Fic: Sublimation (Kris/Brad Bell; K/Adam; American Idol)
Title: Sublimation
Summary: Brad Bell never expected Kris Allen to ask him for a favor.
Pairing: Kris/Brad; Kris/Adam
Rating: PG-13; Mostly for swearing (thanks, Cheeks!)
Notes: While this was originally inspired by an ai_kinkmeme prompt, the finished product doesn't really resemble that prompt at all. Word count ~3400.
Sublimation
“Hey there, is this Brad Bell?”
Brad narrowed his eyes, his thumb jittering along the edge of his phone. That voice was... familiar. It was-
“Yeah,” he said, relaxing as he figured it out. “And you're Kris Allen. Call me Cheeks, honey.”
“Is that a condition of talking to you?” Kris asked, a tiny uplift in his vowels giving away his nerves. Huh. Kris Allen was nervous about talking to him. Probably wasn't the queer thing, not from what Adam and others had said and what Brad had observed, so Brad considered himself officially intrigued.
“Not if you give me a good enough reason why not,” Brad said, pulling his leg up from the floor and sitting half-lotus. It was just him right now, so he was casual, in light sweats. “And that reason can't have anything to do with a certain gentleman acquaintance we have in common.”
“I just- I wanted to ask you for some advice,” Kris said, his words drawing out long and smooth. “And it'll hard for me take it seriously if I keep calling you-” There was another long pause and Brad amused himself by trying to guess how Kris was contorting his face. “Cheeks.”
“This advice... would it be about-”
“Not exactly,” Kris mumbled. And that was good, because Brad didn't really know shit about the sort of straight-gay friendship that was going on over with those two. He liked his boys flaming. “Maybe it's more of a favor.”
“And that's not vague at all,” Brad said, rolling his eyes. “We are north of the Mason-Dixon line, sweetheart. Clean up your damn sentences and hurry to the fucking point.” And then he had to try to convince himself that Kris's little laugh wasn't the least bit charming.
“Fine, fine, I'll get to the point,” Kris said. “I did that photoshoot for Elle magazine the other day. They dressed me up in-” Wings and eyeliner, Brad recalled from tweets. Not that he'd admit to casually trolling for information on his ex and his ex's current gig. “-some makeup and I saw the pictures; they sent me some pictures-”
“So very not fast,” Brad interjected.
“I liked it,” Kris said, in a rush. Brad sat up tall, a grin spreading across his face. But- that couldn't be the whole truth because-
“Why not tell my darling ex all this?” Brad asked. “I bet he'd love to play dress-up with you.”
There was silence on the line and Brad could hear Kris's breathing, quick and unsteady.
“Because... because I don't think it's a game,” Kris said, quietly. “And I don't want Adam to think- I don't want to complicate things.”
“Hmm. I do believe that this is the first time in my life that I've been the safe choice,” Brad said. “Okay, here's the deal - I'm going to give you my address, unless you already got it from whoever gave you my number-” Brad paused and Kris didn't say anything, so he kept going. “After your little tour is over, you come see me - people here should recognize you, they'll let you in. We'll see what we can do to make you pretty.”
“You should just be able to text it to me,” Kris said, his voice scraping down into his lower register. “And... thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Brad said, then he disconnected the call. He sent Kris a text with his address and then tossed his phone back into the blanket piled up behind him. Adam's straight boy had just gotten a lot more interesting.
Still, truth be told, he hadn't ever been expecting Kris to show up. He'd expected that Kris would flirt with the idea, but never actually be brave enough to take the plunge. In all fairness, he hadn't known the guy all that well.
About two months after that phone call, he'd been out at a little club that he knew and he arrived home about half past one in the morning dragging a guest in behind him - a guy about half a foot taller than him, with a thick head of auburn hair that Brad had already spent half an hour tugging at. The guy had called himself Stacy, which Brad was willing enough to go with, though the slight reaction-delay was a pretty big clue that it was a cover. They stumbled into Brad's place and the first thing he noticed was that his living room light was on. Brad might be tipsy, but he wasn't drunk, so he decided that the situation required investigation.
