(no subject)
Um, so, then I decided to write like 5K of genderswap. Fair warning, I think that genderswap with this particular pairing can be Tricky Business, so I attempted to go someplace a little different than the usual genderswap plotline (e.g. Girl is Hot, Boy Likes Hot Girl, Boy Realizes He Still Likes Hot Girl After She Turns Back Into A Boy). Hopefully I succeeded!
Kiss a Girl, Kris/Adam, 5400 words, NC-17.
Warnings for (obviously) boy/boy-who-is-currently-a-girl het, and for Kris/Katy divorce, if that's insanely not your thing.
Thanks to winterlive for basically shaping all my ideas into a functional story, and to jamesinboots for beta! Also, if anyone knows if there's a decent Kradam community for crossposting, I would appreciate a tiny shove in the right direction?
Three days into Kris's total solitude, guitar and fly rod, no cell phone vacation in Colorado, Adam shows up on his doorstep at four in the morning with a suitcase.
"I have an issue," Adam says, which Kris figures is obvious considering the fact that it's the middle of the night and the cabin is about a hundred miles from the nearest airport.
"Yeah?" Kris says, holding the door open.
Kris isn't usually that into guessing games - when something's wrong, Adam tells him - but it's obviously some kind of emergency, and he's debating between Adam's latest relationship going south and some kind of medical crisis when something starts nagging at him. The porch light stopped working Kris's second night out, but Kris can see just enough of Adam to know that something's not right, because Adam's wearing one of his shirts underneath his jacket, a plaid button down that went missing a month or two ago, and flip flops. It only takes another second for Kris to realize he's not looking up at Adam.
"What the hell?" Kris says, and Adam's shoulders drop further.
"As I mentioned," he says. "Problem."
When Adam steps into the cabin, Kris can suddenly see everything. Adam's still Adam, but his face is softer around the edges, his mouth fuller, and when Kris looks down, something about the way Adam's clothes fit isn't quite right. It takes him a minute longer to realize that it's because Adam has breasts.
"Uh," Kris says, faintly, and Adam drops his suitcase.
"I was at this club," he says. "I was watching my drinks, but I ordered this cocktail instead of a beer. I think the bartender was -"
Adam rubs a hand over his face, looking tense and furious, and Kris realizes for the first time that Adam's eye makeup is smeared in a remarkably familiar way, and his eyes are red.
"Adam," he says, reaching for Adam's shoulder, but Adam ducks out of it, shifting on the balls of his feet. Kris has only seen Adam really pissed off once or twice - people grabbing him in public, the press saying shit about his family - but he's clearly unbelievably angry.
"I started feeling weird, I thought I'd sleep it off, but I woke up -" he glances down at himself. "The press -"
"Adam," Kris says, torn between yelling at Adam for getting roofied and failing to go to the ER and trying to find some way of calming him down. Adam stares, then closes his hands in Kris's shirt, stepping in close. Kris notices he's shaking with anger.
"Hey, it's okay," he says, because it feels like the right thing, and wraps his arms around Adam, pulling him into a hug. It feels weird, but even if Kris shuts his eyes, he still knows it's Adam, and after a couple seconds, Adam relaxes into it, burying his face in Kris's shirt.
Five minutes later, Adam pulls back, and Kris surveys the wreckage of his white t-shirt.
"Couldn't you switch to waterproof?" he says.
"Fuck you, asshole," Adam says, laughing, and Kris peels off his shirt and throws it at Adam's head, relieved.
Kris doesn't have the faintest idea what to do about the fact that Adam is a girl, but Adam showing up in the middle of the night and crashing on his sofa is more than familiar, something that's happened enough times that Kris knows how to make things better.
"You should call a doctor," Kris says.
"Are you serious?" Adam says, incredulous, then starts to laugh.
"In case you haven't noticed," Kris says, "you're a girl."
"You live under a rock," Adam informs him, pulling something up on his iPhone, and a minute later he hands Kris a wikipedia article on something called "Double X." Kris is two paragraphs into the section on biochemical mechanisms of sex reversal when Adam elbows him.
"Seriously, it's safer than pot," he says. "And it's not like I haven't tried it before. I'm just pissed about some asshole slipping it to me."
"You've tried it?" Kris manages.
"Low dose," Adam says. "Just for a couple hours." He grins. "I wanted to see if things tasted different."
"Adam," Kris says, and Adam hits him, laughing.
"Like chocolate ice cream, asshole," Adam says.
"Oh," Kris says, because only Adam would switch sexes solely because of curiosity, and then Adam rubs a hand over his face and Kris remembers that it's still four in the morning and Adam's still at his cabin the middle of fucking nowhere, Colorado. Kris knows Adam well enough to know when he's pretending, and even if Adam's not freaked out by the fact that he's not a guy anymore, something isn't right.
"I don't know how much he gave me," Adam says. "I felt like shit when I got home, so I think it might have been a lot, and the higher the dose, the longer -" Kris watches him swallow. "I wore two coats on the plane, but if this gets out to the press… I'm not spending the rest of my career giving interviews about how being gay doesn't mean you wish you were a woman."
"So stay here," Kris says, simply. "You and my publicist are the only people who know where I'm staying."
"You said you needed time alone," Adam says, cautiously, and it takes Kris a minute to realize that Adam's been worried about him. Kris is used to people treating him like he's breakable, since the divorce, but Adam's never been like that. Kris figures maybe he should have done more than leaving a two am voicemail telling Adam where to find him, but it's been a long winter, full of excruciating interviews and too many people, and Kris thought that maybe Adam would get it.
"I didn't want anyone to see how bad my fly casting has gotten," Kris says, lightly. "But it's not like I didn't want you here. I was going to ask you to come up for a weekend."
"Are you sure?" Adam says.
"Come on," Kris says. "I know you're starving."
Adam lingers in the hallway for a minute after Kris starts walking toward the kitchen, like he's not sure, but he follows eventually, climbing onto a bar stool while Kris rummages for a skillet.
"On a scale of one to ten, how bad of an idea is letting you cook for me?" Adam says, and Kris snorts.
"Hey," he says, "you always eat it."
"My mother's rules about eating what's in front of you are going to get me killed one of these days," Adam says, laughing.
"I'll have you know, I've expanded my repertoire," Kris says. "Now I can do grilled cheese, pasta, pancakes, and eggs with stuff in them."
"Do you in fact mean an omelette?" Adam says.
"You have to flip those," Kris says. "I mean eggs with stuff in them."
"Stop before I lose my appetite, Kristopher," Adam drawls, and when Kris looks up, it's jarring.
