FIC: Different for Girls 3 of 7 (Kat/Elliott)
Author: Clio
Title: Different for Girls Chapter 3 of 7: Nice Work If You Can Get It
Pairing: American Idol: Katharine McPhee/Elliott Yamin
Summary: Kat's recent heartbreak has left her a changed woman-and now her old friend Elliott is seeing her in a different light.
Chapter Rating: NC-17
Chapter Length: 2000 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Thank you, thank you, thank you lillijulianne. While this story is a sequel of sorts to her sequence of stories about Blake, Chris and Kat, there's probably enough information here to read this on its own. All you need know is that Kat had been engaged to another man at the time she was fooling around with Blake and Chris.
1: But Not For Me | 2: I've Got a Crush on You
Chapter Three: Nice Work If You Can Get It
She'd lost track of time and hadn't realized they were running over when Elliott knocked on the door. "Hey!" Kat said, walking over to give him a hug.
"Am I early?" he asked, looking around the room.
"Not at all," said a slim man sitting at the controls, who stood to shake Elliott's hand. "We're running late. I'm Tom."
"Very nice to meet you."
"And you know Chris," Kat said.
"Hey man," Elliott said, and they pulled each other into a manly half-hug.
"We're working on the song I wrote," Chris said. "I'm sorry we kept her."
Elliott waved a hand. "I know how that is. It's just dinner, no reservations or anything." He found a stool near the back.
Tom nodded. "Let's go through it two or three more times?"
Kat picked up her mug of tea and headed back into the booth. "We're doing high harmonies," she said, giving Elliott a kiss as she walked by. She should have thought this through, but then again, he was going to hear it all anyway, and have some of it explained to him. But he was a sharp one, and she always felt that he had figured out much more than she knew.
She walked over to the mic, set down the cup and put on the headphones, her hair in pigtails that kept it out of her face. The playback started, the lower harmonies already layered in over the main vocal, all the voices hers, the vocal arrangement not far from the one Blake had worked out that first time, in AC, eight months ago now. She listened, looking mostly at Chris but glancing over at Elliott, who wore his "unreadable expression of neutral listening" which she has grown to both love and hate. She sang: And you say hello / And we both pretend / There was an end / But there was no ending and Like a ghost through a fog / Like a charmed hour / And a haunted song / And the angel of my dreams and heard herself sing That girl was me and thought, was. They did it two more times before deciding that that first take after Elliott arrived really was the best one, and then the four of them sat behind the console, listening to the vocal mix, and Chris suggested a viola instead of a cello for the countermelody and Tom agreed, and that was it, done for the day.
They invited Chris to come to dinner with them, as Elliott hadn't seen him in a while, and after checking in and hearing that Blake was in the studio for the forseeable future anyway, Chris agreed, and they drove two cars to the fish restaurant a few streets away.
Over salad and a shared ceviche they talked about Elliott's record, and Kat's, and Chris's, and Chris said he really should write a song for Elliott even though it won't make this record and Elliott jumped at that. Chris was really making a name for himself and also was a good presence in the studio, calm and steady and keeping people on task. Kat thought that he'd end up even more behind the scenes than he thought and wondered what he'd make of that. When the entrees arrived, somehow clothing came up.
"Kat keeps threatening to take me shopping," Elliott said. "Haven't I been made over enough?"
"Not to make you over!" Kat protested. "Just clothes that make people look at you, and not how that shirt and those trousers don't exactly go."
"I heard that," Chris said. "Some people don't really dress when they're not on the clock, you know?"
"But we're always on the clock," Kat pointed out.
"He looks all right," Elliott said, pointing at Chris, "and he's just wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants and a baseball hat."
Kat motioned to Chris, and he stood. "See how the t-shirt and the trousers are not the same color, but in the same color family, so it's tone-on-tone? And the shirt he's wearing over that is a little darker, so the t-shirt pops? And the hat has a flatter crown so it won't come down too far over his eyes?"
