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samanthahirrTitle: Ready Now (If You Can Wait a Little More)
Fandom: American Idol (Adam/Kris)
Word Count: 44,500 [complete]
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No infringement on the rights of real people intended. Not profiting in any way.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI
"Call Special Agent Diana Foltz, okay? She'll approve me," Kris argued, trying to edge around the meaty palm pressed against his chest.
"Turn around and walk that way," the big security guard said, a warning in his tone.
"I'm not paparazzi or anything. Look, see? No camera!"
"Kris?"
Kris looked up and spotted Adam's brother standing in the hospital lobby with a steaming coffee cup in his hand. "Neil! Tell this guy it's okay for me to come in."
Neil walked over and said, serious as Clint Eastwood, "He's family. Let him in."
"He said he was a friend."
"He used to be a friend. Today, he's family. Come on, Kris, mom needs all her sons with her." Neil turned his back on the guard, beckoned to Kris, and walked confidently away.
"Be right there, man," Kris called, and then eyed his obstacle carefully for signs of weakness. "You heard him; I'm family." When the guy appeared to hesitate, Kris pressed harder. "I'll call Special Agent Foltz for you. Hold on, I've got her programmed in my phone—" Which was true, if only so far as his list of recently dialed numbers.
"Fine, go on," the security guard grumbled, stepping aside.
"Thank you! Neil, wait up!" Kris sprinted down the hall and caught up with Adam's brother as he rounded the corner into the blue wing.
Neil threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him, then half-dragged him through another two corridors at a fast clip.
"Where are we going?" Kris eventually asked, running out of breath keeping up with Neil's long legs.
"Dude, I have no clue," Neil admitted without stopping. "I swear, I only made one turn before I found the coffee machine, and now I'm so turned around I can't even find that anymore. But in my defense, this is only my first cup, and this place is like some kind of labyrinth."
"Can't we just ask somebody?"
"Hell no, that's how they spot the people who don't belong. That's how they got you, isn't it?"
Kris made a face. "Good point. So…do you at least know his room number?"
"No, I'm looking for the waiting room. Did I take that escalator?"
"I don't know, did you?"
"Let's find out!" Neil made a sharp turn for the up escalator and Kris checked over his shoulder; no one was watching them too hard.
Almost ten minutes later they finally stumbled upon a waiting room with big paintings of calm ocean scenes and pink curtains on the walls, despite the fact that it was an interior room. "See, it was the door I didn't remember," Neil said triumphantly, closing the heavy wooden privacy door behind him. There was another family in the 2nd floor intensive care waiting room. Kris smiled politely, watched their faces fall when they realized he wasn't wearing a white coat.
"How is he?" he asked quietly when he and Neil were seated in one corner of the room, their knees almost touching.
"He's okay," Neil shrugged. "100% intact. They're fixing the dehydration, and the doctors said he's good to go at discharge time."
"Can I see him?"
"Not yet. The Feds are guarding his door, and they're only letting one of us in at a time. Mom's monopolized him so far." Neil didn't actually look like he minded. He calmly sipped his coffee and Kris thought about getting his own, but he wasn't up to another trip through the maze of corridors.
"How's she doing?"
"She's been a mess," Neil sighed. "Bursting into tears every few hours. I don't wanna imagine what she's like in there right now."
"But he's really okay?"
"That's what they said. Hey, thanks for coming. They're gonna be real happy to see you."
"I had to," Kris explained, like it was obvious.
Neil just nodded. Maybe it was obvious to him, too.
At 6:30, Kris took one of the hospital visitor maps provided in the waiting room, slapped Neil's head with it, and made his way to the dining room on Level B. He bought two trays of pancakes, bacon, yogurt, fruit, and three more cups of coffee, and brought it all back to the waiting room. Neil ate most of the food and Kris downed two coffees, wondering if he could maybe knock on Adam's door to offer Leila some breakfast and sneak a quick peek inside while the door was open.
His conscience stepped in and told him not to be an intrusive jackass. He stayed where he was and drank the third coffee.
Leila finally came into the waiting room a little after 8 a.m., and when she saw Kris she opened her arms and started crying again. Kris hugged her and let her cry on his neck for a few moments until she straightened herself up and pushed at her long hair, wiped at her cheeks. "Thank you so much for being here," she said. "It'll mean a lot to him."
"I'm gonna—" Neil said, already heading out the door, and Kris fought down a wave of jealousy.
He got Leila seated in a chair and ran back to the dining room to buy her another breakfast. She held his hand and beamed when he got back, told Kris how wonderful he was, and how wonderful everything was now her baby was okay. Kris tried to get more details, but she just shook her head and smiled, and he didn't have the heart to pry for information again.
Half an hour later Neil slipped back in and nodded to Kris. "Hey. You can go see him now if you—"
Kris was out in the hall so fast he didn't even hear the rest of what Neil had to say.
He looked up and down the corridor and noticed the man in the suit with the ear bud standing outside one of the rooms. That had to be the one. Kris walked up confidently, like he knew exactly where he was going and had a right to go there, and the FBI agent didn't look at him for more than a few seconds. The door opened quietly and he slipped inside and closed it before turning around to see Adam.
Beautiful, limp-haired Adam, who was sitting up in bed and smiling so wide his cheeks nearly swallowed his eyes. "Are you hiding from somebody?" Adam teased, a laugh in his voice.
What there was of it.
Kris's breath caught and he stumbled to the bed, grabbed Adam's hand and sat down hard in the plastic chair. "The FBI. Oh my God, you're okay. You're okay, right?" he blurted.
"I'm fine," Adam smiled, all confidence and shredded voice. He sounded terrible, like he'd been swallowing tacks or singing a festival tour for three weeks straight. His face had been wiped clean, all the makeup he'd worn on Sunday gone; it showed the cuts on the left side of his face, thin red lines of broken skin. From the broken window, Kris guessed.
Still, Adam was demonstrably fine. Kris managed to take one deep breath and then another.
"Why are you hiding from the FBI?" Adam asked.
"I bluffed my way past security claiming I had Agent Foltz on speed dial. I'm really not supposed to be here."
"Kris Allen, you menace to society! Ah, screw them anyway. I'm glad you're here."
"Me, too," Kris whispered. He finally managed to tear his eyes away from Adam's face to look over the rest of him, took in the white and blue hospital gown, the IV in his arm, the thick white bandages around each wrist. "What's this?" Kris asked sharply, moving his fingers up to touch the gauze.
Adam jerked his hand out of Kris's grasp, but his smile stayed easy and calm. "Just a little souvenir of my adventure."
Kris really didn't want to ask. He didn't want to hear about "Rope?"
"Zip tie," Adam shrugged.
Kris pictured it and winced, licked his lips. "What happened?"
"I don't even know. One second I was getting in my car, the next I was getting carjacked. Fucking Lennox," he laughed. "I am never going back there again."
"And then?" Kris urged.
"They threw me in a van and locked me in some basement for two days. That's it."
"That's it?"
"Yeah. You can't imagine how bored I've been." Adam looked amused, as though the whole situation was funny in retrospect.
The tough guy act was starting to piss Kris off. "Adam, you don't have to act like—"
Adam's smile dropped unexpectedly and he said, rough and painful, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That wasn't how I'd wanted that night to go, standing you up like that."
"I know," Kris said. "I never believed them."
"Believed who?"
He couldn't bring himself to tell Adam that the FBI—his saviors—had all but written the star off as a conspirator in his own disappearance. Not yet, anyway. He shook his head, said, "I found your car, right after. I knew you were in trouble. I knew the whole time."
Adam's frown eased and his hand slid toward Kris's again, caught it and squeezed like Kris was the one who still needed reassurances.
Kris couldn't resist any longer; he reached out to touch the side of Adam's face. Adam's eyes went wide and he held very still, watching Kris's fingers approach like he didn't know what Kris planned to do with them, and Kris froze up, was just about to pull back—maybe this wasn't the time—when someone knocked on the door.
He sat up straight in his chair, got his hands in his lap before the door opened and Agent Foltz's charming smile walked in.
"Mr. Lambert, are you—"
"Speak of the Devil," Kris muttered, and then immediately felt bad about it. The FBI had freed Adam, after all.
