take this sinking boat (Adam/Kris; NC-17)(2/2)

[ink_like_blood]

Part One

They still sleep in the same bed.

Kris makes noises about the guest room a few times, but Adam's forehead wrinkles a little, like he's upset, or worried or something, and Kris ends up following Adam to his room every night, still in the middle of a conversation about Judaism, or hair product, or the difference between "kitsch" and "camp". (Kris is still learning where that line is.)

Kris doesn't fall asleep easily anymore, though he fakes it pretty well. He can feel Adam's warmth seeping across the bed and takes deep, even breaths to try and tramp down the need to reach out and touch him. Kris wants to be able to put distance between them, but he can't make himself do it. His friendship with Adam is the only thing he's got right now that doesn't remind him of a person he hasn't been in a long time, and he leans into every hug, savors every time Adam leans against him, presses close to him on the sofa, just because he can. He wriggles his toes under Adam's warm thigh when they watch movies, and tucks his arm around Adam's waist when they're waiting for the microwave to ding for their popcorn. It's exactly them; it's all the same, really, except for where it's wildly, fantastically different.

His thoughts fluctuate wildly between shame over feeling like he's taking advantage, and the thrill of wondering if maybe he's not taking enough.

*

"Hey, mama," Kris cradles his cell phone under his ear and slips his key in the lock of the front door. "What are you doin', callin' me during school?" Adam's car isn't in the driveway, but Kris checks the fridge and sure enough there's a note from him. K, Hitting up 19E then Whole Foods. Txt me if you want anything special. ~A

Kris smiles.

"Half-day," Mama Allen chirps in his ear. "Thought I'd check in on you."

Kris flops on the couch and toes off his shoes. "You don't need to check in on me every two days, Mom."

"Pphft, I can check up on you as much as I want to." He can hear the dogs barking in the background, and the splash of the kids in the backyard pool. It sounds like home, and it makes Kris's heart ache a little. "Did you get the box I sent?"

"Yes, but come on, a whole bundt cake? I don't even know where you got the idea that was an easy thing to mail."

"Just because it's hard doesn't mean it's not worth doing," she says sagely. "It got there in one piece?"

"Yeah, but Adam ate half of it before we even got it out of the box." Kris lays down and tucks his arm under his head. "He says thank you, and he loves you, by the way."

"Good. That's... good." He can hear the way she's holding back, closes his eyes. "Have you talked to Katy at all?" she says finally, and Kris sighs.

"Just some emails," he says and he wonders when it will stop being this hard to even talk about her. "Lawyer stuff, house stuff."

"Okay, that's good. You should call her sometime." She pauses, and Kris braces for some sort of reconciliation speech, the kind he got for the first few months. "She's not mad, you know. She's your best friend, and you should call her."

"Mama, we're not--"

"No, no, I know that," Mama Allen says gently. "But maybe you could use a friend, and she's a good friend."

"I have friends here," Kris says, "I have Adam."

His mom is quiet for a long minute. "I know you do, I just think. If there's ever anything you can't say to Adam, anything he's not... I just think Katy might like to talk."

Kris can feel his heart speed up in his chest. "Mama," he starts, but she cuts him off.

"Looks like it's going to rain, so I've got to go wrangle up some dogs and some kids. You tell Adam to keep taking good care of you, and I'll keep the baked goods coming, okay? You're both my boys, and I'm not going to let you get all skinny on me."

"Okay, mama," he whispers past the lump in his throat.

"Love you," she says, and he can feel her smile across the continent. "No matter what."

*

The sun on the back deck is brutal, and Adam is hiding under the shade of his patio umbrella. Kris watches him flip through a magazine, slumped in his chair enough that a little line of pudge is visible over the waistband of his swim trunks. Kris would never mention it, but it's adorable. The sun moves slowly across the sky and Adam shifts a fraction along with it, trying to keep himself in the shade. "You know you live in LA," Kris says from his sunny spot by the pool. "You can't just pretend the sun doesn't exist."

Adam snorts. "Man, I am one big, freckled Jew. I can always pretend the sun doesn't exist."

Kris tips his head back and laughs. "Then why did you get a place with a pool?"

"It's LA! They all have pools!" Adam says, throwing his hands up.

"C'mere," Kris drawls, because it truly is a gorgeous day, and Adam should be enjoying it. Adam tosses his magazine on the table and walks over until his shadow falls across Kris's face.

"Fine, but you have to do my back," he says, dangling a bottle of sunscreen over Kris's torso. Kris nods dutifully and sits up as Adam flops down on his stomach on the adjacent lounge chair. His back is wide and pale, dotted with tiny brown marks that make Kris's fingers itch, and suddenly this doesn't seem like a very good idea at all. "Don't miss any spots," Adam says groggily, his eyes already closed. "I don't want to be all blotchy."

Kris tips the bottle into his palm, and the sunscreen is already warm from hours on the hot deck. It feels slick and hot in his hands, and he takes a deep breath before placing his palms flat on Adam's back, rubbing in wide, smooth circles. His stomach is tight, and he can feel his heartbeat in his palms as Adam shifts a little to allow Kris better access to the back of his neck. He tries not to think about it; he just lets his fingers press against the side of Adam's throat, the skin behind his ears, his shoulders. They touch each other all the time, Kris thinks, and it's unfair that doing this is making him flush with embarrassment and arousal. But really, he doesn't get to touch like this every day, with intent, with all the time in the world to map the inches of Adam's skin. Though maybe all the time in the world is an overstatement, he thinks, as Adam shifts under his hands.

"You know it's totally juvenile to write shit on my back in sunscreen and hope it gets tanned into my skin," Adam says with a sly grin. "If you did that, I would notice."

"I'm not," Kris stammers, knowing he should laugh. But he's half-hard already and Adam's eyes are still closed, and Kris thinks for a fleeting second about leaning down and planting a warm, chaste kiss on Adam's shoulder, wonders if he can wipe away the sunscreen to taste Adam underneath it. "I have to use the bathroom," he manages, and he's halfway up the steps before Adam even gets out an acknowledging hum.

