at his hip.
He twists the handle and steps into the room. His senses are immediately assaulted by incense and a bright ring of candle light. He tales a moment to adjust, wondering if Inara's emergency related to setting one of her fancy smancy drapes aflame.
He's not greeted by the sight of flames, but what he comes across does in fact make his blood simmer. Simon is sprawled along one of the low couches, his silky shirt undone, chest bare. Inara hovers near, adorned in little more than a strategically drapes cloth. It falls over her shoulder, curving along the near bare skin of her back.
Mal swallows hard, glancing between the display of flesh and silk, wondering just what game was being played at here.
“I want you to do her like you do me,” Simon says, his voice low, eyes dropped. “I want to see what it looks like when you’re making me moan.”
He looks up, meets Mal’s gaze. His cheeks are flushed, and Simon catches his lower lip between his teeth. ‘I…”
Mal is torn, so shaken he can not find words. Inara stands before him, her face a mask. His hand trembles.
Her eyes soften and she encircles his wrist, raising it to her lips. The touch of them to his calloused fingertips is rose-petal soft. She locks eyes with him, her cheeks rounding.
He knows it is show the moment his hand drops to her shoulder, the moment she shudders as he slides silk from the curve of her neck and pressed his lips under her jaw.
Kradam {pg} pre-tour drabble
This was the first 'working out the dynamic' drabble that I tried to write, so it's kinda cheesy.
"Listen," Adam said, "If it works for that many of our fans, there's no way Katy won't like it."
He waved one hand lazily in the air and went back to flipping through the magazine on his lap. "You can always laugh it off as a joke, anyways. Listen to what those crazies wrote about me and Adam today, baby."
It wasn't the most convincing argument, but Kris found that trusting Adam's judgment had worked out pretty well from him before, so he plopped down beside Adam on the couch and nodded. "But we don't have to - "
Adam's eyebrow arched, his head still bowed towards the glossy pages. "You think you're the one-in-a-million who can resist all this, huh?" he said and slouched further down. Grey sweats and a tanktop and yeah, Adam was still infuriatingly attractive, but just because -
At the sound of Adam's laughter, Kris looked up; wrinkled his nose at just how hard Adam was laughing at him. "What! It's a valid question with you, don't make like it's not."
That wasn't entirely true, either, but Kris was allowed to be a little dramatic when plotting fictionalized sexcapades with his openly gay friend. It was, like, a rule or something.
"Kris," Adam said, serious - or as serious as Adam ever got about something he found trivial. "It's really no big deal. Just - be yourself. You're a ridiculously handy little hetero as it is. Just let everyone else assume what they want and ignore. I promise you that it's no big deal."
Which sounded simple in theory. Live and let live, yeah, Kris had that down at sixteen, thank-you-very-much, but running around, purposely flirting with an openly gay man - best friend or not - that. That seemed a bit extreme.
Adam's fingers curled around Kris's shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly. "What're you thinking?"
Kris wished he had an answer, but everything floating through his mind felt half-formed; wisps of smoke against a cloudy mirror. He couldn't tell puzzle out exactly how to go on with it, but Adam was his friend - he wouldn't steer him wrong. That Kris knew as truth and so - he knew his answer, no doubt.
"So - I just tease you plenty and name drop - what was it?"
Adam hits him with that stupid, blinding grin, and Kris's confidence in this plan skyrockets.
"Kradam," Adam says, and knocks his knee against Kris's.
"And with Katy?" Kris asks.
"You let me handle that." Adam smirked and plopped the magazine across both of their thighs. "Now, this is what I'm envisioning your tight little ass in on tour."
Kris let his head tip back onto the back of the couch. It was gonna be a long three months.
Kris/Jensen {pg} well, they WERE gonna do it
Yeaaaah. I am made of fail. Sorry Lit (& Styles & everyone else :/)
"You look fine," Kris says, and stills Katy's hands from further messing her hair.
"Fine?" she says. "Fine is not -- I have to work with her for months, Kris, what if she hates me? I can't just look fine."
Katy's eyes are wide, her knee brushing against Kris's as she jiggles her leg under the table. "Fine as in F-I-N-E." He brings her hands to his face and presses the back of them in turn to his lips.