She turned her teeth on Kris. "Mr. Allen. Nice to see you again."
"Agent Foltz, thank you. For everything," Kris said, meaning it.
She nodded without changing her expression. "I need to have a talk with Mr. Lambert, if you don't mind." She tilted her head toward the door and Kris hesitated; he'd barely had any time with Adam….
"It's fine," Adam answered for him. "I'll see you later, Kris."
Kris looked at Adam, surprised by the dismissal, but Adam's fake smile was back. "Okay, I'll…see you later," he echoed. He stood up and walked around Foltz to get to the door, glanced back over his shoulder to find Adam's attention fully focused on the FBI agent.
Kris said goodbye to Leila and Neil and caught a cab home to his apartment. He didn't fall asleep in the backseat this time.
Still wired from the coffee, Kris returned the phone call he'd missed from his mom and then kept his recent promises by calling Matt, Anoop, Katy, Cale, and Allison to let them know he'd seen Adam and he seemed okay. Most of them had been asleep, but they were all grateful for the call. They all asked the same questions, too—what'd he go through, who did it, was he really okay—and Kris didn't know the answers to any of them, not even that last one.
He turned the TV on at 11 a.m., hoping to see some kind of press conference when Adam was discharged. Instead, the TV crews caught Adam dressed in fresh clothes, smiling and waving to a crowd of well-wishers, even signing a few autographs before climbing into a black town car. Kris rewound the TiVo and watched it again, relieved to see Adam doing so well. It was only on the third viewing that he realized Adam hadn't said a single word on camera. Which was probably deliberate. If the press heard his voice like that….
No wonder Donald hadn't staged a press conference.
Kris paused the recording and argued with himself whether or not Adam would be able to sing a concert in 58 hours. He'd assumed, when he'd heard he was fine…but Adam wasn't fine, not his throat anyway. 19E might still try to stage the modified version of the show. In which case, Adam might be there, watching them. Watching Kris sing his songs. And Kris got an anxious knot in his gut at the thought, a complicated twist of stage fright and pride. What if Adam didn't like the new plan? What if he didn't like how Kris sang his songs?
Why did Kris still have to care about this show when all he wanted to care about was Adam?
There was an unopened e-mail in his inbox—Vanessa's message with the set list attachment. He'd put off opening it last night, and this morning at the hospital he'd been certain he wouldn't have to pick more songs. He wasn't so sure anymore. He thought about calling Vanessa, thought about calling Donald, and then decided if he wanted an answer without label spin, he had to go to the source. So he called Adam.
The line was disconnected. Kris had a stupid moment of panic before realizing it only made sense; Adam'd been kidnapped, God only knew who had his phone now. Of course it'd been disconnected. He typed him a quick e-mail instead; Adam could check that anywhere.
An hour went by with no response, and Kris couldn't justify putting it off anymore. If he actually had to get up on that stage, he owed it to Adam to be prepared. He downloaded the set list file and scrolled through both pages, eyes widening.
Vince Gill.
Train.
Kings of Leon.
Kris closed his laptop and went to stand on his balcony, looking out over the hills. Those weren't just his favorite artists. Those were his favorite songs by his favorite artists. He'd made Adam listen to all of them at one time or another, whether on tour, in the mansion, or e-mailed across the globe. Adam had liked a few, but mocked the rest. And now Adam was singing half-a-concert's worth of country and southern rock, and Kris's brain couldn't shake the suspicion that it was all about him, as though Adam had scripted a concert that only Kris would truly appreciate. Which was completely ridiculous.
It was well past noon already, and Kris couldn't waste any more time on this crazy emotional rollercoaster. He made himself go back inside and sit down with his guitar, his iPod, and the set list, to pick two more songs.
He sent his picks to Vanessa mid-afternoon and lost himself in the music, figuring out where his chest voice gave out on Livin' On a Prayer and practicing the switch to falsetto.
His cell phone rang after sunset from a number he didn't recognize. He was trying to get through Lincoln Avenue again—for the tenth time and he still couldn't do it without choking up—so he grabbed the phone, grateful for the distraction.
"Are you doing anything right now?" a voice growled, and it took Kris two full seconds to recognize Adam.
He forgot about the guitar in his hands and the food heating in the microwave. All that mattered was that Adam was talking to him. "Oh wow. No, man, nothing. You sound a little better," he lied.
"Can you come over?" Adam asked. "I really need somebody over here right now."
Kris's heart jumped, even if needing 'somebody' wasn't the same as needing him. "Sure. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, great," he said with a nonchalance Kris didn't believe for a second. Especially when he added, "Just…please come over."
"I'll be right there. Where are you?"
"The W. Thanks." Adam hung up and Kris knocked the guitar to the floor in his haste to get moving.
Someone snapped his photo when he hopped out of his car at the valet stand and ran into the lobby, but he barely noticed. He was on a mission, and aimed straight for the elevators, took them almost all the way up. He still remembered the suite number, but didn't bother pulling out the key card; this time he was smart enough to reason that if the phone had been deactivated, so had Adam's electronic room keys. Instead he knocked, loud, and stood back to watch the shadows in the peephole. A head blocked the light, and Kris waved like a dork.
And then the door swung open and Adam dragged him into a two-armed hug, squeezing him so tight it was hard to breathe. Kris closed his eyes and hugged back, letting the last of his worries melt away as Adam whispered his name. Adam was real, he was safe, and he needed Kris. Foltz and 19E and the kidnappers could go fuck themselves for getting in their way.
Adam finally eased up and tugged him inside, double-locking the door, even engaging the security bar. He didn't let go of Kris, though, kept one arm around his shoulders as he moved him out of the way. It made it easier, Kris supposed, for Adam to pull him in for the next hug, Adam burying his nose in Kris's hair and exhaling little puffs of air.
"You're alright," Kris promised, willing Adam to believe what Kris already knew for himself.
Adam shuddered and sniffled, and Kris realized that Adam was trying to breathe—and it was hurting him. "I am," Adam whispered, voice catching on a dry patch in his throat. He started to cough and cut himself off, hugging tighter and breathing shallowly until the urge to cough passed.
"Do you wanna hug all night? 'Cause we can do that sitting down just as easily," Kris suggested, nudging Adam into action.
Adam let go—but again, kept one hand on Kris—and let him get a look at the top-level suite. It was disgusting; twice the size of Kris's one-bedroom apartment, with three times the furniture, all five times more expensive…and that was just the living room. When he noticed the hallways on opposite walls leading to even more rooms, he decided to stop looking.
"This place is too much."
"I know, right?" Adam's eyes were wet, but the sweet smile on his face glowed down at Kris.
"I'm living in a so-called 'luxury high rise,' and this place makes it look like a college dorm."
"Don't be hatin', baby."
"Please, you think I'm jealous? Nobody needs this much, not even you."
"Ouch," Adam said, putting his free hand to his wounded heart.
And this was stupid. Adam shouldn't be talking at all with a throat that sore, and Kris was making small talk about a hotel room. "What're you taking for that throat?"
Adam shrugged and pointed to an industrial-sized humidifier cranking away behind one of the designer leather sofas. "Lots of fluids 'n' rest."
"You got anything to numb it?"
He wrinkled his nose. "Saving for Friday."
"You're—you're singing?" Adam nodded. "Do you really think you can?"
His face turned determined, and he nodded more forcefully.
"Okay," Kris said, dubious, and then smiled with relief. "Guess that means I'm off the hook, right? I can stop practicing?"
Adam's grin momentarily blinded him, and he held both Kris's shoulders and shook him excitedly, then hauled him to a leather chaise. "I heard—from Donald. But you tell me," he asked, clearly trying to minimize his words.
Kris swallowed in sympathy for his ravaged throat and tried to straighten out his thoughts so he didn't ramble. Adam was sitting right next to him, thigh against his own, wearing a dark blue t-shirt and yoga pants, his arms oddly shiny. He was still holding onto Kris, now grabbing his wrist like he thought Kris would disappear if he let go.
"I knew how important it was to you—they were gonna cancel it, but I knew we'd get you back and you'd wanna do it. I couldn't let them cancel it on you. So I offered to sing it, with Matt and Anoop."
