yekoc
in
kradam_kiss
Dreams and Kings
Title: Dreams and Kings
Author: yekoc
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Rating: PG
Length: 850 words
Disclaimer: These people do not belong to me.
Warnings: AU. Underage boys, but no sex.
Notes: Title vaguely adapted from Josh Ritter's "Leaves and Kings."
Summary: Kris is a stable boy, Adam is a street urchin, and they're wealthier than they might think.
"Kris! Hey, Kris!" The voice is insistent, familiar in its excitement, and Kris drops his broom and turns around. Dust rises as it hits the wooden floor of the stable and sparkles, golden particles floating in the fading lights of of early evening; through the shimmering cloud, Kris sees Adam leaning around the open doorway.
"C'mon, Kris, aren't you done yet?" Adam asks. "Come out with me!"
Kris still has to finish sweeping, but the inn's three horses are already groomed and bedded for the night, and he's never been able to say no to Adam, anyhow.
"Coming," he answers, and Adam's dirty face lights up like the fireshow the King finances for the Lower City each Midsummer. Kris reaches out to take Adam's big hand, and together the two boys slip out past the entrance to the Three Lutes and disappear into the winding alleyways of their city.
Adam's wearing a new cloak today, torn and patched but a brilliantly ferocious red, and Kris smiles to himself.
"Nicked it," Adam says when he catches Kris looking. "Not good for if I want to do more nicking, I know, but it's so pretty! I had to."
He pulls the ends of the cloak out and twirls around, right there in the middle of the street, and Kris doubles up laughing. Adam lives like he dresses, big and flashy, even as a street kid, singing on corners for a penny or two and taking what he needs -- or likes, in the case of the cloak. He won't get a steady job like Kris has, but he won't join any of the regular street gangs, either. Kris found him a year ago, asleep in a pile of hay in the corner of the stable and didn't kick him out. In return, Adam shares his rare windfalls with Kris, and his constant adventures.
Today, Kris stumbles over loose cobblestones as Adam pulls him around tight corners, going in the direction of the Old Harbor. He can smell the salt in the air even before the twisty streets open up to the wide blue-green of the water, and he grins up at Adam. They scramble atop the stone wall that edges the rocky harbor, legs kicking contentedly against the rough, seaworn wides. The sun is halfway set, now, the blazing reds a perfect match for Adam's new cloak. The air is warm around them, and Adam's blue eyes are dancing.
"Got something for you," he says, reaching into a pocket. He pulls out a wrinkled sack, and Kris opens it to find fourteen small plums, purplish-gray and just past ripe. Kris's favorite -- Adam knew that, and counted on it, Kris can tell by the width of his grin. The plums are warm from their journey in Adam's pocket, and the two boys eat quickly, not wasting time with talking. Juice from the overripe fruit runs down their faces and hands, making sticky tracks in the thin layer of dirt that covers each of them from head to toe.
When the last pit has been tossed into the water below, Kris licks his fingers fastidiously, and Adam sighs.
"Wish I had gotten more," he says sadly. "If I was rich, I'd buy up all the plums in the world, 'n give them to you." Both boys fall silent a moment, contemplating the vast and limitless options that would come with such impossible wealth, and then Kris smiles.
"I'd share 'em with you," he says. The plum juice trails have left behind spattering lines of freckles on Adam's familiar, friendly face, and Kris runs his sticky fingers across them.
"If I was rich," he says, "I'd buy you a cloak -- a new cloak -- in every color there ever was."
Adam's eyes flutter closed as though he's imagining that beautiful rainbow of brand-new cloaks, like that's the best present there could ever be. Kris doesn't know how to explain that if he could, he'd give Adam more than just clothes, he'd give him everything, all he had, some small repayment for the color and joy and adventure Adam's brought to him each day, now, for a year, so he just gives up on talking, leans forward instead to press his sticky lips to Adam's, as gently as he can.
Adam doesn't move for one heart-stopping moment, but then he's kissing back, lips opening under Kris's, mouth warm and tasting of seven too-ripe plums. It's slow and clumsy but sweeter than any fruit in the King's orchard, Kris is sure, and when they break apart their faces are glowing with a fierce and burning happiness.
Kris leans his head against Adam's warm, red-clad shoulder, and Adam's hand comes up across his back to tangle in Kris's roughly shorn hair. They sit that way, rich with this new and heavy feeling, as the sun sinks at last beyond the sea's distant horizon.
