[Fic] Krale -- Northern Lights & Southern Comfort (PG-13)
Title: Northern Lights & Southern Comfort
Fandom: American Idol
Pairing: Kris Allen/Cale Mills
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 500
Summary: Five drabbles based on the five senses.
Notes: Unbeta’d. For the krale4real challenge.
Hear
The blaring of a car horn sends Kris jogging across the intersection when he has the nerve to step out in front of the turning vehicle. “You’re slow,” he mutters when Cale catches up after allowing the yellow cab to turn.
“You’re oblivious,” Cale replies under his breath as he blows on his chilled hands.
“So?” Kris cracks a lopsided smirk.
“I felt like stating the obvious,” Cale deadpans.
Kris ‘s green jacket flaps open and some change jangles in his pockets as he turns to hop backward on the sidewalk.
Shaking his head, Cale sighs. “You’re cold, aren’t you?”
Smell
Kris stops, teetering on his feet. “I know how to get warm.”
Cale is dubious. He doesn’t know what Kris is suggesting. A part of him hopes that Kris is suggesting a hug or arm linking or something else childishly innocent. That hope is dashed when Kris proffers a small flask.
“You can’t-“ is all Cale can get out before Kris is opening the flask on the lightly trafficked street of New York. “Is it hot chocolate, again?”
“Nope.”
Kris passes over the flask, which Cale waves under his nose. The sickly sweet scent masking the alcohol is undeniable.
Taste
“Close enough,” Cale says quietly before taking a swig from the silver flask. He winces, not from the burn, but the awful, memory-filled taste. He takes a second swig and swallows slowly. He can feel it warm every inch of his throat, his chest, his stomach. It cuts the chill of the Big City night air.
Kris is grinning when Cale hands back the flask. “Desperate times, huh?”
“I don’t hate it that much, Kris.”
It’s Kris’s turn to be dubious as he tips the flask for his own drink. It’s long and Kris coughs afterward. “Tastes like sophomore year.”
Touch
Cale shudders; he too is recalling the questionable haze that was their sophomore year at UCA.
Continuing down the street, Cale catches Kris and turns him around to walk. Cale keeps an arm loosely around Kris’s shoulders. “Stop talkin’ and keep walkin’,” he says, sucking lightly on his bottom lip to swallow away the taste of the Southern Comfort.
Kris stumbles, at first, as he closes and shoves away the flask, but then his hands are in his pockets. His fluffy head brushes the armpit of Cale’s jacket. Cale bristles, but loosens up when Kris smiles, sidelong, up to him.
See
Breathing-in deeply, Cale squints at the street signs they pass. He’s made a map in his head to get back to the hotel once Kris has walked out all of this pent up, anxious energy.
“This place is real pretty,” Kris suddenly drawls out.
Cale pauses at the stop light to look around them. There are lights and traffic for days down the street they’ve happened upon. It reminds him of the main drag at school, but multiplied by about a thousand percent.
“Yeah,” Cale replies quietly, hugging a shivering Kris close to his side, “but it sure isn’t home.”
Fandom: American Idol
Pairing: Kris Allen/Cale Mills
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 500
Summary: Five drabbles based on the five senses.
Notes: Unbeta’d. For the krale4real challenge.
Hear
The blaring of a car horn sends Kris jogging across the intersection when he has the nerve to step out in front of the turning vehicle. “You’re slow,” he mutters when Cale catches up after allowing the yellow cab to turn.
“You’re oblivious,” Cale replies under his breath as he blows on his chilled hands.
“So?” Kris cracks a lopsided smirk.
“I felt like stating the obvious,” Cale deadpans.
Kris ‘s green jacket flaps open and some change jangles in his pockets as he turns to hop backward on the sidewalk.
Shaking his head, Cale sighs. “You’re cold, aren’t you?”
Smell
Kris stops, teetering on his feet. “I know how to get warm.”
Cale is dubious. He doesn’t know what Kris is suggesting. A part of him hopes that Kris is suggesting a hug or arm linking or something else childishly innocent. That hope is dashed when Kris proffers a small flask.
“You can’t-“ is all Cale can get out before Kris is opening the flask on the lightly trafficked street of New York. “Is it hot chocolate, again?”
“Nope.”
Kris passes over the flask, which Cale waves under his nose. The sickly sweet scent masking the alcohol is undeniable.
Taste
“Close enough,” Cale says quietly before taking a swig from the silver flask. He winces, not from the burn, but the awful, memory-filled taste. He takes a second swig and swallows slowly. He can feel it warm every inch of his throat, his chest, his stomach. It cuts the chill of the Big City night air.
Kris is grinning when Cale hands back the flask. “Desperate times, huh?”
“I don’t hate it that much, Kris.”
It’s Kris’s turn to be dubious as he tips the flask for his own drink. It’s long and Kris coughs afterward. “Tastes like sophomore year.”
Touch
Cale shudders; he too is recalling the questionable haze that was their sophomore year at UCA.
Continuing down the street, Cale catches Kris and turns him around to walk. Cale keeps an arm loosely around Kris’s shoulders. “Stop talkin’ and keep walkin’,” he says, sucking lightly on his bottom lip to swallow away the taste of the Southern Comfort.
Kris stumbles, at first, as he closes and shoves away the flask, but then his hands are in his pockets. His fluffy head brushes the armpit of Cale’s jacket. Cale bristles, but loosens up when Kris smiles, sidelong, up to him.
See
Breathing-in deeply, Cale squints at the street signs they pass. He’s made a map in his head to get back to the hotel once Kris has walked out all of this pent up, anxious energy.
“This place is real pretty,” Kris suddenly drawls out.
Cale pauses at the stop light to look around them. There are lights and traffic for days down the street they’ve happened upon. It reminds him of the main drag at school, but multiplied by about a thousand percent.
“Yeah,” Cale replies quietly, hugging a shivering Kris close to his side, “but it sure isn’t home.”