He pulled away from Stacy, telling him to wait a second, and walked through the room and- ah, there, all curled up on his couch, was the American Idol, fast asleep. Brad palmed his dick, half-hard after the handjob that he'd already gotten from Stacy at the club and decided that his curiosity about Kris was currently a little greater than his curiosity about Stacy's fucking skills. There would always be another Stacy - if Kris got scared off now, he might not come back.
He made something up and got Stacy out of his place before he spotted Kris, and then he settled down next to the guy. Brad hadn't ever really had the chance to spend all that much time with him before now, so he took the chance to do a little in-depth study.
There wasn't a question as to whether or not Kris was a hot piece of ass; pretty much any queer not exclusively orientated toward bears would probably agree that Kris was gorgeous just the way he was. Still, for all that he was here to get glammed up, the boy was dressed down. Ratty old converse shoes on his feet, jeans and a black t-shirt. The jeans were tight, though, and Brad could make out a nice curve to Kris's ass from where he was sitting. The shirt was tight, too, and it had a design on it that he couldn't quite make out - Kris's arm was in the way.
The money shot, of course, was Kris's face. Plenty of gay boys had the body and not the face, but Kris definitely was well put-together all over. Pouty lower lip, skin to die for, sharp jawline, and hair spiked up like he'd just gotten fucked. Brad reached out and tugged at Kris's arm, getting a better look at that shirt - huh, zodiac wheel. He wouldn't have pegged that as something a former worship leader would wear.
Kris shifted a little, more onto his back, but didn't wake up. His shirt was riding up in front, showing his belt buckle and a little sliver of stomach, just above. Brad rose up on his knees and put his hand on Kris's belly, yanking the shirt up a little more. He drew in a sharp breath and traced the lines of definition on Kris's stomach - not a man who didn't know how to take care of his body. His gaze shifted over, and he thought he maybe saw something twitch below Kris's belt, but he had some limits, so he turned his attention back to Kris's face.
“Hey,” Brad whispered, placing his thumb on that full mouth. Kris breathed in, wet heat surrounding the tip of Brad's thumb for a moment as it got sucked in, and then he breathed out again. “Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up.”
Kris let out a sleepy little sigh, and Brad could see his hips shifting out of the corner of his eye.
Brad settled back on his heels. All his preferred ways of waking guys up - handjob, blowjob, long sweet kisses - didn't seem entirely appropriate. He snapped his fingers right in front of Kris's face and all he got from Kris was a wrinkled-up nose and a rather adorable little snort of air. He tried patting Kris's face and Kris's eyes crinkled up and, when Brad didn't stop, his hand reached out and limply batted at the air in front of his face, occasionally hitting Brad's hand with absolutely no force. When he tried shaking Kris's shoulders lightly, Kris's mouth drew together like he was tasting something bad.
The man was almost criminally cute, though apparently impossible to wake up. Seriously, Brad was about ready to go and give Adam a fucking medal for not breaking down at some point and screwing Kris blind until he gave up the straight life.
“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered, leaning in and pressing his mouth against Kris's. That had to do it. Except... Kris's lips parted sweet as sin, welcoming Brad inside without so much as a hint that Kris was stirring. And... he tasted like sugar, some kind of candy that Brad couldn't place, only the tiniest trace of night-time staleness in his mouth. Brad pushed down harder, tongue pressing inside, his fingers on Kris's chin angling Kris's face up toward him, and Kris just... gave, supple and bending toward Brad easily. With a shiver, Brad pulled back, wiping at his mouth. Kris sighed again, his brow furrowing slightly, and his mouth stayed open, red curve of his inner lip visible, and he just seemed so easy right now, like a guy could slide right into him smooth as butter. Brad was pretty fucking aware of the fact that his ex had a type and that Kris slotted right into it, so- “How the hell did he ever resist you?”
“Hmm?” And at the small sound, Brad was hopeful that Kris was actually going to wake the fuck up, but... no. He just wriggled a little on the couch, his head tipping back to expose his neck, adam's apple moving a little as he swallowed. And now Kris looked like a pin-up model. Brad sighed heavily and got to his feet, padding softly to the kitchen, where he half-filled a glass with tap water. He stood over Kris and flicked some droplets onto Kris's face. Kris's tongue licked out at the water that had collected on his tongue, but that was all. Except that now Kris's face was slightly wet, tiny drops of water slipping down sideways, adding to the porn-eske flair of the scene.
