Fic: Collaboration, or "Atom Bombs and Creamy Goodness"
Fic: Collaboration, or “Atom Bombs and Creamy Goodness”
Fiction (700 words - only a little fantasy!).
Rating: NC-17
Tags: Adam & Kris, explicit, adult
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are real people, they own themselves. These situations are all fiction.
Summary: Kris discovers how much he enjoys sensory stimulation.
Author notes: Idea for start of this little piece was sparked by a post in this community, at http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/338464.html#cutid1 in which it looks as though Adam is fondling Kris’s neck while Danny Gokey is giving his final performance after the top two reveal.
Alone. Him, Adam. Final two. No more Gokey. Danny’s last hurrah. “You are so beautiful.” Kind of nice, even with Gokey singing. Their arms are around each other stage left. Like always. Then a shiver, as Adam fondles his face, his neck. They are being watched around the world on TV, and all eyes are probably not on Danny. Shit.
It’s like they read each other’s thoughts, because Adam gives an “oh, shit” look too and steps a foot away. Please let the cameras be focused close on Gokey, Kris thinks. We’ve been too discreet, for too long, to mess up now.
Their goal is met. They’ve talked about it so much. Top two, together. Then, no matter what, they’re both winners. More than famous. More than discovered as musicians. Delighted possessors of a humongous mansion to themselves for a week.
It’s been torture. First, discovery. Adams feels about him the same as he feels about Adam. Then, disappointment. “You get your own room now. No need to be roomies.”
No choice. Move, or admit.
Tomorrow, things change. Gokey packs his stuff and goes bye, bye. Hit the road, Jack. Good riddance. Don’t let the door hit you. Don’t come back.
_____
Kris has waited too long. He doesn’t want to miss a thing. Cheesy Aerosmith number pounds in his head. Never liked that song before, but takes its advice. Experience it all, fully, sensually. Kris loves his senses. He once tried to answer the question, if you had to lose a sense, which one would you choose? Couldn’t answer. How can an artist answer something like that? What sense can you do without to live an event to its fullest? Not one.
_____
See. See Adam take Kris's suitcase, bring it back into their room. See Adam stepping toward him, arms outstretched. Watch those eyes light up. Kris has been loving on those eyes with his own when he could do nothing else.
Feel. Feel the softness of Adam’s lips on his. Feel his tongue, every ridge and bump, pressing into his mouth. Pressing easy, tantalizing. Becoming harder, more urgent. Feel his own response, blood pumping, cock hardening, straining to be let free of clothing restraints. Feel Adam’s hands, untucking his shirt, unsnapping his jeans, sliding those clothes off. Tossing them into a heap.
Hear. Hear Adam’s ragged breathing. Hear Adam moan into his ear, whispering, “baby, baby, how I want you.” Hear himself speak, barely audible. “It’s been torture.” Hear his own gasp when Adam takes his ear the way he took his mouth. Little breaths, soft tongue, gentle earlobe nibbles. Ears as erogenous zones.
Smell. Take in Adam’s scent, nose pressed into Adam’s chest. Earthy. Sweet. He is a crackling wood fire and warm chocolate chip cookies. He is pheromones and wild flowers. He’s fresh linens and morning dew. He smells like love. Kris pushes him down, onto the bed. He takes in the smells as he takes off Adam’s clothes. Nuzzling his way down to rock-hard cock.
Taste. Oh, to taste! Kris’s mouth, teasingly taking Adam’s balls into his mouth. Tongue, licking lightly, up and down the underside of Adam’s hardened length before taking possession. Kris thinks of popsicles on a hot day, of ice cream cones melting too fast, dripping creamy goodness all over him. Karamel Sutra, anyone?
The world speeds up. Kris’s senses are like one sense, taking it all in, data dump, sensory overload.
Seeing. Adam rolling over. Adam’s sweet ass, lifted up for him.
Hearing. Moans of pleasure. Requests for more. “Bang me, sweetie. Bang me good.”
Feeling. Adam’s hole, tight on his cock, squeezing him. Riding Adam, in and out, in and out, holding onto his hair and tugging. Feeling his own explosion. Dynamite. C-4. Atom bomb.
Smelling. Bodies together, sweat and cologne mingling.
Tasting. Tongues lapping up the leftovers - saliva and cum and tears. Sweet and salty tears.
Lying in Adam’s arms, deep, satisfied sighs escape his lungs. Kris suddenly wants to write a song. He likes the sound of “Atom bombs and creamy goodness.” Perhaps they can collaborate. It’s about sensory overload, and he has a good start. Of course, it will take more collaboration to make it perfect. Lots and lots more.