Adam's brow wrinkled.
"Yeah, they liked my second idea better; made it all about the label, instead of your friends. Unless you're friends with David Archuleta now, I don't know."
Adam rolled his eyes.
"We went through a whole contract negotiation where I almost broke up with Vanessa, but yeah, the intention was to sing your songs for your fans. So they could have something of you in case you were still missing."
Adam's eyebrows asked Which songs were you gonna sing? It had to be killing him to keep quiet like this.
Kris laughed, "Which songs? No way, I'm never telling."
"Please?" Adam pouted, sticking out his pale lower lip, and Kris noticed the freckles all over again, flashed back almost two years to the beginning of all this.
He blushed and looked down at his lap, twisted his hand to rub a thumb against Adam's palm. "Maybe next New Year's. Or that Christmas party you promised me."
Adam smiled and leaned in, kissed his temple. "Posh?" he asked.
It surprised another laugh out of him. "You heard about that? 19E are dicks. I mean, I knew that after they postponed my album, but they're like…major manipulative dickheads. They were turning the fan concert into an A-list deal with celebrities and…probably a live broadcast with one of the networks, for all I know. They were exploiting you, and I kinda lost my head over it."
Adam squeezed his hand.
"I know; I don't want me to get dropped either. But if you sign another contract with them after this one expires, I'm checking you in for a psych evaluation."
Adam nodded, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.
"Good. And I know you love Posh, and if it'd been your idea I would've been cool, but they were changing your plan, and…"
"Now I have to undo it all," Adam whispered, scrunching up his nose unhappily.
Kris pictured himself at the other end of that phone call, telling Posh Beckham she wasn't welcome at her high-profile appearance anymore. "Make Robert do it," he said. "Better yet, London; she's their client." Adam smirked, and Kris was so happy to see some of his cockiness coming back, he forgot to stick to yes or no questions. "What happened to you?"
Adam eased away an inch and looked around the room.
Kris thought about taking it back, not wanting to make Adam relive anything painful, but he had Adam right here next to him, and that might not happen again for a long time once 19E started the post-kidnapping press tour or whatever other scheme they concocted to cash in on Adam's current media exposure.
Adam made a small sound, like trying to clear his throat as gently as possible, and eventually whispered, "They had guns. I pissed my pants."
Kris winced, but Adam didn't look embarrassed, seemed fatalistic about that part, at least.
"Told me to get outta the car, get in a van. Tied my wrists," he tried to demonstrate, made an aborted gesture toward the small of his back for just a second before reaching out for Kris's hand again. "Dumped me in a basement with no light. No explanation. No threats. Like they forgot about me. I didn't know—" he started coughing and grabbed a half-full bottle of water from the table.
Kris squeezed his hand as Adam downed the bottle and gargled the last mouthful.
His voice was even more broken and faint when he said, "I didn't even know who they were. I screamed, yelled, sang. 'Til the Feds came."
Kris didn't know what to say to him; didn't want to imagine himself in that situation, alone in the dark, not knowing what was going on. No food or water, and no distraction. If he could have made a joke he would have, because Adam's face was tight with misery.
"I prayed for you," Kris said instead, swallowing against a hollow, painful wound that he hadn't been there, that Adam had to go through that alone.
Adam nodded, sniffed carefully. "I knew."
Kris took a chance, reached out and touched Adam's face like he'd wanted in the hospital. Adam closed his eyes and leaned into his palm this time, and Kris's hurt faded to a low ache that told him to get closer, to erase it with touch. He very carefully kept his distance, settled for just running his thumb over Adam's undamaged cheek. "I'm sorry, for all of it."
"Heh," Adam laughed, a dry, unpleasant sound. "Not half as sorry as I was. The things I wanted to do to you in this hotel room, and I had to go and get kidnapped."
Kris started to blush, told himself not to bother; Adam wasn't being serious; that was just the usual flirting. The kind they'd done before Kansas City. The kind they'd done even after, keeping up appearances for everyone else until they'd convinced themselves that they could still be friends, so long as they never talked about what had happened. So Kris played along now, for Adam. "Yeah, that was a dick move. Next time don't go running out on me when I'm trying to put my hands down your pants."
Adam choked and started to cough again. "You said," he gasped, "dick move. Fuck, Kris—"
Kris grinned at seeing Adam shake off the heavy memories, but the coughing didn't stop. Adam reached for the bottle on the table, but there were only a few drops left. "Which way's the kitchen?" Kris asked, standing up. Adam pointed, and he jogged down the left hand hallway, found the case of water in the fridge and brought back two bottles. He unscrewed one and pushed it into Adam's grip as he was doubled over, hand covering his mouth.
"Thanks," Adam wheezed and drank a few big gulps before slowing down to smaller sips.
Kris pet his hair, feeling the little bit of product Adam had applied since their short visit in the intensive care unit. He smelled like a different kind of cologne, something with sandalwood and almond, and it suddenly occurred to Kris that Adam couldn't even breathe, and Kris was thinking about licking the back of his neck, and maybe that was inappropriate on his part.
"I'm making you talk too much," Kris warned. "I…I probably shouldn't be here if you need to rest your voice."
Adam reached out and squeezed his wrist painfully tight, pulled Kris closer. "No. I need—"
"What?"
Adam shook his head and sat up, eyes wet as he rasped, "Alone for two days. Felt like a week. Need someone."
Kris's heartbeat sped up and he sat still for a moment, letting Adam hold his hand and recover. And then he blurted, selfish for reassurance of his own, "Do you need me?"
Adam looked at him, bleary eyed, considering the question, maybe considering Kris.
Embarrassed, Kris changed the question. "Where's your family?"
"Sent them home."
"Why?!"
Adam pulled in a careful breath, just shy of painful. "I thought I was fine. I wanted to be. Mom was…too much."
"Okay," Kris nodded, understanding.
"Realized I was alone and freaked out," he admitted.
Kris squeezed his hand. "You can call me anytime. I'm glad you did."
"Only person I wanted here," Adam smiled.
His heart beat even faster and Kris inched a bit closer. "Did you call anyone else, or do I have you all to myself tonight?"
"For as long as you wanna stay," Adam offered, fingers twitching against Kris's skin, and he felt it happen: the same cautious retreat from Sunday. Adam was holding back, refusing to make the first move.
Which meant it was up to Kris again. This time, he knew better than to skip the most important part. "Sunday," Kris started.
"We were drunk," Adam shrugged, apparently ready to dismiss all of it if that was what Kris meant.
"I wasn't," Kris protested stubbornly, then amended, "not that drunk. I knew what I was saying. I've wanted to say it for a long time."
"You didn't actually say anything…" Adam said, eyes searching his face.
Adam didn't have the voice to waste on word games right now, so Kris sucked it up and banished his doubts. "Katy's right. If we don't start talking about this, we're gonna end up in therapy."
Adam raised his eyebrows, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
"I'm gonna tell you now. And it's not because I almost lost you and I'm high on adrenaline, or relief, or whatever. I've been putting this off for months, and I wanted to tell you on Sunday: I'm divorced now, and I'm in love with you. I wanna be with you, and you know to me that means forever—"
That was as far as he got before Adam hauled him close and kissed him, fingers laced behind Kris's neck, thumbs stroking his jaw. Kris melted against him, sucked on Adam's tongue and closed his eyes, held on tight to Adam's shirt as Adam showed him he hadn't been wrong, not about any of it. And then Kris yanked Adam's shirt over his head and pushed it off the chaise, because it'd been more than a year since he'd had Adam naked and he needed it again, needed it like air.
Sandalwood wafted stronger around him and Kris's fingers skidded slickly over Adam's shoulders on some kind of grease. "What's on you?" he asked against Adam's mouth.
"Had a massage," Adam mumbled back.
Kris smiled, glad Adam had been taking care of himself. "Before or after you got rid of your mom and brother?"
"After."
"So I'm not the only person you called tonight." He squeezed Adam's shoulders, stroked firmly down his upper arms, massage oils smoothing the way, and then rubbed his thumbs over the nipple piercings Adam had gotten since last time. Adam groaned loud and bit at Kris's lower lip, tried to lift a knee over Kris's thigh. Kris tilted his head for a better angle, let Adam kiss him breathless and whisper "Love you, love you" until Kris was gasping into Adam's mouth, and Adam was…
Adam was making little hitching sounds in his throat, like swallowed coughs.