He set the glass down on the table behind him with a heavy clunk - yeah, that did nothing - and then had a brilliant idea. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, set the alarm for a minute in the future and then waited.
His ringtone blared out, and Brad winced, the noise far too loud this time of night. He fumbled it off and then glanced over at Kris, who was, yes, moving a little too much just to be shifting in his sleep.
“Adam,” Kris said, his lower lip pouting up. “Hate that song. Told you to stop using it.”
“Sugar, you've got the wrong fag,” Brad said, sitting down on the coffee table. Kris blinked, looking befuddled and still half-asleep, his hand falling down to frame his thigh as he propped himself on his elbow. Brad tried not to notice the way Kris's erection was trying to push out of his jeans. “I'll give you a hint - the other one's taller.”
Kris squinted toward him. “Brad,” he said, in a tone of great revelation. “Woah, hey, sorry. I wasn't planning on sleeping here. I was going to leave and come back again some other time but-”
“My couch just looked too inviting,” Brad said, his fingers curling around the edge of the table. “Get it all the time. It's a great couch. I've fucked many a guy right there.”
Kris made a soft, curious sound in the back of his throat, but didn't react otherwise. Brad hovered, for a moment, between honesty and the desire not to get his face punched in, and went with honesty.
“Just so you know, in my attempts to wake you up, one of the things I tried was a kiss,” he said, bracing himself without trying to look like he was doing any such thing. “But it looks like I wasn't your true love.”
“Huh,” Kris said, lifting his hand up to touch his lips for a second, his forehead crinkling. Then the corner of his mouth kicked up into a smile. “I'd ask whether I was any good or not, but I was asleep at the time, so it's not really a fair test.”
Brad relaxed, almost before he gave himself permission to, and admitted to himself that, maybe, Adam had been right about Kris being one of the good guys. The next time Adam said that Kris was the most awesome straight guy ever, Brad might even be inclined to agree with him. Once he made sure that the 'straight' label was accurate, of course.
He tilted his head and grinned at Kris happily. “So, you are here so that I can make you pretty.”
A pale pink flush blossomed on Kris's cheeks which was, hmm, interesting timing. The make-up made him vulnerable in a way that gay boys hitting on him didn't. And maybe that was the real reason that Kris was here with Brad instead of asking Adam to do him up.
Maybe he wasn't sure he could trust himself with Adam. Brad knocked the likelihood of Kris being straight down a few percentage points.
“I brought one of the pictures they sent me,” Kris said, sitting up straight on the couch - there was a messenger bag squished into the end that Brad hadn't even noticed. Kris dug through it, finally pulling out a thin folder. He held it out, not quite meeting Brad's eyes. Brad flipped open the folder and... there it was, colors so glossy that they almost looked wet.
“This is coming out in November?” Brad asked, tilting the picture toward the light so that he could see it better. Holy jumping Jesus. Kris was shirtless in the picture, wearing thin cream-colored slacks so tight they looked painted on. And, yeah, he had a pair of feathery white wings strapped to his back, and he was standing three-quarter profile. He was looking up at the camera, and he'd been caught in the middle of licking his lips, pink tongue ghosting over dark lush plum. The eyeliner was smoky and smudged, and it looked like all his visible skin had been brushed with multicolored glitter that sparkled vividly in the studio lights. The lights were focused tightly on Kris, high-contrast, almost akin to Caravaggio's paintings in how deep the blacks behind him were.
“They aren't going to be using that one,” Kris said. “They told me that when they sent it to me. It'll probably some of the-”
“-less blatant angel-porn ones?” Brad asked. “Did Adam see you in this?”
“He was getting his make-up done when they shot that one, I think,” Kris said, and Brad glanced up to see the way the skin around his eyes tightened. “He saw some of the other ones, but only from before they asked me to take my shirt off.”
“Considerate of them not to torture him that way,” Brad said. Kris blushed again, the color brighter this time. And... Brad threw 'straight' out of the running. No one looked like that when they were thinking about a guy unless they wanted to fuck him. “So, you want me to make you look like that again. Then what?”