"Fuck, fuck," he says to himself in the mirror, the bathroom door shut tightly behind him. He's been having these thoughts for a few weeks now, struggling with how to deal with wanting Adam when he's not sure what the hell that even means, but he hasn't done anything about it. All his impure thoughts have stayed pretty firmly inside his brain. Now, he's got the memory of Adam's skin still lingering on his hands, and a palm that's already slick with sunscreen, and it doesn't take any thought at all for him to push his trunks to the floor and grab his dick, a few sure strokes pulling him so close to the edge he can already taste it. He's got to be quick or Adam might come looking for him - he's not worried so much about Kris anymore, just nosy as fuck, as per usual - and Kris thinks about Adam's hand on the doorknob on the other side of the door, about Adam opening it to find Kris there, his fist making slick, fast strokes over his dick. He thinks about Adam sinking to his knees and the warm, wet heat of Adam's mouth, and what his dark-rimmed blue eyes would look like, staring up at Kris, and Kris comes hard enough to lose his balance a little, his hip slamming into the blunt edge of the sink.

He thinks he should be more ashamed of it than he is. Thinks he shouldn't be able to look at Adam at all when he walks back out the pool. But Adam's dozing lightly in the sun, his hair curling at the nape of his neck, and Kris just lets himself sit and watch for a while before he pokes Adam with his toes and makes him turn over.

*

Brad is not Kris's favorite of Adam's ex's. Brad has no filter, and no sense of personal space, and he's a little bit of a famewhore. He delights in shocking people, and tends to wear less than is publicly acceptable, and winks at guys who are clearly married. Including, for the first two years of their acquaintance, Kris. He's also the first guy who broke Adam's heart. And no matter how it went down, Kris has loyalty on that score. So he glares at Brad sometimes, and Brad snipes back in his high, sweet voice, and Adam... thinks it's cute. Even if he's totally a masculine guy, Adam is sometimes a terrible bro.

Given that Brad is not his favorite, Kris has no idea how he ends up shirtless in Adam's laundry room with Brad at three in the morning, in the aftermath of an epic party.

Well, okay. He's had shots. A lot of shots. And Brad has had at least one drink (sometimes more) in his hand all night. And Kris somehow managed to knock into him and spill one - something strong and red and fruity - all over both of them, and then somehow thought it was a good idea to drag Brad into the laundry room and demand he take his shirt off. Kris drops his shirt in the washer and Brad's comes flying over his shoulder.

When Kris turns around, Brad is leaning against the closed door, half-lidded gaze wandering over Kris's torso. "So," he asks, his Texan drawl inviting under layers of rum, "now that you've got us half naked, what's your plan?" Kris's eyebrow shoots up, and Brad laughs. "Guess I’m not really your type," he sighs.

"Yeah, not exactly," Kris grins. He wonders if he has a type, when it comes to guys. He thinks Brad probably isn't it, but that Brad probably wouldn't find that much of a deterrent.

"Right, well, I can hardly compete with your incredible hard-on for my ex," Brad says, "Give a guy a ten inch cock and a record deal, and even the straight boys want to move in and play house."

Kris freezes, eyes fixed on Brad's feet, bare on the linoleum floor. There's no way Brad can know that, he reassures himself. He scrambles for a comeback, but his cheeks are flushed and his pause lasts just a fraction too long. When he looks back up, Brad is watching him, mouth slightly agape.

"I was kidding, holy shit."

"No, it's not-" Kris starts, but Brad pushes off from the door and stalks toward him.

"You so do, oh my God," he says, a little gleefully, and Kris takes a step back, his hips pressing against the edge of the dryer as Brad pushes into his personal space. "You have a thing for Adam."

"Brad, come on," Kris pleads, because honestly he hasn't talked about this with anyone yet, and he's really pretty sure it isn't supposed to be Brad. "Nothing's going on."

Brad nods slowly, his tongue running thoughtfully over his lower lip. "I'm sure there's not," he says. "Adam isn't that good at keeping secrets from me. He doesn't have any idea, does he."

"Look, just. Let it go, okay?" Kris is a little desperate now.

"Oh, honey," Brad says, batting his long eyelashes. "You should know by now that letting things go has never been my strong suit. Now tell me," he puts his hands on the dryer, bracketing Kris's body with his arms, and leans in to whisper low in Kris's ear, "is this an Adam thing, or a boys in general thing?"

Adam thing, Kris thinks to himself, but then Brad presses in closer and closes his teeth gently over Kris's earlobe. Kris closes his eyes and inhales sharply; the pool of embarrassment in his stomach is suddenly overlaid with a shiver of want, and his hips jerk forward. Brad hums in appreciation. His thigh is strong and lean, pushing between Kris's, and when Brad rolls his hips Kris can't stop himself from rolling back into him, his hands wrapping like vice grips around Brad's forearms.

He would so absolutely not be doing this, except for the alcohol, and the fact that he's spent a few weeks now sharing a bed with Adam, twisting his fingers in the sheets to keep from reaching out and touching warm skin as he sleeps. He closes his eyes, prays for the strength to push Brad away. "You're full of surprises," Brad smiles into his skin, sucking lightly under Kris's ear, and Kris just lets his body take over, let's his hips roll and his hands slide up Brad's arms to his shoulders.

"This isn't--," he says, but Brad just laughs and tugs his hips closer.

"Oh, I have no delusions that you aren't thinking about someone else right now," he murmurs, gasping a little as they rock into each other. "I'm really just not the kind of person who cares."

Kris wants to roll his eyes at that, but Brad scrapes his teeth over Kris's throat and slips his fingers under the waistband of Kris's jeans and all he can do is try to remember to keep breathing. Brad's fingers make deft work of his belt, his zipper, and Kris drops his head forward onto Brad's shoulder as he shoves Kris's jeans down a few inches and wraps his fist around his cock. "Shit," Kris exhales, and the scrape of Brad's stubble is harsh on his cheek.

