FIC: Plagued By Men Bingo (RPF, Kris/Various, NC-17, 1/2)
Master Post | Part 2
Kris/Lee Dewyze. 1435 words. NC-17. Kink: writing on the body. Also contains: open relationship, semi-public (closet) sex
Cursive
It's too early in the season to have any idea who's going to win this thing, but that's never stopped anyone from declaring that they know how it's all going to shake out. Kris knows it happens every year, and he just listens and smiles and knows that every year it's proven all over again that the first week of finals is way too early to tell how the season is going to end.
So everyone's saying it's a girl's year to win, and all Kris can say is, "Yeah, maybe, there are some great girls in the competition," and not commit to anything just yet.
"Makes me think I should put a dress on before going out there," mumbles one of the guys, Lee, brushing crumbs off his jeans from an ill-advised and very dry pre-show muffin.
"Don't listen to them," says Kris, shaking his head. "If I listened to anyone I didn't trust, I wouldn't have made it past the semifinals."
"They kind of get inside your head, though, don't they?"
"Yeah, yeah they do," admits Kris. "And they're not going to stop saying stuff. They never stop saying stuff. Sometimes it's gonna get to you whether you want it to or not. You've just got to accept it, ignore it, and do what you do."
"Harder than it sounds, though, right?" says Lee, brushing his pants off again even though there's nothing on them anymore. Maybe a couple balls of lint if you look close enough, but Kris isn't. "I guess you just need people to talk to who'll tell you the opposite."
"People who love you enough to be honest with you and have your back at the same time," says Kris, remembering all the times he's needed that, and all the times he's been that. "You've got people?"
"Yeah," says Lee, and he smiles to himself like he's thinking about it. "Yeah, I've got people." He pushes up his sleeves and fixes his collar and only then does he look at Kris again. "Any other advice?"
"Just do what you do," says Kris, even though he knows it's easier said than done. Some people don't even know what they do, and that's an advantage Kris always knew he had. "Know what you're good at and use it. Don't get cocky."
Lee grins at him and shakes his head. "Right now it's all I can do not to throw up before going out there," he says. "I don't think cocky's in the cards."
"Don't throw up either," Kris adds, with a little smile to show he's teasing at the same time he's offering sound advice. "It's hard on the vocal cords. If you need to throw up, do it afterwards."
"Well that's reassuring," says Lee, rubbing his stomach like he really does think he's going to lose his lunch. Or at least his muffin. "At least the singing part's over with for this week?"
"For you, anyway," says Kris. "Let me tell you, you never get over the idea they're gonna be judging you." Lee's still looking a little green, though. "You all right?"
"Yeah, I'm good," says Lee, but his smile is definitely forced. Kris knows that look. That look brings back all kinds of memories of being on the show, and being backstage before a lot of other shows. "Just nervous."
Kris won't lie and say there was nothing to be nervous about. Tonight Lee will find out if he's going home or not, and no matter what people might be saying, nothing will change that uncertainty.
"Anything I can do to take the edge off?" says Kris, fingering the edge of his shirt a little. "We've got some time."
Lee stares at him for a minute like he can't understand what Kris is saying to him, then like he thinks he understands what Kris is saying to him but can't quite believe he's saying it, then like he's completely dismissed that idea and is trying to come up with some other meaning. But he had it right the first time.
"Unless you're involved," says Kris. "I never asked."
"But you're...I...what?" says Lee. It doesn't seem to be doing anything for his nerves, and maybe offering was a bad idea but Kris didn't think it was going to be that big of a deal. It's just physical. He looks around and no one else is even really paying attention to them, not really. Kris as a novelty has worn off already.
"I seem to remember a few places we can go," says Kris. "Lots of time. I don't take long."
Lee still seems confused, but at least more amenable now, and Kris smiles at him and tugs on his sleeve, and he really does remember this place well enough that he finds them some privacy in about thirty seconds. He doesn't kiss him or anything, doesn't get intimate, but he does start unbuttoning his shirt, exposing skin.
"I'm a little confused," says Lee finally, though he's helping him, not stopping him. "You're...."
"I just know what it takes to relax before a show," says Kris, kindly and gently, he thinks, "and I'd rather you weren't puking while I play. That would be a real mood-killer."
"No, it would be a real mood-killer if I puked now," says Lee, and finally it's clear he's getting with the program. It's not intimate, it's not weird, it's just a handjob in a closet. Nothing he hasn't done before.
Kris gets Lee's shirt open, and his pants open, and runs his fingertips over his chest, over the freckles he findsthere. "Ticklish?" he murmurs, and Lee shakes his head so Kris keeps going. He traces his name in those freckles, then Lee's, then keeps on tracing letters over bare skin, lyrics and random designs and a cheeky little "good luck" when he reaches below his navel. "Okay, hush now."
Lee bites his lip and Kris can see the flash of white teeth before he pushes his underwear down and takes Lee's cock in his hand and starts jerking it steadily. They don't have any lotion or anything but it's fine the way it is, he doesn't feel dry and Lee definitely doesn't look like he minds a moment of it.
"Chin up," says Kris, and tucks his head in underneath Lee's as he jerks him off, comfortable but unsentimental. They have this connection, the Idol connection, the underdog connection, but they aren't friends, this is just what it is. Kris digs a kleenex out of his pocket when Lee's breathing starts to get uneven, when he starts to feel his body jerking, feel his balls draw up tight beneath his hand, and when Lee comes-thankfully a gush and not a spurt-he has it cleaned up moments later.
"Uh, do you want me to..." Lee says between harsh breaths, but Kris just chuckles and shakes his head.
"I wouldn’t mind," he adds, "but I’m not the one who needed it. Feeling better?"
"Not sure I can stand up right now," says Lee. "My legs are a little shaky."
"Good," says Kris, not about the not standing up, but about the relaxation. "Don't throw up."
"Definitely not going to throw up," he says. "I think I've forgotten our choreography, though."
"That's all right," says Kris, "it was probably terrible anyway."
And that, of all things, seems to remind Lee that Kris was just like him once. That maybe Kris was the winner, maybe Kris has had almost a year of life after Idol, but he was a contestant once, with the same challenges and same obligations and the same shitty choreography.
Maybe it reminds him that there's an end in sight, and the trick is just to get there.
"Yeah, okay," says Lee. "I'm feeling pretty good now."
He reaches down to do up his pants but Kris does that for him, leaving his shirt open so that Lee can do that himself at least. It'll help him get his head back in the game.
"Isn't your buddy going to wonder where you are?" he says after he's done, tucking in and straightening his collar.
"Cale knows where I am," says Kris with a little shrug. Or at least he should. He should know perfectly well where Kris disappeared to after all this time playing together. "Ready to go back out there?"
"I guess so," says Lee. Kris doesn't fool himself that this is a permanent solution to Lee's nerves, but he did what he could. He always does what he can.
"All right," says Kris. "Go show them just whose season this is."
Kris/Tim Urban. 2085 words. NC-17. Kink: object penetration (unusual objects). Also contains: open relationship
Like The Drink
Kris has always appreciated a guy with a nice smile. It's not something he feels the need to point out to everyone-or anyone, for that matter-but more than a nice ass (which Kris nonetheless appreciates) or nice shoulders (which actually make no difference to him) or even a nice, um, package (which Kris tries not to look at too much), a guy's smile is what gets Kris's attention.
A nice smile and musical talent, that is. So it's good thing that Tim has an extra nice smile.
"So you got any tips on how to win this thing?" Tim asks him after the show, Kris smiling and waving at those people on the crew he knows from last year. It feels like forever since he's been here, but it's only been months.
"Not really," says Kris with a little laugh. "Just do your thing, do your own thing. It's all you've got."
"Yeah, yeah okay," says Tim, and he smiles and Kris thinks that he actually really gets it. He doesn't think Tim's going to get that far, but if he does his thing and does it well, he can probably get further than anyone thinks he will. It's all about knowing yourself and your strengths and sticking to your guns. "So are you sticking around here for a while?"
"A little while," says Kris, looking around. "It's part of the whole deal. When they need to rush me off somewhere else, I'll know it. I'm probably supposed to be talking to someone right now, but whatever. It'll all get done.
"So you can talk for a little while?"
The way he says talk Kris wonders if talking's what he's really got in mind, but Tim's clearly a good boy, devilish smile inside, and so even if he's thinking about something else-and Kris isn't naïve, he knows people think other things about him-he'd never say it.
"Yeah, I can talk," says Kris, and puts extra extra emphasis on the word. Tim definitely doesn’t miss it. "You got somewhere you like to go?"
"Wow, okay," says Tim, and Kris gives someone else a wave like he hasn't just agreed to a quickie with someone. He just has one of those faces, that can get away with pretty much anything. Not that he thinks he's getting away with anything here, but he sure as heck doesn't want to talk about it with anyone whose business it isn't. "Yeah."
If he didn't have any ideas Kris certainly has a few, but Tim's on top of it and Kris wonders how often he's thought about a moment like this, and with who. As soon as they're alone, he goes for Kris's pants.
"Whoa," says Kris, and laughs, and grabs hold of both of Tim's hands with his own. Not to stop him, just to slow him down a little. Just to get a bead on the situation before it gets too far to ask. "You good to go?"
"I'm good for anything," says Tim. "We didn't just come back here for you to give me advice, though, right?"
"You don't need my advice," says Kris, and there Tim goes smiling again, and Kris kind of wants to kiss it but he doesn't go there. "You already understand my advice, probably better than anybody."
"You think I can win?" says Tim, and Kris lets go of his hands so he can finish unzipping and stripping.
"I think anybody can win," says Kris diplomatically, because when the votes are in the hands of the public it's the absolute truth. Trying to figure out what they're looking for in any given year is a fool's errand. Tim grins and Kris thinks he understands what Kris isn't saying, but he's okay with that. He knows himself.
Tim doesn't stop at the necessaries, stripping them both right down to nothing, and Kris is just glad they found someplace with a locking door because that's not something you can hide in under thirty seconds.
"Wow, look at what you were hiding under there," he says, and Kris laughs and says "ditto" as he looks Tim up and down.
Tim smiles and runs his hand over Kris's bicep and Kris just drops to his knees, because that's what he does. Well, it's one of the things he does. It's one of the things he does best.
"Whoa, okay, go to town," says Tim, and thanks, Kris thinks, thanks, I'll do that. Tim is thick and hard and Kris licks him like a popsicle, up and down and around and sometimes sucking drips off the head. Tim just moves his fingers restlessly through his hair, and gasps and moans and makes a whole lot of noises that make Kris glad they didn't just duck into a closet somewhere nearby.
He grabs a handful of Tim's ass and Tim gets loud and that, Kris thinks, that's fun. He gives it a friendly little smack and swallows his cock right down and Tim makes a noise like he could die happy.
"Wait, no," says Tim, though, when he's able to speak again at all. "I want to come with you in me, come on, I haven't had anyone fuck me since I got here."