Chris sat down. "It's the little details, man."
Elliott made a face. "Fine, I'll do it, if Chris can come with us."
Kat looked to Chris, her eyes wide. Why hadn't she thought of that? "Would you?" she asked.
"Would I?" Chris said. "Might keep me from wanting to burn my boyfriend's entire closet for a while, at least. Sure, it sounds like fun."
"Thank you!" Kat said. She reached along the bench for Elliott's hand and squeezed it. It was all going so well, and why wouldn't it. After all, Chris was a good friend, the number of times she'd sat on his face or had his dick up her ass notwithstanding.
She ran her thumb over the back of Elliott's hand, thrilling a little at the hair on it in that weird way she had been lately, and realized that tonight was the night she'd ask him to stay, if only so she could see the rest of him. That he'd be seeing the rest of her, too, would be worth it. It would have to be.
They were back in Elliott's car, after bidding Chris goodnight, sitting in companionable silence (well, not silence, but KCRW and not talking) and mostly Elliott was thinking, "Well, it wasn't Chris." Ever since their first date he had idly wondered who Kat's ex-not the official one, but the unofficial one-was, if only because it was in reaction to whatever shit he'd pulled that Kat had changed into the girl sitting next to him. Which still surprised him sometimes, that she was sitting next to him. He had a vague feeling that the guy was in the industry if only because Kat had taken such control of her music, but after that, it could be almost anyone. Not that it really mattered; it was just a game: not this guy, not that one, nor that one. And now, not Chris Richardson, though it wouldn't be, with the whole Blake thing.
"How clean is your place?" Kat said.
Elliott tried not to smile too much. "Beatrix came today actually, so it's as clean as it gets."
"Is this enough planning ahead?"
"Plenty," he replied, and gave up on hiding his grin.
"You look like you won something."
"Didn't I?" he asked, and laughed.
"I dunno; my resistance was never very high."
"To me or in general?"
"Both? I've been in kind of a slutty period."
Elliott shook his head. "Okay, one? You're only dating me now, and only sleeping with me, so loose period, over. Two, I don't care what you did before I kissed you. And three, I don't like that word."
"What, slut? Why? Oh, your sex-isn't-bad thing."
"Yeah. So, not a slut," Elliott said, wagging a finger.
"But I can say fuck?"
"Definitely."
"All right. Take me home and fuck me, then." "
My pleasure," Elliott said, taking his exit off the 405.
Elliott's place was very clean, with music in neat piles and CDs in a stack near the stereo. The house was small, but what did he need with a big place when he was so often away from home and it was usually just him? Kat made nice comments about the framed vintage tour posters and the stand full of hats in the corner.
"Something to drink?" he asked.
She was looking at his CDs, but now turned to him. "Maybe water, later," she said, walking toward him. "For now, just you."
He felt fixed to the spot, like prey. "S-something to eat?"
She shook her head, laying her hands on his chest. "Just you," she said, and kissed him.
He held her close, hands spread across her narrow back, her thigh rubbing deliberately against his cock which had been half-hard in the car, never mind now. Somehow they shuffled into his bedroom, and the undressing was a blur-a glorious blur of creamy skin gradually revealed and slender hands playing with the hair on his chest. She pounced on him, and then they were in the bed, he leaned up against the headboard while she settled in his lap. Kat was rolling a condom onto his cock and my god but she wasn't kidding about being wet all the time-he could feel her on his thigh, though he hoped that some of that was because of him. She lifted herself up, his hands on her waist, and slid down onto him, sleek and wet and tight and warm and wonderful, and her skin glowed in the faint light of the bedroom. She never closed her eyes, which surprised Elliott, but kept them on him, on his face, her hands grabbing hold of his forearms as she rode him. His hands never left her waist but it was her thighs doing all the work, first slow and then fast, so fast that he could barely catch his breath and my God she just came from this didn't she? He wasn't far behind her, arching up into her, into the solid weight of her, and then she collapsed on top of him, and he pulled her close.
