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The floor is utter chaos. From above, it looked almost poetic. Well, okay, maybe an ode to acid or something, but still, there was a symmetry, a gracefulness to the way everyone moved and glided around one another. From here, staring at the scene dead-on, Kris feels like he just walked into Moulin Rouge via Mad Max at Thunderdome.
“Allen!” A voice breaks Kris out of his tunnel-vision panic attack. “You just stand there with your mouth open, someone’s gonna come along and put something in it. I don’t know which way you swing, but I figured I’d give you fair warning.”
Kris nods at Matt, a five-year veteran of Idolatry- the first of six club/casinos owned by “Simon” (that’s the only information anyone is given) based on the deadly sins (‘Luxuria’, ‘Vainglory’, ‘Invidia’, ‘Acedia’, and ‘Avarice’)- focuses his eyes, and goes to work.
There’s quite a circus going on over at one of the Craps tables. Kris doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a concentration of sequined mini-skirts and what are probably murderous stiletto-heeled shoes in all his life.
Apparently, libations are something going out of style, if the way they’re being slammed back and sucked down is any indication. When the Ringmaster of said circus orders something complicated (just to see if they could do it, most likely), Kris is sent over to deliver the twisted-stemmed glass. Kris isn’t entirely certain he isn’t delivering liquid death, what with the way it’s glowing, and all.
Seventeen ‘Excuse me’s and a series of moves that Kris is pretty sure qualifies him as a ninja later, he is finally standing beside the cause of all the ceremonious hoopla.
He’d been hearing whispers, gossip- you know how people talk- using terms like ‘whale’ and ‘comp everything’ and one ‘I don’t care what it takes, Desai. If he wants a glow in the dark cocktail, he gets a frickin’ glow in the dark cocktail! If he wants a private showing of Cirque du Soleil over a pyrotechnics display, we ask where he’d like them set up!’ all night. It seemed a bit much, to be honest. Really, how big could this guy be?
Oh. This big, it seems.
It’s possible the whispers and gossip were understating things a bit, calling him a ‘whale’. This is more like… a blue whale. A prehistoric, ocean-swallowing, world-riding-on-its-back, blue whale.
This… is Adam freaking Lambert.
“Blow for luck?”
Kris thinks maybe now would be a great time for his brain to catch up with the last few minutes. Yep. Any time.
No, instead he’ll just stand here like a slack-jawed moron, and stare up at the closest thing to divinity the entertainment world could ever conceive.
Finally, Kris blinks, finds some way to put his lips together, and ask in a convincing enough manner, “Sorry, what?” Like he didn’t hear him, which would be reasonable with the din of the crowd pressing in around him. Except for how Adam could whisper and Kris would hear, because that’s just how it freaking is.
Adam smirks gently, if such a thing is possible, leans in, smoothly snags his drink from the tray with one hand and holds the other, palm-up, out to Kris, two red dice settled on top.
In a lower pitch than before, with far more intimacy than is warranted- or really than should be acceptable, seeing as how Kris’ only purpose in Adam’s life is to hold a tray with his drink on it, ask if there’s anything else he can do, and then walk away; although maybe blowing on his dice would be included in the ‘anything else’ and, wow, that could have been phrased better- Adam rumbles, “Blow for luck?”
It’s slow and smoky, thick, and Kris wants to tip forward into it, just fall… but he’s a professional, and a grown-up, for Pete’s sake, so he smiles, and does as requested.
You’d think Kris actually did drop to his knees just then, with the expression on Adam’s face. Kris has never been one to wish for magical powers or whatever, but in this instant, he’d do a long list of unsavory, questionable things to be able to… do a long list of fantastically questionable things, sans the audience.
Straightening up, heat falling from his eyes to the very tops of his cheeks, Adam tosses the dice into the pit without looking away from Kris.
“Winner!”
The shout startles Adam from his intense gaze, the cheering crowd jostling him a bit, and he watches the chips slide over next to the stacks he’s already accumulated.
Also jolted from his reverie, Kris takes the opportunity to get the heck out of there.
Seriously? Seriously? What was he thinking? ‘Blow for luck?’ For cryin’ out loud!
Before he can clear the jovial mob, Kris hears something that makes his core shudder.
“Hey, where’s my little charm?”