Adam's leaning up against the countertop, face propped in his hands, legs tangled around the stool, and that's familiar, because Adam never just sits on furniture, he wraps himself around it, but Kris's plaid shirt is unbuttoned. Adam's wearing a white t-shirt underneath it, the kind Kris puts on every goddamned morning, and it's so threadbare Kris can see everything through it, the full curve of Adam's breasts, the dark outlines of his nipples. Adam's perfect makeup is smeared to hell, all around his eyes with a tiny smudge across one cheekbone, his hair too flat on one side and a mess on the other from sleeping on the plane, and something in Kris's gut turns over.
"Pancakes or eggs?" he says.
"Please," Adam says, "like that's even a question. Pancakes."
Kris finds the flour and the eggs and the milk, turning up the stove and adding a little butter, and two seconds later, Adam is up against his back, ducking under Kris's arm.
"You need more flour," Adam says, nudging his face against Kris's shoulder. Kris wraps a hand around the back of his neck out of habit, rubbing his thumb against the curve of his skull. It doesn't feel the same.
"Quit backseat cooking and go find some syrup," Kris says, pouring batter into the pan, and Adam grins against his shirt for a second then goes to rummage in the fridge.
Twenty minutes and ten pancakes later, Kris watches Adam wrap a hand around the edge of the counter like he's starting to have trouble staying upright.
"You want the couch or the other half of the bed?" Kris says.
"Bed," Adam says. "I never fit on the couch."
"Don't think I don't know what your real intentions are," Kris teases, and Adam tosses the sponge at him and misses by a mile.
"Yeah," Adam says, "sleeping." He stretches, shirt going tight against his chest, and Kris reaches to run hot water over the dishes just to have someplace else to look.
"Towels are under the bathroom sink if you want a shower," Kris says. Adam nudges a shoulder against his.
"I'll keep it down when I come to bed," he says. "Thanks for letting me crash."
Kris has never been the kind of guy who had a hard time falling asleep. He's not like Adam, who can sleep in airports and restaurants and backstage at shows, but it's five in the morning and he's unbelievably tired, so he's almost under when he hears the shower shut off and the bathroom door swing open, a brief flash of light before Adam turns the bathroom lights off. Kris is in the middle of moving over when Adam climbs into bed, and he pulls the blankets back. Then his entire brain derails, because there's a warm, damp, naked girl in his bed, and it's Adam.
Kris isn't wearing a shirt, and Adam's pressed up against him, his skin sliding hot against Kris's, so close their stomachs are together, his breasts against Kris's chest, and when Adam shifts and his thigh ends up between Kris's, Kris gets hard, just like that.
"Jesus christ," Kris says, sitting straight upright, and that's when he realizes Adam is cracking up.
"Hi, baby," Adam murmurs, low enough that it would sound obscene if he weren't laughing through it, and rolls back off. Kris watches Adam rummage in his closet, trying not to stare at the curve of Adam's ass, the slope of his spine, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes in an attempt to stop looking long enough to get his breathing under control.
It's been a year since Katy, a couple of months since Kris has slept with anyone, but if Kris is honest, the problem with having Adam naked in his bed isn't so much that Adam's a girl but that it's Adam. Kris has gotten used to the way his chest twists when Adam gets too close, and he's comfortable with the way Adam's laugh lodges somewhere in his stomach these days, but Kris is pretty damn sure that he should want Adam more like this. Kris likes women - has always liked women - and Adam is close to a perfect woman, dark eyes and almost six feet of long curves, but the truth is that it feels exactly the same. Adam tugging on one of Kris's shirts makes his stomach flip in the same way it did two weeks ago, with Adam stripping at Kris's kitchen sink after Kris knocked a glass of wine in his lap. It's exactly the same, and it's five in the morning and Kris doesn't want to think too hard about what that might mean.
"The look on your face," Adam says, almost gleefully, climbing back into bed, and Kris elbows him.
"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I got laid?" he says. "I'm classifying that as cruel and unusual punishment."
"Hey," Adam says, laughing. "You know all you have to do is ask."
"So I really think you should let me fuck you," Kris says, doing his best to keep a straight face, trying not to give anything away, and Adam laughs so hard he almost falls off the bed.
"You're cute, Allen," Adam says, pressed up close against Kris's side, his face against Kris's shoulder, and Adam's still laughing when Kris falls asleep.
When Kris wakes up the next morning, Adam's still asleep next to him, sprawled out over most of the bed and half of Kris. Kris knows it's only going to make things worse, but Adam sleeps like the dead, and Kris can't quite bring himself to get up. It's easy to bury his face in the curve of Adam's neck, skin warm underneath his cheek, and to spread a hand out against Adam's back. Adam's making little noises in his sleep, mm-m-mn up against Kris's shoulder, and Kris manages thirty seconds before he shrugs out from underneath Adam and hits the shower. He knows better.
There's a river a fifteen minute walk from the cabin, and by the time Kris gets out of the shower, Adam isn't showing any signs of waking up, so he takes a box of flies, his rod, and a sandwich and leaves a gone fishing note that will probably make Adam laugh. Kris's roll cast isn't in great shape and the river's running low, but two hours of fishing is better than two hours of watching Adam sleep. He gets a few rainbow trout and a small brown, nothing to write home about, but Kris doesn't have to think too hard about anything but where he's dropping his fly and whether the fish are hitting on midges or caddis fly imitations.
The whole cabin smells like french toast when Kris walks in the front door, and Adam's in the kitchen, powdered sugar smeared across one cheek, licking his fingers in a way that's almost enough to undo two hours of relaxation.
"I decided you might think trout for breakfast was an acceptable idea," Adam says, leaning up against the counter with a grin. He's wearing one of Kris's button downs, barely enough to cover everything, and Kris keeps his eyes on Adam's face instead of his legs or the gap in his shirt. "I figured I'd better take matters into my own hands."
"I don't even know how to cook fish," Kris points out. Adam snorts and starts spooning more sugar onto the plate of french toast.
"Like that would stop you," he says. "Come and eat."
Adam's never been a particularly messy eater, so Kris ends up mystified as to how he manages to get syrup and sugar everywhere. Kris spends five minutes chewing one bite of toast because Adam won't stop sucking his fingers into his mouth, and then Adam starts licking syrup off the inside of his wrist, flashes of tongue that have Kris wishing he'd jerked off in the shower. When Adam goes for his palm, Kris has a sudden flashback to being seventeen and messing around in the back of his pickup, Katy's hand against her mouth just like that, and he can't help the low, involuntary noise that comes out.
"You've got something -" Adam says, low and serious, and licks his thumb before reaching toward Kris's mouth.
Kris freezes, but Adam starts laughing before he gets there.
"You're so easy," he says, delighted. Kris suddenly realizes that Adam's just messing with him.
"You're such an asshole," he says.