"Mmm," Kat said, her face buried in his neck. "I love how you feel." She sat up a little, looked at him. "I've never been with someone so …"
"Well endowed?" he teased.
"Well, of course! But I meant, so … I think I'll call it furry."
Elliott bit his lip. "Yeah, um, that."
Kat ran her finger under his bottom lip. "No, I love it. No manscaping for you!"
"My back?"
Kat smirked. "Okay, keep doing that. But don't do anything to this," she said, and started rubbing her body against him like a cat, her smooth skin against his hair.
"Keep doing that, and I'll want to fuck you again," Elliott said, a little breathless.
"Who said I wouldn't want that? But you're on top this time," she replied, and rolled them both over.
A week later, Elliott wondered how a girl like Kat could have gone without sex for those eight months between her breakup and their first time together. Despite their crazy schedules they'd found time to have sex every day, and his body hummed with it. Even his clothes felt different, as though he could feel every single nerve ending under every inch of skin all the time. She sent him racy text messages one minute, then called talking about music the next minute, as though the sex was just part of everything else. And because of that, he had a feeling that they probably wouldn't slow down all that much even once they got used to each other.
One night they were laying around on the couch at her place and she said: "That model, she didn't like to fuck much, did she."
"What makes you say that?" Elliott asked.
"Oh, you just always seem a little surprised when I want to."
"She liked it fine, but it wasn't … I mean, she was attracted to me-"
"Well, you're incredibly hot."
"It's true; I am. I just don't think she thought about it when we weren't doing it."
"Not like me."
"Not like you. Speaking of which," he said, sliding down her body, "I do love it when you wear skirts."
Kat shrieked.
Elliott's head popped up from under her skirt. "You said you liked my beard."
"You tickled my thighs on purpose!"
"Heh, I'm sorry," he said, grinning. "I'll try something else."
"You'd … better," Kat said, her thighs opening wider as she slid along the couch and into Elliott's waiting hands.
Chapter 4: You've Got What Gets Me
Title: Different for Girls Chapter 3 of 7: Nice Work If You Can Get It
Pairing: American Idol: Katharine McPhee/Elliott Yamin
Summary: Kat's recent heartbreak has left her a changed woman-and now her old friend Elliott is seeing her in a different light.
Chapter Rating: NC-17
Chapter Length: 2000 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Thank you, thank you, thank you lillijulianne. While this story is a sequel of sorts to her sequence of stories about Blake, Chris and Kat, there's probably enough information here to read this on its own. All you need know is that Kat had been engaged to another man at the time she was fooling around with Blake and Chris.
1: But Not For Me | 2: I've Got a Crush on You
Chapter Three: Nice Work If You Can Get It
She'd lost track of time and hadn't realized they were running over when Elliott knocked on the door. "Hey!" Kat said, walking over to give him a hug.
"Am I early?" he asked, looking around the room.
"Not at all," said a slim man sitting at the controls, who stood to shake Elliott's hand. "We're running late. I'm Tom."
"Very nice to meet you."
"And you know Chris," Kat said.
"Hey man," Elliott said, and they pulled each other into a manly half-hug.
"We're working on the song I wrote," Chris said. "I'm sorry we kept her."
Elliott waved a hand. "I know how that is. It's just dinner, no reservations or anything." He found a stool near the back.
Tom nodded. "Let's go through it two or three more times?"
Kat picked up her mug of tea and headed back into the booth. "We're doing high harmonies," she said, giving Elliott a kiss as she walked by. She should have thought this through, but then again, he was going to hear it all anyway, and have some of it explained to him. But he was a sharp one, and she always felt that he had figured out much more than she knew.