"Are you actually up for this?" he asked, trying to be considerate.
"What do you think?" Adam rasped, took Kris's hand and placed it on his stiffening cock, easy to feel through the cotton pants.
That wasn't what he'd meant, but Kris took it as answer enough, groped for Adam's waistband, twisted his fingers in to stroke the hot flesh underneath, and Adam gasped, body going suddenly tense before he started coughing again.
Kris sat back, withdrew his hand, passed Adam the open bottle of water and waited, tapping his foot impatiently while Adam got his breathing back under control. When Adam finally reached for him again, Kris stuck a finger in his chest. "Stop. We are not having sex if I'm gonna ruin your throat doing it."
Adam's eyes widened with dismay. "What?" he croaked.
"If you have anything you can take to numb it, you'd better use it now. Or we're gonna sit on separate couches and watch movies all night, and I'm gonna be really, really bitter the whole time."
Adam hesitated for a long moment, and Kris's eyes narrowed in frustration. And then Adam grinned and said, low and husky, "Couches are so last year, anyway. C'mon." He picked up the unopened bottle of water and lead Kris to the master bedroom, headed into the bathroom for the medicine cabinet. He came out with a small tube, held it up for Kris to see and said, "The things I'm willing to do for you," with a wry grin.
He kissed Kris's cheek and got on the bed, stretching out with his head on the pillows. Kris raised his eyebrows, came closer to read the label as Adam squirted ointment onto his index finger.
"Orajel?"
"Broadway secret. Only used as a last resort, and you're about to see why." He took a slow, careful breath and stuck his finger deep into his mouth, ointment-side down. When he pulled his finger out, it was clean. And then his nose wrinkled, his eyes started to water, and he coughed behind closed lips, gagging enough to shake his shoulders.
Kris took off his clothes silently, eased onto the mattress next to his hip and dragged his palms down the oil-softened skin of Adam's chest as Adam took painfully quick breaths through his nose and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, sweat breaking out on his upper lip. "Shh," Kris said, leaning close and licking Adam's collarbone, sandalwood oil slightly bitter and greasy under his tongue. His fingers drifted lower, inched Adam's waistband down ever so slowly.
Adam finally opened his mouth and gasped, long and ragged, but without coughing. "I fucking hate that shit." He opened the bottle of water and swished his mouth clean, leaned over and grabbed a decorative crystal bowl of flower petals off the side table and spat in it.
"You're breathing better," Kris said hopefully.
He nodded. "Can't feel a thing, not for a good hour." His voice still sounded like rough asphalt, but the words were clearer, stronger. And then he actually turned his head and realized Kris was naked. "Oh, baby," he breathed, hands reaching out to touch.
"Worth it?" Kris asked, leaning down to kiss his lips carefully, without tongue.
Adam wrapped his hands around Kris's ribs, ran them up his back and down over his ass to squeeze. "Absolutely."
"And you're sure I'm not gonna hurt you? I'd better not hear any more coughing fits."
Adam leered, "Do your worst," and spread his arms wide.
Adam was spread out under him, a buffet of temptations Kris had fantasized about for months, years. And now that he finally had him all to himself, was allowed to touch Adam how he'd always wanted, Kris wasn't sure where to begin. But Adam had thrown out a challenge, was waiting for him to make some kind of start, so Kris kissed Adam once more and then slid down the bed and got his lips on Adam's cock for the first time.
Adam shouted a broken note of surprise and bucked hard, nearly throwing Kris off the bed. Kris grinned past his self-consciousness and repositioned, straddled Adam's legs so he would have a more secure perch to experiment with hands and mouth.
Mouth watering, he hunched over to lick at the cut head of Adam's cock, circled it with a slow, wet swipe. Adam rolled his hips in appreciation and Kris grew more confident. He rubbed his thumbs in the creases of Adam's thighs, already damp with sweat, just to tease, and then pushed the pants down past Adam's knees so he could rub his own cock against skin.
He hadn't had sex since the summer, and having Adam at his mercy like this was overwhelming, intoxicating. His hips rocked against Adam's legs unconsciously, a rough friction that wasn't enough. He ignored that, pressed a loving kiss to the underside of Adam's cock, then opened his mouth wide and took him in, tried to coordinate the mechanics of teeth and tongue and sensitive, hot skin. The smell of Adam filled his nostrils, sandalwood, almond, and musk, and his own cock was painfully hard already. He bobbed his head, gradually got a rhythm going with his lips on the upstroke, tongue on the down. He let himself drool, making the slide easier, and Adam groaned above him, hips bucking slightly.
Fingers brushed into his hair, tugged a little, and Kris looked up at Adam's flushed face. "Don't have to get fancy," Adam panted, massaging Kris's scalp.
If Kris hadn't already been bright red, he would have blushed at Adam's adoring condescension. Kris pretended to consider that for a moment, thrusting his cock against Adam's leg, and then ever-so-slowly repeated the down-up motion, sucking Adam's thick cock as tight as he could until his tongue ached with the suction.
"Fuck!" Adam yelped, his back arching off the blankets. Kris grinned and licked gently, sucked just the top, not quite as hard, and Adam gasped, "Never mind…you just…do whatever."
Kris hummed with pride and got back to his new favorite occupation; driving Adam out of his mind with pleasure. He bent even lower and inched back so he could reach Adam's balls, fingered the delicate skin and lapped softly over them as Adam whimpered and writhed.
Adam's shin shifted up against Kris's cock and Kris jerked, his breath catching as time unexpectedly ran out. God, he was too close already; he wanted Adam to touch him, could hardly wait any longer. Exploring, savoring Adam's body—he didn't have the patience anymore. Kris wrapped a fist around Adam's cock and squeezed and jerked, sucked at the tip again, milking Adam for all he was worth, just needing him to come, to know that he'd been able to do it—
Adam fell apart stunningly, utterly gorgeous the way he shuddered all over, muscles tense and crying out, fingers yanking at Kris's short hair until Kris's eyes teared up. He tried to swallow, only managed a bit before it was too much, too fast and foreign, and he coughed and pulled off, let Adam streak over his own stomach.
Kris crawled up Adam's body to lay down next to him, tilted Adam's sweaty face over and kissed him, found the odd lingering taste of the gel on his tongue. He squirmed, pressed even closer, rubbed his weeping cock against Adam's hip desperately until Adam rolled over and pinned his shoulders down, kissed him and grabbed his cock in his big hand, pulled and twisted a handful of times. It was enough, it was perfect, and Kris fell over the edge, coming hot over Adam's hand.
They collapsed, boneless, on the pillows, both of them panting side by side in the quiet. And then Adam reached out, touched Kris's hip, found his hand and traced fingers up the inside of Kris's arm, tickling.
"Stop," Kris groaned, batting his hand away.
"Mmm," Adam said and turned on his side, looked at Kris with sleepy, satisfied eyes.
Kris brushed the bangs out of Adam's face, his fingers clumsy with exhaustion, and smiled at him. "Still worth it?"
Adam yawned something that sounded like, "Lemme decide in the morning."
Kris swatted at Adam's thigh and rolled over three times, climbed off the other side of the huge bed. He brought back a warm towel and wiped Adam down before they turned off the lights and got under the covers. Kris tried spooning up with him, wanting to be close, but it was too hot, and he had to settle for fingertips on Adam's bandaged wrist, the rest of Kris's body stretched out between the cool sheets, taking up most of the bed.
The night settled in, the sounds of the traffic outside fading as night slipped into morning, everyone in Los Angeles sleeping…except Kris. He laid awake, listening as Adam's soft snores became uneven, took on a strained quality he couldn't help worrying over. Unable to get any rest without doing something about it, Kris wandered naked into the living room and considered the mammoth humidifier for a few moments. And then he removed the 5-gallon tank of water, unplugged the machine and carried it to the bedroom, fought with it in the dark until he got it put back together and working. Warm mist puffed against his face and he coughed a little, quickly got back under the covers, and listened for a positive change in Adam's breathing.