"Sorry," says Kris, kissing Tim's hip and then moving in to suck him again. "But I promise this'll be good."
"What? No," says Tim, and then he's tugging Kris up so that they're face to face again. "You can't fuck me?"
"It's a rule," says Kris.
"Seriously?" says Tim, panting out the words. "You can blow me, but you can't fuck me?"
"No actually, you know, putting it in anyone else," says Kris. "There has to be a line somewhere, right?"
"Most people draw the line somewhere else," says Tim, groaning quietly. "Are you sure you can't...?"
"We can figure something else out," says Kris. "Somehow I always manage."
"Always?" says Tim. Gasps, really, as Kris starts to finger him. "How often do you do this?"
Kris just shrugs and smiles at him. "Often enough to know some alternatives," he says, "and not often enough to show up prepared everywhere I go." He turns Tim around, hands against the wall, legs spread, and gives his behind a friendly slap now that he knows Tim likes that kind of thing. "Anything you don't want me to do?"
"Well, I'd appreciate you not fucking me with a baseball bat, since you're asking," says Tim, wiggling his ass under Kris's hand. "Other than that, I'm pretty easy. But I'm guessing you already figured that out."
Kris laughs and runs his fingers down Tim's sweaty back and looks around them for inspiration, but it's not like they leave dildos lying around backstage. That's definitely not a part of the idol experience. There's a toolbox, though, where someone was fixing the blind runner, and with a light pat on Tim's slightly-reddened behind Kris leaves to check it out.
"What are you doing?" says Tim, hands against the wall and not even turning his head to look.
"Finding an alternative," says Kris. "I hope." He leaves little sweat smears on the plastic of the toolbox and hopes they'll vanish soon. He knows what he's hoping to find, but he has to do a little bit of digging before he does. He's not crazy, after all. It's got to be safe. Smooth, no snags, no edges.
"Seriously," says Tim. "What are you-?"
"Got it," Kris interrupts him, closing the toolbox and heading for his pants, where he knows he has a condom in his wallet. Even if he doesn't need it, he likes to be the kind of wingman his friends can count on. "Stay there."
"Believe me, I'm not going anywhere until I get off," says Tim, and Kris can see that as he rolls the condom over the head of the screwdriver and returns to Tim's body. They haven't got any lube, just a package of hand cream that Tim had in his pocket-Kris doesn't ask; he knows the value of moisturizing-but the screwdriver isn't that big, and Kris knows how to be slow and careful.
Even if Tim doesn't seem interested in slow.
"How long do you think it's going to be before someone comes looking for one of us?" he says. He was probably going to go on to say something about how they'd both be missed, but Kris has a feeling that someone is running interference for him, and there are enough contestants to wrangle without Kris. But whether he was or not, Kris slides a couple of fingers inside him and that shuts him up. "Oh, fuck."
"Yeah," says Kris, and twists them inside him a couple of times before starting to, not thrust, but at least move. He presses his other hand to Tim's back again, still hot and slick, but he knows he's not going to be doing that for long before he needs to use that hand to jerk himself off. He just leaves it there while he fingers him open, and while he gets ready for something more. "Do you trust me?"
"I pretty much have to," says Tim, but that's not good enough.
"Do you trust me not to do anything you don't want?" Kris asks again, and Tim says, "Yes, yes, yes."
And so without saying anything else, Kris slicks up the condom and pushes the object into Tim's body, nice and easy.
"What is-?"
"Just trust me," says Kris, and gives him a few moment before he really starts doing him with it, doing him like it really was his cock in there.
Tim doesn't ask anything else after that.
"Oh fuck, yeah, fuck, yes, fuck fuck fuck."
"You've got a filthy mouth on you," says Kris, and laughs and kisses it hard, right at the corner, not quite on the lips. Even that doesn't stop Tim from talking.
"Fuck, yes, hard, fuck, harder, fuck, do it do it fuck do it."
Kris already is, doing Tim with one hand and jerking himself off with the other, because there's no way he could get this far with him and not get turned on to the point of no return. It's just a shame he never got Tim to go down on him, because that smile. Kris can imagine him smiling somewhere else.
"Fuck," says Tim, pushing back against him almost as hard as Kris is pushing into him, "yes, fuck, I'm gonna, fuck, you don't even have to, fuck, I'm gonna come."
Now that's a surprise-Kris figured he would have to jerk him off to get him all the way-but sure enough, with the long head of the screwdriver buried inside him, Tim jerks and gasps and comes against the wall, leaving telltale streaks on the paint.
Kris stops thrusting and presses his forehead to Tim's back and jerks himself off hard and fast until he comes in his own hand, on his own stomach, dripping on his own wrist. He pants a few times, then pulls the screwdriver out, strips the condom off and rolls it back in the direction of the toolbox. It ends up behind it, in the shadow of the lid and more or less out of sight.
"What was that even?" Tim asks a little while later, finally looking back over his own shoulder, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist.
"Does it matter?" says Kris, and finally moves away from him, smiles and searches his own pockets for something to clean them up with. "It worked."
"Wow did it ever work," says Tim, and laughs and rubs his eye with the heel of his hand. He looks a little embarrassed now, but Kris gets that. It can be a little embarrassing, being that vulnerable. All he can do is not make it any worse for him. "Are you...?"
"Oh, I'm good," Kris promises him. He doesn't find anything in his pockets but there's a roll of paper towel by the window, near the toolbox. For cleaning something other than come-stained hands and walls, but convenient all the same. He grabs some for himself and then some for Tim, too, before he starts getting dressed again. "You good?"
"Best advice I ever got," says Tim, running his hands through his hair and smiling that smile again. "I wonder if Adam Lambert can beat it."
"Cheeky," says Kris, and laughs as he buttons his shirt. "I guess you'll just have to find out."
Kris/Katy. 1448 words. NC-17. Kink: tattoos / tattooing. Also contains: semi-public (vehicular) sex
Pretend Invisible
"It should go here," says Katy, using one finger to tug down the front of his jeans, just an inch or so, and the other to trace over a spot on his hip.
"Why there?" says Kris, feeling tingles where she's touching him.
"Because," she says, "you don't want to show everyone, but you want people to think once in a while that they see something, and wonder. Curiosity is a good thing."
Kris tangles his finger with hers for a moment, hooks them together right over the spot. "But do you want it there?"
"Yes," she says, and kisses just behind his ear. "I really do."
Because Kris wouldn't be showing everyone if he put it there, low on his hips, below the waistband of his jeans and hidden most of the time by a couple of layers of clothing. But he would be showing her.
"You're really okay that I want to do this?"
"I'm really okay that you want to do this," she says. "I'm more than okay that you want to do this."
He already knew that, but it's nice to hear it again anyway, and maybe Kris needs that little extra push to go through with it. Because even when he really wants something, sometimes that's what it takes to get him to go for it.
"Okay," he says. "They're not going to let you come in with me."
"You're a big boy," she says, and while they're alone, while nobody is looking, she kisses the spot where he's getting the tattoo. "You can handle it without me."
"Love you," he says, and kisses her lips, then he gets up to go inside.
He didn't so much design the tattoo as lift it from something he'd already created. He's written a lot of songs for Katy-in a way almost everything he writes is for Katy, or about Katy-but this one is special. This is the song he sang to her when he asked her to marry him. And no matter what the future holds, that's a moment that will always mean something to both of them.
Just a few notes, just the first bar of a song, and it would have been with him forever inside his head and his heart anyway but now it'll be something they can see and something they can touch and that's a new kind of special.
"Nervous?" says his tattoo artist, a tall woman with short red hair and tattoos running down both arms. Kris thinks of the riddle about the two barbers, and wonders if maybe he should have gotten a look at what her partner's arms look like. But it's just a fleeting thought, and Kris has made an educated, well-considered decision.
He's ready for this.
"Yes," he says, and smiles at her, "but that's okay. I hear you're always nervous your first time."
"Wiser words have seldom been spoken," she says, and talks him through it.
Kris feels a little exposed and a lot vulnerable but he feels a kind of energy buzzing through him too as the tattoo gun buzzes over his skin. He knows pain is a kind of high, but this is something else. This is almost sexual, and he blushes as he thinks about that, hopes it isn't embarrassingly evident that he's getting hard. It is, of course. After all his pants are open. But she doesn't comment and she doesn't stop working and Kris figures maybe it's just normal.
He watches as the notes take shape, inked in black on his pale skin, and hums the tune that they're suggesting, hums the whole song, really. He doesn’t believe in that kind of magic, that singing while he's getting tattooed with this has any special kind of meaning, but it feels right anyway. And after a little while his artist hums with him for a couple of bars instead of humming along with the radio.
It doesn't take long, but when it's done Kris feels like every nerve is alive. He can barely pay attention to his aftercare instructions and is glad she hands him a piece of paper with everything she's just said. It's hard to concentrate on anything at all except for the erection that's still just not hidden at all, and the electric sensation he can still feel on his skin, a little bit like burning and a little bit like sex.
"You might want to leave those jeans unbuttoned," she says, and Kris blushed harder even after he realizes she was talking about the pressure on the tattoo.
"Thanks," he says, "it looks really great." And he knows he makes small talk for another couple of minutes but he can barely even remember what he says until he goes out and finds Katy again.
"Let me see," she says, but Kris takes her hand instead and leads her right out of the building, out to the parking lot and into the backseat of the car they parked in the shade, mostly out of sight. "Kris, what are you...?"
"Sorry," he says, and doesn't feel sorry at all. He kisses her and waits for her to start kissing him back before he reaches for his zipper and undoes his jeans the rest of the way. Partly for her to see and partly for other reasons entirely.
She brushes her fingers overtop of the thin plastic covering it, touching each note then tracing a circle around it. "If it's going to get you this wound up, I'm going to make you get one every week," she says, and he starts kissing her again, pushing her sundress up her thighs.
"Let's just stick with the one for now," he says, tugging her panties down and then off. In the back of his mind he knows that someone could see them, but he also knows it's really, really unlikely. Even if it were, though, he's not sure he'd want to stop now. It's completely unlike them, and so much fun. "If you don't want to, just-"
"If I didn't want to, you'd already know," said Katy, tugging his jeans down further, then his underwear, just enough that he can move between her legs and slide into her, just like that.
Katy lets out a soft cry and Kris lifts his hand to cup her breast, brush his thumb over her nipple, kiss her again and again and again. The sense of urgency doesn't go away once he's inside her, but he makes it good for her, plays with her breasts and kisses her throat and angles himself so that he's rubbing against her clit as he pushes inside her, even if their position in the back seat is awkward enough that he can't get a hand in there without risking permanent injury to one or both of them.
"S'okay," she murmurs and wraps a leg around him, knee pressed against the back of the front seat, and Kris is reminded of high school even though they never even did this in high school, even though they never did it at all for years after that.
