Fic: Game
Title: Game
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Word count: 2870
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sex is fun.
Warnings: Mild dubcon
Disclaimer: Pure imagination. No disrespect intended.
Game
The shop isn't as sleazy as Kris had feared--no neon or embarrassing window displays. Still, he's grateful that a lifetime of being the shortest person in the room has honed his talent for unobtrusiveness. Nothing to see here, folks, just a passing tourist stopping on a whim. Just a former American Idol wandering into Secrets (“Chicago’s Adult Playground”), practically by accident.
Inside, it’s almost disappointingly well-lit and organized. As the only customer on this Monday afternoon, he’s free to browse. Shelves of DVDs, grouped by genre, Anal to MILFs to Squirting, neat as his mom’s pantry. Racks of lingerie. Vibrators in an array of Skittles colors. Surreptitiously, he squishes a sturdy purple length through its packaging to test the claim of “LIFELIKE SILICONE.” The give is realistic, but the proportions . . . on second thought, Adam is probably bigger.
Plugs, massage oils, bondage gear. Kris lingers over the handcuffs, which range from authentic-looking chrome--they might actually be the same kind cops use, for all he knows--to glow-in-the-dark plastic. He thinks Adam might get a kick out of the plushy black ones. Something to keep in mind for next time.
Giving up, he drifts toward the checkout counter. At least the employee behind it is a guy, skinny and pierced and sort of bass-player hot. “Hi. I’m looking for that stuff that makes you, uh-- ” His waving hand motion, he’s pretty sure, clarifies nothing more than his discomfort.
Bass player guy, obviously used to interpreting shamed silence, nods in understanding. “We carry several male-enhancement supplements-- ”
“Oh, no, that’s not what I’m after. No.” Kris resists the urge to tug on his beanie until it covers his face. Before the guy can suggest a cock ring or something, he explains, “I was watching this show on the Discovery Channel, The Science of Attraction? It talked about this new super-powerful pheromone stuff.”
“Oh, right. You’re in luck. We just got that in the other day.” Bending down, the guy slides open the glass case and extracts a tiny box lettered “Ph.Desire” in gold script. “‘Unlock the potential of your own body chemistry,’” he reads off the back. “‘Become irresistible to the opposite sex.’” Is this what you’re looking for?”
“Um-- ”
Minutes later, Kris is back on the street with the correct formula in a discreetly unmarked plastic bag. He pulls off his beanie in celebration. No one accosts him for an autograph, or even gives him a second glance.
He never fails to attract Adam's attention--in the way of a shiny-wrapped present that Adam eyes with equal parts longing and doubt: For me, really? The one-ounce bottle is Kris's resounding Yes, his Happy Belated Birthday, Adam. He's going to make sure Adam finally opens him.
In the meantime, he has five days to practice being irresistible. Too late, he learns that “ultra concentrated” translates to “liquid havoc.” One innocuously clear, unscented drop on each pulse point is enough to make men rush the stage, walk into walls, and crash their cars. (Technically, there’s just the one fender-bender, but he feels awful about it.) By the time he’s got it figured out, Andrew is wearing a look of soft yearning and Keith Urban is dropping broad hints about the Jacuzzi in his hotel suite.
He already counts Jim Cantiello as a conquest--or would, if he were the conquest-counting type--but it’s unprecedented for Jim to ask, with a bold hand on his arm, “Kris, do you ever think Kradam has, well, run its course?”
“Kradam is forever, man,” Kris answers, gently but firmly.
On Saturday night, at the uncharacteristically prompt hour of seven, Kris gets the text he’s been anticipating: I’m under you right now! :)))
Grinning foolishly, he replies, Running late, can u come up? Rm 902.
He waits for the knock, then uncaps his secret weapon and applies an amount somewhere between double take and mayhem to the hollow of his throat. Showtime. He dashes to the door and flings it open, and of course Adam’s arms are already outstretched.