Crap.
The crowd is more than happy to locate and return Adam’s ‘little charm’ to him. The giant smile that greets Kris upon his being ceremoniously shoved back into Adam’s personal space is almost worth the trouble Kris knows he’s in for.
“Come ‘ere, cute guy; I’m keeping you right here in blowing range.”
And with a heavy, friendly arm slung over Kris’ shoulder, attention is placed back on the game, and that appears to be that.
“What’s your name, Cute Guy?”
Kris raises an eyebrow up at the tipsy gambler.
“Kris. With a ‘K’.” If he sounds less than cheerful, it’s only because drunken people annoy him. Obviously, it has nothing to do with the inborn self-preservation tendencies that Mr. Lambert seems to trigger.
“Adam.” He introduces himself, holding the hand dangling over Kris’ shoulder out for Kris to contort himself around to shake.
If the smirk is any indication, Adam had planned that interaction so Kris would be forced to curl in closer to Adam, of which full advantage is taken, trapping Kris in his new, more snuggly position.
What have you gotten yourself into this time, Allen?
A half hour later, Adam tires of this table, and moves his accumulated entourage to Ricochet. Kris is tugged along by the wrist. Not that he was putting up a fight or anything; it was more of a security issue. Kris is tiny and easily lost, which Adam can’t risk. Plus, he’s really freakin’ cute.
Adam orders another of those glowing drinks.
“What’ll you have, Cute Guy Kris?”
“I’m working; we don’t drink on the job.” Because he is responsible, this is his first night, and he is never going to pay off those student loans if he gets drunk while gambling with a rock star.
Of course, this is a rock star who pouts- actually sticks out his bottom lip, puts on these puppy eyes, and looks all mournful, and, come on!
Kris refuses to let himself daze stupidly at that face.
Effecting a little half-smile, “Put the lip away, man. I just got this job; I am not losing it over a beverage, okay?”
There’s a pensive expression rearranging Adam’s face, before it does this happy, light up thing, and Kris thinks this man is full on dangerous when he gets an idea. He’s not wrong.
“But,” he draws out the vowel, “your job is to make the customers happy, right? Well, I’m a customer, and you drinking would make me happy.” The ‘so there’ is left off, as is the ‘ta-da!’ gesture Adam is dying to make.
Staring him down, Kris searches his brain for a way out.
“Fine.” He says, relenting.
Adam cheers, actually yelps “Yay!” and claps like a little girl seeing ponies. It’s ridiculously endearing.
Kris turns to Megan, “I’ll have a 7-Up, with ice, please.”
There’s a scandalized gasp behind him.
“You cheater!” Adam accuses, wagging a finger in Kris’ face.
“You said you wanted me to drink.” He shrugs, “Next time you should be more specific.”
From above a mouth that’s borderline giggling, ice blue eyes flash something hot and promising.
“Next time, I will.” And, yeah, that was a purr; that was a grown man purring. At Kris. To Kris.
Is it, like, ten times more crowded and stifling in here, all of a sudden?
It’s nearly twelve thirty, and Kris hasn’t been let out of Adam’s sight, or left his side, once. By now, Kris is almost used to the strobe effect all the camera flashes cause in his peripheral.
He is not, however, immune to some of the ridiculous stunts Adam pulls in secret; these casual, discrete little touches that no one notices, especially with all the commotion around them, but Kris feels like he’s been set on ‘vibrate’ with all the shivering and goosebump sprouting he’s been doing.
A large hand palms the back his neck, thumb rubbing tiny circles on the soft, sensitive skin behind Kris’ ear.
“And to think, I was planning on going to the Luxor instead,” Adam muses.
“Well, I’m very glad you didn’t.” A voice comes from behind the pair, causing both to jump (Kris more than Adam, but the boy’s already wired to explode).
“Simon,” Kris whispers, and Adam’s demeanor changes slightly.
“Ah! Simon, the proprietor of this fine establishment. How are you, sir?”
It’s the strangest thing, but Kris has the sensation of tasting plastic when Adam says those words. He shrugs mentally. The bigger issue: how much trouble is Kris in for not working the floor, per his job description?
“I’m well, Mr. Lambert, and you?” There’s a flair of ‘car salesman’ in his voice, but maybe that’s just Vegas sneaking out.