“I don't-”
“Because I'm pretty sure that you're married,” Brad said, closing the folder and placing it carefully behind him on the table. “Now, I personally have fucked around with a lot of married guys. I roll my eyes at them and think they're hypocrites, but that's their problem. Adam is a little touchier.”
Kris leaned his elbows down against his knees, his head falling forward, just enough that he wasn't looking Brad in the face. “I don't want to hurt her,” he said, his words a quiet rumble. “She has been so strong, so supportive. And I'm supposed to reward her for that by leaving her? How can I do that?”
“There was a time,” Brad said, and he couldn't stop himself from sounding wistful, even if it was a little fucked up. “There was a time when I thought that Adam and I could just... stay the same and together, for the rest of our lives. Adam wanted to go a different way and... I couldn't go there with him. In the end, we just couldn't reach those... those broken places inside each other. Not his fault; not mine.”
“I'm sorry,” Kris said, and watching his face express his confusion was a little bit like watching a silent movie. “I don't think I understand.”
“Staying with your wife out of obligation will destroy whatever love you have for her,” Brad said, as simply as he could. “And if you're only there because you owe her, she's not really getting you anyway.”
“Do you ever regret not being with him anymore?” Kris asked, plaintive, and Brad reached forward to press a finger against that mouth again, and Kris shuddered at his touch, his lips parting in reaction. When Brad pulled his hand away, Kris swayed forward slightly before he collected himself together again and Brad wondered how different this conversation would have been if Kris weren't still hazy from sleep, if he'd gotten home before Kris had tumbled down to rest on his couch, if Brad had had less to drink.
“Two answers to that,” Brad said. “Never and every single day. Both of them are true.”
Kris chuckled, looking back down at his hands.
“I don't know what the right thing to do is,” Kris said.
“Maybe there isn't one,” Brad said. “Maybe we all just do our best.” He shrugged. “You aren't going to go anywhere tonight, so you can bunk up with me.” Kris's face wrinkled up in confusion. “Don't worry, I usually ask before I touch. And my bed's a lot more comfortable than that the couch, nice as it is. I'll do your face in the morning, and you can decide which door to choose.”
“Not like it even matters,” Kris said, his mouth twisting. “Adam's got-”
“Oh, don't worry, sugar,” Brad said, getting up and reaching his hand down toward Kris. “I have it on excellent authority that they are not exclusive yet.”
“Were you two?” Kris asked, chin tilting up as he took Brad's hand and stood.
“Yeah,” Brad said. He gave Kris's hand a gentle tug and then released it. He went over to his bathroom, starting the process of removing his make-up. Kris leaned against the doorframe, watching him casually, his gaze occasionally darting around to check out what else was in the room. Brad smirked, wondering exactly what Kris thought of it all, though he didn't ask. He shimmied out of his clothes and tossed them into the hamper, leaving only his boxer-briefs on. He turned toward the doorway and dialed his smile up to full blast. “Oh, and before you ask? I don't mind if you take some clothes off.”
Kris flushed, his hand reaching up to briefly scratch at the back of his neck, but then he backed up and reached out to his belt. He unbuckled it and slid it out of his jeans, coiling and putting it down on Brad's dresser. He pulled off his shoes and put them next to the dresser. Then he undid the button on his jeans, zipping them down and stripping them off easily. Then he actually folded them, which was cute, and placed them down, too. He crossed his arms over his chest and his face was a mixture of nerves and defiance. It would seem that Kris Allen did not like backing down from a challenge, no matter how mellow he liked to present himself.
Brad waved at the bed and Kris sank down into it, letting out a relieved huff of breath. Brad wasn't surprised - he'd told the truth; the bed really was that much more comfortable. Since neither of them were hulking or, well, Adam-sized, they fit fairly easily on Brad's bed without anything needing to touch, though Kris didn't flinch away when Brad's arm brushed against his.
Brad hadn't been far off on his assessment of Kris's state - the guy was nodding off in less than five minutes. Brad stayed awake for longer than that, propping himself up on his elbow and deciding what, exactly, he would do to Kris's face tomorrow if Kris still wanted it. Then he settled himself down to think about something else entirely, his hand slipping down to rub at his cock.
Because, really, there was no point in sending Kris off to Adam if he didn't know what to do. That was just manners.
And, whatever else he was, Brad was a good southern boy at heart.