"Come on," Adam says, grinning. "You can dish it out but you can't take it? You do shit like that to me all the time."
"Tomorrow?" Kris says. "I'm feeding you trout for breakfast."
"Awesome," Adam says. "I'm so looking forward to that."
Adam disappears after breakfast. Kris figures he's going to spend the next hour in front of the bathroom mirror, so he doesn't exactly check, which turns out to be a mistake when he's three minutes into tuning his guitar and notices Adam on the deck, sprawled out on a beach towel in the sun. He's wearing a pair of Kris's sunglasses and, as far as Kris can tell, nothing else.
"This isn't Europe," he says, pulling open the sliding glass door. "And you're going to get skin cancer."
"Tan lines are so nineties," Adam says, not bothering to move. "And I have on SPF 50."
"Doesn't that defeat the purpose?" Kris says, curious in spite of himself, and Adam rolls over. Kris's brain stops working again.
"Not if the purpose is annoying you," Adam says, sliding his sunglasses up. "Want to do my back?"
"Are you trying to hit all the bad porn clichés?" Kris says, finally, trying to ignore the fact that Adam's naked five feet from him.
"Please," Adam says, putting his sunglasses back on and rolling back over. "Semen as sun block would be incredibly ineffective."
Kris pointedly doesn't think about it.
Adam gives up after the sunbathing and puts on real clothes, stretching out on the floor while Kris plays through a couple of the songs he's been working on. Adam hums along on the chorus, once Kris goes through it, and it's comfortable. He can feel something unknotting in his stomach.
"I think you need to draw out that last chord," Adam says. "And maybe sing the chorus in a different range. It feels too fast."
"Yeah," Kris says, trying the fingering with another note, and it feels better. Smoother.
"You know," Adam says, rolling over onto his back, "the stuff you're working on - it's kind of not what I was expecting."
"What, you think I'm suddenly going to break out into bubblegum pop?" Kris says, strumming a couple notes. "I'm like a ringleader, I call the shots?"
"Never do that again," Adam says, laughing, and throws the remote at him. "I just figured you'd be writing about getting your heart broken. You're writing love songs." Adam grins. "Something I should know about, Kris? Did that interview last month with that obnoxious Seventeen reporter turn into something special?"
Kris knows he could laugh it off, joke about it right back, but there's a real question underneath what Adam's trying to say, and it's been eight months. Kris figures it's probably time to be honest.
"I didn't get my heart broken," he says. "We just stopped loving each other."
Adam's quiet for a long time, but it's not an awkward silence.
"I've been worried about you," he says, finally.
"I'm okay," Kris says, and it's the truth; he has a house in LA and three guitars and friends who don't question how much he loves music and he has Adam. It hasn't been easy, but Kris has lived through harder things, and for the first time, he feels like he's not trying to split himself into pieces, one person on weekends and holidays and during two am phone calls and another the rest of the time. Adam's never asked him to be anything but what he is.
Kris puts his guitar aside, stretching out on the sofa, and Adam takes the invitation, climbing up to sprawl on top of him. Kris has never known anyone like Adam, so damn comfortable with touching the people he's close to, but after a couple of years, he's used to it. The way Adam shoves his face into Kris's neck isn't weird anymore, just comforting, and Kris forgets about the fact that Adam feels different and just takes what he's offering.
Adam drags his iPod out of his sweatshirt pocket, offering Kris an earbud, and puts on the playlist of music that Adam made for him when they were taking multiple transcontinental flights a week and Kris managed to check his headphones four times in five days. It's called something stupid, like Sorry I Don't Love You Enough to Pollute My Ipod with Country or Music You Like That Doesn't Make Me Want to Hurl When It Comes Up on Shuffle.
Kris wakes up a couple of hours later with Adam still on top of him, the iPod playing against his cheek, and wonders what he should freak out about first, whether he should start with the fact that he's in love for the first time since he was seventeen, or that it's another guy - at least most of the time - or that it's Adam. Surprisingly, Kris doesn't really feel like freaking out at all.
He slides out from underneath Adam, wandering into the kitchen, and Kris is halfway through buttering the bread for grilled cheese, working without really thinking about it, when Adam leans up against him, wrapping his arms around Kris's neck.
"You're a terrible pillow," Adam says, butting his head up against Kris's shoulder. "You need to rub my neck before it's permanently damaged."
Kris puts down the knife and lifts a hand without really thinking about it, pressing deep, and pushes his thumb up just beneath Adam's hair, rubbing hard. It only takes a couple seconds for Adam's head to fall forward, and then he's making little noises, soft, the kind that sound involuntary, sex noises. Adam is so close Kris can see the freckles across his temple, the way his eyes are closed, the curve of his mouth, and he's suddenly unbelievably angry.
"Okay," he says, letting his hand fall. "Fucking hilarious, Adam. Knock it off."
"What?" Adam says, almost startled, but Kris really fucking knows better.
"You're playing with me," Kris says. "That feels like shit."
Adam stares, and Kris watches something pass over his face. He suddenly looks angry.
"You pull this shit all the time," he says, his voice a little too even. "You show up half naked in my bed, you flirt with me in every mutual interview, you look at me like you mean it when you don't. It's this game, like you're so charitable, such a nice guy, look how comfortable you are with the gay boy -" Adam's voice breaks. "It's funny to you, and to everyone else on the fucking planet, but it fucking sucks for me. And I finally have something you want, and I just wanted you to see what it felt like, and you -"
Kris backs Adam up against the counter and kisses him. Adam pushes him back, but it's only a couple of inches. It's not exactly a firm rejection.
"I'm not a girl," Adam says, quietly. "You don't get to have me for the weekend and then have things go back to normal."
"I don't show up in your bed because I'm fucking with you," Kris says, wrapping his hands around Adam's shoulders, pulling him in. "I'm not playing the kind of game you think I'm playing." He swallows. "Just the - I like you, are you interested one."
"Today?" Adam says, and Kris bites back a laugh.
"The past six months," he says. "Maybe longer. It's not that I don't want you like this, I'd have to be dead, but I want -" Kris takes a step in, trying to keep his breathing even, leaning his forehead against Adam's. "I want to do this now, and then I want to do this when the drug wears off, and then I don't want to stop. I don't care what you look like."
"If this is a sex thing," Adam says, and Kris wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls his face down.
"I look at you like I mean it because I don't know how to hide that," Kris says. "I don't think I want to hide that."
"Jesus, Allen," Adam says, letting out a breath against Kris's mouth, "you can't say things like that to me," and then they're kissing again.