"You're just lucky I don't wear fifteen rings on each hand, like some people we know," Brad says. "Those things are fucking cold." Kris huffs out a laugh, and tries not to let his mind picture it, Adam's big fist closed around him. It's almost less fucked up to force his eyes open, to watch his dick disappearing into the tight circle of Brad's fist, to slide his palm down over the flat expanse of Brad's chest until his fingers trace where his jeans lay low on his hips. "Yeah," Brad says, soft and a little breathless, and Kris wonders why this isn't harder, how his hands know exactly what to do.

"Do you want--," Kris starts, and Brad just pops the button on his tight black pants with his free hand, shimmies them down his thighs with practiced ease. His cock is hard and narrow, and Brad presses his hips forward enough to wrap his hand around them both together. Kris's brain stutters at the image, the sensation. "Or that," he says with a laugh that's only a little hysterical.

"You are so fucking pretty when you blush," Brad says, voice lower than usual, slow like honey as it glides past the rush of blood in Kris's ears. "You want to give me a hand here?"

It's not a stretch for him to do it, to wrap his fist around his cock, overlapping Brad's fingers, to feel the smooth, hot skin of Brad's erection against the calloused pads of his fingers. It's a handful, both of them together, and it's not like jerking off, not even a little, not with Brad's breath coming in damp, warm puffs against his neck. His flush covers his torso, half adrenaline and half exertion, and Kris's thighs shake when Brad's thumb teases the head of his cock. "He's bigger," Brad says, eyes closed, words slurred but perfectly understandable, even though it takes Kris a minute to catch up. Adam. Kris shivers. "Way more than a handful. He liked to fuck my mouth, but it was a fucking trick to do it right." Kris doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to know except for the parts of him that do, that hang on every word out of Brad's mouth. "He'll hold you down," Brad says, ragged breaths matching Kris's. "He'll hold you down and mark you. Make you beg for it."

And it's a memory, Kris can tell, but part of him takes it as a promise, Adam's hands pressing his wrists to the mattress, his eyes bright and sharp as Kris bucks beneath him, and Kris comes with a high, mortifying whine all over his fist, come splattering both of their chests. Brad moans and lets his hand fall away from Kris, just jerks himself off and comes in a few fast strokes. They stand there, panting for a few tense moments before Brad reaches behind Kris and pulls a towel from the shelf over the machines.

"So," Brad takes a step back and wipes himself off and buttons his pants up. "This is a really interesting little problem you have, Kristopher."

Kris just stares at him dumbly for a second and Brad shakes his head and tosses the towel at Kris's face. Kris jerks back and Brad snorts derisively. "If you're gonna be queer, you need to be a little less touchy about the dirty bits," he sneers.

"Yeah, thank you," Kris grits out testily, pulling his pants up his hips. His whole body is shaky and he's covered in a sheen of sweat and come - not all of which is his - and he has to go back out into the house and pretend like this never happened.

"You know if you're fucking with him, we might have a problem. You think there's not a gay mafia, but you would be wrong." When Kris looks up, Brad is leaning on the door again, arms crossed. He's smiling, but it's the thin, feral smile Kris has seen him throw at people who piss him off.

"There's nothing going on," Kris replies, his own voice edged with anger. He's been a fucking Boy Scout, and Brad can go fuck himself if he thinks this is going to mess with Adam's head more than it's messing with Kris's. "I told you, he doesn't even know and I don't plan on telling--"

"I don't actually care, sweetheart," Brad says, condescending and sweet. "The second he figures this out, which he totally will, you're going to have him tied in one hell of a knot. And while I applaud you and welcome you to the fold and all, Adam's been around for way too long to go fucking around with some guy who's covered in new gay smell."

"I'm not asking him for anything," Kris says, low and tight. "He doesn't have to--"

"He doesn't have to, but he will." Brad juts his hips out and tilts his chin up. "Adam's almost thirty, and he's got himself mostly figured out. You might get to the point where you can tell Adam how you feel, but are you ready to tell your mom? Your fans? Or are you really going to ask him to go back in the closet for you?"

Kris is stunned. "No, that's. No. I wouldn't ever ask him to hide anything."

"He would, though," Brad says, and he's nodding now. "He would do it for you."

Kris doesn't even know what to say to that. "Look," he fumbles, "there's no telling if he'd even be interested--"

Brad snorts loudly. "Riiiight. Because you're not his type at all." Brad takes a step toward him and Kris can't help taking an involuntary one back. "He's easy, I get that. You lose your pretty little wife, and your perfect little fairytale goes 'poof' and now you're scared and you're alone, and you run to Adam because he's the one person you know won't reject you for it. He's still got that little crush on you, he'll let you play house here all you want."

"Shut up," Kris grits out, because that's not how it is at all. Kris came here because Adam is his best friend, because Adam always has his back. It's not easy, these feelings that are threatening to spill over and change them, change Kris, change everything.

Brad clenches his jaw. "If you seriously have feelings for him, good. Fine. I hope you get your shit together and you two adopt little Cambodian babies, or whatever. But you better be really fucking sure, cupcake, because if you fuck with him, I will fuck with you." Brad slams the door behind him. Kris presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and takes a long, shuddering breath.

*

Brad doesn't tell Adam.

It's not that Kris thought he would, but. He kind of thought he would. He braces for something to happen, for Adam to say that he knows, and when he doesn't, Kris gets a little... frustrated.

There is no way Kris is going to tell Adam that he has this big, stupid gay crush on him, but the not telling him just leads to afternoons like this one where Adam and Kris are stuck in the car together for a three hour ride down to San Diego to visit Adam's dad.

Adam's singing along with the radio, his hair falling into his eyes, his jeans pulling absurdly tight across his thighs as he shifts gear. He grins over at Kris, and Kris's heart skitters a little in his chest.

It's like torture.