Part V
Fandom: American Idol (Adam/Kris)
Word Count: 44,500 [complete]
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No infringement on the rights of real people intended. Not profiting in any way.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI
"Call Special Agent Diana Foltz, okay? She'll approve me," Kris argued, trying to edge around the meaty palm pressed against his chest.
"Turn around and walk that way," the big security guard said, a warning in his tone.
"I'm not paparazzi or anything. Look, see? No camera!"
"Kris?"
Kris looked up and spotted Adam's brother standing in the hospital lobby with a steaming coffee cup in his hand. "Neil! Tell this guy it's okay for me to come in."
Neil walked over and said, serious as Clint Eastwood, "He's family. Let him in."
"He said he was a friend."
"He used to be a friend. Today, he's family. Come on, Kris, mom needs all her sons with her." Neil turned his back on the guard, beckoned to Kris, and walked confidently away.
"Be right there, man," Kris called, and then eyed his obstacle carefully for signs of weakness. "You heard him; I'm family." When the guy appeared to hesitate, Kris pressed harder. "I'll call Special Agent Foltz for you. Hold on, I've got her programmed in my phone—" Which was true, if only so far as his list of recently dialed numbers.
"Fine, go on," the security guard grumbled, stepping aside.
"Thank you! Neil, wait up!" Kris sprinted down the hall and caught up with Adam's brother as he rounded the corner into the blue wing.
Neil threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him, then half-dragged him through another two corridors at a fast clip.
"Where are we going?" Kris eventually asked, running out of breath keeping up with Neil's long legs.
"Dude, I have no clue," Neil admitted without stopping. "I swear, I only made one turn before I found the coffee machine, and now I'm so turned around I can't even find that anymore. But in my defense, this is only my first cup, and this place is like some kind of labyrinth."
"Can't we just ask somebody?"
"Hell no, that's how they spot the people who don't belong. That's how they got you, isn't it?"
Kris made a face. "Good point. So…do you at least know his room number?"
"No, I'm looking for the waiting room. Did I take that escalator?"
"I don't know, did you?"
"Let's find out!" Neil made a sharp turn for the up escalator and Kris checked over his shoulder; no one was watching them too hard.
Almost ten minutes later they finally stumbled upon a waiting room with big paintings of calm ocean scenes and pink curtains on the walls, despite the fact that it was an interior room. "See, it was the door I didn't remember," Neil said triumphantly, closing the heavy wooden privacy door behind him. There was another family in the 2nd floor intensive care waiting room. Kris smiled politely, watched their faces fall when they realized he wasn't wearing a white coat.
"How is he?" he asked quietly when he and Neil were seated in one corner of the room, their knees almost touching.
"He's okay," Neil shrugged. "100% intact. They're fixing the dehydration, and the doctors said he's good to go at discharge time."
"Can I see him?"
"Not yet. The Feds are guarding his door, and they're only letting one of us in at a time. Mom's monopolized him so far." Neil didn't actually look like he minded. He calmly sipped his coffee and Kris thought about getting his own, but he wasn't up to another trip through the maze of corridors.
"How's she doing?"
"She's been a mess," Neil sighed. "Bursting into tears every few hours. I don't wanna imagine what she's like in there right now."
"But he's really okay?"
"That's what they said. Hey, thanks for coming. They're gonna be real happy to see you."
"I had to," Kris explained, like it was obvious.
Neil just nodded. Maybe it was obvious to him, too.
At 6:30, Kris took one of the hospital visitor maps provided in the waiting room, slapped Neil's head with it, and made his way to the dining room on Level B. He bought two trays of pancakes, bacon, yogurt, fruit, and three more cups of coffee, and brought it all back to the waiting room. Neil ate most of the food and Kris downed two coffees, wondering if he could maybe knock on Adam's door to offer Leila some breakfast and sneak a quick peek inside while the door was open.
His conscience stepped in and told him not to be an intrusive jackass. He stayed where he was and drank the third coffee.
Leila finally came into the waiting room a little after 8 a.m., and when she saw Kris she opened her arms and started crying again. Kris hugged her and let her cry on his neck for a few moments until she straightened herself up and pushed at her long hair, wiped at her cheeks. "Thank you so much for being here," she said. "It'll mean a lot to him."
"I'm gonna—" Neil said, already heading out the door, and Kris fought down a wave of jealousy.
He got Leila seated in a chair and ran back to the dining room to buy her another breakfast. She held his hand and beamed when he got back, told Kris how wonderful he was, and how wonderful everything was now her baby was okay. Kris tried to get more details, but she just shook her head and smiled, and he didn't have the heart to pry for information again.
Half an hour later Neil slipped back in and nodded to Kris. "Hey. You can go see him now if you—"
Kris was out in the hall so fast he didn't even hear the rest of what Neil had to say.
He looked up and down the corridor and noticed the man in the suit with the ear bud standing outside one of the rooms. That had to be the one. Kris walked up confidently, like he knew exactly where he was going and had a right to go there, and the FBI agent didn't look at him for more than a few seconds. The door opened quietly and he slipped inside and closed it before turning around to see Adam.
Beautiful, limp-haired Adam, who was sitting up in bed and smiling so wide his cheeks nearly swallowed his eyes. "Are you hiding from somebody?" Adam teased, a laugh in his voice.
What there was of it.
Kris's breath caught and he stumbled to the bed, grabbed Adam's hand and sat down hard in the plastic chair. "The FBI. Oh my God, you're okay. You're okay, right?" he blurted.
"I'm fine," Adam smiled, all confidence and shredded voice. He sounded terrible, like he'd been swallowing tacks or singing a festival tour for three weeks straight. His face had been wiped clean, all the makeup he'd worn on Sunday gone; it showed the cuts on the left side of his face, thin red lines of broken skin. From the broken window, Kris guessed.
Still, Adam was demonstrably fine. Kris managed to take one deep breath and then another.
"Why are you hiding from the FBI?" Adam asked.
"I bluffed my way past security claiming I had Agent Foltz on speed dial. I'm really not supposed to be here."
"Kris Allen, you menace to society! Ah, screw them anyway. I'm glad you're here."
"Me, too," Kris whispered. He finally managed to tear his eyes away from Adam's face to look over the rest of him, took in the white and blue hospital gown, the IV in his arm, the thick white bandages around each wrist. "What's this?" Kris asked sharply, moving his fingers up to touch the gauze.
Adam jerked his hand out of Kris's grasp, but his smile stayed easy and calm. "Just a little souvenir of my adventure."
Kris really didn't want to ask. He didn't want to hear about "Rope?"
"Zip tie," Adam shrugged.
Kris pictured it and winced, licked his lips. "What happened?"
"I don't even know. One second I was getting in my car, the next I was getting carjacked. Fucking Lennox," he laughed. "I am never going back there again."
"And then?" Kris urged.
"They threw me in a van and locked me in some basement for two days. That's it."
"That's it?"
"Yeah. You can't imagine how bored I've been." Adam looked amused, as though the whole situation was funny in retrospect.
The tough guy act was starting to piss Kris off. "Adam, you don't have to act like—"
Adam's smile dropped unexpectedly and he said, rough and painful, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That wasn't how I'd wanted that night to go, standing you up like that."
"I know," Kris said. "I never believed them."
"Believed who?"
He couldn't bring himself to tell Adam that the FBI—his saviors—had all but written the star off as a conspirator in his own disappearance. Not yet, anyway. He shook his head, said, "I found your car, right after. I knew you were in trouble. I knew the whole time."
Adam's frown eased and his hand slid toward Kris's again, caught it and squeezed like Kris was the one who still needed reassurances.
Kris couldn't resist any longer; he reached out to touch the side of Adam's face. Adam's eyes went wide and he held very still, watching Kris's fingers approach like he didn't know what Kris planned to do with them, and Kris froze up, was just about to pull back—maybe this wasn't the time—when someone knocked on the door.
He sat up straight in his chair, got his hands in his lap before the door opened and Agent Foltz's charming smile walked in.
"Mr. Lambert, are you—"
"Speak of the Devil," Kris muttered, and then immediately felt bad about it. The FBI had freed Adam, after all.
She turned her teeth on Kris. "Mr. Allen. Nice to see you again."