“Aww, I’ve missed you so m--mph!” The rest of Adam’s greeting is lost as Kris shoves his head down to give him the full impact. “Hey,” he adds in a different tone, mingled surprise and appreciation. He staggers as though Kris had tackled him, falling against the door without letting go. Kris’s weight probably knocks the breath out of him, but he doesn’t seem to need it.
Adam’s lips are as soft as they look, too soft to be kissing him like this, deep and dirty and knowing. Kris is swallowed by the joyful terror of someone who’s reached the front of the line for Space Mountain: Can I really handle this much excitement? Their tongues slide together, and Adam bends him back, hungry, and God, yes, Kris wants to ride.
“Well, hello.” Adam surfaces to bestow a blurry, radiant smile on him. “Wow. Did the earth just literally move?”
“Oh, yeah. Wait--literally?”
“Room’s spinning,” Adam confirms. “Need to lie down. Not just saying that to get you horizontal.” His naughtiest laugh bubbles out as he manhandles Kris toward the bed. Halfway there, his knees buckle, and Kris ends up more or less carrying him the rest of the way.
“Still kinda dizzy,” Adam notes, clearly more concerned with getting Kris out of his shirt.
“Adam, hang on a minute.” Kris twists away and pats Adam’s forehead. No fever, but Adam’s besotted, sloppy-drunk stare is far from reassuring.
“So pretty, Kris. Why are you so pretty?”
Kris's misgivings are rapidly turning to panic. “I think you’re sick.”
“No, I feel amazing. Stop talking, though, ’kay?” Pouncing clumsily, Adam starts devouring him all over again.
There’s no way this is remotely ethical. I roofied my best friend, shit! Kris struggles to throw Adam off, overriding the incredulous protests of his own body. Adam only grinds against him and moans in enjoyment of the new game. They’re evenly matched in strength, but Adam is bigger and heavier and unhampered by ambivalence.
“You don’t really want this,” Kris pleads, valiantly ignoring the considerable evidence to the contrary. “It’s this pheromone crap I put on. You must be, like, allergic to it. The most Cale and Andrew ever did was try to carry my guitar for me!”
“I’m going to tune your guitar for you, Kris.”
“What does that even mean? Stop!”
Adam lifts his mouth from Kris’s right nipple. “It’s OK,” he says soothingly. “Pheromones don’t really work. I read that somewhere.”
“You’re legit trying to rub off against my thigh,” Kris points out, desperate.
“Tell you what. I’ll put some on too.” Adam beams at his own inebriated brilliance. “Then we’ll be square, right?”
Kris seizes the opening. “Sure, let’s do that.” Once they’ve gotten some distance between them, maybe he won’t be quite so irresistible. He can pretend to have forgotten where he put the bottle, and eventually the effect will wear off. He’ll apologize, and with luck Adam will someday forgive him and kiss him again.
Adam heaves himself off the bed with all the grace of an overturned beetle and goes unerringly to Kris’s messenger bag, slouched on the small computer desk. He delves into the hidden pocket where Kris keeps his Twizzlers and weed. “Why do you have condoms and lube in here?” he demands, tragic. “If you wanted sex, you could’ve called me. Anytime.”
“They’re for us. Were for us. Back when this was a good idea.” Resigned, Kris watches Adam open the pheromone bottle and take a sniff. “Just a tiny drop!” he cautions. He doubts he can spare any more blood to his dick. And since this is apparently going to happen, he doesn’t want to come before he gets his pants off.
At least Adam is steadier on his feet. Slinking across the room, he dumps all twelve condom packets and the tube of lube on the bed. He pulls his shirt over his head, doing pornographic things for his arms in the process, then pouts at Kris’s doomed expression. “You’re not one of those people who gets all serious during sex, are you? Sex is fun.”
“Yeah,” Kris says automatically, distracted by the tactile possibilities of pierced nipples. “I mean, yeah, I suck in bed. Just ask Katy.”