"Come on, you pick a station," Adam says and Kris spends five minutes tracking through dozens of satellite radio stations, wondering out loud how they find enough music to fill them all. He stops when he sees Adam's name come up on the display, coming in on the middle of Adam's second single, a ballad he started when they were still on the AI tour. Kris remembers Adam sitting him down, picking out chords on the acoustic Kris lent him, still clumsy at it, but learning. "It's not exactly a love song," he'd said. "It's like... a pining song." They'd worked on the song together for most of a day before Adam had smiled nervously at him and said "Thanks, I... think I'm going to put this one away for a while, see what happens."

"No, no, no, Kris Allen, you turn that off now," Adam laughs from the driver's seat, and Kris can see that his cheeks are flushed with embarrassment.

"You know I've heard this before," Kris teases. "In fact, I think I'm the one who came up with 'and every day you seem a little closer, but every night you're still out of reach'."

"And that is why you are thanked in the liner notes," Adam says, reaching up to flip to the next station.

"Hey, I liked that song," Kris grins at him, and Adam just shakes his head.

"If you want to play this game, I'm sure I have your last demo in the car somewhere...," Adam says, flipping down the visor and reaching for one of his burned CDs.

"Fine, fine!" Kris puts his hands up, laughing.

They drive in a near-silence only broken by the occasional sing-along to the radio, or to play Adam's favorite game of adding "in bed" to the end of billboards they pass. After an hour Adam turns on his blinker and pulls into a Starbucks. "Do you have to use the little boys room?" he asks and Kris rolls his eyes.

"No, because I didn't have two venti frappachinos before I got in the car."

"Fine," Adam sighs as he parks. "Meet you back here in five."

Kris gets out of the car to stretch his legs. They got a late start and the sun is high in the sky. Kris sees a few dogs playing in the grass next to the parking lot and walks over to get a closer look. One, a big yellow lab, comes running at him with a stick in her mouth. "That's Daisy," calls a woman from a picnic bench. "Just throw it, and she'll be your best friend."

Kris tosses the stick for Daisy a handful of times, rubbing her ears when she brings it back. He's calling for her when he feels a hand at his waist. He turns his head and Adam props his chin on Kris's shoulder and grins at him. "We could get a dog," he says, and God. Kris really, really wants to kiss him. It's an awful, agonizing moment before he can make his head turn away from Adam's eyes, Adam's mouth.

"Yeah, maybe," he says, as casually as he can, and he really should step away but he doesn't. He leans back into Adam's chest, Adam's fingers still warm on his side, and closes his eyes when he feels Adam's sigh.

*

He sends Katy flowers for her birthday - a big bouquet of summer chrysanthemums and astors that he knows she'll love. He's not sure why he does it, except he always has. The card reads "Thinking of you" because he couldn't think of what else to put when the guy on the phone asked him. It's lame, and it's not what he wants to say, and he waits until it's almost eleven o'clock at night, Arkansas time, to pick up his cell and call her. He locks himself in the small guest bathroom, settling on the tile floor with his back to the door, his stomach full of butterflies.

She picks up just before it hits voicemail. "Hi," she says, her voice just a shade cautious. Kris presses his head back into the door and closes his eyes.

"Hi."

"I got the flowers," she says, and she sounds a little pleased, which gives Kris courage.

"Good. I wanted... to say Happy Birthday. See how you were."

"I'm... good," she says, a little breathless, "Just getting ready for bed." There's a pause, and she laughs suddenly, a rush of sound through the tinny cellphone speakers. "This is totally stupid."

"What?" Kris asks, and he's smiling a little, her laugh as infectious as always.

"Why the hell am I nervous on the phone with you?" she replies.

"Hey, I'm a famous person," Kris says with a grin.

"You're a dork."

"That too." Kris presses his feet flat into the cold marble of the sink. "How are you, really?"

Katy sighs, and he can picture her on the bed of what was supposed to be their master suite, her hair down around her shoulders, her face freshly scrubbed. "I'm okay. Lonely, sometimes. It's weird."

"I know," he says, and she sighs again.

"It's... okay, though. Everything happens for a reason, things are moving forward, my life is a cliche, blah blah." She laughs again. "But I'm good, though. The house is perfect, and work is so busy they're throwing tons of new stuff my way, which is fun. I'm doing a lot of happy hours with the girls, getting a taste for mojitos." Kris can picture her too, tall cool glass in her hand, her always cheerful friends toasting her independence. "How about you? Your mama says you're still staying at Adam's."

Kris feels a slight jolt to the back of his spine, a tingling sensation he can't quite pinpoint. "Yeah, he's. It was just easier. I'm looking for a place," he lies, and she hums on the other end of the line.

"How is he?" she asks, quieter this time, and Kris can feel his cheeks heating up.

"He's good. He's, you know. Adam." He laughs a little.

"He's making you leave the house. I saw it on Entertainment Tonight," she teases, and Kris picks restlessly at the hem of his jeans.

"Yeah, he's been...," he starts, and trails off. He's been good for me. his brain supplies, but he can't say that to Katy. He doesn't want to hurt her, and he knows with a sudden certainty that she'd be able to read between the lines. He's also not so sure it's true, thinking about weeks of being so close to Adam and feeling like he was about to burst out of his own skin from not touching him, from not knowing.

"Hey, you still there?" Katy's voice is soft and sweet over the line, and Kris takes a sharp, painful breath.

"I'm so sorry," he says, and he means it completely. Sorry for having left her alone all those months, sorry for the promises he made about the future that he just couldn't follow through on. Sorry for falling out of love with her, sorry for falling... shit. Sorry for falling in love with Adam.

"I know," she says sadly. "Me too." They just sit there for a few moments, listening to each other breathe. "Kris," she says finally, and Kris has to blink away hot tears from the corners of his eyes. "You know I only ever wanted you to be happy, right?"

"God, Katy--"

"No, seriously, whatever makes you happy... whoever makes you happy, that's okay. That's good. As long as they... he treats you right."

Kris drops his head to his knees, his words muffled by fabric as the tingle in his spine turns into a full-blown shiver. "Am I that easy to read?" he asks and Katy sighs again.

"Only to me, babe." Then, "I'm guessing you haven't told him yet?"