“Not too bad at all. Excellent service, excellent servers,” he indicates Kris, still wedged next to Adam’s body, held fast by an arm and hand that will not be letting go any time soon. It’s kind of funny how, just standing there, it’s almost as though Kris has been… claimed or something. “And I do love to win, which I’m doing quite a bit of, here, so, yes, doing very well, thank you.”
There’s a somewhat unpleasant quirk to Simon’s mouth as his eyes take in his employee so up close and personal with one of the biggest celebrities to ever enter one of his buildings, but he doesn’t say a word.
It’s a shame Adam doesn’t feel the need to follow those pesky rules about ‘manners’ and whatnot.
“Oh, I hope I haven’t been causing too much trouble, keeping Cu-- uh, Kris here with me.” Something about the way he says that makes Kris think that maybe Adam couldn’t really care less about any trouble he’s causing, and that Kris will continue to be, um, ‘kept’ until Adam gets bored or tired of him.
“No, no, not at all.” Simon is quick to assure, even though it usually would be kind of a problem, but keeping Adam in this good, gambling -read: visible- mood is more important than anything else.
Adam smiles wide and bright, looking down at Kris and squeezing in a side hug, like they’re friends, like they’re getting away with something, or like his Dad just said it was okay if his new buddy stayed the night… Oh.
Well, no, clearly Adam isn’t interested in that; not with Kris, of all people. He’s got his pick of anyone. There’s no reason Kris should be having fluttering internal organs right now.
That’s totally nerves and not at all excitement at the thought. Shut up.
Adam hums, still blatantly staring at Kris, and Simon clears his throat to break the moment.
“You do seem to be having quite a good night. How would you like to play for some higher stakes?”
An eyebrow rises. “How high?”
Simon grins, and it looks like a Disney villain plotting.
Two hours later, at a more private table:
“No one can roll snake eyes four times in a row.”
“Oh?”
“No.”
A challenge. Very stupid.
“Double or nothin’ says I can.”
“You’re on.”
Adam smirks like he’s got a secret, and holds the dice out to Kris on his palm.
“Blow me?” He murmurs.
Kris blushes blister-hot, and gapes, and Adam has the good graces to look apologetic at how blatant the innuendo -innuendo?! There was no ‘innuendo’! It was flat-out words, just words!- but continues to hold his hand open for Kris.
Still shell-shocked from other people hearing that, hello!, Kris merely licks his lips out of nervous habit, and does as requested. He may never get used to the way Adam’s eyes go dark, not for any reason, and certainly not because dorky, loser Kris Allen puffed air on a few cubes of plastic.
Adam licks his lips, as well, and Kris isn’t sure if it’s a response to him, or…
The roll lands two blocks with one dot in the center face-up.
“My good luck charm.” Adam says lowly to the group close around the table, but doesn’t look Kris in the eye.
“Alright, fine, let’s try something else, then. Double or nothing, on top of the last one, for a hard eight.”
Adam looks bored.
“I’m bored with that.”
Huh. Fairly astute observation, Kristopher.
“What do you want, then?”
“I’ll take your double down, plus…” Adam looks around, like he’s picking out the stuffed animal he wants at a fair.
A wicked grin, and an arm around Kris, “Plus Kris, here, gets the rest of the night off so he can come have drinks with me.”
He looks so proud of himself for his choice, Kris half expects him to start preening like a peacock.
To Kris, “Alcoholic drinks. You’re not sneaking out of it this time.” And he winks- winks! -and, no, Kris does not blush. It’s warm in here, okay?
Skepticism narrows Simon’s eyes, but raises Kris’ eyebrows.
“Seriously?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Then, “Do you not see how freakin’ adorable this guy is?”
Staring down at Kris, Adam crooks a finger under his chin to turn his head up and ogles his mouth. For a long moment, it really seems like Adam’s going to kiss him, right there in front of everybody in the middle of the casino. Either he notices Kris’ panic and takes pity, or is just a ginormous tease, Adam merely bites his own bottom lip, makes a “Mm, mm, mmh” noise, then lets his hand drop, turning back to Simon.
“Make that the rest of tonight, and tomorrow. I might have him out kind of late.”