~end~
There is now a sequel to this story: A Little Taste of Liberation
Summary: Brad Bell never expected Kris Allen to ask him for a favor.
Pairing: Kris/Brad; Kris/Adam
Rating: PG-13; Mostly for swearing (thanks, Cheeks!)
Notes: While this was originally inspired by an ai_kinkmeme prompt, the finished product doesn't really resemble that prompt at all. Word count ~3400.
Sublimation
“Hey there, is this Brad Bell?”
Brad narrowed his eyes, his thumb jittering along the edge of his phone. That voice was... familiar. It was-
“Yeah,” he said, relaxing as he figured it out. “And you're Kris Allen. Call me Cheeks, honey.”
“Is that a condition of talking to you?” Kris asked, a tiny uplift in his vowels giving away his nerves. Huh. Kris Allen was nervous about talking to him. Probably wasn't the queer thing, not from what Adam and others had said and what Brad had observed, so Brad considered himself officially intrigued.
“Not if you give me a good enough reason why not,” Brad said, pulling his leg up from the floor and sitting half-lotus. It was just him right now, so he was casual, in light sweats. “And that reason can't have anything to do with a certain gentleman acquaintance we have in common.”
“I just- I wanted to ask you for some advice,” Kris said, his words drawing out long and smooth. “And it'll hard for me take it seriously if I keep calling you-” There was another long pause and Brad amused himself by trying to guess how Kris was contorting his face. “Cheeks.”
“This advice... would it be about-”
“Not exactly,” Kris mumbled. And that was good, because Brad didn't really know shit about the sort of straight-gay friendship that was going on over with those two. He liked his boys flaming. “Maybe it's more of a favor.”
“And that's not vague at all,” Brad said, rolling his eyes. “We are north of the Mason-Dixon line, sweetheart. Clean up your damn sentences and hurry to the fucking point.” And then he had to try to convince himself that Kris's little laugh wasn't the least bit charming.
“Fine, fine, I'll get to the point,” Kris said. “I did that photoshoot for Elle magazine the other day. They dressed me up in-” Wings and eyeliner, Brad recalled from tweets. Not that he'd admit to casually trolling for information on his ex and his ex's current gig. “-some makeup and I saw the pictures; they sent me some pictures-”
“So very not fast,” Brad interjected.
“I liked it,” Kris said, in a rush. Brad sat up tall, a grin spreading across his face. But- that couldn't be the whole truth because-
“Why not tell my darling ex all this?” Brad asked. “I bet he'd love to play dress-up with you.”
There was silence on the line and Brad could hear Kris's breathing, quick and unsteady.
“Because... because I don't think it's a game,” Kris said, quietly. “And I don't want Adam to think- I don't want to complicate things.”
“Hmm. I do believe that this is the first time in my life that I've been the safe choice,” Brad said. “Okay, here's the deal - I'm going to give you my address, unless you already got it from whoever gave you my number-” Brad paused and Kris didn't say anything, so he kept going. “After your little tour is over, you come see me - people here should recognize you, they'll let you in. We'll see what we can do to make you pretty.”
“You should just be able to text it to me,” Kris said, his voice scraping down into his lower register. “And... thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Brad said, then he disconnected the call. He sent Kris a text with his address and then tossed his phone back into the blanket piled up behind him. Adam's straight boy had just gotten a lot more interesting.
Still, truth be told, he hadn't ever been expecting Kris to show up. He'd expected that Kris would flirt with the idea, but never actually be brave enough to take the plunge. In all fairness, he hadn't known the guy all that well.
About two months after that phone call, he'd been out at a little club that he knew and he arrived home about half past one in the morning dragging a guest in behind him - a guy about half a foot taller than him, with a thick head of auburn hair that Brad had already spent half an hour tugging at. The guy had called himself Stacy, which Brad was willing enough to go with, though the slight reaction-delay was a pretty big clue that it was a cover. They stumbled into Brad's place and the first thing he noticed was that his living room light was on. Brad might be tipsy, but he wasn't drunk, so he decided that the situation required investigation.
He pulled away from Stacy, telling him to wait a second, and walked through the room and- ah, there, all curled up on his couch, was the American Idol, fast asleep. Brad palmed his dick, half-hard after the handjob that he'd already gotten from Stacy at the club and decided that his curiosity about Kris was currently a little greater than his curiosity about Stacy's fucking skills. There would always be another Stacy - if Kris got scared off now, he might not come back.