"Well, if you have to spell it," she says, and shakes her head, a smile erasing the lines of worry from between her brows. Katy laces her fingers through his and squeezes, leaning in to return the favor, her touch light, eyes sparkling. She's gorgeous like this, Kris thinks, excited and hopeful, the candle light casting a warm glow on her cheeks.
"I'm so glad you're home," she says. Kris is, too, the second leg of his first national tour finally over. He has big plans for the coming months -- mainly involving the couch, Apple Jack and maybe, if he's feeling adventurous, the fuzzy bunny slippers Andrew had bought him when they passed thru Colorado.
jensen can't be there; kris kinda half-listens but is polite
+
When it rains, it pours is what Kris is thinking as he yanks the dishtowel off of the oven bar and wipes his hands. "Coming," he yells out and turns the element down, then picks up his phone to check the message that lights up the screen. Running late, call you when I have more time, sorry! it says, and Kris wretches open the front door with his free hand to find a slightly damp guy on the other side.
"Kris?" the guy says and it takes a little bit of juggling till Kris shoves his phone in his back pocket and extends his hand.
"Jensen, right? C'mon in, it really is coming down out there, isn't it?"
Jensen shakes his head, droplets sliding down his hair and neck, beading at the collar of his shirt. He's stops just inside the door, carefully wiping the soles of his shoes on the mat, and offers up a six pack from one hand and a bottle of red in the other. He smiles when Kris takes them from him.
"Thanks," Kris says, and "You can just take 'em off if you want. Not like i'm gonna put any on." Kris can see how Jensen and Danneel are matched, definitely. His simple black button down and designer jeans seem effortlessly attractive, though the boots he toes off are weatherbeaten, well-worn.
kris is like, 'you didn't have to come' & jensen is like, 'yeah, do you ignore your wife's orders? I didn't think so.'
And kris is finishing chili & they debate it a little and end up watching espn & maybe talk shit about each other teams?
+
katy asks how it went; kris admits it was cool, maybe mention of the guitar hero/actual guitar playing/ idk. just short, sweet, too the point. I liked him, he's a cool guy.
he seems cool,' kris says.
Lit: but what about ~fucking?
Ang: 'cool as in...' katy prompts, etc etc on the couch...
Ang: 'i don't know yet, exactly?' he phrases it as a question and blah blah
Ang: so there are hints of possibility and then they discuss later
+
J2 - jared breaking that jensen knew who kris was (W/E I AM INTENT THAT JENSEN WOULD LOVE KRIS'S MUSIC)
"you only like him cuz he makes you feel tall," jared cries
+
being kidnapped to golf --
and jensen is like: we have a call sheet tacked to our fridge, i know katy is on location and you're free
jen: "spare clubs, i stole em from the mini golf course"
kris: "ha ha, are size jokes the limit of your material?"
jen: "After 8 years, i've got a fucking goldmine full of em"
etc etc fuuuun yay boys sports
+
It's only a matter of professional courtesy -- watching the dvds, enjoying dean and thinking lil bro is annoying (SORRY SAM)
katy coming home and curling up with him, hiding her face "clowns are scary" and kris watching dean smash the remaining bits of his world apart, knowing the pain isn't real but hating seeing it on jeNsen's face anyways.
+
"Ok, that's just not fair," Adam says. "No way I should be stuck on tour letting sweaty, cheap perfume-scented women grope me while you get to hang with Jensen fucking Ackles."
"You're whining again," Kris says.
"I must have been a serial killer in my past life," Adam declares. Kris snorts into the receiver and leans back to settle in for the long haul. "Seriously. Like, I must have been the most terrible human being ever to deserve such cosmic karmic torture. It's like some delicious porn set-up."
"Well I did fondle his balls," Kris says. "And he's got an amazing stroke."
"Kristopher, you god damn cocktease, don't you dare. Why are all the hot ones straight and married?"
"Oh, yeah. I forgot about your 100% accurate hetero test. Married? 100% straight, no margin of error."
"Fuck you," Adam says, laughing.
Krale {pg-13} Couch sex
And Laura...I'm sorry, it just feels too unbelievable & forced. But I'll get thru my blocks eventually.
