penny for your thoughts
Title: Penny For Your Thoughts
Author: kissoffools / wakeyourheart
Pairing: Kris Allen/Matt Giraud
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Living in New York City isn't all it's cracked up to be... at least, not for a starving musician and his boyfriend.
Disclaimer: So, so not real. It's an AU, ffs. And as always, if you found this by Googling someone you know, PLEASE hit that back button. It's better for everyone.
Notes: Written for the plaguedbymen challenge, with the prompt "Kratt penniless busker AU". Word count: 5727. A million thank yous to my wonderful beta, geekinthepink82 , who's slow as molasses but knows his shit. ;) And I gotta give some love to narcolepsy9girl too, because I wouldn't have started shipping Kratt without her.
If this pairing is a DNW for you, please just skip on by. If you'd like to read it and give it a chance, I'd love that. But if you're just coming in to comment and rag on the pairing? Don't waste your time.
“They cut our heat.”
“Shit. Are you serious?”
“Yeah, the radiator’s cold.”
“Did we have it on before?”
“It’s February.”
“Let me see.”
“What, you think I’m lying?”
Matt kneels next to the radiator, shooting Kris a look. “No,” he mumbles, extending two fingers to brush against the cracked paint of the pipes. “Dammit.”
Kris sinks to the floor beside him, legs crossed. “I thought we paid that bill.”
“No, that’s the one we put off,” Matt reminds him. “Said we’d do it after the weekend, once we made a little more.”
“Frig,” Kris says, because he remembers that weekend. Remembers standing outside the subway, cheeks raw from the wind, watching couple after couple steadfastly ignore them. Matt had been sure that Valentine’s Day would be worth it - happy people are more willing to part with their change. That much is fact. Too bad the happy people were too busy looking at each other to notice the guys with the guitars.
“Now what?” Matt asks. “By morning it’ll be freezing in here.”
Kris tilts his head. He’s always been the one to get them out of messes, and he’ll be damned if he can’t do it this time. “How much have you got in your account?”
“Dude, I’ll barely be able to buy food next week.”
“Yeah, me too.” Kris bites back his real reply, trying to remind himself that this isn’t Matt’s fault. Kris runs a finger along one of the knots in the floorboards, lifting up a trail of dust. “We should clean these.”
“How about we play house after we stop ourselves from freezing to death?” The snap in Matt’s tone makes Kris shrink back a bit.
“Fine,” he agrees, trying to sound hopeful. “Look, do you think you could maybe call -”
“We’ve been over this,” Matt interrupts, and Kris feels guilty because they have, dozens of times. “I’m not calling anyone.”
“Sorry,” Kris apologizes. Matt shrugs it off, leaning back against a dusty armchair.
“Look, we’ll just play more,” Matt reasons. “Spend six hours out instead of three.”
“In the middle of winter? Matt, that’s not -” Kris rubs his eyes, frustrated. Matt’s never had to work for anything before so of course he doesn’t get it. “Nobody even pays attention to us out there.”
“We’ve just had a couple of bad weeks,” Matt assures him. Kris wonders how he’s able to go from concerned to optimistic in a matter of seconds. But that’s just always how they’ve worked, he figures - Matt overdramatizing everything while Kris plans their next step carefully. It really wouldn’t work any other way.
“It’s been more than a couple of weeks.” Kris picks at the rubber sole of his shoe.
“Well what else are we gonna do?!”
Kris keeps his eyes downcast, and okay, maybe he’s avoiding Matt’s gaze because he knows the answer already. “Get a real job?”
Matt’s derisive laughter is exactly what Kris expects to hear. “Yeah, right.”
“No, come on!” Kris urges, because when he can get excited about something, usually he can pull Matt along for the ride. “We can pour coffee, or flip burgers -”
“Kris,” Matt snaps, and Kris knows he’s lost.
“We’re not going to make next month’s rent,” Kris says quietly.
After a moment, Matt lets out a deep sigh, and it’s a sound Kris only hears when he knows he’s gotten through to Matt at least a little. “Look, let’s… we’ll go out one more time tomorrow. Do a full day. If we don’t make more than twice what we normally do, I’ll fill out a couple applications.”
Kris raises an eyebrow at him because even twice their normal amount isn’t going to do much about the fact that they’re currently without heat. Matt meets his eyes evenly, and there’s a plea there.