The tattoo on his hips aches and stings a little and that just makes Kris thrust harder, makes him want her more. He doesn't think it's going to end with this quickie in the back seat either, but anything else he has in mind can wait until they’re home, until they're actually alone and can kiss and talk and touch and he can tell her what he's feeling.
Right now he has only two things on his mind: his orgasm, and hers. He comes first because he just can't help it, and thinks it's probably enough of a miracle that he lasted this long at all. He can still stay inside her, though, and grind his pelvis against hers and pinch her nipple and kiss her until she trembles and her breath catches and she lets out that soft, wondrous "oh" that lets Kris know when she's come.
"I, um," he says a few moments later when he actually feels like he can think again.
"You don't need to explain anything," says Katy, and kisses his nose and lets him pull out of her, cleaning them both up as much as he can. He pulls his underwear up but leaves his jeans unbuttoned again, letting the tattoo breathe.
"I can't find your underwear," he admits, and Katy just laughs and gives him a smack and scrambles up to a sitting position so she can actually get out of the car.
"Come on," she says, after one last kiss. "I think we need to get you home."
Wiser words had never been spoken.
Kris/Mary Steenburgen. 2250 words. NC-17. Kink: uniforms / military fetish. Also contains: open relationship, roleplaying
At Your Service
Kris loves being from Arkansas. He really does. He knows people, even went to school with some people, who were counting the days till they got to go somewhere more exciting, but Arkansas's always been home. Even when he's living somewhere else, it's home.
And it's always nice to find someone who feels the same way.
"We should get together some time," says Mary, which makes Kris flail a little on the inside. She's no Morgan Freeman, but Morgan Freeman isn't going to be asking Kris to hang out with him ever. Kris is just glad to have gotten a chance to talk to him at all.
"Yeah, we should," says Kris. "Talk about home. Or whatever."
"Or whatever," she repeats, in that sly way people sometimes do. Kris wouldn't say he's been around the block, but he's been around enough to notice. He gets it loud and clear, and he's totally on the same page. "You can bring your wife if you like."
"Yeah, maybe," says Kris, and avoids saying that might not be Katy's scene because hey, he doesn't know until he asks. "Are you staying in town?"
"Let me give you the address," she says, and Kris hands his phone over but it's not so much an address she gives him as a room number. Kris isn't entirely surprised. "What did you do, before American Idol?"
"Retail," admits Kris with a sheepish smile. He's not embarrassed, but it's not what most people expect to hear when they ask him. "A few other things. I played in bars and in church too. It just didn't pay the bills."
"Neither does acting until you make it somewhere," she says with a nod of understanding, letting her hair down and then running her hands through it, like it's been a long day. Which it has, Kris has to admit. A great day, but a long day. "I head home tomorrow after lunch, though I'll probably order room service instead of leaving the room. Might as well enjoy these things while you can, that's what I think. You're probably heading home right now."
"I feel like I'm sort of between homes," says Kris with a little shake of his head, though he never really settled into LA. He never really got used to calling it home. "I guess my parents' place is still sort of home."
"Oh, you make me feel so old," she says with a little laugh.
"No way," says Kris automatically, not a reflex but because he couldn't ever think of her that way. She'll never be in the same category as, like, his mom.
"You're sweet," she says, and watches him slide his phone back into his pocket with her room number on it. "I have to admit, I'm not so old that I don't like to flirt with the hotel waiters when they come up to the room. Something about that uniform."
Kris laughs and blushes and he thinks he saw about ten seconds of a porno like that once in college, just passing by the wrong place at the wrong time. "I always get old guys when I order room service," he says. "Not that I've ordered room service that often."
"Just wait," she says. "It gets to be a part of the lifestyle, until we get so far into the future that it can just appear in your room."
"Yeah, I don't think we're that far yet," he says. "I'll have to get back to you on the room service thing. We can compare notes."
"You do that," she says, and smiles at him, and Kris sees his brother waving at him across the room so he knows it's time to go, but he thinks he's going to be seeing her sooner than later. He thinks he's really kind of looking forward to it.
Katy's actually into the idea, but too tired to follow through. Kris just shrugs and figures there'll be other opportunities, but then Katy says if he's not too tired he should go, and then come back after and tell her all about it. And Kris is tired, but he's not too tired, not for this.
He asks her if she's sure and then he kisses her stupid and then he puts on something other than his good suit, not that he thinks he's going to be staying in it that long. Flirt with the waiter, she said, and Kris thinks maybe he can make that work. His buddy in college used to work for a hotel and Kris knows the ins and outs of where to find himself a clean uniform.
It's a little sloppy, but presentable, when he finally knocks on her door after midnight and calls out, "Room service!"
"I didn't order any-" she's saying as she pulls the door open, swing bar still attached, then smiles when she sees who's there.
"Are you sure?" says Kris. He hasn't borrowed a cart or tray to go along with his uniform but he does have a bottle of wine and a pair of wine glasses in hand.
"My mistake," she says, and opens the door the rest of the way to let him inside. "I almost forgot."
"That's all right, ma'am," he says, carefully putting the bottle down on the table next to her purse and a pair of drinking glasses. "Shall I pour for you?"
"Oh, do," she says, still smiling at him. She has a hotel robe on, and underneath Kris thinks he sees a flash of silk.
Kris has never been a waiter, let alone a waiter in a fancy restaurant, but he can pop a cork on a bottle of wine and pour a couple of glasses without botching the job too badly. And he does pour two, without prompting.
"Will there be anything else?" he says, turning back to her, a picture of innocence.
"Oh, I don't know," she says, flipping his collar with her fingertip. "Do you really have to get back to work so quickly?"
"I suppose no one would notice if I was a few minutes late," says Kris, "if you require service."
"I do require service," she says. "I most definitely require service from you, young man."
"Anything you need, ma'am," says Kris, as she reaches past him and picks up both glasses of wine, one in each hand. When she holds one of them out to him it's less an offer than an insistence.
"Drink with me," she says. "My husband's away on a business trip and I could use the company."
"Well, I really shouldn't drink while I'm working," Kris says, even as he bashfully takes the glass of wine from her, lowering his gaze and giving her a little smile. "I suppose just this once it would be okay, as long as you promise not to tell anyone."
"Not a soul," she promises him. "If anyone asks, you were doing something vital for me, and my highest compliments to a hotel that provides such excellent service."
Kris takes a cautious sip of the wine, and mostly watches her as she watches him, sipping her wine and looking at him like she wants to eat him alive. Kris really kind of wants her to. A few moment later she takes back both of the half-full wine glasses and sets them back down.
"There's something else you can help me with," she says, and pulls his hands towards her robe. "This knot has really been giving me trouble. Perhaps you can give it a try?"
"Of course," says Kris, and the knot practically falls open in his hands. He wasn't wrong about the silk beneath, a soft red that's almost pink, falling to just above her knees. Kris can see freckles across her collarbones, and fights the urge to lean in and lick them.
"That's much better," she says, letting it fall off her shoulders to the floor at her feet. "You have excellent service skills."
"I aim to please," says Kris modestly. "Anything you could possibly need."
"Oh, anything?" she says archly, and this right here, this sharp, dangling moment, is when everything turns the corner. She reaches for his tight collar, unbuttons it with a snap of her wrist and then starts unbuttoning the rest of his white coat. "I think you'll want to be more comfortable for this."
Kris is docile, letting her take the lead with him, playing the corruptible innocent. The corruptible innocent with special skills designed to please the most discerning guest.
"Don't worry," she says as she draws him towards the bed. "I tip well."
Kris almost laughs, but in the end he manages to bite his lip and unbuckle his shiny belt and kiss her when she draws his head down to hers. Her lips are thinner than Katy's, but warm and soft and very certain against his. This isn't a tentative kiss of introduction. This is a woman who knows who she is and knows what she wants.
And that's a big part of the reason Kris is here in the first place. In a way, Mary is like home and teenage fantasy all in one.
Kris opens his mouth but Mary presses a finger to it. "Don't talk," she says. "I have other ideas for that mouth of yours." She traces his lips with her fingertip, lingering against his lower lip for a moment, and Kris darts his finger out to lick at it. "Oh yes, just like that."
She pushes the thin straps of her nightgown down past her shoulders and Kris pulls them the rest of the way until her breasts are exposed. They're freckled too, and this time Kris doesn't resist the urge to kiss those freckles. Her skin there is dry and warm too, and as Kris kisses it, working his way down and over from her breastbone, he struggles somewhat gracelessly out of his pants.
With somewhat more grace, she pretends not to notice. Or if she does, it's with the amused patience of someone who knows her partner is hot for her.
Which Kris doesn't even pretend that he isn't. Even as he kisses at her breasts, laps at her nipples and strokes at her skin with his fingertips, he's pushing her nightgown up her thighs with one hand, all the way to her waist and then higher. It's still a fantasy and comfortable all at once, someone who was never quite real to him, yet someone who shares so many of his feelings about who he is and where he comes from.
The uniform is wrinkling on the floor when he kisses his way down her stomach, just slightly rounded from children, and that's so sexy to him. That'll be Katy one day. She's not shy about her body, spreads her legs for him when he's down there and lets him keep kissing. He's good at this, and knows he's good at this, and even now he can keep pretending this is some kind of platinum level of room service. He licks at her till she's wet all over, then slides two fingers into her and licks around them too.
"I haven't-" she starts, then her breath catches for a moment mid-sentence as Kris sucks at her. "-got a condom."
"That's okay," says Kris as he finally lifts his head. "We're full service here."
And she laughs as he leans off the bed just long enough to dig a condom out of his pants and slide it on. It's been a while but he hasn't forgotten how to do this. Maybe he can't slide a condom on in five seconds flat with one hand tied behind his back anymore, but slow and steady will do.
Slow and steady is how he enters her too, not as athletically as with Katy. This is a different kind of thing, this is fulfilling something for Kris but fulfilling a fantasy for her, too. He caresses her softly, pays close attention to her reactions since he doesn't know any of them by heart, and moves slowly inside her, learning how to do this all over again.
But there are some things that Kris doesn't have to relearn, and sliding a wet thumb over her clit is one of them. She gasps softly and rolls up against his hand and Kris kisses her collarbones as he keeps moving. It's not fast when it happens, more like the slow approach of a wave, crashing over her first, then as she's trembling and gasping and Kris is still moving inside her, over him as well.
It's quiet for a few moments as she pets his hair, as he kisses her throat, then Kris has to move away again, tie off the condom and then make sure she's comfortable and satisfied.
She lounges beneath the sheets as Kris pulls the uniform on again, as wrinkled as he expected. He might even leave it on when he goes home to Katy, and see what she thinks about a debauched room service waiter showing up at her bedroom door.
"It's been a pleasure," she says, propped up on her elbow, her fingers threaded through her own hair. "Are you sure you have to go so soon?"
