Want // Part 4.5
Title: Want // Part 4.5 (because it's not really long enough to be part 5, and nothing really happens, per se...)
Author: l3petitemort
Rating: PG-13 for a bit of language and a small spot of innuendo.
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Disclaimer: Not my boys. This didn't happen. But it should
Summary: Schmoopy pillow-talk
Previous: ( 1) ( 2) ( 3) ( 4)
I don't know how long we sit like that, wound around each other, sticky, bodies humming. It feels like an hour. It could be five minutes. My brain is fuzzy, full of white noise and gratitude and neurons firing slow, like waves coming in against my skull, lulling and peaceful. Adam's breath is coming down from its heights, blowing across my neck, his mouth slack. His hand feels heavy and calm on my back. My hair is damp in the crook of his shoulder. I feel like I've just been rescued from something, pulled out of a fire or dragged out of traffic at the last viable second.
His voice is soothing, lazy. "Hey, you," so close to my ear it's almost inside my head. Briefly, I think I'm dreaming already. "Hey," he says. "Bed." I nod, wanting the blankets, but not wanting to move, not sure if I can. He starts to untangle from me. Our skin doesn't want to separate. Mercifully, the bed is close; two steps and I collapse onto the edge. The bedclothes shuffle. I follow him down until my head hits the pillow.
He curls into me, his fingers fussing in my hair. I'm sleepy, but I don't want to sleep. I'm so beautifully fucked up; I want to ride it for as long as I can stay on. I stretch out my legs, roll onto my back, stare up through half-closed eyes. He's looking down, backlit by the lights outside slitting in through the blinds. "You," is what I say, is all I can think. Just over and over, "You, you, you."
"No," he says, humor playing with his lips. "You. You hid from me all day. You made me make excuses for you. You didn't even eat your dinner."
Half of my mouth slants up into a slow, wicked smile. "Sorry, mama. Saving room for dessert." His eyes get wide. His mouth opens a little.
"Hey, where are the cameras for this one?" I say, teasing. "I think I just surprised Adam Lambert."
He laughs. "You've been surprising me for weeks now, Arkansas. Not sure how much more of it I can take." He is suddenly serious, sad or thoughtful, or something else I can't figure out, and the look shoots across his face so fast I'm not sure I even see it. Then those eyes are back, rolling over my skin, and I am so, so, so fucking small.
"I wasn't hiding from you, anyway. You knew where I was."
"Did I?" His voice is layered, low. "I don't think so. You were way back in here," he says, tapping my forehead lightly. "Dunno how to get there." He pauses, lets his finger trace down between my eyes. "Is it nice?"
"Mmmmm," I murmur back. "Right now it is. Make it stay."
His face dips down into my hair, and he's kissing at my scalp, and I am fighting to stay awake, to hold onto this, to be here, present, real for just five more minutes, please? I don't know who I'm asking. I don't know who I think is listening.
"I want to," he's mumbling against me. "I want to make it stay." His voice is hitching. "Tell me how. How?" His lips are bouncing over my cheek. "How?" Tracing my jaw. "How?" I feel his eyelashes fluttering. They feel damp. I'm sinking fast. "How?" He smells like the leaves my father burns in the backyard, warm and smoky, stealing all of my breath. "How?" He's asking the skin at my throat. "How?" He's asking my collarbone. "How?" he asks my chest, then presses his ear to it, waiting for an answer.
"I don't know," I whisper. I'm not sure if he hears it. I'm not sure if I even say it. I lift my chin, so exhausted I can't make myself ask for what I want, but he knows. Maybe he heard his answer. Maybe not. I don't know what my heart is saying when I'm not around. He brings his face back up, lets his lips fall against mine. "Shhhh. Sleep," he says, speaking right into my open mouth.
I don't want to.
I do.
Author: l3petitemort
Rating: PG-13 for a bit of language and a small spot of innuendo.
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Disclaimer: Not my boys. This didn't happen. But it should
Summary: Schmoopy pillow-talk
Previous: ( 1) ( 2) ( 3) ( 4)
I don't know how long we sit like that, wound around each other, sticky, bodies humming. It feels like an hour. It could be five minutes. My brain is fuzzy, full of white noise and gratitude and neurons firing slow, like waves coming in against my skull, lulling and peaceful. Adam's breath is coming down from its heights, blowing across my neck, his mouth slack. His hand feels heavy and calm on my back. My hair is damp in the crook of his shoulder. I feel like I've just been rescued from something, pulled out of a fire or dragged out of traffic at the last viable second.
His voice is soothing, lazy. "Hey, you," so close to my ear it's almost inside my head. Briefly, I think I'm dreaming already. "Hey," he says. "Bed." I nod, wanting the blankets, but not wanting to move, not sure if I can. He starts to untangle from me. Our skin doesn't want to separate. Mercifully, the bed is close; two steps and I collapse onto the edge. The bedclothes shuffle. I follow him down until my head hits the pillow.
He curls into me, his fingers fussing in my hair. I'm sleepy, but I don't want to sleep. I'm so beautifully fucked up; I want to ride it for as long as I can stay on. I stretch out my legs, roll onto my back, stare up through half-closed eyes. He's looking down, backlit by the lights outside slitting in through the blinds. "You," is what I say, is all I can think. Just over and over, "You, you, you."
"No," he says, humor playing with his lips. "You. You hid from me all day. You made me make excuses for you. You didn't even eat your dinner."
Half of my mouth slants up into a slow, wicked smile. "Sorry, mama. Saving room for dessert." His eyes get wide. His mouth opens a little.
"Hey, where are the cameras for this one?" I say, teasing. "I think I just surprised Adam Lambert."
He laughs. "You've been surprising me for weeks now, Arkansas. Not sure how much more of it I can take." He is suddenly serious, sad or thoughtful, or something else I can't figure out, and the look shoots across his face so fast I'm not sure I even see it. Then those eyes are back, rolling over my skin, and I am so, so, so fucking small.
"I wasn't hiding from you, anyway. You knew where I was."
"Did I?" His voice is layered, low. "I don't think so. You were way back in here," he says, tapping my forehead lightly. "Dunno how to get there." He pauses, lets his finger trace down between my eyes. "Is it nice?"
"Mmmmm," I murmur back. "Right now it is. Make it stay."
His face dips down into my hair, and he's kissing at my scalp, and I am fighting to stay awake, to hold onto this, to be here, present, real for just five more minutes, please? I don't know who I'm asking. I don't know who I think is listening.
"I want to," he's mumbling against me. "I want to make it stay." His voice is hitching. "Tell me how. How?" His lips are bouncing over my cheek. "How?" Tracing my jaw. "How?" I feel his eyelashes fluttering. They feel damp. I'm sinking fast. "How?" He smells like the leaves my father burns in the backyard, warm and smoky, stealing all of my breath. "How?" He's asking the skin at my throat. "How?" He's asking my collarbone. "How?" he asks my chest, then presses his ear to it, waiting for an answer.
"I don't know," I whisper. I'm not sure if he hears it. I'm not sure if I even say it. I lift my chin, so exhausted I can't make myself ask for what I want, but he knows. Maybe he heard his answer. Maybe not. I don't know what my heart is saying when I'm not around. He brings his face back up, lets his lips fall against mine. "Shhhh. Sleep," he says, speaking right into my open mouth.
I don't want to.
I do.