“I didn’t move to New York to become a barista, Kris.”
Kris flops backwards onto the cool floor, legs stretching out, because dammit if Matt isn’t the most persuasive person Kris has ever met. “Fine! I give you one day.” And even he can’t help but laugh when Matt whoops and jumps on him, promising to do well and placing an enthusiastic kiss to his lips.
***
They’ve been busking for half an hour when a dollar bill lands in the open guitar case at their feet. That’s when Kris realizes that this isn’t going to go as well as Matt hopes.
He feels awful about it, because Matt’s just so damn enthusiastic. He’s not the best guitar player by any means - can really only strum out six or seven chords - but he really tries, throws himself into the song like every single one means something to him. And that’s one of the things Kris likes most about Matt, when it comes right down to it. His reckless abandon, the way that music is just a part of him and he couldn’t let it go if he tried.
Kris feels terrible that he’s asking Matt to try.
They stand on a small patch of cement next to the subway, grey slush under their feet. It’s cold and Kris can’t stop a shiver from convulsing through his body every once in awhile, but he never mentions it. Kris promised he’d do this day for Matt, and even though almost everyone who walks by ducks their head and quickly disappears down the subway stairs, Kris keeps playing because he know that it matters to him.
Busking in the summer probably works better, Kris figures. More people outside, after all. He’s sick and tired of not seeing many people on the streets. Sick and tired of watching the ones that are duck their heads against the wind and hustle on by. He likes playing music, sure, but hates being totally ignored.
After two hours, they hit five dollars. Matt counts their change carefully, double-checking, and Kris sees his smile falter just for a second. It makes him ache.
“No worries,” Matt says, straightening up, and he’s immediately reaching and picking up the guitar again. Matt nods pleasantly to a woman as she goes by, and it actually hurts Kris to watch her turn her head away from him. Undeterred, Matt plucks out the opening chords to ‘Three Little Birds’. “Come on, people like this one.”
A gust of wind almost blows Kris’s scarf off his neck, and he hurries to wrap it tighter to keep himself warm. Every little thing is gonna be all right, indeed, Kris thinks wryly as he joins in.
It’s not that he doesn’t like busking. There are moments like this, where they hit a groove and he can look over and trade glances with Matt, and they know they’re on. If the whole experience could be moments just like this, he’d never stop playing. But he runs his fingers over the strings, plucks out a riff, and he knows all too well that it isn’t. Playing to a crowd that ignores you, hoping you don’t get frostbite, and barely making money? That’s busking.
That’s what he can’t keep doing.
“Matt,” Kris says softly after they’ve run through their standard set of songs. It’s well into the afternoon now, and they’re not making enough.
“‘Wonderwall’ on four,” is all Matt says.
Half an hour later, it starts to snow. Kris watches as the people around them pick up the pace, hurrying for cover. Matt pauses only long enough to pull on gloves.
It’s starting to get dark when they strum out the last chords to ‘Revolution’. Kris adjusts his grip on his guitar, trying to shake out his joints. Playing outside in the cold does no favours for the body. He’s ready to launch into another song, because he’ll stay outside as long as Matt asks him to. Instead, Matt stops and pulls his scarf tighter around his neck. Then he wordlessly passes his guitar to Kris and kneels down in front of the guitar case.
Kris watches him count the money, separating the dimes and quarters and dollar bills into careful piles, nudging them back into place when the wind makes them shift. Matt’s mouth silently moves as he counts, and Kris keeps waiting for a smile. Kris wills the amount to be enough.
“Sixteen thirty-five.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Kristopher, I’m not a moron.”
Kris moves at once towards him, crouching down so he can wrap an arm around Matt’s shoulders. “I know you’re not,” he says softly.
He can feel Matt deflate under his touch, and he doesn’t know what to do. The look on his face - like someone’s killed his dream - makes Kris ache. Possibly because he feels like it’s his fault. Kris moves in a little closer, settling himself down on the pavement and ignoring the wet patches seeping through the knees of his jeans. He leans his head against Matt’s shoulder and waits. Give him enough time and Matt will always talk.
“I didn’t move to New York to become a barista,” Matt mumbles, and it all sounds different this time.
“We just have to make enough to catch up on our bills,” Kris tells him, “and once we do that, we can scale back. Work a little less. Maybe even try and book a real gig.” He nudges Matt’s shoulder with his own.