"I've got people waiting," he says, and gives her a little smile, and he does have someone waiting at home for him, but one more tip of the hat at their little scenario doesn't hurt anything either. "And the pleasure was all mine."
Kris/Dean Winchester. 2381 words. NC-17. Kink: costumes. Also contains: crossdressing, semi-public (outdoor) sex
In Convenience
"This next artist needs no introduction. First coming onto the scene as the winner of the eighth season of American Idol, his third album was just certified platinum last week. Here to sing his latest single 'Decline' for us, here's-"
Kris was just getting ready to take the stage when three things happened simultaneously to prevent it-the sound cut out, something exploded, and he was knocked over when someone hit him with a flying tackle.
It wasn't quite how he'd expected this to go.
"Stay down," a low growl of a voice says in his ear, even though Kris hadn't even been thinking about getting up. He hadn't even quite processed the fact that he was flat on the ground yet. A moment later the same voice said, "Okay, now move, come with me," and Kris did that too, though it was a bit more of a struggle, especially since it was into the smoke and not in the direction Kris would have instinctively gone.
For all he knew it was a kidnapping attempt, but it felt more like a rescue. Sort of. Actually, Kris had no idea, but his head was ringing and he was stumbling as he tried to run and he just couldn't think. He could still hear the explosion but everything, every voice but the one giving him directions, seemed very far away.
"Is everyone okay?" he managed to ask finally, licking his dry lips and wondering why his own voice seemed kind of far away too.
"No idea," the guy said, then he was grabbing Kris's arm and they were moving again. He finally got a handle on where they were a few moments later, hiding behind a car that was parked not far back of stage. People were screaming and Kris finally tried to see, tried to figure out what was going on.
"We need to go back."
"That's the last thing we need to do, superstar," the guy said. "That spell was meant for you."
"The explosion?" said Kris, his head still ringing a little. "For me? Why?"
"That wasn't an explosion," said the guy. "Well, okay, it was an explosion, but not the way you're thinking. Not the C4 and shrapnel type."
Kris just wasn't following, and he didn't think it was because of the shock of the not-explosion anymore. He just wasn't following. "Is there a beginning that you could start at?" he asked finally. "Even a middle might be all right."
"Short version coming up, so pay attention," he said. "The guy in the long black coat? He wants to get his hands on you." So far it didn't sound that different from Kris's everyday life. "The spell-fuck I hate spells-was an effort to drive you straight in his direction so he could make off with you in the confusion and do his thing. Not a bad plan, as far as these things go. He shouldn’t have bragged about it beforehand."
"Someone wants to kidnap me?"
"More like something wants to possess you," he said, "and we need to get you out of here before it gets the chance. Any ideas?"
"I don't even know what's going on," said Kris. "Most of my ideas right now involve running, which I'm guessing isn't the best option."
"Not while you're a visual target," he said. "It's sort of in a substitute body right now. It's limited by human perception." Kris was following now, in the way you could follow the plot of a movie. It still wasn't making real life sense, but at least he could follow.
"Are you sure you're not crazy?"
"Most of the time," he said. "Look, my name's Dean, all right? And you have no reason to trust me except for how I already saved your ass once but I'm telling you to trust me anyway. You don't want this thing in you."
"I do," said Kris. "Trust you, I mean. I'm not sure I have a lot of other options. I just hope you're not crazy."
"Yeah, well, me too," said Dean, reaching behind him to open the door to the back seat of the car and pulling out a duffel. "Maybe we can disguise you."
"If it didn't see us duck back here."
"If it had, it would already be here and we'd be trying to shoot our way out," said Dean. There was still chaos and smoke from behind them, so for the moment Kris felt safe. Well, as safe as he could, under the circumstances. "My brother's distracting it."
And with that he started tugging clothes out of his duffel. Even he didn't seem to know what he was looking for, looking at various articles of clothing and frowning.
"Could I pass as your brother?"
Dean just looked at him and laughed.
"You could just say no," said Kris. "I could wear a hat. You seem to have a few of those."
"You can't just wear a hat," said Dean, and from the bottom of his duffel pulled out a wrinkled yellow sundress. And looked at it speculatively. Kris looked at it warily. "I bet this would fit you."
"I can't pass as a girl."
"You don't need to pass close inspection," said Dean, shaking it out and holding it up against Kris's body. "It's not going to expect you to know what's going on well enough to sneak out."
"Why do you have a dress anyway?"
"You ask too many questions," said Dean. "Put it on if you want to get out of here alive."
Getting out of this alive seemed like a really swell idea. Kris actually kind of forgot about everything else, about the performance, about the cameras, in favor of getting out alive. It was just a dress. It wasn't anything Kris hadn't done before.
"Is everyone else getting out alive?"
"If Sam has any say in it, they are," said Dean. "It just wants you. It doesn't want any of them."
"Why me?" said Kris, struggling out of his clothes. "What is it about me?"
"For your audience," said Dean. "It wants your audience for whatever it wants to say. And before you ask, I didn't ask it what it wanted to say. I was too busy saving your shapely ass."
"My what?" said Kris, and Dean reached over and slipped the skirt down over his hips, letting it fall to his ankles as he crouched there. It actually did fit pretty well, would probably fall right around Kris's knees when he stood up.
"You heard me," said Dean, reaching over and mussing Kris's hair. It was the best they could do, in the absence of a suitable hat. "All right, as soon as you stand up you need to get lost in the chaos. No one will stop you. It's not looking for a girl. Hell, it's probably searching your tour bus by this point if Sam doesn't have it yet."
"Are my guys okay?"
"Yes," said Dean. Kris knew he didn't actually know, but it helped to hear it anyway. As soon as he was out of this, he was going to find out for real.
"Go," said Dean. "I'll meet you in the parking lot. Got it? The parking lot. That's far enough out from here that it's not going to be looking there. We can get you out of here." Kris still crouched on the ground, staring at him. "Go!"
That one word finally got him on his feet, looking around at the rapidly dispersing crowd and then dashing out into it without so much as a second thought. He didn't scream or anything, didn't flail about hysterically, but he did sort of duck his head and try to swing his hips a little as he ran, and there weren't as many people as there had been when this all started, much of the audience already scattering and escaping, but once he was in the midst of them he didn't have any problems at all. He made it clear into the parking lot, almost to the other side of it before so much as looking back. No one had followed him. No one was looking for him.
Still, he felt exposed there so he found the shade of a large tree at the far edge of the parking lot and waited. Waiting and not knowing anything was maybe the hardest thing he'd done do far. Kris wasn't a foolhardy guy, but when he heard people still panicking in what remained of his audience it was hard not to go rushing back to try to help.
Finally he spotted Dean coming his way, obviously having been looking for him for a while.
"You couldn't make it easy, could you?"
"Standing out in the open seemed stupid," said Kris. "Plus, I'm in a dress. I'm not immediately not recognizable just because I'm in a dress."
"It was nowhere near close enough to recognize you. It never even left the stage area."
"I didn't mean it, whatever it was," said Kris. "I meant everyone else! They were all here to see me It's kind of reasonable that they might, you know, recognize me."
"Oh," said Dean. "Right."
And then it got awkward, because Dean started getting some weapons out of his bag, and he called his brother, and Kris didn't have anything to do so he just kind of stood there, heart pounding and breaths coming rapidly and, much to his mortification, tenting the dress with his barely restrained cock. Boxers didn't cut it under a dress.
He tried to ignore it, but it would not be ignored.
"It's normal," said Dean finally, which just made it worse because it meant he noticed. "You know, excitement and adrenaline. Happens all the time."
Kris knew that. It wasn't like he hadn't ever gotten hard on stage. He'd definitely gotten hard after being on stage. But he didn't have a lot of experience running from...he didn't know what. He didn't want to know what. He wasn't prepared to ask.
And as he tried to will it down again he suddenly felt the ground shake, heard a sound unlike anything he'd ever heard before, like what he imagined a huge implosion would sound like. It was distressingly like a monstrous, shaking orgasm, and made his cock throb. It was a moment before it occurred to him to duck and cover.
"That was a good boom," said Dean, though. "That was a we-got-the-bad-guy boom."
"Are you sure?" said Kris. Something beeped from the inside of Dean's bag, and Kris realized it was his own pants, quickly stuffed in there after changing. He scrambled to find a frantic text from Lizzie and after sending a reply was assured that everyone was okay. Everyone was okay.
Relief? Did not make his hard-on go down. Mostly it made it throb more.
Nor did the feeling of Dean playing with the zipper at his back, drawing it down a short way and then brushing the skin beneath it with his thumb.
"You know I'm not actually a girl, right?"
"Most girls aren't packing like you are," says Dean, and he didn't put his hand up under Kris's skirt but it was a near thing, his hand sliding up Kris's thigh. "Do you want me to take care of that for you or not?"
"I could take the dress off first," said Kris, as one strap slipped down his shoulder. But that would leave him naked, and putting his own clothes back on would deny Dean access, and maybe he didn't mind the dress that much. Maybe, right at this moment, it was exactly the right thing.
"I like the dress," said Dean. "It belonged to this girl I...well, you don't need to know that." His hand slid further up the skirt, over Kris's ass and then around front. "Just that I'm definitely fond of the dress."
"And what's inside?"
"And what's inside," said Dean, hand slipping inside Kris's shorts and jerking him off without any further discussion on the matter. It was more matter-of-fact than romantic, but Kris's whole body was still surging with adrenaline and Dean was hard against his back, breath heaving in Kris's ear, and there was something to be said for hot frantic sex like this.
A breeze blew the shirt up a little, sent goosebumps over Kris's skin, or maybe that was the way Dean was handling him, hard and sure and hot. He didn't last long, and he didn't expect to. Not with the way he was all keyed up, not with the way Dean got straight to business.
Not with the way Dean's teeth sank gently into his bare shoulder, dress strap shoved carelessly aside to expose skin.
He didn't know if Dean came or not. If he did, Kris didn't have anything to do with it because he was busy gasping and trembling and scrubbing his sweaty palms against his dress.
It was at least a couple of minutes before he heard Dean's voice in his ear. "Okay, now you should change back into your clothes."
Kris didn't waste any time doing that, though there was a brief moment of regret as he tucked the dress back into Dean's bag again. As soon as he was done, Dean snatched the bag up, zipped it, and looked like he was ready to go on his way.
"Wait, so now what?" said Kris.
"Now you go back to your entourage, superstar," said Dean. "And I go find my brother."
"But what if...am I safe now?" he said. "Is it going to come after me again?"
Dean didn't answer the question. "My number's in your phone," he said. "Anything weird ever happens, you give me a call."
"Right," said Kris. He wasn't even sure if he'd know weird when he saw it, but the phone number was a comfort. Sort of. It was good to have the number of a guy who made things go boom. "Thanks."
Dean gave him a wave over his shoulder but he was already leaving, heading back towards his car again, towards the continuing chaos and towards his brother and towards a life that Kris couldn't even really imagine. He watched him for a little while, before finally going back to his own.