"Agent Foltz, thank you. For everything," Kris said, meaning it.
She nodded without changing her expression. "I need to have a talk with Mr. Lambert, if you don't mind." She tilted her head toward the door and Kris hesitated; he'd barely had any time with Adam….
"It's fine," Adam answered for him. "I'll see you later, Kris."
Kris looked at Adam, surprised by the dismissal, but Adam's fake smile was back. "Okay, I'll…see you later," he echoed. He stood up and walked around Foltz to get to the door, glanced back over his shoulder to find Adam's attention fully focused on the FBI agent.
Kris said goodbye to Leila and Neil and caught a cab home to his apartment. He didn't fall asleep in the backseat this time.
Still wired from the coffee, Kris returned the phone call he'd missed from his mom and then kept his recent promises by calling Matt, Anoop, Katy, Cale, and Allison to let them know he'd seen Adam and he seemed okay. Most of them had been asleep, but they were all grateful for the call. They all asked the same questions, too—what'd he go through, who did it, was he really okay—and Kris didn't know the answers to any of them, not even that last one.
He turned the TV on at 11 a.m., hoping to see some kind of press conference when Adam was discharged. Instead, the TV crews caught Adam dressed in fresh clothes, smiling and waving to a crowd of well-wishers, even signing a few autographs before climbing into a black town car. Kris rewound the TiVo and watched it again, relieved to see Adam doing so well. It was only on the third viewing that he realized Adam hadn't said a single word on camera. Which was probably deliberate. If the press heard his voice like that….
No wonder Donald hadn't staged a press conference.
Kris paused the recording and argued with himself whether or not Adam would be able to sing a concert in 58 hours. He'd assumed, when he'd heard he was fine…but Adam wasn't fine, not his throat anyway. 19E might still try to stage the modified version of the show. In which case, Adam might be there, watching them. Watching Kris sing his songs. And Kris got an anxious knot in his gut at the thought, a complicated twist of stage fright and pride. What if Adam didn't like the new plan? What if he didn't like how Kris sang his songs?
Why did Kris still have to care about this show when all he wanted to care about was Adam?
There was an unopened e-mail in his inbox—Vanessa's message with the set list attachment. He'd put off opening it last night, and this morning at the hospital he'd been certain he wouldn't have to pick more songs. He wasn't so sure anymore. He thought about calling Vanessa, thought about calling Donald, and then decided if he wanted an answer without label spin, he had to go to the source. So he called Adam.
The line was disconnected. Kris had a stupid moment of panic before realizing it only made sense; Adam'd been kidnapped, God only knew who had his phone now. Of course it'd been disconnected. He typed him a quick e-mail instead; Adam could check that anywhere.
An hour went by with no response, and Kris couldn't justify putting it off anymore. If he actually had to get up on that stage, he owed it to Adam to be prepared. He downloaded the set list file and scrolled through both pages, eyes widening.
Vince Gill.
Train.
Kings of Leon.
Kris closed his laptop and went to stand on his balcony, looking out over the hills. Those weren't just his favorite artists. Those were his favorite songs by his favorite artists. He'd made Adam listen to all of them at one time or another, whether on tour, in the mansion, or e-mailed across the globe. Adam had liked a few, but mocked the rest. And now Adam was singing half-a-concert's worth of country and southern rock, and Kris's brain couldn't shake the suspicion that it was all about him, as though Adam had scripted a concert that only Kris would truly appreciate. Which was completely ridiculous.
It was well past noon already, and Kris couldn't waste any more time on this crazy emotional rollercoaster. He made himself go back inside and sit down with his guitar, his iPod, and the set list, to pick two more songs.
He sent his picks to Vanessa mid-afternoon and lost himself in the music, figuring out where his chest voice gave out on Livin' On a Prayer and practicing the switch to falsetto.
His cell phone rang after sunset from a number he didn't recognize. He was trying to get through Lincoln Avenue again—for the tenth time and he still couldn't do it without choking up—so he grabbed the phone, grateful for the distraction.
"Are you doing anything right now?" a voice growled, and it took Kris two full seconds to recognize Adam.
He forgot about the guitar in his hands and the food heating in the microwave. All that mattered was that Adam was talking to him. "Oh wow. No, man, nothing. You sound a little better," he lied.
"Can you come over?" Adam asked. "I really need somebody over here right now."
Kris's heart jumped, even if needing 'somebody' wasn't the same as needing him. "Sure. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, great," he said with a nonchalance Kris didn't believe for a second. Especially when he added, "Just…please come over."
"I'll be right there. Where are you?"
"The W. Thanks." Adam hung up and Kris knocked the guitar to the floor in his haste to get moving.
Someone snapped his photo when he hopped out of his car at the valet stand and ran into the lobby, but he barely noticed. He was on a mission, and aimed straight for the elevators, took them almost all the way up. He still remembered the suite number, but didn't bother pulling out the key card; this time he was smart enough to reason that if the phone had been deactivated, so had Adam's electronic room keys. Instead he knocked, loud, and stood back to watch the shadows in the peephole. A head blocked the light, and Kris waved like a dork.
And then the door swung open and Adam dragged him into a two-armed hug, squeezing him so tight it was hard to breathe. Kris closed his eyes and hugged back, letting the last of his worries melt away as Adam whispered his name. Adam was real, he was safe, and he needed Kris. Foltz and 19E and the kidnappers could go fuck themselves for getting in their way.
Adam finally eased up and tugged him inside, double-locking the door, even engaging the security bar. He didn't let go of Kris, though, kept one arm around his shoulders as he moved him out of the way. It made it easier, Kris supposed, for Adam to pull him in for the next hug, Adam burying his nose in Kris's hair and exhaling little puffs of air.
"You're alright," Kris promised, willing Adam to believe what Kris already knew for himself.
Adam shuddered and sniffled, and Kris realized that Adam was trying to breathe—and it was hurting him. "I am," Adam whispered, voice catching on a dry patch in his throat. He started to cough and cut himself off, hugging tighter and breathing shallowly until the urge to cough passed.
"Do you wanna hug all night? 'Cause we can do that sitting down just as easily," Kris suggested, nudging Adam into action.
Adam let go—but again, kept one hand on Kris—and let him get a look at the top-level suite. It was disgusting; twice the size of Kris's one-bedroom apartment, with three times the furniture, all five times more expensive…and that was just the living room. When he noticed the hallways on opposite walls leading to even more rooms, he decided to stop looking.
"This place is too much."
"I know, right?" Adam's eyes were wet, but the sweet smile on his face glowed down at Kris.
"I'm living in a so-called 'luxury high rise,' and this place makes it look like a college dorm."
"Don't be hatin', baby."
"Please, you think I'm jealous? Nobody needs this much, not even you."
"Ouch," Adam said, putting his free hand to his wounded heart.
And this was stupid. Adam shouldn't be talking at all with a throat that sore, and Kris was making small talk about a hotel room. "What're you taking for that throat?"
Adam shrugged and pointed to an industrial-sized humidifier cranking away behind one of the designer leather sofas. "Lots of fluids 'n' rest."
"You got anything to numb it?"
He wrinkled his nose. "Saving for Friday."
"You're—you're singing?" Adam nodded. "Do you really think you can?"
His face turned determined, and he nodded more forcefully.
"Okay," Kris said, dubious, and then smiled with relief. "Guess that means I'm off the hook, right? I can stop practicing?"
Adam's grin momentarily blinded him, and he held both Kris's shoulders and shook him excitedly, then hauled him to a leather chaise. "I heard—from Donald. But you tell me," he asked, clearly trying to minimize his words.
Kris swallowed in sympathy for his ravaged throat and tried to straighten out his thoughts so he didn't ramble. Adam was sitting right next to him, thigh against his own, wearing a dark blue t-shirt and yoga pants, his arms oddly shiny. He was still holding onto Kris, now grabbing his wrist like he thought Kris would disappear if he let go.
"I knew how important it was to you—they were gonna cancel it, but I knew we'd get you back and you'd wanna do it. I couldn't let them cancel it on you. So I offered to sing it, with Matt and Anoop."
Adam's brow wrinkled.