Cale, lying in the dark, taking in his surroundings: the scratchy couch, hard even though Katy had made it up for him with blankets and sheets and pillows, and apologized profusely that they didn't have more room.
He'd laughed it off and they'd been drunk on a bottle of wine and a joint some stagehand from Idol had slipped Kris when he stopped into the studio earlier that day (this is during the let it be thing) and they'd laughed at Katy for being ditzy, and they'd played and tweeked the song arrangement to make it their own.
Cale knows Kris's style and limits better than his own, he sometimes thinks, which is telling in itself, but he can't dwell on it, especially not now. He's not sure if the twisting at the pit of his stomach is nerves over giong on stage in front of thousands of people tomorrow night or something else entirely.
Maybe. Maybe it's finally getting to be too much to handle, shoving down the desire he feels when he watches Kris sing, eyes slipping shut, fingers sliding over the strings so easy, so naturally.
Cale is lying on the couch, thinking this, trying not to bug himself out further -- because Kris is his friend, maybe his best one, and he doesn't wanna screw it up. They've got a good balance going: he helps keep Kris grounded, helps him remember where he's from and Kris? Well Kris helps keep Cale from straying the way he always worries he will. And he's trying to get comfortable, because they have an early day tomorrow; rehearsal and blocking and a run-thru and he punches the pillow into shape and stretches out and is running through chord progressions in his head, drumming his fingertips across the tops of his thighs when he hears it.
It's not -- it's faint and he thinks maybe the neighbors are trying to retaliate from earlier at first, but when the next moan comes, it's not from behind the wall, but from the other room. And he's not some puritanical saint, but. It's been a few years since he lived in the frat house, and there had been all sorts of rules. It was rare and far between that any of his brothers could hook a girl in, much less convince her to sneak in through the back-door and up the kitchen stairs.
Cale doesn't like to admit that he knows the sounds too well, though. That he knows Kris so well. Because it's Kris's bitten off groan that he can identify.
He feels trapped. He should have taken up the show's offer to be put up downtown in a hotel, but Katy had insisted. It's his own fault for being so naive and not thinking. They're newlyweds and barely have a few days in between together, of course they'd make the most of their time.
He fidgets on the couch, legs tangled beneath the suddenly all-too-heavy blankets. He hums to try and block it out, to focus on anything else, but the moaning coming from Kris and Katy's room only intensifies...
ANYWAYS. He gets keyed up and figures, 'what the hell' and starts jerking off under the blanket. BUT. Then the noise stops and the door to Kris and Katy's room creaks open and Cale jerks to a stop. Literally. He's frozen in place, his heart thumping against his breastbone, one hand down his shorts. Kris will never let him live this down.
BUT. Kris comes out and pretty much jumps him and tells Cale he wants him to fuck him and ANGST ANGST etc, Katy said it was ok, actually -- she got me ready for you annnd. WOO. Bonus pegging offscreen~
THE END SORRY I CANT DO IT NOW :/
Kradam {pg} Thanksgiving Fic
Started this for Shani while I was waiting at my jury duty day.
It was a mostly a wish and daydream for them to have Thanksgiving together, a promise muttered between tight hugs and tearful presses of lips to cheeks, but by a strange twist of fate, it actually turns out to be reality.
The label insists that Kris stay in LA to do promo for the record. The more his face is out there before Black Friday, the better, and they've timed Adam on the same schedule. Kris had insisted Katy head home and she'd acquiesced only after Adam himself promised that Kris would be in good hands. "No Stouffer's and Easy Mac and calling it a real meal," she'd said, and promised to deliver one of his mom's fresh sweet potato pies when she returned.
Anoop was in town, Matt and Megan and Ryder too, and they all lazily drag themselves to Adam's new house in the hills mid-afternoon. Adam's no chef, that much is certain, but he's excited over his new space, ready to break in the open, professional kitchen and host his first holiday.
"And by host, he means getting you all drunk while I slave away," Leila says, popping the re-basted turkey back into the oven. The scent of banana bread lingers in the air, thick slices laid out on the counter, crumbling warm and buttery on Kris's tongue when he breaks a chunk off and shoves it into his mouth. "I'd never," Adam mock-gasps, hand-to-heart, and grins wide and mischievous when his mother bats at him with an oven mitt. He catches her in his arms and squeezes tight, lips grazing her temple before she shoos them all away.