Master Post | Part 2
Kris/Lee Dewyze. 1435 words. NC-17. Kink: writing on the body. Also contains: open relationship, semi-public (closet) sex
Cursive
It's too early in the season to have any idea who's going to win this thing, but that's never stopped anyone from declaring that they know how it's all going to shake out. Kris knows it happens every year, and he just listens and smiles and knows that every year it's proven all over again that the first week of finals is way too early to tell how the season is going to end.
So everyone's saying it's a girl's year to win, and all Kris can say is, "Yeah, maybe, there are some great girls in the competition," and not commit to anything just yet.
"Makes me think I should put a dress on before going out there," mumbles one of the guys, Lee, brushing crumbs off his jeans from an ill-advised and very dry pre-show muffin.
"Don't listen to them," says Kris, shaking his head. "If I listened to anyone I didn't trust, I wouldn't have made it past the semifinals."
"They kind of get inside your head, though, don't they?"
"Yeah, yeah they do," admits Kris. "And they're not going to stop saying stuff. They never stop saying stuff. Sometimes it's gonna get to you whether you want it to or not. You've just got to accept it, ignore it, and do what you do."
"Harder than it sounds, though, right?" says Lee, brushing his pants off again even though there's nothing on them anymore. Maybe a couple balls of lint if you look close enough, but Kris isn't. "I guess you just need people to talk to who'll tell you the opposite."
"People who love you enough to be honest with you and have your back at the same time," says Kris, remembering all the times he's needed that, and all the times he's been that. "You've got people?"
"Yeah," says Lee, and he smiles to himself like he's thinking about it. "Yeah, I've got people." He pushes up his sleeves and fixes his collar and only then does he look at Kris again. "Any other advice?"
"Just do what you do," says Kris, even though he knows it's easier said than done. Some people don't even know what they do, and that's an advantage Kris always knew he had. "Know what you're good at and use it. Don't get cocky."
Lee grins at him and shakes his head. "Right now it's all I can do not to throw up before going out there," he says. "I don't think cocky's in the cards."
"Don't throw up either," Kris adds, with a little smile to show he's teasing at the same time he's offering sound advice. "It's hard on the vocal cords. If you need to throw up, do it afterwards."
"Well that's reassuring," says Lee, rubbing his stomach like he really does think he's going to lose his lunch. Or at least his muffin. "At least the singing part's over with for this week?"
"For you, anyway," says Kris. "Let me tell you, you never get over the idea they're gonna be judging you." Lee's still looking a little green, though. "You all right?"
"Yeah, I'm good," says Lee, but his smile is definitely forced. Kris knows that look. That look brings back all kinds of memories of being on the show, and being backstage before a lot of other shows. "Just nervous."
Kris won't lie and say there was nothing to be nervous about. Tonight Lee will find out if he's going home or not, and no matter what people might be saying, nothing will change that uncertainty.
"Anything I can do to take the edge off?" says Kris, fingering the edge of his shirt a little. "We've got some time."
Lee stares at him for a minute like he can't understand what Kris is saying to him, then like he thinks he understands what Kris is saying to him but can't quite believe he's saying it, then like he's completely dismissed that idea and is trying to come up with some other meaning. But he had it right the first time.
"Unless you're involved," says Kris. "I never asked."
"But you're...I...what?" says Lee. It doesn't seem to be doing anything for his nerves, and maybe offering was a bad idea but Kris didn't think it was going to be that big of a deal. It's just physical. He looks around and no one else is even really paying attention to them, not really. Kris as a novelty has worn off already.
"I seem to remember a few places we can go," says Kris. "Lots of time. I don't take long."
Lee still seems confused, but at least more amenable now, and Kris smiles at him and tugs on his sleeve, and he really does remember this place well enough that he finds them some privacy in about thirty seconds. He doesn't kiss him or anything, doesn't get intimate, but he does start unbuttoning his shirt, exposing skin.
"I'm a little confused," says Lee finally, though he's helping him, not stopping him. "You're...."
"I just know what it takes to relax before a show," says Kris, kindly and gently, he thinks, "and I'd rather you weren't puking while I play. That would be a real mood-killer."
"No, it would be a real mood-killer if I puked now," says Lee, and finally it's clear he's getting with the program. It's not intimate, it's not weird, it's just a handjob in a closet. Nothing he hasn't done before.
Kris gets Lee's shirt open, and his pants open, and runs his fingertips over his chest, over the freckles he findsthere. "Ticklish?" he murmurs, and Lee shakes his head so Kris keeps going. He traces his name in those freckles, then Lee's, then keeps on tracing letters over bare skin, lyrics and random designs and a cheeky little "good luck" when he reaches below his navel. "Okay, hush now."
Lee bites his lip and Kris can see the flash of white teeth before he pushes his underwear down and takes Lee's cock in his hand and starts jerking it steadily. They don't have any lotion or anything but it's fine the way it is, he doesn't feel dry and Lee definitely doesn't look like he minds a moment of it.
"Chin up," says Kris, and tucks his head in underneath Lee's as he jerks him off, comfortable but unsentimental. They have this connection, the Idol connection, the underdog connection, but they aren't friends, this is just what it is. Kris digs a kleenex out of his pocket when Lee's breathing starts to get uneven, when he starts to feel his body jerking, feel his balls draw up tight beneath his hand, and when Lee comes-thankfully a gush and not a spurt-he has it cleaned up moments later.
"Uh, do you want me to..." Lee says between harsh breaths, but Kris just chuckles and shakes his head.
"I wouldn’t mind," he adds, "but I’m not the one who needed it. Feeling better?"
"Not sure I can stand up right now," says Lee. "My legs are a little shaky."
"Good," says Kris, not about the not standing up, but about the relaxation. "Don't throw up."
"Definitely not going to throw up," he says. "I think I've forgotten our choreography, though."
"That's all right," says Kris, "it was probably terrible anyway."
And that, of all things, seems to remind Lee that Kris was just like him once. That maybe Kris was the winner, maybe Kris has had almost a year of life after Idol, but he was a contestant once, with the same challenges and same obligations and the same shitty choreography.
Maybe it reminds him that there's an end in sight, and the trick is just to get there.
"Yeah, okay," says Lee. "I'm feeling pretty good now."
He reaches down to do up his pants but Kris does that for him, leaving his shirt open so that Lee can do that himself at least. It'll help him get his head back in the game.
"Isn't your buddy going to wonder where you are?" he says after he's done, tucking in and straightening his collar.
"Cale knows where I am," says Kris with a little shrug. Or at least he should. He should know perfectly well where Kris disappeared to after all this time playing together. "Ready to go back out there?"
"I guess so," says Lee. Kris doesn't fool himself that this is a permanent solution to Lee's nerves, but he did what he could. He always does what he can.
"All right," says Kris. "Go show them just whose season this is."
Kris/Tim Urban. 2085 words. NC-17. Kink: object penetration (unusual objects). Also contains: open relationship
Like The Drink
Kris has always appreciated a guy with a nice smile. It's not something he feels the need to point out to everyone-or anyone, for that matter-but more than a nice ass (which Kris nonetheless appreciates) or nice shoulders (which actually make no difference to him) or even a nice, um, package (which Kris tries not to look at too much), a guy's smile is what gets Kris's attention.
A nice smile and musical talent, that is. So it's good thing that Tim has an extra nice smile.
"So you got any tips on how to win this thing?" Tim asks him after the show, Kris smiling and waving at those people on the crew he knows from last year. It feels like forever since he's been here, but it's only been months.
"Not really," says Kris with a little laugh. "Just do your thing, do your own thing. It's all you've got."
"Yeah, yeah okay," says Tim, and he smiles and Kris thinks that he actually really gets it. He doesn't think Tim's going to get that far, but if he does his thing and does it well, he can probably get further than anyone thinks he will. It's all about knowing yourself and your strengths and sticking to your guns. "So are you sticking around here for a while?"
"A little while," says Kris, looking around. "It's part of the whole deal. When they need to rush me off somewhere else, I'll know it. I'm probably supposed to be talking to someone right now, but whatever. It'll all get done.
"So you can talk for a little while?"
The way he says talk Kris wonders if talking's what he's really got in mind, but Tim's clearly a good boy, devilish smile inside, and so even if he's thinking about something else-and Kris isn't naïve, he knows people think other things about him-he'd never say it.
"Yeah, I can talk," says Kris, and puts extra extra emphasis on the word. Tim definitely doesn’t miss it. "You got somewhere you like to go?"
"Wow, okay," says Tim, and Kris gives someone else a wave like he hasn't just agreed to a quickie with someone. He just has one of those faces, that can get away with pretty much anything. Not that he thinks he's getting away with anything here, but he sure as heck doesn't want to talk about it with anyone whose business it isn't. "Yeah."
If he didn't have any ideas Kris certainly has a few, but Tim's on top of it and Kris wonders how often he's thought about a moment like this, and with who. As soon as they're alone, he goes for Kris's pants.
"Whoa," says Kris, and laughs, and grabs hold of both of Tim's hands with his own. Not to stop him, just to slow him down a little. Just to get a bead on the situation before it gets too far to ask. "You good to go?"
"I'm good for anything," says Tim. "We didn't just come back here for you to give me advice, though, right?"
"You don't need my advice," says Kris, and there Tim goes smiling again, and Kris kind of wants to kiss it but he doesn't go there. "You already understand my advice, probably better than anybody."
"You think I can win?" says Tim, and Kris lets go of his hands so he can finish unzipping and stripping.
"I think anybody can win," says Kris diplomatically, because when the votes are in the hands of the public it's the absolute truth. Trying to figure out what they're looking for in any given year is a fool's errand. Tim grins and Kris thinks he understands what Kris isn't saying, but he's okay with that. He knows himself.
Tim doesn't stop at the necessaries, stripping them both right down to nothing, and Kris is just glad they found someplace with a locking door because that's not something you can hide in under thirty seconds.
"Wow, look at what you were hiding under there," he says, and Kris laughs and says "ditto" as he looks Tim up and down.
Tim smiles and runs his hand over Kris's bicep and Kris just drops to his knees, because that's what he does. Well, it's one of the things he does. It's one of the things he does best.
"Whoa, okay, go to town," says Tim, and thanks, Kris thinks, thanks, I'll do that. Tim is thick and hard and Kris licks him like a popsicle, up and down and around and sometimes sucking drips off the head. Tim just moves his fingers restlessly through his hair, and gasps and moans and makes a whole lot of noises that make Kris glad they didn't just duck into a closet somewhere nearby.
He grabs a handful of Tim's ass and Tim gets loud and that, Kris thinks, that's fun. He gives it a friendly little smack and swallows his cock right down and Tim makes a noise like he could die happy.
"Wait, no," says Tim, though, when he's able to speak again at all. "I want to come with you in me, come on, I haven't had anyone fuck me since I got here."