Rolled eyes, but faint amusement, and Simon’s agreeing, “Fine.”
Fine?! That’s- It’s- Fine?! Where is the ‘fine’ here? And, hey, when did I stop getting a say in what happens to me?
Probably around the time you blew on Adam Lambert’s dice.
Of course, this is all irrelevant if Adam misses this roll.
That’s right. Keep hold of that blind optimism.
Adam doesn’t miss.
Apparently, he is some sort of dice magician, Kris has decided.
“Well!” Adam says by way of announcement, “This has been a blast, but I have just made a new friend, and need to, uh, go play with him.”
This is said to the crowd, mind you. The crowd that includes paparazzi, reporters, people with cameras and videophones and live access to Twitter, and oh my God, Kris is about to frickin’ trend. What is his life?!
“‘Play with him’?” Kris grumbles once they’ve cleared the mob and are out of audio range. “I’m not an action figure, man.”
“Oh, I know. My action figures were always wearing either capes or ball gowns. Big, poofy, sparkly ones. I remember being sad that they never fit right.” There’s a nostalgic lilt to Adam’s voice, and Kris kind of wants to go back in time and give the little boy Adam used to be a hug.
“I am not wearing a ball gown.”
“You say that now…” Adam teases, but he’s still got his arm around Kris’ shoulders, and is leading him to the elevators.
“Dude, I don’t care who you are, there is no way you’re getting me in a sparkly dress, okay?” Kris is adamant about this point. He’s also got a sense of humor, though. “A cape, though. Yeah, capes are a whole different story.”
Adam laughs high and happy as the elevator doors ding open.
“I will be keeping that in mind, wow.” And Kris isn’t sure if he means to use against (or for?) Kris later, or to use, um… never mind.
“You know, I’ve worn dresses.” Adam says casually, but Kris can tell this is a fragile moment.
“Yeah, I know, and you looked rather ridiculously amazing in them. Although, not a fan so much of the makeup.” Kris shrugs that last note. “I just don’t have the shape for dresses, I don’t think.”
A blandly cynical expression peers down at Kris from a height that seems to change, depending on the meaning behind it, even though Adam, obviously, doesn’t actually change height.
Okay, feeling a little Alice In Wonderland, here. Hm. He really does have pretty eyes. What? No, shut up.
“Fine, I do not have the desire to wear dresses, how’s that?”
“Better. At least it’s factual.” Adam sniffs, and the doors open on the rooftop bar.
Kris hasn’t been up here, not even during orientation; there was a VIP party going on at the time.
The view is--
“Incredible.”
“It really is.” Adam agrees with Kris’ whisper.
They take in the sight of the little lights softly glowing in what Kris is sure must be some sort of visually ideal setting and arrangement, and of the multi-colored lights of the city below. It’s quiet up here, and none of the garish blinking neon signs are visible (because Simon is kind of a genius, even if he might also be somewhat evil (there are theories)).
It’s like what the Hanging Gardens would look like if they were done in Vegas. On top of a casino.
A warm chuckle comes from above and startles Kris.
“You’re funny.” Adam informs him, having heard Kris’ not-so-internal musing.
Kris weakly smiles and blushes, then points out the bar, mostly as a distraction.
“What’ll you have, Mr…?”
“Allen.” Kris supplies.
“Mr. Kris Allen, what can I order you from this finely comped bar?”
Kris chuckles, but tries to hold it in; can’t be having the already over-inflated ego of the international superstar puffed up any more. Even if he is kind of funny. And sweet. And rather non-egotistical, once you get past the cloud of protective glitter and eyeliner he uses as a shield.
“I’m not sure my drinks would be on the house.”
Adam gets a look in his eyes that Kris categorically cannot decipher, and then it smoothes into something resembling a leer, which is far more familiar. “Honey, when you’re with me, everything’s on the house.” How he can make that sound so dirty Kris actually blushes is beyond Kris’ comprehension. He kind of likes it, though-- don’t tell anyone (especially Adam).
Instead of standing there and letting his face do the doofy things it wants to do, Kris smiles benignly and unaffected, “Why don’t you surprise me?” And then he absolutely does not react in any way when Adam’s responding expression says that that is exactly his plan.