“Oh, good one. Mentioning the ex. That would be a real bonerkiller for someone who hasn't been hard for you for the past year and a half.” Adam gets rid of his boots, and his rings, and his belt, and . . . Screw it, Kris thinks, that zipper couldn’t have held out much longer anyway. “You feeling anything yet?”
Kris does his best to focus on his physical response and deliver a coherent report. “Wanna touch.”
Adam chuckles. “It’s like wasabi. A big head rush at first, then a mild buzz.”
“Big,” Kris repeats. So this is karma. It’s not bad at all, actually. If close is this intense, what’s inside going to be like?
“You know, you could’ve just asked me out on a date.” Adam is wrestling Kris’s jeans down his legs, leaving him naked, and now all of Adam is pressed up against all of him, and he’s tempted to cry, it’s so much of what he craves. Solidity and warmth, and ah, Adam’s ass, proof of perfection in his kneading hands.
“Sent me a text,” Adam continues, between kisses. “Let’s fuck. Or the Kris equivalent. You didn’t have to get me high.”
“I wanted you to make the first move. Uh, aggressively.” Kris hides his face against Adam’s neck. While he’s there, he decides he might as well lick it.
“Mmm. So you don’t want to switch it up? I totally would, for you.”
Kris’s eyes roll back in his head at the proposition, something he hasn’t really considered. Much. “Can we do that later? I need you to fuck me--see, I can say fuck. Even though that's going to be against the laws of physics or something.”
“Breaking the law feels good.”
Kris is ready to commit a felony or two, even though it’s so easy to just kiss and kiss and breathe Adam through his skin. “Keep squirming like that if you want my cock in your ass right now,” Adam warns, his filter truly history.
Kris keeps squirming. “That’s the idea, yeah.” The smooth head is so much bigger than necessary for the job of opening him up, but if Adam would just push a little . . .
“No, Kris.”
“Just try it!”
Adam forcibly unwinds Kris’s legs from around his waist. “You’re going to do it yourself, and I’m going to watch.” He grabs the lube and squirts a generous dollop into Kris’s palm. “Next time, get something thicker. But we can work with this.”
“It’s hot that you know stuff,” Kris mumbles, obediently sliding his dripping fingers behind his balls to press in.
“That’s what’s hot,” Adam breathes. “Start with one, though.”
“I have done this before. Myself,” he specifies, at Adam’s dangerous frown. He may not know a rising sign from an A flat, but he recognizes an Aries moon when he sees one. The jealous light fades to an avid glow as Kris gets really into it, thrusting, needing more of the stretch. His lips part and his hips buck helplessly, and Adam swears softly and takes hold of his cock, jerking him until he’s incoherent.
Adam rolls on the condom without looking. Kris is looking. “Weird,” he says, sounding profoundly stoned to his own ears. “I’ve used those things for years, and now I’m going to . . . feel one.”
“Mostly you’re going to feel me.”
An understatement. It doesn’t hurt; it’s just really . . . there. Adam reaches down to where his cock is sunk deep in Kris, with an air of not quite believing it. He throws his head back like he’s doing a shot. “Ohh . . . ”
“Adam, fuck me,” Kris prompts, meaning Adam, take me. Adam indulges him on both counts, pinning his arms above his head, marking him with little sucking bites, and murmuring filthy things about how tight Kris is and how Kris is going to feel him for hours after they’re done, interspersed with sappy things about how gorgeous Kris is, how perfect in every way. “Maybe I’ll come on your beautiful face,” he pants, plunging into Kris now. “Would you like that?”
Kris can’t even get out a yes, too caught up in the inevitable, too busy succumbing, his muscles tightening around Adam's cock. There’s a split second of wonder that his body knows what to do and fits Adam’s so well. Then only the clenching bursts of pleasure, and Adam coming inside him after all, his voice breaking on Kris’s name.