"Sorry," says Kris, kissing Tim's hip and then moving in to suck him again. "But I promise this'll be good."
"What? No," says Tim, and then he's tugging Kris up so that they're face to face again. "You can't fuck me?"
"It's a rule," says Kris.
"Seriously?" says Tim, panting out the words. "You can blow me, but you can't fuck me?"
"No actually, you know, putting it in anyone else," says Kris. "There has to be a line somewhere, right?"
"Most people draw the line somewhere else," says Tim, groaning quietly. "Are you sure you can't...?"
"We can figure something else out," says Kris. "Somehow I always manage."
"Always?" says Tim. Gasps, really, as Kris starts to finger him. "How often do you do this?"
Kris just shrugs and smiles at him. "Often enough to know some alternatives," he says, "and not often enough to show up prepared everywhere I go." He turns Tim around, hands against the wall, legs spread, and gives his behind a friendly slap now that he knows Tim likes that kind of thing. "Anything you don't want me to do?"
"Well, I'd appreciate you not fucking me with a baseball bat, since you're asking," says Tim, wiggling his ass under Kris's hand. "Other than that, I'm pretty easy. But I'm guessing you already figured that out."
Kris laughs and runs his fingers down Tim's sweaty back and looks around them for inspiration, but it's not like they leave dildos lying around backstage. That's definitely not a part of the idol experience. There's a toolbox, though, where someone was fixing the blind runner, and with a light pat on Tim's slightly-reddened behind Kris leaves to check it out.
"What are you doing?" says Tim, hands against the wall and not even turning his head to look.
"Finding an alternative," says Kris. "I hope." He leaves little sweat smears on the plastic of the toolbox and hopes they'll vanish soon. He knows what he's hoping to find, but he has to do a little bit of digging before he does. He's not crazy, after all. It's got to be safe. Smooth, no snags, no edges.
"Seriously," says Tim. "What are you-?"
"Got it," Kris interrupts him, closing the toolbox and heading for his pants, where he knows he has a condom in his wallet. Even if he doesn't need it, he likes to be the kind of wingman his friends can count on. "Stay there."
"Believe me, I'm not going anywhere until I get off," says Tim, and Kris can see that as he rolls the condom over the head of the screwdriver and returns to Tim's body. They haven't got any lube, just a package of hand cream that Tim had in his pocket-Kris doesn't ask; he knows the value of moisturizing-but the screwdriver isn't that big, and Kris knows how to be slow and careful.
Even if Tim doesn't seem interested in slow.
"How long do you think it's going to be before someone comes looking for one of us?" he says. He was probably going to go on to say something about how they'd both be missed, but Kris has a feeling that someone is running interference for him, and there are enough contestants to wrangle without Kris. But whether he was or not, Kris slides a couple of fingers inside him and that shuts him up. "Oh, fuck."
"Yeah," says Kris, and twists them inside him a couple of times before starting to, not thrust, but at least move. He presses his other hand to Tim's back again, still hot and slick, but he knows he's not going to be doing that for long before he needs to use that hand to jerk himself off. He just leaves it there while he fingers him open, and while he gets ready for something more. "Do you trust me?"
"I pretty much have to," says Tim, but that's not good enough.
"Do you trust me not to do anything you don't want?" Kris asks again, and Tim says, "Yes, yes, yes."
And so without saying anything else, Kris slicks up the condom and pushes the object into Tim's body, nice and easy.
"What is-?"
"Just trust me," says Kris, and gives him a few moment before he really starts doing him with it, doing him like it really was his cock in there.
Tim doesn't ask anything else after that.
"Oh fuck, yeah, fuck, yes, fuck fuck fuck."
"You've got a filthy mouth on you," says Kris, and laughs and kisses it hard, right at the corner, not quite on the lips. Even that doesn't stop Tim from talking.
"Fuck, yes, hard, fuck, harder, fuck, do it do it fuck do it."
Kris already is, doing Tim with one hand and jerking himself off with the other, because there's no way he could get this far with him and not get turned on to the point of no return. It's just a shame he never got Tim to go down on him, because that smile. Kris can imagine him smiling somewhere else.
"Fuck," says Tim, pushing back against him almost as hard as Kris is pushing into him, "yes, fuck, I'm gonna, fuck, you don't even have to, fuck, I'm gonna come."
Now that's a surprise-Kris figured he would have to jerk him off to get him all the way-but sure enough, with the long head of the screwdriver buried inside him, Tim jerks and gasps and comes against the wall, leaving telltale streaks on the paint.
Kris stops thrusting and presses his forehead to Tim's back and jerks himself off hard and fast until he comes in his own hand, on his own stomach, dripping on his own wrist. He pants a few times, then pulls the screwdriver out, strips the condom off and rolls it back in the direction of the toolbox. It ends up behind it, in the shadow of the lid and more or less out of sight.
"What was that even?" Tim asks a little while later, finally looking back over his own shoulder, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist.
"Does it matter?" says Kris, and finally moves away from him, smiles and searches his own pockets for something to clean them up with. "It worked."
"Wow did it ever work," says Tim, and laughs and rubs his eye with the heel of his hand. He looks a little embarrassed now, but Kris gets that. It can be a little embarrassing, being that vulnerable. All he can do is not make it any worse for him. "Are you...?"
"Oh, I'm good," Kris promises him. He doesn't find anything in his pockets but there's a roll of paper towel by the window, near the toolbox. For cleaning something other than come-stained hands and walls, but convenient all the same. He grabs some for himself and then some for Tim, too, before he starts getting dressed again. "You good?"
"Best advice I ever got," says Tim, running his hands through his hair and smiling that smile again. "I wonder if Adam Lambert can beat it."
"Cheeky," says Kris, and laughs as he buttons his shirt. "I guess you'll just have to find out."
Kris/Katy. 1448 words. NC-17. Kink: tattoos / tattooing. Also contains: semi-public (vehicular) sex
Pretend Invisible
"It should go here," says Katy, using one finger to tug down the front of his jeans, just an inch or so, and the other to trace over a spot on his hip.
"Why there?" says Kris, feeling tingles where she's touching him.
"Because," she says, "you don't want to show everyone, but you want people to think once in a while that they see something, and wonder. Curiosity is a good thing."
Kris tangles his finger with hers for a moment, hooks them together right over the spot. "But do you want it there?"
"Yes," she says, and kisses just behind his ear. "I really do."
Because Kris wouldn't be showing everyone if he put it there, low on his hips, below the waistband of his jeans and hidden most of the time by a couple of layers of clothing. But he would be showing her.
"You're really okay that I want to do this?"
"I'm really okay that you want to do this," she says. "I'm more than okay that you want to do this."
He already knew that, but it's nice to hear it again anyway, and maybe Kris needs that little extra push to go through with it. Because even when he really wants something, sometimes that's what it takes to get him to go for it.
"Okay," he says. "They're not going to let you come in with me."
"You're a big boy," she says, and while they're alone, while nobody is looking, she kisses the spot where he's getting the tattoo. "You can handle it without me."
"Love you," he says, and kisses her lips, then he gets up to go inside.
He didn't so much design the tattoo as lift it from something he'd already created. He's written a lot of songs for Katy-in a way almost everything he writes is for Katy, or about Katy-but this one is special. This is the song he sang to her when he asked her to marry him. And no matter what the future holds, that's a moment that will always mean something to both of them.
Just a few notes, just the first bar of a song, and it would have been with him forever inside his head and his heart anyway but now it'll be something they can see and something they can touch and that's a new kind of special.
"Nervous?" says his tattoo artist, a tall woman with short red hair and tattoos running down both arms. Kris thinks of the riddle about the two barbers, and wonders if maybe he should have gotten a look at what her partner's arms look like. But it's just a fleeting thought, and Kris has made an educated, well-considered decision.
He's ready for this.
"Yes," he says, and smiles at her, "but that's okay. I hear you're always nervous your first time."
"Wiser words have seldom been spoken," she says, and talks him through it.
Kris feels a little exposed and a lot vulnerable but he feels a kind of energy buzzing through him too as the tattoo gun buzzes over his skin. He knows pain is a kind of high, but this is something else. This is almost sexual, and he blushes as he thinks about that, hopes it isn't embarrassingly evident that he's getting hard. It is, of course. After all his pants are open. But she doesn't comment and she doesn't stop working and Kris figures maybe it's just normal.
He watches as the notes take shape, inked in black on his pale skin, and hums the tune that they're suggesting, hums the whole song, really. He doesn’t believe in that kind of magic, that singing while he's getting tattooed with this has any special kind of meaning, but it feels right anyway. And after a little while his artist hums with him for a couple of bars instead of humming along with the radio.
It doesn't take long, but when it's done Kris feels like every nerve is alive. He can barely pay attention to his aftercare instructions and is glad she hands him a piece of paper with everything she's just said. It's hard to concentrate on anything at all except for the erection that's still just not hidden at all, and the electric sensation he can still feel on his skin, a little bit like burning and a little bit like sex.
"You might want to leave those jeans unbuttoned," she says, and Kris blushed harder even after he realizes she was talking about the pressure on the tattoo.
"Thanks," he says, "it looks really great." And he knows he makes small talk for another couple of minutes but he can barely even remember what he says until he goes out and finds Katy again.
"Let me see," she says, but Kris takes her hand instead and leads her right out of the building, out to the parking lot and into the backseat of the car they parked in the shade, mostly out of sight. "Kris, what are you...?"
"Sorry," he says, and doesn't feel sorry at all. He kisses her and waits for her to start kissing him back before he reaches for his zipper and undoes his jeans the rest of the way. Partly for her to see and partly for other reasons entirely.
She brushes her fingers overtop of the thin plastic covering it, touching each note then tracing a circle around it. "If it's going to get you this wound up, I'm going to make you get one every week," she says, and he starts kissing her again, pushing her sundress up her thighs.
"Let's just stick with the one for now," he says, tugging her panties down and then off. In the back of his mind he knows that someone could see them, but he also knows it's really, really unlikely. Even if it were, though, he's not sure he'd want to stop now. It's completely unlike them, and so much fun. "If you don't want to, just-"
"If I didn't want to, you'd already know," said Katy, tugging his jeans down further, then his underwear, just enough that he can move between her legs and slide into her, just like that.
Katy lets out a soft cry and Kris lifts his hand to cup her breast, brush his thumb over her nipple, kiss her again and again and again. The sense of urgency doesn't go away once he's inside her, but he makes it good for her, plays with her breasts and kisses her throat and angles himself so that he's rubbing against her clit as he pushes inside her, even if their position in the back seat is awkward enough that he can't get a hand in there without risking permanent injury to one or both of them.
"S'okay," she murmurs and wraps a leg around him, knee pressed against the back of the front seat, and Kris is reminded of high school even though they never even did this in high school, even though they never did it at all for years after that.