It happens in segments after that, mostly involving the two laughing at something or someone, and feeling generally content in what could be an unsettling way, if they weren’t too busy being, you know, content to worry about it.
It’s getting close to four AM, and the rooftop is closing down. They’d keep it open for Adam, of course, but he doesn’t want to get the kind of reputation that says he keeps hard working people from their families. Besides, it’s the perfect excuse to get Kris into his room.
“I’ve got a full bar in my suite, come on.”
Kris doesn’t get the chance to argue, or respond at all, really, before he’s being artfully maneuvered into the elevator and is already a floor down.
“You really don’t have to-- I mean, I’ve probably had enough alcohol. And I don’t want to, uh, intrude or anything,” He tries. It’s sweet, the poor dear.
Adam snorts, then trails off into a chuckle the more he thinks about what Kris said. “Right. Purposely spend less time with you than I possibly can. Yeah, that’s just a bad plan. Mine is way better.”
They get off on the next floor, which should not surprise Kris anywhere near as much as it does. Of course Adam is staying in the penthouse suite. Where else do you put the biggest rock star in the world?
“Come on in, make yourself at home.” A light pressure on Kris’ arm accompanies the invitation, and he can’t help but be swept up in Adam’s current. “What can I get you?” He asks, making his way to the long, curved counter of glasses and bottles at the far end of the room, partially against the wall separating the living area from the bedroom.
Still a bit dazed by the opulence, Kris mumbles out another, “Surprise me.”
A wicked glint shines in Adam’s eyes, but his voice is casual when he says, “You keep saying that. I do not think it means what you think it means. In fact, I’d be very careful with that statement, Mr. Allen, or you might just get what you’re asking for.”
Kris gulps, carefully blanking his mind to the possibilities, because if he doesn’t he will absolutely go insane right where he stands. Instead, “I like that you sneak in quotes, even when you threaten.”
When he turns around, Adam is much closer than Kris had anticipated, and he fights the instinct to flinch. He takes the proffered glass graciously, but his eyes don’t leave Adam’s.
“Oh, honey, that wasn’t a threat,” Adam assures. “Think of it as an early detection guide. It’s always good to be prepared.”
“For a second, I thought you were gonna say it was a promise,” Kris teases lightly.
Adam’s face does one of those flashes of reaction or emotion or something that Kris just can’t figure out. “Oh, no. I’m very careful with my promises. When I make one, I keep it.” And that sounds like a promise.
The two settle themselves onto the very modern -read: funky shaped and not all that comfortable- couch, getting back into their earlier conversation of childhood musical influences.
“The sun will be coming up soon; I should probably--”
“Are you really that desperate to get away from me, Allen? You’ve been trying all night. If your actions didn’t belie your words, I might be verging on a complex, here.” Adam teases, fingers affectionate with alcohol tracing skin behind Kris’ ear and toying with the wisps of hair slightly further back. When they slip down into the dip between his jaw and neck, Adam has to fight the giggle that wants to bubble out at Kris’ reactionary shiver.
“Uhh,” Kris stutters out, “No, no, of course not, I just, uh…” And he’s leaping up, shaking himself and wandering a few steps back and forth like he’s trying to get the feeling back into his limbs. It’s more like he’s trying to shake the feelings out of them, to be honest.
Adam pouts. He can’t help it, it’s something of a natural reaction when cute boys stop being in touching range, especially when, according to his brain, they really, really should be. And Kris? Definitely needs to be within arms’ reach at all times.
He knows he’s being manipulative, but his conscience is floating in a vodka bath, and his shame is pouring in bubbles, so he asks, “Did I do something? Should I- should I not’ve…” Adam stands up, looking slightly nervous. He genuinely used to feel this way every time he tried to flirt, and Kris is just enough of an enigma that it makes it easy to slip back into the skin of that unsure boy he was. “I know sometimes I can be,” he pauses, flailing a hand around to illustrate what he ‘can be’. “It’s just, you’re really cute, and I- I don’t know. I can’t figure out where I stand with you.”
Kris stops pacing and stares at Adam for a fairly long time, most of which is spent trying to keep his eyes in focus while the alcohol slowly dissipates. He hasn’t actually had that much, but Adam seems to intensify everything, and Kris is having trouble distinguishing drunk brain cells from drunk-on-Adam brain cells.
