American Idol Ficlet: Phonatory
This ficlet is for cosmic, enjoy bb.
Phonatory - American Idol - Kris Allen/Adam Lambert - R - 358 words
Prompt: Sore throat.
“Hello, Adam?”
For three whole seconds Adam doesn’t actually recognise the person at the other end of the line. Then it clicks. “...Kris?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Kris rasps. He sounds like gravel over honey.
“What the hell happened to your voice?” Adam slouches down, his legs falling open on their own accord. Usually that doesn’t happen until good twenty minutes into a conversation. Adam glares at them, betrayed.
“A cold,” Kris answers thickly. “Good thing I’m not touring or recording right now.”
Adam squirms a little, the uncomfortable mixture of sympathy and arousal making him blurt out the first thing that comes to mind: “You sound like you should be working on a sex line, Allen.”
Kris laughs, low and rough, and fuck if that doesn’t go straight to Adam’s traitorous dick.
“Is that so? I wouldn’t know anything about that so I’m going to have to rely on your expertise here.”
Kris’s Southern twang is creeping in and Adam’s pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, the fucker.
“I guess I could tell you what I’m wearing?” Kris offers.
“Oh yeah, ‘cos plaid gets me soooo hot.” He tries to make it light, playful, but his fingers are digging into his own thighs, grip painfully tight with the need to hold onto something, anything.
“Don’t lie, I know it does,” Kris retorts without missing a beat, voice oddly serious. “On me it does.”
Adam swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “Kris, what...?”
But Kris isn’t done. “Or maybe I should ask what you want me to wear? Is that how it goes, Adam? You tell me what you want me to do and then I beg to do it?” The words are strained, each syllable clearly grating his throat raw as Kris forces them out.
Adam can’t help himself; he’s already imagining what else would make Kris’s voice sound like this, hoarse and used.
And it’s not like the answer’s a secret, never been, just something they don’t talk about. Until apparently now.
“Yes. Fuck, yes,” Adam says, his own voice breaking on the admission.
“Yeah,” Kris says. He sounds like he’s smiling, slow and satisfied. “Thought so.”
Phonatory - American Idol - Kris Allen/Adam Lambert - R - 358 words
Prompt: Sore throat.
“Hello, Adam?”
For three whole seconds Adam doesn’t actually recognise the person at the other end of the line. Then it clicks. “...Kris?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Kris rasps. He sounds like gravel over honey.
“What the hell happened to your voice?” Adam slouches down, his legs falling open on their own accord. Usually that doesn’t happen until good twenty minutes into a conversation. Adam glares at them, betrayed.
“A cold,” Kris answers thickly. “Good thing I’m not touring or recording right now.”
Adam squirms a little, the uncomfortable mixture of sympathy and arousal making him blurt out the first thing that comes to mind: “You sound like you should be working on a sex line, Allen.”
Kris laughs, low and rough, and fuck if that doesn’t go straight to Adam’s traitorous dick.
“Is that so? I wouldn’t know anything about that so I’m going to have to rely on your expertise here.”
Kris’s Southern twang is creeping in and Adam’s pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, the fucker.
“I guess I could tell you what I’m wearing?” Kris offers.
“Oh yeah, ‘cos plaid gets me soooo hot.” He tries to make it light, playful, but his fingers are digging into his own thighs, grip painfully tight with the need to hold onto something, anything.
“Don’t lie, I know it does,” Kris retorts without missing a beat, voice oddly serious. “On me it does.”
Adam swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “Kris, what...?”
But Kris isn’t done. “Or maybe I should ask what you want me to wear? Is that how it goes, Adam? You tell me what you want me to do and then I beg to do it?” The words are strained, each syllable clearly grating his throat raw as Kris forces them out.
Adam can’t help himself; he’s already imagining what else would make Kris’s voice sound like this, hoarse and used.
And it’s not like the answer’s a secret, never been, just something they don’t talk about. Until apparently now.
“Yes. Fuck, yes,” Adam says, his own voice breaking on the admission.
“Yeah,” Kris says. He sounds like he’s smiling, slow and satisfied. “Thought so.”