The tattoo on his hips aches and stings a little and that just makes Kris thrust harder, makes him want her more. He doesn't think it's going to end with this quickie in the back seat either, but anything else he has in mind can wait until they’re home, until they're actually alone and can kiss and talk and touch and he can tell her what he's feeling.
Right now he has only two things on his mind: his orgasm, and hers. He comes first because he just can't help it, and thinks it's probably enough of a miracle that he lasted this long at all. He can still stay inside her, though, and grind his pelvis against hers and pinch her nipple and kiss her until she trembles and her breath catches and she lets out that soft, wondrous "oh" that lets Kris know when she's come.
"I, um," he says a few moments later when he actually feels like he can think again.
"You don't need to explain anything," says Katy, and kisses his nose and lets him pull out of her, cleaning them both up as much as he can. He pulls his underwear up but leaves his jeans unbuttoned again, letting the tattoo breathe.
"I can't find your underwear," he admits, and Katy just laughs and gives him a smack and scrambles up to a sitting position so she can actually get out of the car.
"Come on," she says, after one last kiss. "I think we need to get you home."
Wiser words had never been spoken.
Kris/Mary Steenburgen. 2250 words. NC-17. Kink: uniforms / military fetish. Also contains: open relationship, roleplaying
At Your Service
Kris loves being from Arkansas. He really does. He knows people, even went to school with some people, who were counting the days till they got to go somewhere more exciting, but Arkansas's always been home. Even when he's living somewhere else, it's home.
And it's always nice to find someone who feels the same way.
"We should get together some time," says Mary, which makes Kris flail a little on the inside. She's no Morgan Freeman, but Morgan Freeman isn't going to be asking Kris to hang out with him ever. Kris is just glad to have gotten a chance to talk to him at all.
"Yeah, we should," says Kris. "Talk about home. Or whatever."
"Or whatever," she repeats, in that sly way people sometimes do. Kris wouldn't say he's been around the block, but he's been around enough to notice. He gets it loud and clear, and he's totally on the same page. "You can bring your wife if you like."
"Yeah, maybe," says Kris, and avoids saying that might not be Katy's scene because hey, he doesn't know until he asks. "Are you staying in town?"
"Let me give you the address," she says, and Kris hands his phone over but it's not so much an address she gives him as a room number. Kris isn't entirely surprised. "What did you do, before American Idol?"
"Retail," admits Kris with a sheepish smile. He's not embarrassed, but it's not what most people expect to hear when they ask him. "A few other things. I played in bars and in church too. It just didn't pay the bills."
"Neither does acting until you make it somewhere," she says with a nod of understanding, letting her hair down and then running her hands through it, like it's been a long day. Which it has, Kris has to admit. A great day, but a long day. "I head home tomorrow after lunch, though I'll probably order room service instead of leaving the room. Might as well enjoy these things while you can, that's what I think. You're probably heading home right now."
"I feel like I'm sort of between homes," says Kris with a little shake of his head, though he never really settled into LA. He never really got used to calling it home. "I guess my parents' place is still sort of home."
"Oh, you make me feel so old," she says with a little laugh.
"No way," says Kris automatically, not a reflex but because he couldn't ever think of her that way. She'll never be in the same category as, like, his mom.
"You're sweet," she says, and watches him slide his phone back into his pocket with her room number on it. "I have to admit, I'm not so old that I don't like to flirt with the hotel waiters when they come up to the room. Something about that uniform."
Kris laughs and blushes and he thinks he saw about ten seconds of a porno like that once in college, just passing by the wrong place at the wrong time. "I always get old guys when I order room service," he says. "Not that I've ordered room service that often."
"Just wait," she says. "It gets to be a part of the lifestyle, until we get so far into the future that it can just appear in your room."
"Yeah, I don't think we're that far yet," he says. "I'll have to get back to you on the room service thing. We can compare notes."
"You do that," she says, and smiles at him, and Kris sees his brother waving at him across the room so he knows it's time to go, but he thinks he's going to be seeing her sooner than later. He thinks he's really kind of looking forward to it.
Katy's actually into the idea, but too tired to follow through. Kris just shrugs and figures there'll be other opportunities, but then Katy says if he's not too tired he should go, and then come back after and tell her all about it. And Kris is tired, but he's not too tired, not for this.
He asks her if she's sure and then he kisses her stupid and then he puts on something other than his good suit, not that he thinks he's going to be staying in it that long. Flirt with the waiter, she said, and Kris thinks maybe he can make that work. His buddy in college used to work for a hotel and Kris knows the ins and outs of where to find himself a clean uniform.
It's a little sloppy, but presentable, when he finally knocks on her door after midnight and calls out, "Room service!"
"I didn't order any-" she's saying as she pulls the door open, swing bar still attached, then smiles when she sees who's there.
"Are you sure?" says Kris. He hasn't borrowed a cart or tray to go along with his uniform but he does have a bottle of wine and a pair of wine glasses in hand.
"My mistake," she says, and opens the door the rest of the way to let him inside. "I almost forgot."
"That's all right, ma'am," he says, carefully putting the bottle down on the table next to her purse and a pair of drinking glasses. "Shall I pour for you?"
"Oh, do," she says, still smiling at him. She has a hotel robe on, and underneath Kris thinks he sees a flash of silk.
Kris has never been a waiter, let alone a waiter in a fancy restaurant, but he can pop a cork on a bottle of wine and pour a couple of glasses without botching the job too badly. And he does pour two, without prompting.
"Will there be anything else?" he says, turning back to her, a picture of innocence.
"Oh, I don't know," she says, flipping his collar with her fingertip. "Do you really have to get back to work so quickly?"
"I suppose no one would notice if I was a few minutes late," says Kris, "if you require service."
"I do require service," she says. "I most definitely require service from you, young man."
"Anything you need, ma'am," says Kris, as she reaches past him and picks up both glasses of wine, one in each hand. When she holds one of them out to him it's less an offer than an insistence.
"Drink with me," she says. "My husband's away on a business trip and I could use the company."
"Well, I really shouldn't drink while I'm working," Kris says, even as he bashfully takes the glass of wine from her, lowering his gaze and giving her a little smile. "I suppose just this once it would be okay, as long as you promise not to tell anyone."
"Not a soul," she promises him. "If anyone asks, you were doing something vital for me, and my highest compliments to a hotel that provides such excellent service."
Kris takes a cautious sip of the wine, and mostly watches her as she watches him, sipping her wine and looking at him like she wants to eat him alive. Kris really kind of wants her to. A few moment later she takes back both of the half-full wine glasses and sets them back down.
"There's something else you can help me with," she says, and pulls his hands towards her robe. "This knot has really been giving me trouble. Perhaps you can give it a try?"
"Of course," says Kris, and the knot practically falls open in his hands. He wasn't wrong about the silk beneath, a soft red that's almost pink, falling to just above her knees. Kris can see freckles across her collarbones, and fights the urge to lean in and lick them.
"That's much better," she says, letting it fall off her shoulders to the floor at her feet. "You have excellent service skills."
"I aim to please," says Kris modestly. "Anything you could possibly need."
"Oh, anything?" she says archly, and this right here, this sharp, dangling moment, is when everything turns the corner. She reaches for his tight collar, unbuttons it with a snap of her wrist and then starts unbuttoning the rest of his white coat. "I think you'll want to be more comfortable for this."
Kris is docile, letting her take the lead with him, playing the corruptible innocent. The corruptible innocent with special skills designed to please the most discerning guest.
"Don't worry," she says as she draws him towards the bed. "I tip well."
Kris almost laughs, but in the end he manages to bite his lip and unbuckle his shiny belt and kiss her when she draws his head down to hers. Her lips are thinner than Katy's, but warm and soft and very certain against his. This isn't a tentative kiss of introduction. This is a woman who knows who she is and knows what she wants.
And that's a big part of the reason Kris is here in the first place. In a way, Mary is like home and teenage fantasy all in one.
Kris opens his mouth but Mary presses a finger to it. "Don't talk," she says. "I have other ideas for that mouth of yours." She traces his lips with her fingertip, lingering against his lower lip for a moment, and Kris darts his finger out to lick at it. "Oh yes, just like that."
She pushes the thin straps of her nightgown down past her shoulders and Kris pulls them the rest of the way until her breasts are exposed. They're freckled too, and this time Kris doesn't resist the urge to kiss those freckles. Her skin there is dry and warm too, and as Kris kisses it, working his way down and over from her breastbone, he struggles somewhat gracelessly out of his pants.
With somewhat more grace, she pretends not to notice. Or if she does, it's with the amused patience of someone who knows her partner is hot for her.
Which Kris doesn't even pretend that he isn't. Even as he kisses at her breasts, laps at her nipples and strokes at her skin with his fingertips, he's pushing her nightgown up her thighs with one hand, all the way to her waist and then higher. It's still a fantasy and comfortable all at once, someone who was never quite real to him, yet someone who shares so many of his feelings about who he is and where he comes from.
The uniform is wrinkling on the floor when he kisses his way down her stomach, just slightly rounded from children, and that's so sexy to him. That'll be Katy one day. She's not shy about her body, spreads her legs for him when he's down there and lets him keep kissing. He's good at this, and knows he's good at this, and even now he can keep pretending this is some kind of platinum level of room service. He licks at her till she's wet all over, then slides two fingers into her and licks around them too.
"I haven't-" she starts, then her breath catches for a moment mid-sentence as Kris sucks at her. "-got a condom."
"That's okay," says Kris as he finally lifts his head. "We're full service here."
And she laughs as he leans off the bed just long enough to dig a condom out of his pants and slide it on. It's been a while but he hasn't forgotten how to do this. Maybe he can't slide a condom on in five seconds flat with one hand tied behind his back anymore, but slow and steady will do.
Slow and steady is how he enters her too, not as athletically as with Katy. This is a different kind of thing, this is fulfilling something for Kris but fulfilling a fantasy for her, too. He caresses her softly, pays close attention to her reactions since he doesn't know any of them by heart, and moves slowly inside her, learning how to do this all over again.
But there are some things that Kris doesn't have to relearn, and sliding a wet thumb over her clit is one of them. She gasps softly and rolls up against his hand and Kris kisses her collarbones as he keeps moving. It's not fast when it happens, more like the slow approach of a wave, crashing over her first, then as she's trembling and gasping and Kris is still moving inside her, over him as well.
It's quiet for a few moments as she pets his hair, as he kisses her throat, then Kris has to move away again, tie off the condom and then make sure she's comfortable and satisfied.
She lounges beneath the sheets as Kris pulls the uniform on again, as wrinkled as he expected. He might even leave it on when he goes home to Katy, and see what she thinks about a debauched room service waiter showing up at her bedroom door.
"It's been a pleasure," she says, propped up on her elbow, her fingers threaded through her own hair. "Are you sure you have to go so soon?"
"I've got people waiting," he says, and gives her a little smile, and he does have someone waiting at home for him, but one more tip of the hat at their little scenario doesn't hurt anything either. "And the pleasure was all mine."