“Do you think we should seek medical attention, like the ads say?” Adam wonders aloud a little later, when it becomes clear that the normal refractory period doesn’t apply. Judging by his purposeful grip on Kris’s unflagging erection, he’s not too worried.
“Isn’t that for Viagra?” Kris can’t think with Adam smearing his fingers through the pool of come on his belly and sliding them, slow and slippery, up and down the length of his cock. “And after four hours!” he remembers, as Adam bends to taste. “I think we’ll be-- Oh. OK.” Besides, he has no intention of dying without having Adam under him first.
Or astride him, as it turns out. Showing off the lower-back action that makes audiences scream, a deep, rolling motion that fulfills, well, every inch of its promise and lifts him off Kris almost completely before he sinks back down. Licking at two wet fingertips, eyes gleaming.
Enough is enough. “On your back, Lambert.”
The wicked curve of Adam’s mouth turns sulky, but he complies. Kris hardens his heart as he positions himself between Adam’s thighs. Even in his eagerness, he has to pause to stroke the tender skin there, so soft even on a guy, deserving of worship.
“Just stick it in,” his beloved says, cross. “You’re not fucking a girl here.”
Kris would kiss that protruding lower lip if his cock weren’t demanding non-medical attention. “C’mon,” he cajoles, lining up. “You don’t really think that’s how it works, do you?”
“Of course not. I’m being a dick, can’t you tell?” The offended tone implies that Kris should apologize. Maybe he should, for pushing Adam outside his comfort zone.
“Let’s switch it up for real,” he says instead. “Nothing wrong with wanting it like this.” Because he can see the sarcastic retort forming in Adam’s head, he adds, “It’s just me.”
“Kris,” Adam agrees with a sigh, suddenly past all resistance, just as Kris is past the initial resistance of his body.
It’s a bit like learning to drive: maintain a constant speed, steer into the right spot, don’t come. Most important of all, hold Adam’s shining gaze and watch him take it. He wants to cancel the rest of the tour and devote himself to putting that look of bliss on Adam’s face. He wants to keep going like this, lazy, but it really is that tight, and God, so hot, and soon he’s shoving in faster and it’s not enough.
With a startled-sounding gasp, Adam reaches for his cock--how could Kris have forgotten that?--and pulls roughly. His eyes slam shut and now it’s impossibly tighter, a squeeze Kris can barely push through, and Kris knows exactly what Adam is feeling, the shape and hardness of Kris inside him.
“Adam-- ” Kris falls on him, skin slipping against skin, smell of sex hitting him in primal places, Adam squeezing him again, deliberately this time, and urging him on, breathless and sweet.
“So I guess you’ve been watching the Discovery Channel again,” Adam says, after they’ve cleaned up and drunk all the water in the minibar. Wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, he looks cuddly and comfortingly sober. Kris is back to normal himself except for a lingering wobbliness, which he attributes to coming so hard he nearly passed out.
“Guilty as charged.” He hopes he sounds more sheepish than smug. “Are you sure you’re not mad? About the getting-you-high thing?”
“Nah.” Adam settles against Kris’s chest and lets Kris pet his damp hair. “Better than that time you watched the show about intestinal parasites and kept talking about it while we were eating.” He nuzzles Kris’s ribs. “I’m going to confiscate your little bottle, though. It’s not fair to make boys fall in love with you. I already was, so that’s all right,” he adds, so offhandedly that there’s a sort of tape delay before the impact of the words reaches Kris.
“More importantly,” Adam finishes, “I don’t share.” He raises his head, and there it is again, that looming moon. Kris doesn’t need a dose of pheromones to find it persuasive. Adam will always knock him off balance, he thinks, with his unconscious trick of being both soft and not.
Adam is quick to realize he’s turned a key in a lock. Smiling, he shrugs out of the robe, and Kris surrenders to his fate.
And yeah, he’s definitely going to buy the handcuffs next time.