Kris doesn't know who starts it, but it's hot and deep and almost desperate, Adam's hands fisted in his shirt, and Kris doesn't bother to try to keep it nice. He slides his hands underneath Adam's ass and just lifts him onto the counter, stepping forward between Adam's thighs when Adam makes room. Adam licks across his lower lip, and Kris presses his hips up against the counter and swallows the noises Adam's making, trying to pull him closer until Adam gets his hands on Kris's shoulders and pushes a little.
"Okay," he manages. "You have to - we have to -"
"Less clothes?" Kris says, and Adam laughs, higher than usual, sounding breathless.
"You can't fuck me on the kitchen counter," Adam says, and Kris leans in closer.
"Exactly how sure of that are you?" Kris says, low, and Adam makes a rough noise and pushes him back further.
"Come on," Adam says, sliding down off the counter, and Kris lets him go.
Adam's almost naked by the time he falls back into Kris's bed, shirts and socks all over the hallway, and then he kicks off his jeans and Kris can't stop looking long enough to take his shirt off. All the women Kris has slept ever slept with have been the same, small and delicate with perfect bodies and perfect manicures and perfect lingerie, and it takes Kris all of ten seconds to realize how wrong it's always been, because Adam's spread out in his bed, laughing, and it's everything he's wanted, all along.
"What, now you're taking it slow?" Adam says, stretching out, flushed all the way down to his stomach, and Kris falls down onto the bed and lets Adam pull his shirt off and undo his belt buckle, shoving his jeans down.
Kris rolls over, spread out on top of Adam, and pushes his thighs apart, finally getting their hips together, just his boxers between them. Kris likes just making out, taking it slow, but the first time he rocks his hips against Adam, rubbing up against him, Adam makes a surprised noise against his mouth.
"Okay," he says, laughing, and wraps his arms around Kris's neck. "That feels amazing, but it's really fucking weird. I think I miss my cock."
Kris looks at him for a long moment before he drops his head against Adam's shoulder, laughing too. "This is going to be a disaster," he says, rubbing his face up against where Adam's shoulder meets his neck, right where Kris always wants to touch.
"No, it's going to be fun," Adam says, then twists around beneath him, arching up, until Kris's hips jerk forward. Kris manages to find Adam's mouth, and then Adam's wrapping himself around him, a leg over Kris's thighs to pull him closer, sliding his palms down Kris's back. Kris moves just enough so that he can get a hand between them, cupping Adam's breast. When he drags the heel of his hand over Adam's nipple, rubbing, Adam makes a noise that Kris almost can't handle. He's always known that Adam was loud, remembers listening to the ah-ah-ah noises Adam made when they shared a room and he thought Kris was asleep, and trying to read in his bunk on the tour when Adam's boyfriend was visiting, but it's different, up against his mouth, when Adam's arching into him.
Kris doesn't want to wait that much longer to take this further, can't wait, but Adam's pushing his hips up against Kris's in a way that's going to drive him crazy if he doesn't do something about it. Kris pulls out of a kiss to slide down Adam's body, running his hands up Adam's thighs to get him to spread his legs wider, and when he nuzzles his way across Adam's lower belly, Adam buries his hands in Kris's hair, laughing.
"You're totally that guy," Adam says, teasing, and Kris elbows him just to shut him up, which only makes him laugh harder.
"Hey," he says, "shut up or you're not getting any," and Adam's still muffling laughter when Kris slides two fingers into him. Adam pushes up into Kris's touch almost immediately, until Kris pulls his hand back and spreads it out against Adam's palm, holding him to the bed, and licks into him, slowly.
"Oh my god," Adam says, and Kris almost laughs. Adam's wet, hot underneath his mouth, and Kris doesn't bother to hold back, just fucks Adam with his tongue until Adam's making that noise again, then licks up, slow broad swipes of his tongue around the outside, opening him up. Kris drags his tongue over Adam's clit, feeling him shudder all over, and then shifts so he can press his fingers into Adam again, pressing up with his fingertips. Kris flicks his tongue again and sucks just a little, barely any pressure, and Adam comes apart underneath his mouth, panting. Kris doesn't back off, just fucks him harder with his fingers, licking him through it.
"Jesus -" Adam says, and when Kris pushes his hips back down into the bed, he comes again.
"Uh," Adam says, when Kris moves back up, "wow," and Kris laughs against his jaw.
"Bet I'm good at blowjobs, too," Kris says, and Adam squirms underneath him.
"Asshole," he says. "Get the condoms out of my bag, I can't move."
Kris manages to get up for long enough to rummage in Adam's suitcase, stepping out of his boxers, and when he climbs back into bed, Adam pushes him back against the headboard and rips open a condom, rolling it down onto him before Kris can say anything. Adam's grip is firmer than Kris is used to, unbelievably good, and he has to bite down on his lower lip to keep from pushing up into it.
"I'll make it up to you later," Adam murmurs, "but I want this. Just show me how to -" Adam's in his lap, squirming, and it takes all the self control Kris has not to hold him still and slam up into him. He gets a hand on Adam's hips, nudging him up until he's straddling Kris.
"Just tilt back -" Kris says, and gets a hand between them to guide himself into Adam, holding him steady. It takes a minute for Kris's breathing to even out, just watching Adam's face, and he has to bite his mouth again when he realizes what they're doing, who he's doing this with.
"You can -" Adam says, rolling his hips, and Kris buries his face against Adam's throat and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him down into it, thrusting up. It's easy to find a rhythm, but Kris knows he isn't going to last very long. It takes a couple minutes before Adam's whole back arches, his hands closing on Kris's shoulders, head falling back, and the pull of Adam around him is enough to tip Kris over. He comes so hard he can't breathe.
"So I would be totally fine with never moving again," Adam says, a couple minutes later, and Kris laughs and shifts so he can get Adam out of his lap, ignoring Adam's noise of protest when he gets up. When Kris comes back with a couple of washcloths to clean up, Adam's wrapped around a pillow, tangled in the blankets.
"I guess you don't totally suck in bed," Adam says, brightly, after Kris throws the washcloths vaguely in the direction of the bathroom and climbs back in, and Kris lets Adam duck under his arm and rub his face against Kris's shoulder, trying not to laugh.
"What," he says, "were you under the impression I was a rock star or something?" Adam groans and shoves a pillow at his face.
"Shut up and go to sleep," he says, settling in against Kris's side, and Kris is out in a minute. When he wakes up, it's almost dark outside, and nothing feels weird; it takes him a couple of seconds to realize that Adam's heavier, tangled up around him, and a little longer to realize that the body pressed up against his is male again. Kris goes back to sleep, and the second time he wakes up, Adam's on the other side of the bed, watching him.
"Hi," he says, softly, like he's waiting for something, and Kris leans up on his elbows and wraps a hand around his shoulder to pull him down for a kiss.
"Sex or dinner?" Kris says, grinning, and Adam's face clears, until he's grinning back.