They watch the tail end of the parade, Ryder bouncing two feet from the screen and pulling on Megan's arm, chubby fingers wrapped tight around her wrist. "Santa, Mommy," he squeals, and Kris can feel his smile bubble up from within, Ryder's joy honest and open and infectious, planting itself in Kris's chest. Adam knocks his knee against Kris's and smiles across the space between them on the couch, soft and easy.
They're half watching the dog show after, Anoop telling Kris about the pet Schnauzer his mom had and how it used to steal his socks all the time, pure breeding be damned, when Allie bursts through the front door. "Up and at it, bitches," she says, bouncing into the room, all teenage energy and ridiculous excitement. Kris thinks she really does resemble the Koolaid Man and is replaying Dane Cook sketches in his head when she plops herself between him and Adam, squirming and shoving him sideways with her shoulder.
"Violent," he says, and tugs on her hair, the strands course with dye and tangling between his fingers. She snorts and jams her elbow even harder into his ribs, cackling like a demented witch.
The heavy aroma of turkey and onions and stuffing settle over the house like a blanket, familiar. It's making Kris's stomach growl already. He settles back on the couch: soft, warm leather that he could melt into happily, just sink, sink, sink. Adam definitely does have the creature comforts down pat and Kris is going to tell him so, maybe a little later, when the edges of his vision aren't quite as hazy, sleep creeping in, perfect, a long-missed friend.
It's long fingers poking him in the stomach that drag him away from the edge. Kris bats ineffectually at whoever his brand new nemesis is, muttering a curse under his breath. He blinks his eyes open, the light sharp and unwanted, and is met with Matt's wild grin, head tilted to the side.
"C'mon, lazy booooones," Matt drawls, his voice lilting into a makeshift melody. "Get yer ass up, we need a little tradition up in here."
"Whaaa," Kris manages. The leather is enveloping him and he must have slipped down, because it brushes supple against his cheek. The scent is familiar, comforting (home), and Kris wants nothing more than to nuzzle in and drift off again. Naps. Naps are a Thanksgiving tradition Kris is down with.
Matt pouncing on him fully kind of ruins that.
"Get up. I dunno how you do it at home, but it's not T-day without a little pigskin and grit." Kris turns his head to the side, Matt's breath puffing too hot against his neck, and winds up looking straight at Adam. He's leaning against the doorway, fingers curled around a mug of something steaming hot and fragrant. His mouth curves up in a smile.
"I see I'm interrupting," he says, and his laughter can't stay beneath the surface for long. Kris rolls his eyes and shoves Matt hard, happily rewarded when he lands on the floor with a dull thud.
"Can't we just watch the Colts --" Kris tries, but Matt's having none of it. He grabs Kris's hands and tugs him upright. Kris sighs.
Adam rolls his eyes again, but smiles. "Well you all have fun," he says, and turns to head back to the kitchen instead of following Matt outside. Kris catches him by the wrist.
"Oh, no," he says. "If I have to do this, so do you."
Adam gives him that look, the one he usually reserves for post-menopausal woman covered head-to-toe in glitter. Kris thinks it's only fair that he breaks out the puppy-dog eyes, then, if Adam's gonna be like that.
"Fine," Adam sighs. "You're gonna be sorry, though. I don't know a thing about football."
"That's why you'll be on the other team," Kris says, and grins. He flexes his fingers around Adam's wrist, evening the resistance when Adam tugs to get free.
"Gotta let go," he says. "I'm not horsing around with you Neanderthals in these pants." It's only then that Kris notices the leather, buttery warm against the backs of his knuckles where they graze at Adam's hip. Home, he thinks, and raises his gaze to meet Adam's.
"Uh, yeah," Kris mutters, and drops Adam's wrist, his heartbeat pounding in his fingertips. He edges towards the doorway. "Be quick, though," he tosses back, and sucks in a huge gulp of air once he's out the back door.
Allison and Anoop are swinging Ryder between them, his hands clasped tight in their own, Matt and Megan standing not far off. The day is warm, muggy even, and the air feels heavy in Kris's lungs, his chest tight. "Hey," Megan says, and he snaps to attention, mentally forcing himself to relax.
[ J2/SPN portion]