--End--
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Word count: 2870
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sex is fun.
Warnings: Mild dubcon
Disclaimer: Pure imagination. No disrespect intended.
Game
The shop isn't as sleazy as Kris had feared--no neon or embarrassing window displays. Still, he's grateful that a lifetime of being the shortest person in the room has honed his talent for unobtrusiveness. Nothing to see here, folks, just a passing tourist stopping on a whim. Just a former American Idol wandering into Secrets (“Chicago’s Adult Playground”), practically by accident.
Inside, it’s almost disappointingly well-lit and organized. As the only customer on this Monday afternoon, he’s free to browse. Shelves of DVDs, grouped by genre, Anal to MILFs to Squirting, neat as his mom’s pantry. Racks of lingerie. Vibrators in an array of Skittles colors. Surreptitiously, he squishes a sturdy purple length through its packaging to test the claim of “LIFELIKE SILICONE.” The give is realistic, but the proportions . . . on second thought, Adam is probably bigger.
Plugs, massage oils, bondage gear. Kris lingers over the handcuffs, which range from authentic-looking chrome--they might actually be the same kind cops use, for all he knows--to glow-in-the-dark plastic. He thinks Adam might get a kick out of the plushy black ones. Something to keep in mind for next time.
Giving up, he drifts toward the checkout counter. At least the employee behind it is a guy, skinny and pierced and sort of bass-player hot. “Hi. I’m looking for that stuff that makes you, uh-- ” His waving hand motion, he’s pretty sure, clarifies nothing more than his discomfort.
Bass player guy, obviously used to interpreting shamed silence, nods in understanding. “We carry several male-enhancement supplements-- ”
“Oh, no, that’s not what I’m after. No.” Kris resists the urge to tug on his beanie until it covers his face. Before the guy can suggest a cock ring or something, he explains, “I was watching this show on the Discovery Channel, The Science of Attraction? It talked about this new super-powerful pheromone stuff.”
“Oh, right. You’re in luck. We just got that in the other day.” Bending down, the guy slides open the glass case and extracts a tiny box lettered “Ph.Desire” in gold script. “‘Unlock the potential of your own body chemistry,’” he reads off the back. “‘Become irresistible to the opposite sex.’” Is this what you’re looking for?”
“Um-- ”
Minutes later, Kris is back on the street with the correct formula in a discreetly unmarked plastic bag. He pulls off his beanie in celebration. No one accosts him for an autograph, or even gives him a second glance.
He never fails to attract Adam's attention--in the way of a shiny-wrapped present that Adam eyes with equal parts longing and doubt: For me, really? The one-ounce bottle is Kris's resounding Yes, his Happy Belated Birthday, Adam. He's going to make sure Adam finally opens him.
In the meantime, he has five days to practice being irresistible. Too late, he learns that “ultra concentrated” translates to “liquid havoc.” One innocuously clear, unscented drop on each pulse point is enough to make men rush the stage, walk into walls, and crash their cars. (Technically, there’s just the one fender-bender, but he feels awful about it.) By the time he’s got it figured out, Andrew is wearing a look of soft yearning and Keith Urban is dropping broad hints about the Jacuzzi in his hotel suite.
He already counts Jim Cantiello as a conquest--or would, if he were the conquest-counting type--but it’s unprecedented for Jim to ask, with a bold hand on his arm, “Kris, do you ever think Kradam has, well, run its course?”
“Kradam is forever, man,” Kris answers, gently but firmly.
On Saturday night, at the uncharacteristically prompt hour of seven, Kris gets the text he’s been anticipating: I’m under you right now! :)))
Grinning foolishly, he replies, Running late, can u come up? Rm 902.
He waits for the knock, then uncaps his secret weapon and applies an amount somewhere between double take and mayhem to the hollow of his throat. Showtime. He dashes to the door and flings it open, and of course Adam’s arms are already outstretched.