"That's not even a real question," he says, rolling over until he's pressed up against Kris again.
"Yeah," Kris says, trying to keep a straight face, "because I'm totally making trout," and lets Adam shove him back into the pillows, laughing.
Kiss a Girl, Kris/Adam, 5400 words, NC-17.
Warnings for (obviously) boy/boy-who-is-currently-a-girl het, and for Kris/Katy divorce, if that's insanely not your thing.
Thanks to winterlive for basically shaping all my ideas into a functional story, and to jamesinboots for beta! Also, if anyone knows if there's a decent Kradam community for crossposting, I would appreciate a tiny shove in the right direction?
Three days into Kris's total solitude, guitar and fly rod, no cell phone vacation in Colorado, Adam shows up on his doorstep at four in the morning with a suitcase.
"I have an issue," Adam says, which Kris figures is obvious considering the fact that it's the middle of the night and the cabin is about a hundred miles from the nearest airport.
"Yeah?" Kris says, holding the door open.
Kris isn't usually that into guessing games - when something's wrong, Adam tells him - but it's obviously some kind of emergency, and he's debating between Adam's latest relationship going south and some kind of medical crisis when something starts nagging at him. The porch light stopped working Kris's second night out, but Kris can see just enough of Adam to know that something's not right, because Adam's wearing one of his shirts underneath his jacket, a plaid button down that went missing a month or two ago, and flip flops. It only takes another second for Kris to realize he's not looking up at Adam.
"What the hell?" Kris says, and Adam's shoulders drop further.
"As I mentioned," he says. "Problem."
When Adam steps into the cabin, Kris can suddenly see everything. Adam's still Adam, but his face is softer around the edges, his mouth fuller, and when Kris looks down, something about the way Adam's clothes fit isn't quite right. It takes him a minute longer to realize that it's because Adam has breasts.
"Uh," Kris says, faintly, and Adam drops his suitcase.
"I was at this club," he says. "I was watching my drinks, but I ordered this cocktail instead of a beer. I think the bartender was -"
Adam rubs a hand over his face, looking tense and furious, and Kris realizes for the first time that Adam's eye makeup is smeared in a remarkably familiar way, and his eyes are red.
"Adam," he says, reaching for Adam's shoulder, but Adam ducks out of it, shifting on the balls of his feet. Kris has only seen Adam really pissed off once or twice - people grabbing him in public, the press saying shit about his family - but he's clearly unbelievably angry.
"I started feeling weird, I thought I'd sleep it off, but I woke up -" he glances down at himself. "The press -"
"Adam," Kris says, torn between yelling at Adam for getting roofied and failing to go to the ER and trying to find some way of calming him down. Adam stares, then closes his hands in Kris's shirt, stepping in close. Kris notices he's shaking with anger.
"Hey, it's okay," he says, because it feels like the right thing, and wraps his arms around Adam, pulling him into a hug. It feels weird, but even if Kris shuts his eyes, he still knows it's Adam, and after a couple seconds, Adam relaxes into it, burying his face in Kris's shirt.
Five minutes later, Adam pulls back, and Kris surveys the wreckage of his white t-shirt.
"Couldn't you switch to waterproof?" he says.
"Fuck you, asshole," Adam says, laughing, and Kris peels off his shirt and throws it at Adam's head, relieved.
Kris doesn't have the faintest idea what to do about the fact that Adam is a girl, but Adam showing up in the middle of the night and crashing on his sofa is more than familiar, something that's happened enough times that Kris knows how to make things better.
"You should call a doctor," Kris says.
"Are you serious?" Adam says, incredulous, then starts to laugh.
"In case you haven't noticed," Kris says, "you're a girl."
"You live under a rock," Adam informs him, pulling something up on his iPhone, and a minute later he hands Kris a wikipedia article on something called "Double X." Kris is two paragraphs into the section on biochemical mechanisms of sex reversal when Adam elbows him.
"Seriously, it's safer than pot," he says. "And it's not like I haven't tried it before. I'm just pissed about some asshole slipping it to me."
"You've tried it?" Kris manages.
"Low dose," Adam says. "Just for a couple hours." He grins. "I wanted to see if things tasted different."
"Adam," Kris says, and Adam hits him, laughing.
"Like chocolate ice cream, asshole," Adam says.
"Oh," Kris says, because only Adam would switch sexes solely because of curiosity, and then Adam rubs a hand over his face and Kris remembers that it's still four in the morning and Adam's still at his cabin the middle of fucking nowhere, Colorado. Kris knows Adam well enough to know when he's pretending, and even if Adam's not freaked out by the fact that he's not a guy anymore, something isn't right.
"I don't know how much he gave me," Adam says. "I felt like shit when I got home, so I think it might have been a lot, and the higher the dose, the longer -" Kris watches him swallow. "I wore two coats on the plane, but if this gets out to the press… I'm not spending the rest of my career giving interviews about how being gay doesn't mean you wish you were a woman."
"So stay here," Kris says, simply. "You and my publicist are the only people who know where I'm staying."
"You said you needed time alone," Adam says, cautiously, and it takes Kris a minute to realize that Adam's been worried about him. Kris is used to people treating him like he's breakable, since the divorce, but Adam's never been like that. Kris figures maybe he should have done more than leaving a two am voicemail telling Adam where to find him, but it's been a long winter, full of excruciating interviews and too many people, and Kris thought that maybe Adam would get it.
"I didn't want anyone to see how bad my fly casting has gotten," Kris says, lightly. "But it's not like I didn't want you here. I was going to ask you to come up for a weekend."
"Are you sure?" Adam says.
"Come on," Kris says. "I know you're starving."
Adam lingers in the hallway for a minute after Kris starts walking toward the kitchen, like he's not sure, but he follows eventually, climbing onto a bar stool while Kris rummages for a skillet.
"On a scale of one to ten, how bad of an idea is letting you cook for me?" Adam says, and Kris snorts.
"Hey," he says, "you always eat it."
"My mother's rules about eating what's in front of you are going to get me killed one of these days," Adam says, laughing.
"I'll have you know, I've expanded my repertoire," Kris says. "Now I can do grilled cheese, pasta, pancakes, and eggs with stuff in them."
"Do you in fact mean an omelette?" Adam says.
"You have to flip those," Kris says. "I mean eggs with stuff in them."
"Stop before I lose my appetite, Kristopher," Adam drawls, and when Kris looks up, it's jarring.
Adam's leaning up against the countertop, face propped in his hands, legs tangled around the stool, and that's familiar, because Adam never just sits on furniture, he wraps himself around it, but Kris's plaid shirt is unbuttoned. Adam's wearing a white t-shirt underneath it, the kind Kris puts on every goddamned morning, and it's so threadbare Kris can see everything through it, the full curve of Adam's breasts, the dark outlines of his nipples. Adam's perfect makeup is smeared to hell, all around his eyes with a tiny smudge across one cheekbone, his hair too flat on one side and a mess on the other from sleeping on the plane, and something in Kris's gut turns over.