"Yeah, they liked my second idea better; made it all about the label, instead of your friends. Unless you're friends with David Archuleta now, I don't know."
Adam rolled his eyes.
"We went through a whole contract negotiation where I almost broke up with Vanessa, but yeah, the intention was to sing your songs for your fans. So they could have something of you in case you were still missing."
Adam's eyebrows asked Which songs were you gonna sing? It had to be killing him to keep quiet like this.
Kris laughed, "Which songs? No way, I'm never telling."
"Please?" Adam pouted, sticking out his pale lower lip, and Kris noticed the freckles all over again, flashed back almost two years to the beginning of all this.
He blushed and looked down at his lap, twisted his hand to rub a thumb against Adam's palm. "Maybe next New Year's. Or that Christmas party you promised me."
Adam smiled and leaned in, kissed his temple. "Posh?" he asked.
It surprised another laugh out of him. "You heard about that? 19E are dicks. I mean, I knew that after they postponed my album, but they're like…major manipulative dickheads. They were turning the fan concert into an A-list deal with celebrities and…probably a live broadcast with one of the networks, for all I know. They were exploiting you, and I kinda lost my head over it."
Adam squeezed his hand.
"I know; I don't want me to get dropped either. But if you sign another contract with them after this one expires, I'm checking you in for a psych evaluation."
Adam nodded, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.
"Good. And I know you love Posh, and if it'd been your idea I would've been cool, but they were changing your plan, and…"
"Now I have to undo it all," Adam whispered, scrunching up his nose unhappily.
Kris pictured himself at the other end of that phone call, telling Posh Beckham she wasn't welcome at her high-profile appearance anymore. "Make Robert do it," he said. "Better yet, London; she's their client." Adam smirked, and Kris was so happy to see some of his cockiness coming back, he forgot to stick to yes or no questions. "What happened to you?"
Adam eased away an inch and looked around the room.
Kris thought about taking it back, not wanting to make Adam relive anything painful, but he had Adam right here next to him, and that might not happen again for a long time once 19E started the post-kidnapping press tour or whatever other scheme they concocted to cash in on Adam's current media exposure.
Adam made a small sound, like trying to clear his throat as gently as possible, and eventually whispered, "They had guns. I pissed my pants."
Kris winced, but Adam didn't look embarrassed, seemed fatalistic about that part, at least.
"Told me to get outta the car, get in a van. Tied my wrists," he tried to demonstrate, made an aborted gesture toward the small of his back for just a second before reaching out for Kris's hand again. "Dumped me in a basement with no light. No explanation. No threats. Like they forgot about me. I didn't know—" he started coughing and grabbed a half-full bottle of water from the table.
Kris squeezed his hand as Adam downed the bottle and gargled the last mouthful.
His voice was even more broken and faint when he said, "I didn't even know who they were. I screamed, yelled, sang. 'Til the Feds came."
Kris didn't know what to say to him; didn't want to imagine himself in that situation, alone in the dark, not knowing what was going on. No food or water, and no distraction. If he could have made a joke he would have, because Adam's face was tight with misery.
"I prayed for you," Kris said instead, swallowing against a hollow, painful wound that he hadn't been there, that Adam had to go through that alone.
Adam nodded, sniffed carefully. "I knew."
Kris took a chance, reached out and touched Adam's face like he'd wanted in the hospital. Adam closed his eyes and leaned into his palm this time, and Kris's hurt faded to a low ache that told him to get closer, to erase it with touch. He very carefully kept his distance, settled for just running his thumb over Adam's undamaged cheek. "I'm sorry, for all of it."
"Heh," Adam laughed, a dry, unpleasant sound. "Not half as sorry as I was. The things I wanted to do to you in this hotel room, and I had to go and get kidnapped."
Kris started to blush, told himself not to bother; Adam wasn't being serious; that was just the usual flirting. The kind they'd done before Kansas City. The kind they'd done even after, keeping up appearances for everyone else until they'd convinced themselves that they could still be friends, so long as they never talked about what had happened. So Kris played along now, for Adam. "Yeah, that was a dick move. Next time don't go running out on me when I'm trying to put my hands down your pants."
Adam choked and started to cough again. "You said," he gasped, "dick move. Fuck, Kris—"
Kris grinned at seeing Adam shake off the heavy memories, but the coughing didn't stop. Adam reached for the bottle on the table, but there were only a few drops left. "Which way's the kitchen?" Kris asked, standing up. Adam pointed, and he jogged down the left hand hallway, found the case of water in the fridge and brought back two bottles. He unscrewed one and pushed it into Adam's grip as he was doubled over, hand covering his mouth.
"Thanks," Adam wheezed and drank a few big gulps before slowing down to smaller sips.
Kris pet his hair, feeling the little bit of product Adam had applied since their short visit in the intensive care unit. He smelled like a different kind of cologne, something with sandalwood and almond, and it suddenly occurred to Kris that Adam couldn't even breathe, and Kris was thinking about licking the back of his neck, and maybe that was inappropriate on his part.
"I'm making you talk too much," Kris warned. "I…I probably shouldn't be here if you need to rest your voice."
Adam reached out and squeezed his wrist painfully tight, pulled Kris closer. "No. I need—"
"What?"
Adam shook his head and sat up, eyes wet as he rasped, "Alone for two days. Felt like a week. Need someone."
Kris's heartbeat sped up and he sat still for a moment, letting Adam hold his hand and recover. And then he blurted, selfish for reassurance of his own, "Do you need me?"
Adam looked at him, bleary eyed, considering the question, maybe considering Kris.
Embarrassed, Kris changed the question. "Where's your family?"
"Sent them home."
"Why?!"
Adam pulled in a careful breath, just shy of painful. "I thought I was fine. I wanted to be. Mom was…too much."
"Okay," Kris nodded, understanding.
"Realized I was alone and freaked out," he admitted.
Kris squeezed his hand. "You can call me anytime. I'm glad you did."
"Only person I wanted here," Adam smiled.
His heart beat even faster and Kris inched a bit closer. "Did you call anyone else, or do I have you all to myself tonight?"
"For as long as you wanna stay," Adam offered, fingers twitching against Kris's skin, and he felt it happen: the same cautious retreat from Sunday. Adam was holding back, refusing to make the first move.
Which meant it was up to Kris again. This time, he knew better than to skip the most important part. "Sunday," Kris started.
"We were drunk," Adam shrugged, apparently ready to dismiss all of it if that was what Kris meant.
"I wasn't," Kris protested stubbornly, then amended, "not that drunk. I knew what I was saying. I've wanted to say it for a long time."
"You didn't actually say anything…" Adam said, eyes searching his face.
Adam didn't have the voice to waste on word games right now, so Kris sucked it up and banished his doubts. "Katy's right. If we don't start talking about this, we're gonna end up in therapy."
Adam raised his eyebrows, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
"I'm gonna tell you now. And it's not because I almost lost you and I'm high on adrenaline, or relief, or whatever. I've been putting this off for months, and I wanted to tell you on Sunday: I'm divorced now, and I'm in love with you. I wanna be with you, and you know to me that means forever—"
That was as far as he got before Adam hauled him close and kissed him, fingers laced behind Kris's neck, thumbs stroking his jaw. Kris melted against him, sucked on Adam's tongue and closed his eyes, held on tight to Adam's shirt as Adam showed him he hadn't been wrong, not about any of it. And then Kris yanked Adam's shirt over his head and pushed it off the chaise, because it'd been more than a year since he'd had Adam naked and he needed it again, needed it like air.
Sandalwood wafted stronger around him and Kris's fingers skidded slickly over Adam's shoulders on some kind of grease. "What's on you?" he asked against Adam's mouth.
"Had a massage," Adam mumbled back.
Kris smiled, glad Adam had been taking care of himself. "Before or after you got rid of your mom and brother?"
"After."
"So I'm not the only person you called tonight." He squeezed Adam's shoulders, stroked firmly down his upper arms, massage oils smoothing the way, and then rubbed his thumbs over the nipple piercings Adam had gotten since last time. Adam groaned loud and bit at Kris's lower lip, tried to lift a knee over Kris's thigh. Kris tilted his head for a better angle, let Adam kiss him breathless and whisper "Love you, love you" until Kris was gasping into Adam's mouth, and Adam was…
Adam was making little hitching sounds in his throat, like swallowed coughs.