“Aww, I’ve missed you so m--mph!” The rest of Adam’s greeting is lost as Kris shoves his head down to give him the full impact. “Hey,” he adds in a different tone, mingled surprise and appreciation. He staggers as though Kris had tackled him, falling against the door without letting go. Kris’s weight probably knocks the breath out of him, but he doesn’t seem to need it.
Adam’s lips are as soft as they look, too soft to be kissing him like this, deep and dirty and knowing. Kris is swallowed by the joyful terror of someone who’s reached the front of the line for Space Mountain: Can I really handle this much excitement? Their tongues slide together, and Adam bends him back, hungry, and God, yes, Kris wants to ride.
“Well, hello.” Adam surfaces to bestow a blurry, radiant smile on him. “Wow. Did the earth just literally move?”
“Oh, yeah. Wait--literally?”
“Room’s spinning,” Adam confirms. “Need to lie down. Not just saying that to get you horizontal.” His naughtiest laugh bubbles out as he manhandles Kris toward the bed. Halfway there, his knees buckle, and Kris ends up more or less carrying him the rest of the way.
“Still kinda dizzy,” Adam notes, clearly more concerned with getting Kris out of his shirt.
“Adam, hang on a minute.” Kris twists away and pats Adam’s forehead. No fever, but Adam’s besotted, sloppy-drunk stare is far from reassuring.
“So pretty, Kris. Why are you so pretty?”
Kris's misgivings are rapidly turning to panic. “I think you’re sick.”
“No, I feel amazing. Stop talking, though, ’kay?” Pouncing clumsily, Adam starts devouring him all over again.
There’s no way this is remotely ethical. I roofied my best friend, shit! Kris struggles to throw Adam off, overriding the incredulous protests of his own body. Adam only grinds against him and moans in enjoyment of the new game. They’re evenly matched in strength, but Adam is bigger and heavier and unhampered by ambivalence.
“You don’t really want this,” Kris pleads, valiantly ignoring the considerable evidence to the contrary. “It’s this pheromone crap I put on. You must be, like, allergic to it. The most Cale and Andrew ever did was try to carry my guitar for me!”
“I’m going to tune your guitar for you, Kris.”
“What does that even mean? Stop!”
Adam lifts his mouth from Kris’s right nipple. “It’s OK,” he says soothingly. “Pheromones don’t really work. I read that somewhere.”
“You’re legit trying to rub off against my thigh,” Kris points out, desperate.
“Tell you what. I’ll put some on too.” Adam beams at his own inebriated brilliance. “Then we’ll be square, right?”
Kris seizes the opening. “Sure, let’s do that.” Once they’ve gotten some distance between them, maybe he won’t be quite so irresistible. He can pretend to have forgotten where he put the bottle, and eventually the effect will wear off. He’ll apologize, and with luck Adam will someday forgive him and kiss him again.
Adam heaves himself off the bed with all the grace of an overturned beetle and goes unerringly to Kris’s messenger bag, slouched on the small computer desk. He delves into the hidden pocket where Kris keeps his Twizzlers and weed. “Why do you have condoms and lube in here?” he demands, tragic. “If you wanted sex, you could’ve called me. Anytime.”
“They’re for us. Were for us. Back when this was a good idea.” Resigned, Kris watches Adam open the pheromone bottle and take a sniff. “Just a tiny drop!” he cautions. He doubts he can spare any more blood to his dick. And since this is apparently going to happen, he doesn’t want to come before he gets his pants off.
At least Adam is steadier on his feet. Slinking across the room, he dumps all twelve condom packets and the tube of lube on the bed. He pulls his shirt over his head, doing pornographic things for his arms in the process, then pouts at Kris’s doomed expression. “You’re not one of those people who gets all serious during sex, are you? Sex is fun.”
“Yeah,” Kris says automatically, distracted by the tactile possibilities of pierced nipples. “I mean, yeah, I suck in bed. Just ask Katy.”