“You stand,” he starts out strong, sure of what he’s saying, and then it sort of… melts, and he’s left with the distinct feeling of dumb. “There.” Epically, fatally dumb.
To his credit, Adam doesn’t laugh at Kris’ fail; he only takes a step closer to Kris, somehow without making Kris feel crowded or, you know, stalked like prey.
Kris mutters, unaware, “And now you stand there.” And Adam does chuckle at that.
Feeling his cheeks heat up, Kris ignores the traitorous blush, and attempts to put into words how his night has gone thus far. “I went to work- my first day- and then I thought I might be killing you with your drink, but you were fine, and then I blew you- uh, for you- um. Yeah, so then this cosmic rock god pretty much kidnaps me, and I’m supposed to be working the floor, but I’m stuck, and I’m trying not to be as comfortable with that as I am. And then my boss- the boss- looks at me like a bug that won’t stop puking on his shoe, but doesn’t say anything because, seriously, who pisses off a gambling rock star, right? So I’m all, okay, fine, at least I won’t get fired, probably, at least not until you leave, and all of a sudden I’m being, like, auctioned off or something, which, dude, I am not a carnival koala, man. But I still feel like I’ve been won or something. Then we go drinking, and I end up sort of forgetting about the whole famous thing, and that’s- that’s really nice. You’re really nice. And you’re funny and smart and it feels like I’m just hanging out with a friend, except none of my friends are as hot as you, but I guess that’s probably true of pretty much everybody. Anyway--”
“Kris,” Adam holds out both hands in a bid for him to take a breath, a sort of signal to yield. “Honey, breathe. Good god, you can ramble, can’t you?”
Kris blinks. “Did I just call you hot?”
Adam does his best not to flush ever so slightly at that. “Little bit, yeah.”
“Crap,” Kris intones, completely devoid of inflection.
“You also referred to yourself as a ‘carnival koala,’ which I find to be of more significance, or at least interest.”
An acknowledging, tuneless hum is all Adam gets in reply.
“I’ve been passed around and used as a bargaining chip all night, and my biggest problem is that I can’t figure out how I feel about that. I think I’m sort of offended, but I’m having a really good time, plus I’m a little drunk, and your hands are very soft.”
It’s only then that Adam realizes he’s got one hand hovering between the two of them, like he wants to touch, but isn’t sure where or how or if he’s even allowed. Of course his other hand has no such compunctions, resting warm and heavy on Kris’ shoulder, fingers tracing the skin just outside the collar.
Not thinking, dazed by the movement of his fingers and the feel of Kris’ skin, “Aw, you’re like a little party favor.”
Kris jerks out of Adam’s hand, shocking the smile right off his face.
“No. I’m not.” And Kris is getting fed up with people behaving as though it’s true. Also, his head is clearing, and he would really like to get back the mellow haze from before, because this tipsy buzz isn’t quite enough for this conversation.
Much less drunk than he was two minutes ago, Adam holds his hand up in a gesture of surrender, trying to ease Kris back down. “No, that- that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh? Cuz you sounded pretty certain when you said it.”
“Well, no, but, see, you’re upset, and the way it was in my head didn’t end with you upset, so clearly it isn’t what I meant.”
It sounds so logical when it’s put that way, in that tone of voice.
They stare at each other for a few minutes, letting their emotions settle back into the easy, friendly vibe they’ve had most of the night.
Still, “I didn’t come here to have sex with you.”
Kris is too flustered by the fact that he actually said those words to make sense of all the expressions flying across Adam’s face.
“Look, I really like you, okay? And not the whole,” Kris flails his hands wildly, “AFL, rock god extraordinaire guy, but, like, you. And I have been having an amazing time tonight- or, ya know, this morning, whatever- but I’m not some… one night stand, groupie… person, thing, so even if it was something I wanted to do, it wouldn’t be because you’re, ya know, ‘you’ and it’s expected or whatever.”
He’s about to go on, because once Kris gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop, but Adam derails that plan very effectively with his mouth on Kris’. A strong hand holding his head still, fingers shoved back into short hair, and the other hand gently guiding Kris’ face by the jaw.
Oh. Oh, wow. --*a sort of bright, hissing noise*--
There’s no tongue, just a hot press of lips, and it takes Kris a second to realize what’s happening.