Kris/Dean Winchester. 2381 words. NC-17. Kink: costumes. Also contains: crossdressing, semi-public (outdoor) sex
In Convenience
"This next artist needs no introduction. First coming onto the scene as the winner of the eighth season of American Idol, his third album was just certified platinum last week. Here to sing his latest single 'Decline' for us, here's-"
Kris was just getting ready to take the stage when three things happened simultaneously to prevent it-the sound cut out, something exploded, and he was knocked over when someone hit him with a flying tackle.
It wasn't quite how he'd expected this to go.
"Stay down," a low growl of a voice says in his ear, even though Kris hadn't even been thinking about getting up. He hadn't even quite processed the fact that he was flat on the ground yet. A moment later the same voice said, "Okay, now move, come with me," and Kris did that too, though it was a bit more of a struggle, especially since it was into the smoke and not in the direction Kris would have instinctively gone.
For all he knew it was a kidnapping attempt, but it felt more like a rescue. Sort of. Actually, Kris had no idea, but his head was ringing and he was stumbling as he tried to run and he just couldn't think. He could still hear the explosion but everything, every voice but the one giving him directions, seemed very far away.
"Is everyone okay?" he managed to ask finally, licking his dry lips and wondering why his own voice seemed kind of far away too.
"No idea," the guy said, then he was grabbing Kris's arm and they were moving again. He finally got a handle on where they were a few moments later, hiding behind a car that was parked not far back of stage. People were screaming and Kris finally tried to see, tried to figure out what was going on.
"We need to go back."
"That's the last thing we need to do, superstar," the guy said. "That spell was meant for you."
"The explosion?" said Kris, his head still ringing a little. "For me? Why?"
"That wasn't an explosion," said the guy. "Well, okay, it was an explosion, but not the way you're thinking. Not the C4 and shrapnel type."
Kris just wasn't following, and he didn't think it was because of the shock of the not-explosion anymore. He just wasn't following. "Is there a beginning that you could start at?" he asked finally. "Even a middle might be all right."
"Short version coming up, so pay attention," he said. "The guy in the long black coat? He wants to get his hands on you." So far it didn't sound that different from Kris's everyday life. "The spell-fuck I hate spells-was an effort to drive you straight in his direction so he could make off with you in the confusion and do his thing. Not a bad plan, as far as these things go. He shouldn’t have bragged about it beforehand."
"Someone wants to kidnap me?"
"More like something wants to possess you," he said, "and we need to get you out of here before it gets the chance. Any ideas?"
"I don't even know what's going on," said Kris. "Most of my ideas right now involve running, which I'm guessing isn't the best option."
"Not while you're a visual target," he said. "It's sort of in a substitute body right now. It's limited by human perception." Kris was following now, in the way you could follow the plot of a movie. It still wasn't making real life sense, but at least he could follow.
"Are you sure you're not crazy?"
"Most of the time," he said. "Look, my name's Dean, all right? And you have no reason to trust me except for how I already saved your ass once but I'm telling you to trust me anyway. You don't want this thing in you."
"I do," said Kris. "Trust you, I mean. I'm not sure I have a lot of other options. I just hope you're not crazy."
"Yeah, well, me too," said Dean, reaching behind him to open the door to the back seat of the car and pulling out a duffel. "Maybe we can disguise you."
"If it didn't see us duck back here."
"If it had, it would already be here and we'd be trying to shoot our way out," said Dean. There was still chaos and smoke from behind them, so for the moment Kris felt safe. Well, as safe as he could, under the circumstances. "My brother's distracting it."
And with that he started tugging clothes out of his duffel. Even he didn't seem to know what he was looking for, looking at various articles of clothing and frowning.
"Could I pass as your brother?"
Dean just looked at him and laughed.
"You could just say no," said Kris. "I could wear a hat. You seem to have a few of those."
"You can't just wear a hat," said Dean, and from the bottom of his duffel pulled out a wrinkled yellow sundress. And looked at it speculatively. Kris looked at it warily. "I bet this would fit you."
"I can't pass as a girl."
"You don't need to pass close inspection," said Dean, shaking it out and holding it up against Kris's body. "It's not going to expect you to know what's going on well enough to sneak out."
"Why do you have a dress anyway?"
"You ask too many questions," said Dean. "Put it on if you want to get out of here alive."
Getting out of this alive seemed like a really swell idea. Kris actually kind of forgot about everything else, about the performance, about the cameras, in favor of getting out alive. It was just a dress. It wasn't anything Kris hadn't done before.
"Is everyone else getting out alive?"
"If Sam has any say in it, they are," said Dean. "It just wants you. It doesn't want any of them."
"Why me?" said Kris, struggling out of his clothes. "What is it about me?"
"For your audience," said Dean. "It wants your audience for whatever it wants to say. And before you ask, I didn't ask it what it wanted to say. I was too busy saving your shapely ass."
"My what?" said Kris, and Dean reached over and slipped the skirt down over his hips, letting it fall to his ankles as he crouched there. It actually did fit pretty well, would probably fall right around Kris's knees when he stood up.
"You heard me," said Dean, reaching over and mussing Kris's hair. It was the best they could do, in the absence of a suitable hat. "All right, as soon as you stand up you need to get lost in the chaos. No one will stop you. It's not looking for a girl. Hell, it's probably searching your tour bus by this point if Sam doesn't have it yet."
"Are my guys okay?"
"Yes," said Dean. Kris knew he didn't actually know, but it helped to hear it anyway. As soon as he was out of this, he was going to find out for real.
"Go," said Dean. "I'll meet you in the parking lot. Got it? The parking lot. That's far enough out from here that it's not going to be looking there. We can get you out of here." Kris still crouched on the ground, staring at him. "Go!"
That one word finally got him on his feet, looking around at the rapidly dispersing crowd and then dashing out into it without so much as a second thought. He didn't scream or anything, didn't flail about hysterically, but he did sort of duck his head and try to swing his hips a little as he ran, and there weren't as many people as there had been when this all started, much of the audience already scattering and escaping, but once he was in the midst of them he didn't have any problems at all. He made it clear into the parking lot, almost to the other side of it before so much as looking back. No one had followed him. No one was looking for him.
Still, he felt exposed there so he found the shade of a large tree at the far edge of the parking lot and waited. Waiting and not knowing anything was maybe the hardest thing he'd done do far. Kris wasn't a foolhardy guy, but when he heard people still panicking in what remained of his audience it was hard not to go rushing back to try to help.
Finally he spotted Dean coming his way, obviously having been looking for him for a while.
"You couldn't make it easy, could you?"
"Standing out in the open seemed stupid," said Kris. "Plus, I'm in a dress. I'm not immediately not recognizable just because I'm in a dress."
"It was nowhere near close enough to recognize you. It never even left the stage area."
"I didn't mean it, whatever it was," said Kris. "I meant everyone else! They were all here to see me It's kind of reasonable that they might, you know, recognize me."
"Oh," said Dean. "Right."
And then it got awkward, because Dean started getting some weapons out of his bag, and he called his brother, and Kris didn't have anything to do so he just kind of stood there, heart pounding and breaths coming rapidly and, much to his mortification, tenting the dress with his barely restrained cock. Boxers didn't cut it under a dress.
He tried to ignore it, but it would not be ignored.
"It's normal," said Dean finally, which just made it worse because it meant he noticed. "You know, excitement and adrenaline. Happens all the time."
Kris knew that. It wasn't like he hadn't ever gotten hard on stage. He'd definitely gotten hard after being on stage. But he didn't have a lot of experience running from...he didn't know what. He didn't want to know what. He wasn't prepared to ask.
And as he tried to will it down again he suddenly felt the ground shake, heard a sound unlike anything he'd ever heard before, like what he imagined a huge implosion would sound like. It was distressingly like a monstrous, shaking orgasm, and made his cock throb. It was a moment before it occurred to him to duck and cover.
"That was a good boom," said Dean, though. "That was a we-got-the-bad-guy boom."
"Are you sure?" said Kris. Something beeped from the inside of Dean's bag, and Kris realized it was his own pants, quickly stuffed in there after changing. He scrambled to find a frantic text from Lizzie and after sending a reply was assured that everyone was okay. Everyone was okay.
Relief? Did not make his hard-on go down. Mostly it made it throb more.
Nor did the feeling of Dean playing with the zipper at his back, drawing it down a short way and then brushing the skin beneath it with his thumb.
"You know I'm not actually a girl, right?"
"Most girls aren't packing like you are," says Dean, and he didn't put his hand up under Kris's skirt but it was a near thing, his hand sliding up Kris's thigh. "Do you want me to take care of that for you or not?"
"I could take the dress off first," said Kris, as one strap slipped down his shoulder. But that would leave him naked, and putting his own clothes back on would deny Dean access, and maybe he didn't mind the dress that much. Maybe, right at this moment, it was exactly the right thing.
"I like the dress," said Dean. "It belonged to this girl I...well, you don't need to know that." His hand slid further up the skirt, over Kris's ass and then around front. "Just that I'm definitely fond of the dress."
"And what's inside?"
"And what's inside," said Dean, hand slipping inside Kris's shorts and jerking him off without any further discussion on the matter. It was more matter-of-fact than romantic, but Kris's whole body was still surging with adrenaline and Dean was hard against his back, breath heaving in Kris's ear, and there was something to be said for hot frantic sex like this.
A breeze blew the shirt up a little, sent goosebumps over Kris's skin, or maybe that was the way Dean was handling him, hard and sure and hot. He didn't last long, and he didn't expect to. Not with the way he was all keyed up, not with the way Dean got straight to business.
Not with the way Dean's teeth sank gently into his bare shoulder, dress strap shoved carelessly aside to expose skin.
He didn't know if Dean came or not. If he did, Kris didn't have anything to do with it because he was busy gasping and trembling and scrubbing his sweaty palms against his dress.
It was at least a couple of minutes before he heard Dean's voice in his ear. "Okay, now you should change back into your clothes."
Kris didn't waste any time doing that, though there was a brief moment of regret as he tucked the dress back into Dean's bag again. As soon as he was done, Dean snatched the bag up, zipped it, and looked like he was ready to go on his way.
"Wait, so now what?" said Kris.
"Now you go back to your entourage, superstar," said Dean. "And I go find my brother."
"But what if...am I safe now?" he said. "Is it going to come after me again?"
Dean didn't answer the question. "My number's in your phone," he said. "Anything weird ever happens, you give me a call."
"Right," said Kris. He wasn't even sure if he'd know weird when he saw it, but the phone number was a comfort. Sort of. It was good to have the number of a guy who made things go boom. "Thanks."
Dean gave him a wave over his shoulder but he was already leaving, heading back towards his car again, towards the continuing chaos and towards his brother and towards a life that Kris couldn't even really imagine. He watched him for a little while, before finally going back to his own.
Master Post | Part 2