"Pancakes or eggs?" he says.
"Please," Adam says, "like that's even a question. Pancakes."
Kris finds the flour and the eggs and the milk, turning up the stove and adding a little butter, and two seconds later, Adam is up against his back, ducking under Kris's arm.
"You need more flour," Adam says, nudging his face against Kris's shoulder. Kris wraps a hand around the back of his neck out of habit, rubbing his thumb against the curve of his skull. It doesn't feel the same.
"Quit backseat cooking and go find some syrup," Kris says, pouring batter into the pan, and Adam grins against his shirt for a second then goes to rummage in the fridge.
Twenty minutes and ten pancakes later, Kris watches Adam wrap a hand around the edge of the counter like he's starting to have trouble staying upright.
"You want the couch or the other half of the bed?" Kris says.
"Bed," Adam says. "I never fit on the couch."
"Don't think I don't know what your real intentions are," Kris teases, and Adam tosses the sponge at him and misses by a mile.
"Yeah," Adam says, "sleeping." He stretches, shirt going tight against his chest, and Kris reaches to run hot water over the dishes just to have someplace else to look.
"Towels are under the bathroom sink if you want a shower," Kris says. Adam nudges a shoulder against his.
"I'll keep it down when I come to bed," he says. "Thanks for letting me crash."
Kris has never been the kind of guy who had a hard time falling asleep. He's not like Adam, who can sleep in airports and restaurants and backstage at shows, but it's five in the morning and he's unbelievably tired, so he's almost under when he hears the shower shut off and the bathroom door swing open, a brief flash of light before Adam turns the bathroom lights off. Kris is in the middle of moving over when Adam climbs into bed, and he pulls the blankets back. Then his entire brain derails, because there's a warm, damp, naked girl in his bed, and it's Adam.
Kris isn't wearing a shirt, and Adam's pressed up against him, his skin sliding hot against Kris's, so close their stomachs are together, his breasts against Kris's chest, and when Adam shifts and his thigh ends up between Kris's, Kris gets hard, just like that.
"Jesus christ," Kris says, sitting straight upright, and that's when he realizes Adam is cracking up.
"Hi, baby," Adam murmurs, low enough that it would sound obscene if he weren't laughing through it, and rolls back off. Kris watches Adam rummage in his closet, trying not to stare at the curve of Adam's ass, the slope of his spine, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes in an attempt to stop looking long enough to get his breathing under control.
It's been a year since Katy, a couple of months since Kris has slept with anyone, but if Kris is honest, the problem with having Adam naked in his bed isn't so much that Adam's a girl but that it's Adam. Kris has gotten used to the way his chest twists when Adam gets too close, and he's comfortable with the way Adam's laugh lodges somewhere in his stomach these days, but Kris is pretty damn sure that he should want Adam more like this. Kris likes women - has always liked women - and Adam is close to a perfect woman, dark eyes and almost six feet of long curves, but the truth is that it feels exactly the same. Adam tugging on one of Kris's shirts makes his stomach flip in the same way it did two weeks ago, with Adam stripping at Kris's kitchen sink after Kris knocked a glass of wine in his lap. It's exactly the same, and it's five in the morning and Kris doesn't want to think too hard about what that might mean.
"The look on your face," Adam says, almost gleefully, climbing back into bed, and Kris elbows him.
"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I got laid?" he says. "I'm classifying that as cruel and unusual punishment."
"Hey," Adam says, laughing. "You know all you have to do is ask."
"So I really think you should let me fuck you," Kris says, doing his best to keep a straight face, trying not to give anything away, and Adam laughs so hard he almost falls off the bed.
"You're cute, Allen," Adam says, pressed up close against Kris's side, his face against Kris's shoulder, and Adam's still laughing when Kris falls asleep.
When Kris wakes up the next morning, Adam's still asleep next to him, sprawled out over most of the bed and half of Kris. Kris knows it's only going to make things worse, but Adam sleeps like the dead, and Kris can't quite bring himself to get up. It's easy to bury his face in the curve of Adam's neck, skin warm underneath his cheek, and to spread a hand out against Adam's back. Adam's making little noises in his sleep, mm-m-mn up against Kris's shoulder, and Kris manages thirty seconds before he shrugs out from underneath Adam and hits the shower. He knows better.
There's a river a fifteen minute walk from the cabin, and by the time Kris gets out of the shower, Adam isn't showing any signs of waking up, so he takes a box of flies, his rod, and a sandwich and leaves a gone fishing note that will probably make Adam laugh. Kris's roll cast isn't in great shape and the river's running low, but two hours of fishing is better than two hours of watching Adam sleep. He gets a few rainbow trout and a small brown, nothing to write home about, but Kris doesn't have to think too hard about anything but where he's dropping his fly and whether the fish are hitting on midges or caddis fly imitations.
The whole cabin smells like french toast when Kris walks in the front door, and Adam's in the kitchen, powdered sugar smeared across one cheek, licking his fingers in a way that's almost enough to undo two hours of relaxation.
"I decided you might think trout for breakfast was an acceptable idea," Adam says, leaning up against the counter with a grin. He's wearing one of Kris's button downs, barely enough to cover everything, and Kris keeps his eyes on Adam's face instead of his legs or the gap in his shirt. "I figured I'd better take matters into my own hands."
"I don't even know how to cook fish," Kris points out. Adam snorts and starts spooning more sugar onto the plate of french toast.
"Like that would stop you," he says. "Come and eat."
Adam's never been a particularly messy eater, so Kris ends up mystified as to how he manages to get syrup and sugar everywhere. Kris spends five minutes chewing one bite of toast because Adam won't stop sucking his fingers into his mouth, and then Adam starts licking syrup off the inside of his wrist, flashes of tongue that have Kris wishing he'd jerked off in the shower. When Adam goes for his palm, Kris has a sudden flashback to being seventeen and messing around in the back of his pickup, Katy's hand against her mouth just like that, and he can't help the low, involuntary noise that comes out.
"You've got something -" Adam says, low and serious, and licks his thumb before reaching toward Kris's mouth.
Kris freezes, but Adam starts laughing before he gets there.
"You're so easy," he says, delighted. Kris suddenly realizes that Adam's just messing with him.
"You're such an asshole," he says.
"Come on," Adam says, grinning. "You can dish it out but you can't take it? You do shit like that to me all the time."
"Tomorrow?" Kris says. "I'm feeding you trout for breakfast."
"Awesome," Adam says. "I'm so looking forward to that."