He made something up and got Stacy out of his place before he spotted Kris, and then he settled down next to the guy. Brad hadn't ever really had the chance to spend all that much time with him before now, so he took the chance to do a little in-depth study.
There wasn't a question as to whether or not Kris was a hot piece of ass; pretty much any queer not exclusively orientated toward bears would probably agree that Kris was gorgeous just the way he was. Still, for all that he was here to get glammed up, the boy was dressed down. Ratty old converse shoes on his feet, jeans and a black t-shirt. The jeans were tight, though, and Brad could make out a nice curve to Kris's ass from where he was sitting. The shirt was tight, too, and it had a design on it that he couldn't quite make out - Kris's arm was in the way.
The money shot, of course, was Kris's face. Plenty of gay boys had the body and not the face, but Kris definitely was well put-together all over. Pouty lower lip, skin to die for, sharp jawline, and hair spiked up like he'd just gotten fucked. Brad reached out and tugged at Kris's arm, getting a better look at that shirt - huh, zodiac wheel. He wouldn't have pegged that as something a former worship leader would wear.
Kris shifted a little, more onto his back, but didn't wake up. His shirt was riding up in front, showing his belt buckle and a little sliver of stomach, just above. Brad rose up on his knees and put his hand on Kris's belly, yanking the shirt up a little more. He drew in a sharp breath and traced the lines of definition on Kris's stomach - not a man who didn't know how to take care of his body. His gaze shifted over, and he thought he maybe saw something twitch below Kris's belt, but he had some limits, so he turned his attention back to Kris's face.
“Hey,” Brad whispered, placing his thumb on that full mouth. Kris breathed in, wet heat surrounding the tip of Brad's thumb for a moment as it got sucked in, and then he breathed out again. “Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up.”
Kris let out a sleepy little sigh, and Brad could see his hips shifting out of the corner of his eye.
Brad settled back on his heels. All his preferred ways of waking guys up - handjob, blowjob, long sweet kisses - didn't seem entirely appropriate. He snapped his fingers right in front of Kris's face and all he got from Kris was a wrinkled-up nose and a rather adorable little snort of air. He tried patting Kris's face and Kris's eyes crinkled up and, when Brad didn't stop, his hand reached out and limply batted at the air in front of his face, occasionally hitting Brad's hand with absolutely no force. When he tried shaking Kris's shoulders lightly, Kris's mouth drew together like he was tasting something bad.
The man was almost criminally cute, though apparently impossible to wake up. Seriously, Brad was about ready to go and give Adam a fucking medal for not breaking down at some point and screwing Kris blind until he gave up the straight life.
“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered, leaning in and pressing his mouth against Kris's. That had to do it. Except... Kris's lips parted sweet as sin, welcoming Brad inside without so much as a hint that Kris was stirring. And... he tasted like sugar, some kind of candy that Brad couldn't place, only the tiniest trace of night-time staleness in his mouth. Brad pushed down harder, tongue pressing inside, his fingers on Kris's chin angling Kris's face up toward him, and Kris just... gave, supple and bending toward Brad easily. With a shiver, Brad pulled back, wiping at his mouth. Kris sighed again, his brow furrowing slightly, and his mouth stayed open, red curve of his inner lip visible, and he just seemed so easy right now, like a guy could slide right into him smooth as butter. Brad was pretty fucking aware of the fact that his ex had a type and that Kris slotted right into it, so- “How the hell did he ever resist you?”
“Hmm?” And at the small sound, Brad was hopeful that Kris was actually going to wake the fuck up, but... no. He just wriggled a little on the couch, his head tipping back to expose his neck, adam's apple moving a little as he swallowed. And now Kris looked like a pin-up model. Brad sighed heavily and got to his feet, padding softly to the kitchen, where he half-filled a glass with tap water. He stood over Kris and flicked some droplets onto Kris's face. Kris's tongue licked out at the water that had collected on his tongue, but that was all. Except that now Kris's face was slightly wet, tiny drops of water slipping down sideways, adding to the porn-eske flair of the scene.