“Oh, good one. Mentioning the ex. That would be a real bonerkiller for someone who hasn't been hard for you for the past year and a half.” Adam gets rid of his boots, and his rings, and his belt, and . . . Screw it, Kris thinks, that zipper couldn’t have held out much longer anyway. “You feeling anything yet?”
Kris does his best to focus on his physical response and deliver a coherent report. “Wanna touch.”
Adam chuckles. “It’s like wasabi. A big head rush at first, then a mild buzz.”
“Big,” Kris repeats. So this is karma. It’s not bad at all, actually. If close is this intense, what’s inside going to be like?
“You know, you could’ve just asked me out on a date.” Adam is wrestling Kris’s jeans down his legs, leaving him naked, and now all of Adam is pressed up against all of him, and he’s tempted to cry, it’s so much of what he craves. Solidity and warmth, and ah, Adam’s ass, proof of perfection in his kneading hands.
“Sent me a text,” Adam continues, between kisses. “Let’s fuck. Or the Kris equivalent. You didn’t have to get me high.”
“I wanted you to make the first move. Uh, aggressively.” Kris hides his face against Adam’s neck. While he’s there, he decides he might as well lick it.
“Mmm. So you don’t want to switch it up? I totally would, for you.”
Kris’s eyes roll back in his head at the proposition, something he hasn’t really considered. Much. “Can we do that later? I need you to fuck me--see, I can say fuck. Even though that's going to be against the laws of physics or something.”
“Breaking the law feels good.”
Kris is ready to commit a felony or two, even though it’s so easy to just kiss and kiss and breathe Adam through his skin. “Keep squirming like that if you want my cock in your ass right now,” Adam warns, his filter truly history.
Kris keeps squirming. “That’s the idea, yeah.” The smooth head is so much bigger than necessary for the job of opening him up, but if Adam would just push a little . . .
“No, Kris.”
“Just try it!”
Adam forcibly unwinds Kris’s legs from around his waist. “You’re going to do it yourself, and I’m going to watch.” He grabs the lube and squirts a generous dollop into Kris’s palm. “Next time, get something thicker. But we can work with this.”
“It’s hot that you know stuff,” Kris mumbles, obediently sliding his dripping fingers behind his balls to press in.
“That’s what’s hot,” Adam breathes. “Start with one, though.”
“I have done this before. Myself,” he specifies, at Adam’s dangerous frown. He may not know a rising sign from an A flat, but he recognizes an Aries moon when he sees one. The jealous light fades to an avid glow as Kris gets really into it, thrusting, needing more of the stretch. His lips part and his hips buck helplessly, and Adam swears softly and takes hold of his cock, jerking him until he’s incoherent.
Adam rolls on the condom without looking. Kris is looking. “Weird,” he says, sounding profoundly stoned to his own ears. “I’ve used those things for years, and now I’m going to . . . feel one.”
“Mostly you’re going to feel me.”
An understatement. It doesn’t hurt; it’s just really . . . there. Adam reaches down to where his cock is sunk deep in Kris, with an air of not quite believing it. He throws his head back like he’s doing a shot. “Ohh . . . ”
“Adam, fuck me,” Kris prompts, meaning Adam, take me. Adam indulges him on both counts, pinning his arms above his head, marking him with little sucking bites, and murmuring filthy things about how tight Kris is and how Kris is going to feel him for hours after they’re done, interspersed with sappy things about how gorgeous Kris is, how perfect in every way. “Maybe I’ll come on your beautiful face,” he pants, plunging into Kris now. “Would you like that?”
Kris can’t even get out a yes, too caught up in the inevitable, too busy succumbing, his muscles tightening around Adam's cock. There’s a split second of wonder that his body knows what to do and fits Adam’s so well. Then only the clenching bursts of pleasure, and Adam coming inside him after all, his voice breaking on Kris’s name.