"Are you actually up for this?" he asked, trying to be considerate.
"What do you think?" Adam rasped, took Kris's hand and placed it on his stiffening cock, easy to feel through the cotton pants.
That wasn't what he'd meant, but Kris took it as answer enough, groped for Adam's waistband, twisted his fingers in to stroke the hot flesh underneath, and Adam gasped, body going suddenly tense before he started coughing again.
Kris sat back, withdrew his hand, passed Adam the open bottle of water and waited, tapping his foot impatiently while Adam got his breathing back under control. When Adam finally reached for him again, Kris stuck a finger in his chest. "Stop. We are not having sex if I'm gonna ruin your throat doing it."
Adam's eyes widened with dismay. "What?" he croaked.
"If you have anything you can take to numb it, you'd better use it now. Or we're gonna sit on separate couches and watch movies all night, and I'm gonna be really, really bitter the whole time."
Adam hesitated for a long moment, and Kris's eyes narrowed in frustration. And then Adam grinned and said, low and husky, "Couches are so last year, anyway. C'mon." He picked up the unopened bottle of water and lead Kris to the master bedroom, headed into the bathroom for the medicine cabinet. He came out with a small tube, held it up for Kris to see and said, "The things I'm willing to do for you," with a wry grin.
He kissed Kris's cheek and got on the bed, stretching out with his head on the pillows. Kris raised his eyebrows, came closer to read the label as Adam squirted ointment onto his index finger.
"Orajel?"
"Broadway secret. Only used as a last resort, and you're about to see why." He took a slow, careful breath and stuck his finger deep into his mouth, ointment-side down. When he pulled his finger out, it was clean. And then his nose wrinkled, his eyes started to water, and he coughed behind closed lips, gagging enough to shake his shoulders.
Kris took off his clothes silently, eased onto the mattress next to his hip and dragged his palms down the oil-softened skin of Adam's chest as Adam took painfully quick breaths through his nose and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, sweat breaking out on his upper lip. "Shh," Kris said, leaning close and licking Adam's collarbone, sandalwood oil slightly bitter and greasy under his tongue. His fingers drifted lower, inched Adam's waistband down ever so slowly.
Adam finally opened his mouth and gasped, long and ragged, but without coughing. "I fucking hate that shit." He opened the bottle of water and swished his mouth clean, leaned over and grabbed a decorative crystal bowl of flower petals off the side table and spat in it.
"You're breathing better," Kris said hopefully.
He nodded. "Can't feel a thing, not for a good hour." His voice still sounded like rough asphalt, but the words were clearer, stronger. And then he actually turned his head and realized Kris was naked. "Oh, baby," he breathed, hands reaching out to touch.
"Worth it?" Kris asked, leaning down to kiss his lips carefully, without tongue.
Adam wrapped his hands around Kris's ribs, ran them up his back and down over his ass to squeeze. "Absolutely."
"And you're sure I'm not gonna hurt you? I'd better not hear any more coughing fits."
Adam leered, "Do your worst," and spread his arms wide.
Adam was spread out under him, a buffet of temptations Kris had fantasized about for months, years. And now that he finally had him all to himself, was allowed to touch Adam how he'd always wanted, Kris wasn't sure where to begin. But Adam had thrown out a challenge, was waiting for him to make some kind of start, so Kris kissed Adam once more and then slid down the bed and got his lips on Adam's cock for the first time.
Adam shouted a broken note of surprise and bucked hard, nearly throwing Kris off the bed. Kris grinned past his self-consciousness and repositioned, straddled Adam's legs so he would have a more secure perch to experiment with hands and mouth.
Mouth watering, he hunched over to lick at the cut head of Adam's cock, circled it with a slow, wet swipe. Adam rolled his hips in appreciation and Kris grew more confident. He rubbed his thumbs in the creases of Adam's thighs, already damp with sweat, just to tease, and then pushed the pants down past Adam's knees so he could rub his own cock against skin.
He hadn't had sex since the summer, and having Adam at his mercy like this was overwhelming, intoxicating. His hips rocked against Adam's legs unconsciously, a rough friction that wasn't enough. He ignored that, pressed a loving kiss to the underside of Adam's cock, then opened his mouth wide and took him in, tried to coordinate the mechanics of teeth and tongue and sensitive, hot skin. The smell of Adam filled his nostrils, sandalwood, almond, and musk, and his own cock was painfully hard already. He bobbed his head, gradually got a rhythm going with his lips on the upstroke, tongue on the down. He let himself drool, making the slide easier, and Adam groaned above him, hips bucking slightly.
Fingers brushed into his hair, tugged a little, and Kris looked up at Adam's flushed face. "Don't have to get fancy," Adam panted, massaging Kris's scalp.
If Kris hadn't already been bright red, he would have blushed at Adam's adoring condescension. Kris pretended to consider that for a moment, thrusting his cock against Adam's leg, and then ever-so-slowly repeated the down-up motion, sucking Adam's thick cock as tight as he could until his tongue ached with the suction.
"Fuck!" Adam yelped, his back arching off the blankets. Kris grinned and licked gently, sucked just the top, not quite as hard, and Adam gasped, "Never mind…you just…do whatever."
Kris hummed with pride and got back to his new favorite occupation; driving Adam out of his mind with pleasure. He bent even lower and inched back so he could reach Adam's balls, fingered the delicate skin and lapped softly over them as Adam whimpered and writhed.
Adam's shin shifted up against Kris's cock and Kris jerked, his breath catching as time unexpectedly ran out. God, he was too close already; he wanted Adam to touch him, could hardly wait any longer. Exploring, savoring Adam's body—he didn't have the patience anymore. Kris wrapped a fist around Adam's cock and squeezed and jerked, sucked at the tip again, milking Adam for all he was worth, just needing him to come, to know that he'd been able to do it—
Adam fell apart stunningly, utterly gorgeous the way he shuddered all over, muscles tense and crying out, fingers yanking at Kris's short hair until Kris's eyes teared up. He tried to swallow, only managed a bit before it was too much, too fast and foreign, and he coughed and pulled off, let Adam streak over his own stomach.
Kris crawled up Adam's body to lay down next to him, tilted Adam's sweaty face over and kissed him, found the odd lingering taste of the gel on his tongue. He squirmed, pressed even closer, rubbed his weeping cock against Adam's hip desperately until Adam rolled over and pinned his shoulders down, kissed him and grabbed his cock in his big hand, pulled and twisted a handful of times. It was enough, it was perfect, and Kris fell over the edge, coming hot over Adam's hand.
They collapsed, boneless, on the pillows, both of them panting side by side in the quiet. And then Adam reached out, touched Kris's hip, found his hand and traced fingers up the inside of Kris's arm, tickling.
"Stop," Kris groaned, batting his hand away.
"Mmm," Adam said and turned on his side, looked at Kris with sleepy, satisfied eyes.
Kris brushed the bangs out of Adam's face, his fingers clumsy with exhaustion, and smiled at him. "Still worth it?"
Adam yawned something that sounded like, "Lemme decide in the morning."
Kris swatted at Adam's thigh and rolled over three times, climbed off the other side of the huge bed. He brought back a warm towel and wiped Adam down before they turned off the lights and got under the covers. Kris tried spooning up with him, wanting to be close, but it was too hot, and he had to settle for fingertips on Adam's bandaged wrist, the rest of Kris's body stretched out between the cool sheets, taking up most of the bed.
The night settled in, the sounds of the traffic outside fading as night slipped into morning, everyone in Los Angeles sleeping…except Kris. He laid awake, listening as Adam's soft snores became uneven, took on a strained quality he couldn't help worrying over. Unable to get any rest without doing something about it, Kris wandered naked into the living room and considered the mammoth humidifier for a few moments. And then he removed the 5-gallon tank of water, unplugged the machine and carried it to the bedroom, fought with it in the dark until he got it put back together and working. Warm mist puffed against his face and he coughed a little, quickly got back under the covers, and listened for a positive change in Adam's breathing.
Part V
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Date: 2010-07-20 02:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-26 10:11 am (UTC)