Adam disappears after breakfast. Kris figures he's going to spend the next hour in front of the bathroom mirror, so he doesn't exactly check, which turns out to be a mistake when he's three minutes into tuning his guitar and notices Adam on the deck, sprawled out on a beach towel in the sun. He's wearing a pair of Kris's sunglasses and, as far as Kris can tell, nothing else.
"This isn't Europe," he says, pulling open the sliding glass door. "And you're going to get skin cancer."
"Tan lines are so nineties," Adam says, not bothering to move. "And I have on SPF 50."
"Doesn't that defeat the purpose?" Kris says, curious in spite of himself, and Adam rolls over. Kris's brain stops working again.
"Not if the purpose is annoying you," Adam says, sliding his sunglasses up. "Want to do my back?"
"Are you trying to hit all the bad porn clichés?" Kris says, finally, trying to ignore the fact that Adam's naked five feet from him.
"Please," Adam says, putting his sunglasses back on and rolling back over. "Semen as sun block would be incredibly ineffective."
Kris pointedly doesn't think about it.
Adam gives up after the sunbathing and puts on real clothes, stretching out on the floor while Kris plays through a couple of the songs he's been working on. Adam hums along on the chorus, once Kris goes through it, and it's comfortable. He can feel something unknotting in his stomach.
"I think you need to draw out that last chord," Adam says. "And maybe sing the chorus in a different range. It feels too fast."
"Yeah," Kris says, trying the fingering with another note, and it feels better. Smoother.
"You know," Adam says, rolling over onto his back, "the stuff you're working on - it's kind of not what I was expecting."
"What, you think I'm suddenly going to break out into bubblegum pop?" Kris says, strumming a couple notes. "I'm like a ringleader, I call the shots?"
"Never do that again," Adam says, laughing, and throws the remote at him. "I just figured you'd be writing about getting your heart broken. You're writing love songs." Adam grins. "Something I should know about, Kris? Did that interview last month with that obnoxious Seventeen reporter turn into something special?"
Kris knows he could laugh it off, joke about it right back, but there's a real question underneath what Adam's trying to say, and it's been eight months. Kris figures it's probably time to be honest.
"I didn't get my heart broken," he says. "We just stopped loving each other."
Adam's quiet for a long time, but it's not an awkward silence.
"I've been worried about you," he says, finally.
"I'm okay," Kris says, and it's the truth; he has a house in LA and three guitars and friends who don't question how much he loves music and he has Adam. It hasn't been easy, but Kris has lived through harder things, and for the first time, he feels like he's not trying to split himself into pieces, one person on weekends and holidays and during two am phone calls and another the rest of the time. Adam's never asked him to be anything but what he is.
Kris puts his guitar aside, stretching out on the sofa, and Adam takes the invitation, climbing up to sprawl on top of him. Kris has never known anyone like Adam, so damn comfortable with touching the people he's close to, but after a couple of years, he's used to it. The way Adam shoves his face into Kris's neck isn't weird anymore, just comforting, and Kris forgets about the fact that Adam feels different and just takes what he's offering.
Adam drags his iPod out of his sweatshirt pocket, offering Kris an earbud, and puts on the playlist of music that Adam made for him when they were taking multiple transcontinental flights a week and Kris managed to check his headphones four times in five days. It's called something stupid, like Sorry I Don't Love You Enough to Pollute My Ipod with Country or Music You Like That Doesn't Make Me Want to Hurl When It Comes Up on Shuffle.
Kris wakes up a couple of hours later with Adam still on top of him, the iPod playing against his cheek, and wonders what he should freak out about first, whether he should start with the fact that he's in love for the first time since he was seventeen, or that it's another guy - at least most of the time - or that it's Adam. Surprisingly, Kris doesn't really feel like freaking out at all.
He slides out from underneath Adam, wandering into the kitchen, and Kris is halfway through buttering the bread for grilled cheese, working without really thinking about it, when Adam leans up against him, wrapping his arms around Kris's neck.
"You're a terrible pillow," Adam says, butting his head up against Kris's shoulder. "You need to rub my neck before it's permanently damaged."
Kris puts down the knife and lifts a hand without really thinking about it, pressing deep, and pushes his thumb up just beneath Adam's hair, rubbing hard. It only takes a couple seconds for Adam's head to fall forward, and then he's making little noises, soft, the kind that sound involuntary, sex noises. Adam is so close Kris can see the freckles across his temple, the way his eyes are closed, the curve of his mouth, and he's suddenly unbelievably angry.
"Okay," he says, letting his hand fall. "Fucking hilarious, Adam. Knock it off."
"What?" Adam says, almost startled, but Kris really fucking knows better.
"You're playing with me," Kris says. "That feels like shit."
Adam stares, and Kris watches something pass over his face. He suddenly looks angry.
"You pull this shit all the time," he says, his voice a little too even. "You show up half naked in my bed, you flirt with me in every mutual interview, you look at me like you mean it when you don't. It's this game, like you're so charitable, such a nice guy, look how comfortable you are with the gay boy -" Adam's voice breaks. "It's funny to you, and to everyone else on the fucking planet, but it fucking sucks for me. And I finally have something you want, and I just wanted you to see what it felt like, and you -"
Kris backs Adam up against the counter and kisses him. Adam pushes him back, but it's only a couple of inches. It's not exactly a firm rejection.
"I'm not a girl," Adam says, quietly. "You don't get to have me for the weekend and then have things go back to normal."
"I don't show up in your bed because I'm fucking with you," Kris says, wrapping his hands around Adam's shoulders, pulling him in. "I'm not playing the kind of game you think I'm playing." He swallows. "Just the - I like you, are you interested one."
"Today?" Adam says, and Kris bites back a laugh.
"The past six months," he says. "Maybe longer. It's not that I don't want you like this, I'd have to be dead, but I want -" Kris takes a step in, trying to keep his breathing even, leaning his forehead against Adam's. "I want to do this now, and then I want to do this when the drug wears off, and then I don't want to stop. I don't care what you look like."
"If this is a sex thing," Adam says, and Kris wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls his face down.
"I look at you like I mean it because I don't know how to hide that," Kris says. "I don't think I want to hide that."
"Jesus, Allen," Adam says, letting out a breath against Kris's mouth, "you can't say things like that to me," and then they're kissing again.
Kris doesn't know who starts it, but it's hot and deep and almost desperate, Adam's hands fisted in his shirt, and Kris doesn't bother to try to keep it nice. He slides his hands underneath Adam's ass and just lifts him onto the counter, stepping forward between Adam's thighs when Adam makes room. Adam licks across his lower lip, and Kris presses his hips up against the counter and swallows the noises Adam's making, trying to pull him closer until Adam gets his hands on Kris's shoulders and pushes a little.