"Yeah, because that's an easy conversation to start," he notes dryly. "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is," Katy says, encouraging, and Kris groans.

"This is not actually the conversation I expected to be having here, kitkat."

"Yeah, well, you sure weren't going to talk to your mom about it," she throws back at him, and dammit.

"No, I was not." The women in Kris's life are clearly conspiring against him. But that means Katy's still part of his life, somewhere, and his chest feel lighter than it has in weeks.

"Talk to him," Katy says. "Tell him."

"I can't, Katy. I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"You don't have to have all the answers before you ask the question," she says gently.

It's true, but to Kris it feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute, and he's just... not ready yet. "You're right," he tells her. "Now, tell me about work. I need a dose of Conway in my life."

She sighs again, but it's the same exasperated tone Kris has known for ten years, and she settles into a familiar patter about life back home, letting Kris off the hook for the moment.

*

The problem with being in love with someone and not telling them is that eventually Kris ends up here, at some party thrown by some nightclub, where he's stuck in VIP watching way cooler people pick up way hotter people. Oh, and also watching Adam make out with a boy in the corner, almost hidden by the shadows if you don't know where to look.

When it comes to Adam, however, Kris always knows where to look.

He's staring, he knows he is, eyes focused on the patch of darkness occasionally punctuated by a flash of skin. He's gripping his beer in one hand, and the arm of the red leather chair in the other. His whole body aches from holding himself still - not from running away, but from walking over there and tossing this guy out of Adam's lap. He can see Adam's hands slide down the guy's back, eyes following the movement to where they tuck into the back of too-tight pants. When he looks back up, he can see the whites of Adam's eyes, staring right back at him. They lock on to each other for too many seconds, Kris's breaths coming in shallow pants that match Adam's. Then the guy does something that makes Adam's hips jerk, makes his eyes roll back, and Kris... really doesn't have to stay and watch this.

He's already at coatcheck when Adam's fingers curl around his elbow. Kris pulls out of his grip, and he's not angry, except he kind of is, at everything. At that guy, for getting all up in Adam's space when he came with Kris; at Adam for letting him; at himself for being such a chickenshit about this whole thing. "You're going?" Adam asks, and Kris just shrugs.

"Not my scene," he says, refusing to meet Adam's eyes.

"Yeah, okay," Adam nods, and hands over his coat ticket. "Meet me at valet."

They're halfway home when Kris finally feels like an asshole. "You didn't have to leave," Kris says, eyes focused on the lights flashing by on Sunset.

"You didn't look like you were having a very good time," Adam says, his voice strangely tight.

"Yeah, well, you looked like you were having a great time," Kris mutters, and he's prepared for Adam to give him shit for it, to call him on the bug that's crawled up his ass, but Adam just tenses in the seat next to him, eyes fixed on the road. He changes gears fast enough to make the car jolt in the lane.

When they get home, Kris changes quickly and crawls into bed. He's still half-hard from Adam's little show at the club, and he wonders how many more nights he's going to be able to do this before he explodes. Adam takes a few minutes in the bathroom, but comes back out fully dressed. "Think I'm going to stay up for a while. I have some shit to catch up on."

Kris blinks at the ceiling. "Yeah, okay. 'Night." Adam turns out the lights as he leaves, and Kris presses the heel of his hand into his dick and exhales.

*

They try to marathon the last season of Lost on DVD that weekend, but when Adam's fingers accidentally skim Kris's bare arm, he flinches away, his whole body now trained to treat every touch from Adam with a neon CAUTION sign. Adam doesn't say anything, just sits a little further away than usual on the couch, his legs splayed open and his eyes focused on the screen. When Kris tries to tuck his toes under Adam's thigh, Adam tenses enough that Kris pulls them back, gets up to go to the bathroom, just to splash some water on his face.

When he comes back, Adam's on the phone. "Maybe we'll just try next week?" he asks, and Kris nods. He escapes to the patio and sits in the sun and lets himself wallow.

He thinks maybe it's time to find his own place, and the ache in his chest makes him feel stupid and angry and sorry for himself. If he's never going to tell Adam how he feels, it's his own damn fault, and maybe he just needs his own space, and to meet a cute girl and get back in the studio and stop being a damn teenager about this whole thing.

Or maybe he just needs to tell Adam how he feels and pray the whole thing doesn't blow up in his face.

*

"Let's go, superstar!" Adam yells to him from the front door, and Kris wonders how in the hell Adam was ready for this event before he was. He checks his hair in the mirror and grabs his leather jacket from the chair in the kitchen, and they're off again - this time to an industry function for the new AI group. Fuller's sent a limo to pick them up, which always makes Kris feel both giddy and ridiculous, and Adam spreads out in the back, pops the cork on a bottle of champagne and pours them each a glass. "To never having to sing disco again, unless we want to," he says, and Kris clinks their glasses together with a "here, here!" and downs it in three quick gulps. When he looks up, Adam is shaking his head. "You may want to start out easy, tiger," he says.

"Eh, not like we're going to get anywhere near the bar for hours," he says, and Adam tilts his head thoughtfully before pouring them each a second glass.

"To a decent pre-party!" he toasts, and Kris grins at him before drinking the whole thing down, the bubbles tickling the back of his throat.

It turns out, however, that when you're already two years out from Idol fame, the reporters don't have nearly as many questions for you. Unless you're Adam, who interviewers fall over themselves to talk to. So, an hour after he arrives, Adam's still working the lines while Kris is bellied up to the bar with Anoop on one side of him and a new kid - Ben - on the other. They're on their second tequila shot of the night. "Man, remember when you were the good one?" Anoop teases, elbowing Kris as he sucks hard on a lemon wedge.

"I was never the good one," Kris replies with an eye roll. "But yeah, I wasn't a drunk until I started hanging out with you losers." He elbows Ben a little. "Remember kid - they're only your friends until they've locked you out of your bus in your underwear."