“Do you think we should seek medical attention, like the ads say?” Adam wonders aloud a little later, when it becomes clear that the normal refractory period doesn’t apply. Judging by his purposeful grip on Kris’s unflagging erection, he’s not too worried.
“Isn’t that for Viagra?” Kris can’t think with Adam smearing his fingers through the pool of come on his belly and sliding them, slow and slippery, up and down the length of his cock. “And after four hours!” he remembers, as Adam bends to taste. “I think we’ll be-- Oh. OK.” Besides, he has no intention of dying without having Adam under him first.
Or astride him, as it turns out. Showing off the lower-back action that makes audiences scream, a deep, rolling motion that fulfills, well, every inch of its promise and lifts him off Kris almost completely before he sinks back down. Licking at two wet fingertips, eyes gleaming.
Enough is enough. “On your back, Lambert.”
The wicked curve of Adam’s mouth turns sulky, but he complies. Kris hardens his heart as he positions himself between Adam’s thighs. Even in his eagerness, he has to pause to stroke the tender skin there, so soft even on a guy, deserving of worship.
“Just stick it in,” his beloved says, cross. “You’re not fucking a girl here.”
Kris would kiss that protruding lower lip if his cock weren’t demanding non-medical attention. “C’mon,” he cajoles, lining up. “You don’t really think that’s how it works, do you?”
“Of course not. I’m being a dick, can’t you tell?” The offended tone implies that Kris should apologize. Maybe he should, for pushing Adam outside his comfort zone.
“Let’s switch it up for real,” he says instead. “Nothing wrong with wanting it like this.” Because he can see the sarcastic retort forming in Adam’s head, he adds, “It’s just me.”
“Kris,” Adam agrees with a sigh, suddenly past all resistance, just as Kris is past the initial resistance of his body.
It’s a bit like learning to drive: maintain a constant speed, steer into the right spot, don’t come. Most important of all, hold Adam’s shining gaze and watch him take it. He wants to cancel the rest of the tour and devote himself to putting that look of bliss on Adam’s face. He wants to keep going like this, lazy, but it really is that tight, and God, so hot, and soon he’s shoving in faster and it’s not enough.
With a startled-sounding gasp, Adam reaches for his cock--how could Kris have forgotten that?--and pulls roughly. His eyes slam shut and now it’s impossibly tighter, a squeeze Kris can barely push through, and Kris knows exactly what Adam is feeling, the shape and hardness of Kris inside him.
“Adam-- ” Kris falls on him, skin slipping against skin, smell of sex hitting him in primal places, Adam squeezing him again, deliberately this time, and urging him on, breathless and sweet.
“So I guess you’ve been watching the Discovery Channel again,” Adam says, after they’ve cleaned up and drunk all the water in the minibar. Wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, he looks cuddly and comfortingly sober. Kris is back to normal himself except for a lingering wobbliness, which he attributes to coming so hard he nearly passed out.
“Guilty as charged.” He hopes he sounds more sheepish than smug. “Are you sure you’re not mad? About the getting-you-high thing?”
“Nah.” Adam settles against Kris’s chest and lets Kris pet his damp hair. “Better than that time you watched the show about intestinal parasites and kept talking about it while we were eating.” He nuzzles Kris’s ribs. “I’m going to confiscate your little bottle, though. It’s not fair to make boys fall in love with you. I already was, so that’s all right,” he adds, so offhandedly that there’s a sort of tape delay before the impact of the words reaches Kris.
“More importantly,” Adam finishes, “I don’t share.” He raises his head, and there it is again, that looming moon. Kris doesn’t need a dose of pheromones to find it persuasive. Adam will always knock him off balance, he thinks, with his unconscious trick of being both soft and not.
Adam is quick to realize he’s turned a key in a lock. Smiling, he shrugs out of the robe, and Kris surrenders to his fate.
And yeah, he’s definitely going to buy the handcuffs next time.
--End--