"Okay," he manages. "You have to - we have to -"
"Less clothes?" Kris says, and Adam laughs, higher than usual, sounding breathless.
"You can't fuck me on the kitchen counter," Adam says, and Kris leans in closer.
"Exactly how sure of that are you?" Kris says, low, and Adam makes a rough noise and pushes him back further.
"Come on," Adam says, sliding down off the counter, and Kris lets him go.
Adam's almost naked by the time he falls back into Kris's bed, shirts and socks all over the hallway, and then he kicks off his jeans and Kris can't stop looking long enough to take his shirt off. All the women Kris has slept ever slept with have been the same, small and delicate with perfect bodies and perfect manicures and perfect lingerie, and it takes Kris all of ten seconds to realize how wrong it's always been, because Adam's spread out in his bed, laughing, and it's everything he's wanted, all along.
"What, now you're taking it slow?" Adam says, stretching out, flushed all the way down to his stomach, and Kris falls down onto the bed and lets Adam pull his shirt off and undo his belt buckle, shoving his jeans down.
Kris rolls over, spread out on top of Adam, and pushes his thighs apart, finally getting their hips together, just his boxers between them. Kris likes just making out, taking it slow, but the first time he rocks his hips against Adam, rubbing up against him, Adam makes a surprised noise against his mouth.
"Okay," he says, laughing, and wraps his arms around Kris's neck. "That feels amazing, but it's really fucking weird. I think I miss my cock."
Kris looks at him for a long moment before he drops his head against Adam's shoulder, laughing too. "This is going to be a disaster," he says, rubbing his face up against where Adam's shoulder meets his neck, right where Kris always wants to touch.
"No, it's going to be fun," Adam says, then twists around beneath him, arching up, until Kris's hips jerk forward. Kris manages to find Adam's mouth, and then Adam's wrapping himself around him, a leg over Kris's thighs to pull him closer, sliding his palms down Kris's back. Kris moves just enough so that he can get a hand between them, cupping Adam's breast. When he drags the heel of his hand over Adam's nipple, rubbing, Adam makes a noise that Kris almost can't handle. He's always known that Adam was loud, remembers listening to the ah-ah-ah noises Adam made when they shared a room and he thought Kris was asleep, and trying to read in his bunk on the tour when Adam's boyfriend was visiting, but it's different, up against his mouth, when Adam's arching into him.
Kris doesn't want to wait that much longer to take this further, can't wait, but Adam's pushing his hips up against Kris's in a way that's going to drive him crazy if he doesn't do something about it. Kris pulls out of a kiss to slide down Adam's body, running his hands up Adam's thighs to get him to spread his legs wider, and when he nuzzles his way across Adam's lower belly, Adam buries his hands in Kris's hair, laughing.
"You're totally that guy," Adam says, teasing, and Kris elbows him just to shut him up, which only makes him laugh harder.
"Hey," he says, "shut up or you're not getting any," and Adam's still muffling laughter when Kris slides two fingers into him. Adam pushes up into Kris's touch almost immediately, until Kris pulls his hand back and spreads it out against Adam's palm, holding him to the bed, and licks into him, slowly.
"Oh my god," Adam says, and Kris almost laughs. Adam's wet, hot underneath his mouth, and Kris doesn't bother to hold back, just fucks Adam with his tongue until Adam's making that noise again, then licks up, slow broad swipes of his tongue around the outside, opening him up. Kris drags his tongue over Adam's clit, feeling him shudder all over, and then shifts so he can press his fingers into Adam again, pressing up with his fingertips. Kris flicks his tongue again and sucks just a little, barely any pressure, and Adam comes apart underneath his mouth, panting. Kris doesn't back off, just fucks him harder with his fingers, licking him through it.
"Jesus -" Adam says, and when Kris pushes his hips back down into the bed, he comes again.
"Uh," Adam says, when Kris moves back up, "wow," and Kris laughs against his jaw.
"Bet I'm good at blowjobs, too," Kris says, and Adam squirms underneath him.
"Asshole," he says. "Get the condoms out of my bag, I can't move."
Kris manages to get up for long enough to rummage in Adam's suitcase, stepping out of his boxers, and when he climbs back into bed, Adam pushes him back against the headboard and rips open a condom, rolling it down onto him before Kris can say anything. Adam's grip is firmer than Kris is used to, unbelievably good, and he has to bite down on his lower lip to keep from pushing up into it.
"I'll make it up to you later," Adam murmurs, "but I want this. Just show me how to -" Adam's in his lap, squirming, and it takes all the self control Kris has not to hold him still and slam up into him. He gets a hand on Adam's hips, nudging him up until he's straddling Kris.
"Just tilt back -" Kris says, and gets a hand between them to guide himself into Adam, holding him steady. It takes a minute for Kris's breathing to even out, just watching Adam's face, and he has to bite his mouth again when he realizes what they're doing, who he's doing this with.
"You can -" Adam says, rolling his hips, and Kris buries his face against Adam's throat and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him down into it, thrusting up. It's easy to find a rhythm, but Kris knows he isn't going to last very long. It takes a couple minutes before Adam's whole back arches, his hands closing on Kris's shoulders, head falling back, and the pull of Adam around him is enough to tip Kris over. He comes so hard he can't breathe.
"So I would be totally fine with never moving again," Adam says, a couple minutes later, and Kris laughs and shifts so he can get Adam out of his lap, ignoring Adam's noise of protest when he gets up. When Kris comes back with a couple of washcloths to clean up, Adam's wrapped around a pillow, tangled in the blankets.
"I guess you don't totally suck in bed," Adam says, brightly, after Kris throws the washcloths vaguely in the direction of the bathroom and climbs back in, and Kris lets Adam duck under his arm and rub his face against Kris's shoulder, trying not to laugh.
"What," he says, "were you under the impression I was a rock star or something?" Adam groans and shoves a pillow at his face.
"Shut up and go to sleep," he says, settling in against Kris's side, and Kris is out in a minute. When he wakes up, it's almost dark outside, and nothing feels weird; it takes him a couple of seconds to realize that Adam's heavier, tangled up around him, and a little longer to realize that the body pressed up against his is male again. Kris goes back to sleep, and the second time he wakes up, Adam's on the other side of the bed, watching him.
"Hi," he says, softly, like he's waiting for something, and Kris leans up on his elbows and wraps a hand around his shoulder to pull him down for a kiss.
"Sex or dinner?" Kris says, grinning, and Adam's face clears, until he's grinning back.
"That's not even a real question," he says, rolling over until he's pressed up against Kris again.
"Yeah," Kris says, trying to keep a straight face, "because I'm totally making trout," and lets Adam shove him back into the pillows, laughing.