"That was one time and you'd lost the bet," Anoop laughs, and winks at Ben over Kris's head. Ben's tall, with broad swimmer's shoulders and brown hair that's just a little shaggy. He's in a plain grey t-shirt and worn jeans, and he's smiling, green eyes a little wide like he can't believe he's there. Kris remembers that feeling. Ben made it to the top six this year, which could mean a career, or it could mean not. He seems like a nice guy, so Kris is rooting for him.

"You want another?" Ben says, and Anoop begs out to go find his girlfriend. Kris looks around, spots Adam in the far corner with a drink in his hand and at least four people vying for his attention.

"Sure, why not?" he replies, and Ben smiles wider and leans into Kris's side as he flags down the bartender.

Later, much later maybe, Kris is happily drunk and lost in a sea of people. They brought in a decent DJ this time but the dance floor is still small, people packed in like sardines. Kris closes his eyes and lets his head tip back. He knows he's a shitty dancer, but in a crowd this tight you can't do much more than sway anyway. He feels a warm hand slide around his side, palm flat on his stomach, and someone tall steps in close behind him, lean and hard and male.

Adam, he thinks, and lets his body fall back. "Hey," comes a rumbling voice in his ear, and when Kris blinks his eyes open it's not Adam who's pulling Kris's body back, not Adam who's dick is pressing hard into Kris's ass. It's Ben.

"Hey," Kris replies, and Ben's hand shifts a little lower, fingers splayed over the waist of Kris's jeans. "What're you--," he starts, and Ben's breath is hot on Kris's neck.

"Dancing," he says with a slow, lazy smile, and Kris knows this is a bad idea, but he's been so fucking good for so long that he just lets Ben hold on and move them to the music. He can feel where Ben is grinding into him a little, and he knows at least one of them will be mortified when they sober up tomorrow, but Kris feels hot and heavy and loose-limbed and wanted, and it's... really fucking nice.

He's not sure how long they stay like that, Ben's hand pushing slowly at Kris's shirt until he finds bare skin, Kris pressing back into Ben's groin until he can feel a muffled moan reverberate through his body. But suddenly the crowd around them is shifting and Kris blinks his eyes open to find Adam right there, almost too close. He reaches out, fists his hand in Adam's t-shirt to pull him closer until he's trapped between their tall, lean bodies. "Hey, I was looking for you," Adam yells over the thump of the music. His eyes flicker down to where Ben's thumb is caressing Kris's side.

"Dance with me," Kris says, and pulls on Adam's hip with his other hand. It's so fucking warm, and Kris just wants to strip his t-shirt off and dance, strip Adam down too, and maybe Ben. He just wants to touch, nothing wrong with that, he thinks hazily. He just wants to feel Adam's heart beating under his fingers, taste the sweat pooled at his collarbone. He rolls his hips and Adam's eyes snap up to Ben.

"What the hell did you give him?" he asks, and Ben doesn't know Adam, doesn't know that that voice means danger, duck and cover. Kris ducks his head into Adam's chest and giggles.

"Nothing but tequila," Ben laughs behind him, "I swear."

Adam's fingers thread through Kris's hair, and Kris wraps an arm around his waist. Adam's good at holding him up. "Come on, let's get out of here before someone remembers they have a fucking cameraphone," Adam says low in Kris's ear, and Kris lets himself get tugged out of Ben's grip, shrugging at Ben's indignant "Hey!"

"Sorry, man!" Kris yells, "The walls have ears!"

Adam snorts out a laugh and pulls him out of the crowd and through the club, grabbing their jackets from a back booth and propping Kris against a wall while he slips his on. It takes Adam three tries to get his arms into the right holes, and Kris giggles again. "You're drunk."

"Says the guy I found getting molested by the football player," Adam says incredulously.

"Swimmer," Kris nods at him, and Adam just rolls his eyes. "He's nice."

"Yeah, you wouldn't be saying that once he had his hand down your pants," Adam notes with an arch of his eyebrow.

"That would be nice," Kris sighs, because man, he would love someone's hand down his pants right now. He's half-hard already, and Adam is wearing the striped pants that Kris loves, and his skin feels all tingly where Ben's hand was, and... Adam is staring at him. "What?" he says. Adam just blinks a few times.

"Let's find a car."

The towncar they take home isn't as fancy as the limo there, but it allows Kris to sit slumped against Adam for the whole ride, his head resting on Adam's shoulder. They're out of the crazy traffic of downtown and into the hills before Adam looks down at him with a strange smile on his face. "That guy was really into you," he says, and it's almost teasing but Kris can feel where Adam's knuckles are pressing into his thigh, almost hard enough to shift muscle over bone.

"Yeah?" Kris says, distracted, his eyes flicking down to Adam's hand. Adam's fingers twitch, like he's forcing them still.

"Yeah," Adam replies, a little breathless. "You shouldn't lead boys on like that; it gives them the wrong impression." Kris tips his head back and Adam is smiling at him, but his eyes are sharp, predatory behind a haze of alcohol. Kris's stomach tightens and he thinks this is it, fuck, but the car is pulling into Adam's driveway and Adam is pulling away.

Getting out of the car is a feat; Adam really isn't that much more sober than Kris, and they stumble their way up the drive and into the house, Adam's fingers like a vice around Kris's wrist. Kris tries to twist a little - not escaping from his grasp, just testing it - and when Adam's fingers tighten even more, Kris shivers. "Don't," Adam says sharply, but his tone softens immediately. "You're going to fall on your ass, and I'm not going to be able to get you off the floor, man."

"'S okay," Kris says, stumbling a step further into Adam's space. "I'm not gonna fall." Kris is sober enough to know he's skating a fine line here, but Adam's breathing is a little off and his mouth is open, eyes focused on Kris's collarbone, and Kris thinks yeah, yes, please, leaning forward like an invitation. "You got me, right?"

"Yeah," Adam breathes and Kris sways a little on the balls of his feet. "Come on, we should sleep this off," Adam says now, louder and clearer, like he's trying to break this spell that's settled over them.