“Mmh- dude.” He exclaims, holding Adam at arm’s length, but with his elbows bent. He’s not pushing him away permanently, just enough to make the separation clear.
Adam’s breathing a little heavier than normal, flushed, hands on Kris’ shoulders, now.
“S-sorry. I didn’t-- You just-- God, what you said, I--” He raises his right hand to caress Kris’ cheek. “Most people don’t care about me. I know that sounds… whatever, complainy or ungrateful or-- but it’s just true. People like who they think I am- who I’ve let them think I am- and it’s- it took me by surprise, what you said, that’s all. I didn’t know how else to react; I just did.” He lets his hands drop, but Kris keeps his on Adam’s chest.
Kris doesn’t know what makes him say it; didn’t even know he was thinking the words, but there they are, all the same, “I care,” He whispers, as surprised by the confession as Adam.
They study one another for a few intense moments.
Still quiet, “You can kiss me, again, you know. If you want.”
Adam makes an involuntary sound that could mean pain in any other circumstance.
“Want.” He breathes out onto Kris’ lips in that split second before he’s got both hands where they were, lips more insistent and sensual than before.
This isn’t a ‘wow, that’s sweet and amazing’ or a ‘thank you’ kiss. Pressing in and pulling away, using the breaks to repeat, “Yes, want. Want-want.” Adam flicks his tongue against Kris’ bottom lip, and is granted access.
Rubbing his thumb across that perfect lip, Adam pressures Kris’ mouth open farther, sucking on his top lip before licking inside.
The other hand slides down Kris’ neck, his collarbone, as far as his t-shirt will allow, then down farther, over the shirt, feeling the peak of a nipple, the divots of a well-defined torso. Tracing the loose hem, Adam fingers his way up to reach skin.
Kris’ stomach trembles, a small whine -it was not a whimper; grown men don’t whimper- escaping.
“Okay?” Adam asks, mouth still very much occupied, but brain functioning just enough to remind him not to push too far with Kris; not to push him away; to keep this one.
Not willing to stop kissing to verbally reply, Kris nods his head and leans into Adam’s touch. Adam smiles despite himself.
A minute or so later, Kris pulls back without much success, but enough to say, “Adam. Adam.”
“Hm?”
“Re-remem-- What I said, earlier? About not wanting to, uh--”
Adam stops abruptly, the ‘oh, crap’ and subsequent apology written plainly across his face. He doesn’t get the chance to move away.
“I didn’t mean I didn’t want to. I just wanted you to know where I stood, ya know. How- how I was feeling. About, ya know, you, and stuff.” Never all that articulate, but always genuine- that’s our Kris.
Trying not to let his overwhelming thrill show, Adam can’t hide the face-eating smile, but manages a semi-normal voice, “So, do you? Want to?”
A cheeky grin, “Want to what? You’ll have to be more specific.”
Adam laughs, relieved and nearing giddy.
Slinking up close and taking hold of Kris, Adam bends his head, tilts Kris’ head by a grip on his hair, and bites down on that stretched column of golden flesh.
“Ohhh…” Kris moans with little more than air, and Adam can feel him getting hard, up against his thigh.
“Yeahh.” Adam grins wicked, licking at the mark, and maneuvering Kris backward toward the bed.
It wasn’t a question, but Kris nods, anyway, in agreement, “Yeah,” and he starts fidgeting with Adam’s shirt.
Somehow Adam is able to get out of his shirt without relinquishing his grip on Kris.
A slight pause and held eye contact, “Are we doing this?”
Kris grins, “Do you have what we need?” At the affirmative eyebrow, Kris slides his hand to Adam’s pants’ button and flips it open, his own sly expression of barely-contained enthusiasm smirking upward.
Wriggling out of the rest of their clothes, Adam doesn’t even try to restrain or conceal his ogling. “You know, you’ve been blowing on my dice all night. Maybe I ought to return the favor.”
Once his tongue starts functioning properly, Kris stumbles through a dry mouth, “N-no arguments, here.” And then it’s oh, god, and warm, hot, wet, hot, god, and begging and muffled shouting, and there’s a complete lack of brain functionality altogether.
Best first day ever.
~*~*~*~