He set the glass down on the table behind him with a heavy clunk - yeah, that did nothing - and then had a brilliant idea. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, set the alarm for a minute in the future and then waited.
His ringtone blared out, and Brad winced, the noise far too loud this time of night. He fumbled it off and then glanced over at Kris, who was, yes, moving a little too much just to be shifting in his sleep.
“Adam,” Kris said, his lower lip pouting up. “Hate that song. Told you to stop using it.”
“Sugar, you've got the wrong fag,” Brad said, sitting down on the coffee table. Kris blinked, looking befuddled and still half-asleep, his hand falling down to frame his thigh as he propped himself on his elbow. Brad tried not to notice the way Kris's erection was trying to push out of his jeans. “I'll give you a hint - the other one's taller.”
Kris squinted toward him. “Brad,” he said, in a tone of great revelation. “Woah, hey, sorry. I wasn't planning on sleeping here. I was going to leave and come back again some other time but-”
“My couch just looked too inviting,” Brad said, his fingers curling around the edge of the table. “Get it all the time. It's a great couch. I've fucked many a guy right there.”
Kris made a soft, curious sound in the back of his throat, but didn't react otherwise. Brad hovered, for a moment, between honesty and the desire not to get his face punched in, and went with honesty.
“Just so you know, in my attempts to wake you up, one of the things I tried was a kiss,” he said, bracing himself without trying to look like he was doing any such thing. “But it looks like I wasn't your true love.”
“Huh,” Kris said, lifting his hand up to touch his lips for a second, his forehead crinkling. Then the corner of his mouth kicked up into a smile. “I'd ask whether I was any good or not, but I was asleep at the time, so it's not really a fair test.”
Brad relaxed, almost before he gave himself permission to, and admitted to himself that, maybe, Adam had been right about Kris being one of the good guys. The next time Adam said that Kris was the most awesome straight guy ever, Brad might even be inclined to agree with him. Once he made sure that the 'straight' label was accurate, of course.
He tilted his head and grinned at Kris happily. “So, you are here so that I can make you pretty.”
A pale pink flush blossomed on Kris's cheeks which was, hmm, interesting timing. The make-up made him vulnerable in a way that gay boys hitting on him didn't. And maybe that was the real reason that Kris was here with Brad instead of asking Adam to do him up.
Maybe he wasn't sure he could trust himself with Adam. Brad knocked the likelihood of Kris being straight down a few percentage points.
“I brought one of the pictures they sent me,” Kris said, sitting up straight on the couch - there was a messenger bag squished into the end that Brad hadn't even noticed. Kris dug through it, finally pulling out a thin folder. He held it out, not quite meeting Brad's eyes. Brad flipped open the folder and... there it was, colors so glossy that they almost looked wet.
“This is coming out in November?” Brad asked, tilting the picture toward the light so that he could see it better. Holy jumping Jesus. Kris was shirtless in the picture, wearing thin cream-colored slacks so tight they looked painted on. And, yeah, he had a pair of feathery white wings strapped to his back, and he was standing three-quarter profile. He was looking up at the camera, and he'd been caught in the middle of licking his lips, pink tongue ghosting over dark lush plum. The eyeliner was smoky and smudged, and it looked like all his visible skin had been brushed with multicolored glitter that sparkled vividly in the studio lights. The lights were focused tightly on Kris, high-contrast, almost akin to Caravaggio's paintings in how deep the blacks behind him were.
“They aren't going to be using that one,” Kris said. “They told me that when they sent it to me. It'll probably some of the-”
“-less blatant angel-porn ones?” Brad asked. “Did Adam see you in this?”
“He was getting his make-up done when they shot that one, I think,” Kris said, and Brad glanced up to see the way the skin around his eyes tightened. “He saw some of the other ones, but only from before they asked me to take my shirt off.”
“Considerate of them not to torture him that way,” Brad said. Kris blushed again, the color brighter this time. And... Brad threw 'straight' out of the running. No one looked like that when they were thinking about a guy unless they wanted to fuck him. “So, you want me to make you look like that again. Then what?”
“I don't-”
“Because I'm pretty sure that you're married,” Brad said, closing the folder and placing it carefully behind him on the table. “Now, I personally have fucked around with a lot of married guys. I roll my eyes at them and think they're hypocrites, but that's their problem. Adam is a little touchier.”