Kris very, very much does not want to sleep this off. Kris wants to slide his palms under Adam's shirt and pull him close and kiss him until neither of them can breathe. But Adam's pulling them down the hall to the bedroom, and he just pushes Kris at the bed without any ceremony and asks "Can you get your shoes off on your own?" with a wry grin before dissappearing into the bathroom.

Kris huffs at the closed door. He can get his damn shoes off just fine, thank you, and he also strips off his shirt and his socks and shucks his jeans, very nearly tripping himself in the process. He crawls into the bed and flops over on his back, his hands fisting in the sheets until the room stops spinning. "Adam?" he yells after a minute, but he can hear the water running in the bathroom and sighs. "This sucks," he says sadly to no one at all. His eyes traitorously start to close, and Kris doesn't want to sleep, doesn't want to stop whatever this is that has Adam looking at him like he wants to push Kris against the nearest wall. He's hard enough that each time he shifts, the cotton of his boxers sends a tiny jolt down his spine, and he focuses on that, on rolls of his hips against the mattress. It's not enough to make him anything more than frustrated and he bites back a whimper, presses his palm against his stomach where Ben's hand had been, pinky slipping under the waistband, and wonders if he would have let Ben do it, like he let Brad do it. He thinks probably he would, just to stop this God-awful ache. He tips his head back with a groan.

"You okay?" Adam asks from the doorway of the bathroom, his voice thick with something Kris can't describe. The light is still on behind him, and Adam's skin looks pale under all his freckles, the dark hair on his arms, his chest, standing out in stark relief. He's in nothing but soft sleep pants, and Kris has to force his eyes to the ceiling to stem the rush of want.

"No," he says and it comes out a little broken. "Adam."

"I don't... know what you want," Adam says, his voice almost pleading.

Kris holds out a hand, says "Please, Adam, come on," and it seems like it takes Adam a full minute to cross the room, his eyes locked on Kris's face, searching for something Kris is pretty sure should be easy to spot. He slides over in the bed, an open invitation, and Adam slides in next to him. He stops before their bodies touch, and Kris keeps himself still, waiting. "Kris," he whispers, a little desperate, and Kris reaches his leg out and runs his foot along the swell of Adam's calf. "We can't."

"Why?" Kris croaks out, his whole body taut and hot, his throat raw.

Adam presses his forehead into his pillow, his fingers wrapped so tight around the edge that his knuckles turn white. "Because I don't want you to hate me."

Kris laughs at that, a nearly soundless shake of his chest. "I won't," he says, and his hand slides across the inches between them, knuckles sliding down Adam's chest slowly. Adam shivers and Kris palms his own dick with his other hand. "Come on," he says again, and when his knuckles press lower, over the lowslung fabric of his pants, Adam grabs Kris's wrist and holds it still. Kris can feel the hard ouline of Adam's cock through the thin material, flexes his fingers and hears Adam's sharp intake of breath.

"Kris," he whispers again, and his eyes are closed, teeth biting at his lower lip, his shoulders tense and shaking, and Kris is pretty sure he's never seen anything so sexy in his whole life. He rolls on his side, the whole world spinning a little, and slips his thigh between Adam's, pressing down until he can feel the heat of Adam's dick against his leg.

"God," Adam's voice is low and smokey in his ear, and Kris presses in closer. "Kris," he says again, a little broken, and Kris pushes his leg down a fraction more, can feel the way Adam's dick twitches at the pressure. Kris is so hard, and Adam's fingers slip warm and tight into his hair, tightening a little when Kris rolls his hips, both of them panting at the friction. "Fuck," Adams says, barely a whisper, and Kris opens his mouth and presses his lips to the rough skin of Adam's throat; not kissing, just there. He can feel Adam shudder, feel him shift a little until his ankle is hooked over Kris's, until their hips are rolling to meet each other.

It's frantic for a second, both of them pushing and pulling, but then Adam's arm curls around his lower back and just holds him still. "I want," he breathes. "Fuck, Kris."

"Yeah, yes," Kris manages, his voice more a whine than anything else, and Adam's hand slips lower, palm huge against the curve of his ass. Kris moans a little when Adam's hip presses against his dick with firm, smooth pressure, over and over.

"Shhh, I've got you," Adam says quietly, and Kris nods, presses his nose to Adam's throat, and just rides it out; he can feel Adam everywhere, and it's amazing. It doesn't take him long to reach the edge, not with Adam making harsh, needful noises in his ear, his hand splayed over Kris's ass, kneading and pulling. One finger slips into the crack between his cheeks, the fabric of his boxers sticking to Kris's damp skin, and it sends shivers down Kris's spine. Adam stills for a second and Kris makes a choked, frustrated sound and pushes back into Adam's hand, down onto his thigh, rocking until Adam presses down, finger rubbing through cotton at a bundle of nerves Kris never really gave much thought to before now. Kris can feel his orgasm start in his fucking toes, moaning as it rips through him, mouth pressed open and wet against Adam's collar.

Adam's fingers are still in his hair when Kris turns his head, presses his cheek to Adam's chest and tries to get a deep breath. "You okay?" Adam asks, and it's playful, but hestitant, like Adam's not sure what's supposed to happen now. Kris isn't sure either, except that Adam's still rock hard underneath him, one roll of Kris's hips making him jerk back a fraction. "Fuck, you don't--," he starts and Kris doesn't even let him finish the sentence, just slides his hand under the waistband of Adam's pants and wraps his fist around his dick.

"I kind of do," Kris grins when Adam's head falls back. His whole body curls for a moment into Kris's touch, and the hand in Kris's hair tightens as Kris begins to stroke him. He fumbles a little, the pants getting in the way, the angle not quite right, and Kris frowns for a second before using his free hand to peel Adam's pants down enough that his cock is free, slick and red, pushing against Kris's fingers. Kris brushes his thumb over the head, spreading a drop a precome down toward his fingers.

"Oh," Adam gasps, and his eyes snap open, glued not on the sight of Kris jerking him off, but on Kris's face.