She walked over to the mic, set down the cup and put on the headphones, her hair in pigtails that kept it out of her face. The playback started, the lower harmonies already layered in over the main vocal, all the voices hers, the vocal arrangement not far from the one Blake had worked out that first time, in AC, eight months ago now. She listened, looking mostly at Chris but glancing over at Elliott, who wore his "unreadable expression of neutral listening" which she has grown to both love and hate. She sang: And you say hello / And we both pretend / There was an end / But there was no ending and Like a ghost through a fog / Like a charmed hour / And a haunted song / And the angel of my dreams and heard herself sing That girl was me and thought, was. They did it two more times before deciding that that first take after Elliott arrived really was the best one, and then the four of them sat behind the console, listening to the vocal mix, and Chris suggested a viola instead of a cello for the countermelody and Tom agreed, and that was it, done for the day.
They invited Chris to come to dinner with them, as Elliott hadn't seen him in a while, and after checking in and hearing that Blake was in the studio for the forseeable future anyway, Chris agreed, and they drove two cars to the fish restaurant a few streets away.
Over salad and a shared ceviche they talked about Elliott's record, and Kat's, and Chris's, and Chris said he really should write a song for Elliott even though it won't make this record and Elliott jumped at that. Chris was really making a name for himself and also was a good presence in the studio, calm and steady and keeping people on task. Kat thought that he'd end up even more behind the scenes than he thought and wondered what he'd make of that. When the entrees arrived, somehow clothing came up.
"Kat keeps threatening to take me shopping," Elliott said. "Haven't I been made over enough?"
"Not to make you over!" Kat protested. "Just clothes that make people look at you, and not how that shirt and those trousers don't exactly go."
"I heard that," Chris said. "Some people don't really dress when they're not on the clock, you know?"
"But we're always on the clock," Kat pointed out.
"He looks all right," Elliott said, pointing at Chris, "and he's just wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants and a baseball hat."
Kat motioned to Chris, and he stood. "See how the t-shirt and the trousers are not the same color, but in the same color family, so it's tone-on-tone? And the shirt he's wearing over that is a little darker, so the t-shirt pops? And the hat has a flatter crown so it won't come down too far over his eyes?"
Chris sat down. "It's the little details, man."
Elliott made a face. "Fine, I'll do it, if Chris can come with us."
Kat looked to Chris, her eyes wide. Why hadn't she thought of that? "Would you?" she asked.
"Would I?" Chris said. "Might keep me from wanting to burn my boyfriend's entire closet for a while, at least. Sure, it sounds like fun."
"Thank you!" Kat said. She reached along the bench for Elliott's hand and squeezed it. It was all going so well, and why wouldn't it. After all, Chris was a good friend, the number of times she'd sat on his face or had his dick up her ass notwithstanding.
She ran her thumb over the back of Elliott's hand, thrilling a little at the hair on it in that weird way she had been lately, and realized that tonight was the night she'd ask him to stay, if only so she could see the rest of him. That he'd be seeing the rest of her, too, would be worth it. It would have to be.
They were back in Elliott's car, after bidding Chris goodnight, sitting in companionable silence (well, not silence, but KCRW and not talking) and mostly Elliott was thinking, "Well, it wasn't Chris." Ever since their first date he had idly wondered who Kat's ex-not the official one, but the unofficial one-was, if only because it was in reaction to whatever shit he'd pulled that Kat had changed into the girl sitting next to him. Which still surprised him sometimes, that she was sitting next to him. He had a vague feeling that the guy was in the industry if only because Kat had taken such control of her music, but after that, it could be almost anyone. Not that it really mattered; it was just a game: not this guy, not that one, nor that one. And now, not Chris Richardson, though it wouldn't be, with the whole Blake thing.
"How clean is your place?" Kat said.
Elliott tried not to smile too much. "Beatrix came today actually, so it's as clean as it gets."
"Is this enough planning ahead?"
"Plenty," he replied, and gave up on hiding his grin.
"You look like you won something."
"Didn't I?" he asked, and laughed.
"I dunno; my resistance was never very high."
"To me or in general?"
"Both? I've been in kind of a slutty period."