Kris leaned his elbows down against his knees, his head falling forward, just enough that he wasn't looking Brad in the face. “I don't want to hurt her,” he said, his words a quiet rumble. “She has been so strong, so supportive. And I'm supposed to reward her for that by leaving her? How can I do that?”
“There was a time,” Brad said, and he couldn't stop himself from sounding wistful, even if it was a little fucked up. “There was a time when I thought that Adam and I could just... stay the same and together, for the rest of our lives. Adam wanted to go a different way and... I couldn't go there with him. In the end, we just couldn't reach those... those broken places inside each other. Not his fault; not mine.”
“I'm sorry,” Kris said, and watching his face express his confusion was a little bit like watching a silent movie. “I don't think I understand.”
“Staying with your wife out of obligation will destroy whatever love you have for her,” Brad said, as simply as he could. “And if you're only there because you owe her, she's not really getting you anyway.”
“Do you ever regret not being with him anymore?” Kris asked, plaintive, and Brad reached forward to press a finger against that mouth again, and Kris shuddered at his touch, his lips parting in reaction. When Brad pulled his hand away, Kris swayed forward slightly before he collected himself together again and Brad wondered how different this conversation would have been if Kris weren't still hazy from sleep, if he'd gotten home before Kris had tumbled down to rest on his couch, if Brad had had less to drink.
“Two answers to that,” Brad said. “Never and every single day. Both of them are true.”
Kris chuckled, looking back down at his hands.
“I don't know what the right thing to do is,” Kris said.
“Maybe there isn't one,” Brad said. “Maybe we all just do our best.” He shrugged. “You aren't going to go anywhere tonight, so you can bunk up with me.” Kris's face wrinkled up in confusion. “Don't worry, I usually ask before I touch. And my bed's a lot more comfortable than that the couch, nice as it is. I'll do your face in the morning, and you can decide which door to choose.”
“Not like it even matters,” Kris said, his mouth twisting. “Adam's got-”
“Oh, don't worry, sugar,” Brad said, getting up and reaching his hand down toward Kris. “I have it on excellent authority that they are not exclusive yet.”
“Were you two?” Kris asked, chin tilting up as he took Brad's hand and stood.
“Yeah,” Brad said. He gave Kris's hand a gentle tug and then released it. He went over to his bathroom, starting the process of removing his make-up. Kris leaned against the doorframe, watching him casually, his gaze occasionally darting around to check out what else was in the room. Brad smirked, wondering exactly what Kris thought of it all, though he didn't ask. He shimmied out of his clothes and tossed them into the hamper, leaving only his boxer-briefs on. He turned toward the doorway and dialed his smile up to full blast. “Oh, and before you ask? I don't mind if you take some clothes off.”
Kris flushed, his hand reaching up to briefly scratch at the back of his neck, but then he backed up and reached out to his belt. He unbuckled it and slid it out of his jeans, coiling and putting it down on Brad's dresser. He pulled off his shoes and put them next to the dresser. Then he undid the button on his jeans, zipping them down and stripping them off easily. Then he actually folded them, which was cute, and placed them down, too. He crossed his arms over his chest and his face was a mixture of nerves and defiance. It would seem that Kris Allen did not like backing down from a challenge, no matter how mellow he liked to present himself.
Brad waved at the bed and Kris sank down into it, letting out a relieved huff of breath. Brad wasn't surprised - he'd told the truth; the bed really was that much more comfortable. Since neither of them were hulking or, well, Adam-sized, they fit fairly easily on Brad's bed without anything needing to touch, though Kris didn't flinch away when Brad's arm brushed against his.
Brad hadn't been far off on his assessment of Kris's state - the guy was nodding off in less than five minutes. Brad stayed awake for longer than that, propping himself up on his elbow and deciding what, exactly, he would do to Kris's face tomorrow if Kris still wanted it. Then he settled himself down to think about something else entirely, his hand slipping down to rub at his cock.
Because, really, there was no point in sending Kris off to Adam if he didn't know what to do. That was just manners.
And, whatever else he was, Brad was a good southern boy at heart.
~end~
There is now a sequel to this story: A Little Taste of Liberation