Author: yekoc
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Rating: PG
Length: 850 words
Disclaimer: These people do not belong to me.
Warnings: AU. Underage boys, but no sex.
Notes: Title vaguely adapted from Josh Ritter's "Leaves and Kings."
Summary: Kris is a stable boy, Adam is a street urchin, and they're wealthier than they might think.
"Kris! Hey, Kris!" The voice is insistent, familiar in its excitement, and Kris drops his broom and turns around. Dust rises as it hits the wooden floor of the stable and sparkles, golden particles floating in the fading lights of of early evening; through the shimmering cloud, Kris sees Adam leaning around the open doorway.
"C'mon, Kris, aren't you done yet?" Adam asks. "Come out with me!"
Kris still has to finish sweeping, but the inn's three horses are already groomed and bedded for the night, and he's never been able to say no to Adam, anyhow.
"Coming," he answers, and Adam's dirty face lights up like the fireshow the King finances for the Lower City each Midsummer. Kris reaches out to take Adam's big hand, and together the two boys slip out past the entrance to the Three Lutes and disappear into the winding alleyways of their city.
Adam's wearing a new cloak today, torn and patched but a brilliantly ferocious red, and Kris smiles to himself.
"Nicked it," Adam says when he catches Kris looking. "Not good for if I want to do more nicking, I know, but it's so pretty! I had to."
He pulls the ends of the cloak out and twirls around, right there in the middle of the street, and Kris doubles up laughing. Adam lives like he dresses, big and flashy, even as a street kid, singing on corners for a penny or two and taking what he needs -- or likes, in the case of the cloak. He won't get a steady job like Kris has, but he won't join any of the regular street gangs, either. Kris found him a year ago, asleep in a pile of hay in the corner of the stable and didn't kick him out. In return, Adam shares his rare windfalls with Kris, and his constant adventures.
Today, Kris stumbles over loose cobblestones as Adam pulls him around tight corners, going in the direction of the Old Harbor. He can smell the salt in the air even before the twisty streets open up to the wide blue-green of the water, and he grins up at Adam. They scramble atop the stone wall that edges the rocky harbor, legs kicking contentedly against the rough, seaworn wides. The sun is halfway set, now, the blazing reds a perfect match for Adam's new cloak. The air is warm around them, and Adam's blue eyes are dancing.
"Got something for you," he says, reaching into a pocket. He pulls out a wrinkled sack, and Kris opens it to find fourteen small plums, purplish-gray and just past ripe. Kris's favorite -- Adam knew that, and counted on it, Kris can tell by the width of his grin. The plums are warm from their journey in Adam's pocket, and the two boys eat quickly, not wasting time with talking. Juice from the overripe fruit runs down their faces and hands, making sticky tracks in the thin layer of dirt that covers each of them from head to toe.
When the last pit has been tossed into the water below, Kris licks his fingers fastidiously, and Adam sighs.
"Wish I had gotten more," he says sadly. "If I was rich, I'd buy up all the plums in the world, 'n give them to you." Both boys fall silent a moment, contemplating the vast and limitless options that would come with such impossible wealth, and then Kris smiles.
"I'd share 'em with you," he says. The plum juice trails have left behind spattering lines of freckles on Adam's familiar, friendly face, and Kris runs his sticky fingers across them.
"If I was rich," he says, "I'd buy you a cloak -- a new cloak -- in every color there ever was."
Adam's eyes flutter closed as though he's imagining that beautiful rainbow of brand-new cloaks, like that's the best present there could ever be. Kris doesn't know how to explain that if he could, he'd give Adam more than just clothes, he'd give him everything, all he had, some small repayment for the color and joy and adventure Adam's brought to him each day, now, for a year, so he just gives up on talking, leans forward instead to press his sticky lips to Adam's, as gently as he can.
Adam doesn't move for one heart-stopping moment, but then he's kissing back, lips opening under Kris's, mouth warm and tasting of seven too-ripe plums. It's slow and clumsy but sweeter than any fruit in the King's orchard, Kris is sure, and when they break apart their faces are glowing with a fierce and burning happiness.
Kris leans his head against Adam's warm, red-clad shoulder, and Adam's hand comes up across his back to tangle in Kris's roughly shorn hair. They sit that way, rich with this new and heavy feeling, as the sun sinks at last beyond the sea's distant horizon.