Elliott shook his head. "Okay, one? You're only dating me now, and only sleeping with me, so loose period, over. Two, I don't care what you did before I kissed you. And three, I don't like that word."
"What, slut? Why? Oh, your sex-isn't-bad thing."
"Yeah. So, not a slut," Elliott said, wagging a finger.
"But I can say fuck?"
"Definitely."
"All right. Take me home and fuck me, then." "
My pleasure," Elliott said, taking his exit off the 405.
Elliott's place was very clean, with music in neat piles and CDs in a stack near the stereo. The house was small, but what did he need with a big place when he was so often away from home and it was usually just him? Kat made nice comments about the framed vintage tour posters and the stand full of hats in the corner.
"Something to drink?" he asked.
She was looking at his CDs, but now turned to him. "Maybe water, later," she said, walking toward him. "For now, just you."
He felt fixed to the spot, like prey. "S-something to eat?"
She shook her head, laying her hands on his chest. "Just you," she said, and kissed him.
He held her close, hands spread across her narrow back, her thigh rubbing deliberately against his cock which had been half-hard in the car, never mind now. Somehow they shuffled into his bedroom, and the undressing was a blur-a glorious blur of creamy skin gradually revealed and slender hands playing with the hair on his chest. She pounced on him, and then they were in the bed, he leaned up against the headboard while she settled in his lap. Kat was rolling a condom onto his cock and my god but she wasn't kidding about being wet all the time-he could feel her on his thigh, though he hoped that some of that was because of him. She lifted herself up, his hands on her waist, and slid down onto him, sleek and wet and tight and warm and wonderful, and her skin glowed in the faint light of the bedroom. She never closed her eyes, which surprised Elliott, but kept them on him, on his face, her hands grabbing hold of his forearms as she rode him. His hands never left her waist but it was her thighs doing all the work, first slow and then fast, so fast that he could barely catch his breath and my God she just came from this didn't she? He wasn't far behind her, arching up into her, into the solid weight of her, and then she collapsed on top of him, and he pulled her close.
"Mmm," Kat said, her face buried in his neck. "I love how you feel." She sat up a little, looked at him. "I've never been with someone so …"
"Well endowed?" he teased.
"Well, of course! But I meant, so … I think I'll call it furry."
Elliott bit his lip. "Yeah, um, that."
Kat ran her finger under his bottom lip. "No, I love it. No manscaping for you!"
"My back?"
Kat smirked. "Okay, keep doing that. But don't do anything to this," she said, and started rubbing her body against him like a cat, her smooth skin against his hair.
"Keep doing that, and I'll want to fuck you again," Elliott said, a little breathless.
"Who said I wouldn't want that? But you're on top this time," she replied, and rolled them both over.
A week later, Elliott wondered how a girl like Kat could have gone without sex for those eight months between her breakup and their first time together. Despite their crazy schedules they'd found time to have sex every day, and his body hummed with it. Even his clothes felt different, as though he could feel every single nerve ending under every inch of skin all the time. She sent him racy text messages one minute, then called talking about music the next minute, as though the sex was just part of everything else. And because of that, he had a feeling that they probably wouldn't slow down all that much even once they got used to each other.
One night they were laying around on the couch at her place and she said: "That model, she didn't like to fuck much, did she."
"What makes you say that?" Elliott asked.
"Oh, you just always seem a little surprised when I want to."
"She liked it fine, but it wasn't … I mean, she was attracted to me-"
"Well, you're incredibly hot."
"It's true; I am. I just don't think she thought about it when we weren't doing it."
"Not like me."
"Not like you. Speaking of which," he said, sliding down her body, "I do love it when you wear skirts."
Kat shrieked.
Elliott's head popped up from under her skirt. "You said you liked my beard."
"You tickled my thighs on purpose!"
"Heh, I'm sorry," he said, grinning. "I'll try something else."
"You'd … better," Kat said, her thighs opening wider as she slid along the couch and into Elliott's waiting hands.
Chapter 4: You've Got What Gets Me