"That's good?" Kris asks, twisting his wrist as much as he can at this angle. Adam nods, bites his lip again. "Good," Kris grins, lazy and loose. He's been obsessing for weeks about this, about getting Adam naked and what the fuck he was supposed to do after that, but Adam's eyes are glazed and he's staring at Kris like he's the fucking messiah, and Kris wants to laugh. This is the easy part, he thinks. Then, I want to see him come. He speeds up, keeps his strokes tight and even, and Adam's hips hitch once, twice and he's coming with a small, broken curse, his forehead pressed to Kris's temple.

They lay there in the dark of Adam's room (their room, Kris thinks, heart giddy) and Kris closes his eyes. He should probably get up, clean them both off, change his shorts, but he figures it can wait until Adam's heartrate slows to something a little more human, until Kris can bear to pull away.

*

When he opens his eyes, it's still dark in the room, save for the light coming from the open door of the bathroom. Kris is still in his shorts, now a sticky mess when he shifts against the mattress and Adam is... gone. When Kris stands up, he stumbles, and he's still just a little drunk, but not enough to stave off the feeling of doom that's settling in his stomach. He washes up in the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. There's a red patch of skin at his jaw where he was pressed against Adam's stubble and his lips feel tender. He puts on sweatpants and a t-shirt and walks into the bedroom. The sheets are a tangled mess and Kris exhales slowly. They should have talked about this first, he knows that. Not just jumped into sex after everything they've been through. This wasn't how Kris planned this, but then again, Kris never actually planned it at all.

He wonders for a horrible second if Adam is actually gone; he almost goes to check out the window, to see if Adam's car is in the driveway, but he hears a noise from the front of the house and feels his heart startle in his chest. He pads quietly out in the living room and Adam is on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, painted toenails curled around the edge. He's staring at the sliding doors to the patio.

"Hey," Adam says quietly, not looking at Kris directly, but at his reflection in the window. He looks like shit, and Kris reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder. "Don't," Adam says, flinching back. Kris balls his hand in a fist and lets it drop to his side.

"I'm sorry," Kris says quietly, because that's his default phrase when things are fucked up. He wants to take the words back the second they leave his mouth, though, because Adam's jaw clenches tight and Kris remembers the feeling of Adam's skin under his fingers, and he's really not sorry at all.

"That was. That shouldn't have happened," Adam says tightly, and since he won't look at Kris, he focuses on Adam's reflection, the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders are hunched forward.

"Yeah, probably we should have talked about it first," Kris says with a sheepish shrug.

"No, I mean, that's. Whatever you think this is, I can't...," Adam trails off helplessly, and Kris takes a breath, then another one, desperately wishing Adam would finish his goddamned thought. What can't you do?, he thinks, but Adam just blinks down at his hands.

"So you didn't want to," Kris says finally, intent on pulling the truth out of Adam. It's totally a dick move on his part, he knows that, but if he's going to bare his soul in a minute, he'd like to have some idea if it's going to be followed by a quick pack of his things and a trip to the nearest hotel.

Adam laughs bitterly. "That's not really the issue at hand, Kris."

"So you did want to," Kris replies, and he can't help the small smile that goes along with it. Adam throws his hands up and finally looks at him.

"Of course I fucking wanted to, are you... Jesus. You were drunk off your ass, and you haven't gotten laid in months, and I couldn't keep my fucking hands to myself even though I have a little mantra for it and everything."

"You have a mantra?" Kris asks, his grin tugging at the side of his mouth. Adam glares at him.

"Yes, said to myself every night into the bathroom mirror. 'He's your best friend, keep your hands to yourself, don't freak him out or he'll leave.' And then tonight you were all..." He waves his hand in Kris's general direction and makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. Kris palms the back of his neck with one hand.

"Yeah, well, I'm not really the one freaking out here," he says matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I noticed that," Adam mutters and Kris chuckles.

"How long have you had this mantra?"

"Don't. Don't be a dick about it," Adam tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. "You know how I feel about you. The fucking world knows how I feel about you."

Kris can feel his own pulse is his chest, his stomach, his fingertips. "You think I'm cute," he says, because that's all it ever was, all Adam ever said in all those interviews. They put me in with the cute one.

"No, you're. Fuck, Kris. You're kind of perfect. For me. And I can't have you, and that's... fine. I mean, it's life, and I know that, but then tonight happened and I just. It was kind of amazing and now it's like I have to retrain my brain not to look at you like that." Adam's gaze settles on Kris's face, and Kris thinks it's got to be obvious now, the fucking naked adoration that's probably written there, but Adam just looks... lost.

"What if," Kris starts, and has to swallow past the tightness in his throat, "what if you can have me?"

"Kris," Adam says, weary, and Kris takes two long steps to the couch and straddles Adam's thighs, sitting back on Adam's lap. His hands cup the sides of Adam's face.

"Hey, I'm not... this isn't a joke, okay? What if you could have me, right now? What if that's what I want?"

"I'd say you're picking a hell of a time to have a big gay revelation." Adam laughs a little, but his hands are shaking when they come to rest on Kris's hips.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I think," Kris grins at him, "but my ex-wife thinks we should make out, and she's a pretty smart girl. Also my mom, but we really, really aren't going to bring that up."

"Kris, this is--," Adam starts and Kris presses their foreheads together.

"I know, and I'm a total asshole for not telling you, like, months ago, but I really... kind of might be a little in love with you, and I have no fucking idea what I'm doing, but what happened tonight... I wanted that, I really, really did, and I'm not freaking out. So."

"So," Adam says, eyes wide. His fingers tighten around Kris's hips, slide up to slip around his waist.

"So, I have no idea what the next part is," Kris admits, and he's a little terrified, actually, but Adam's face is falling into a sweet, wide open smile, and Kris can't help but smile back.

"Now, I think I'm going to kiss you," Adam says, and Kris swallows hard, nods.

"Yeah, I think--" But the words get lost in the feeling of Adam's mouth, and Kris figures they can talk the rest out later.

(And hey, because you rock, have a porny epilogue.)