Matt is silent for a long minute and Kris’s brain is working, trying to find something else to say to convince him. “This isn’t giving up, Matt. This is… getting our heads above water again.”
Matt turns his head to look at Kris, and there’s a smile on his lips. Finally. “I guess it can’t hurt to fill out a couple applications,” he concedes.
Kris breaks into a relieved grin and leans forward, kissing his cheek. “It’ll all be okay,” he says confidently, because why on earth wouldn’t it be?
The two pack up their guitars, dusting snow off their cases. Matt pockets the change and they start to make the three block trek back to their fourth-floor walk-up above the Chinese takeout place. They’ve gone maybe half a block when Matt slides his gloved hand into Kris’s and stops, pulling Kris towards him.
He brings his lips down on Kris’s and they kiss languidly, slow and deliberate and foolishly ignoring the chill of the New York February night. Matt’s lips are chapped and they rub rough against Kris’s, but he doesn’t care, pushing the kiss a little deeper because it’s Matt and he’s beyond caring about that kind of stuff. Kris’s thumb is stroking the stubble on Matt’s jaw gently, and when they break apart to breathe, Matt leans down again to nuzzle his nose against Kris’s. Kris laughs, stealing one more quick kiss.
“Dork.”
“Sap.”
“You like it.”
Matt wraps an arm around Kris’s waist and they start back towards their cold apartment. “That I do.”
***
They spend the next afternoon trudging around the Village and filling out applications.
Kris stops into almost every place they come across - coffee shops, shoe stores, bars, bodegas. He smiles at the person behind the counter, fills out an application neatly, and asks to see the manager. The manager, of course, is never in. Matt, on the other hand, is more selective. Won’t do fast food, won’t pour someone’s coffee. He seems to think that picking out clothes for people is a more dignified job, though, so he stops into a boutique. The clothes are grungy and look like they’ve seen the worst, but they’ve got a designer label and cost a bundle. Kris doesn’t get it, but Matt seems to. The woman behind the counter turns out to be the owner, and she and Matt get into a long discussion about scarves and glasses, and Kris listens to them laugh as he lurks behind the tie rack.
Kris applies to over twenty-five places, waits a week, and gets no phone calls.
Matt applies to one and gets hired the next day.
He comes home with a grin on his face, letting the door slam as he skids across the floor. He slams into Kris, jostling him as he cooks Spaghetti-Os over a hot plate in his parka. Kris laughs and flicks tomato sauce onto Matt’s cheek.
“She hired me!”
“Who, that lady from yesterday?”
“No, the Tooth Fairy.”
“I hear she’s got a great dental plan.”
Matt whacks him on the arm. “Yes, Anna, you tool!”
“That’s awesome!” Kris says, hand coming up to rub the place where Matt hit him.
“I start tomorrow - turns out she needs someone else to run the shop in the evenings and thinks I’m ‘very personable’,” he quotes with a bizarre British accent that Kris doesn’t get, considering he was pretty sure Anna was from Queen’s.
“Congrats, man,” Kris smiles, bumping Matt’s hip with his. He then turns back to his Spaghetti-Os, stirring carefully. His hand moves again to his upper arm, rubbing the sore spot again.
Matt’s eyebrows quirk up. “Did I actually hurt you?”
Through two sweaters and a parka, he’d honestly barely felt it. Rather than denying it, he juts out his bottom lip and turns his big eyes on Matt. “It really hurts, Matty,” he pouts dramatically.
The corner of Matt’s mouth turns up and he steps in closer to Kris. “Oh, dear,” he says softly, big hands coming up to run over Kris’s arms. “Whatever shall we do with you?”
Kris shrugs, eyes tilting down and then back up. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Matt’s already pulling off his parka before Kris finishes speaking.
***
Matt storms in nine days later with a look of indignation on his face, and Kris knows what he’s about to say before he even opens his mouth.
“She fired me!”
Kris wants to bang his head on the coffee table in frustration, but he figures that’s less than supportive. Instead, he makes room on the couch for Matt, who flops down with an angry sigh.
“What happened?” Kris asks.
“She came in when I wasn’t expecting her,” Matt mumbles, and there’s a pink blush on his cheeks that, if Kris didn’t trust him so much, would probably make him worry. Kris stays silent, waits, and then - “I didn’t have the To Do list done that she’d left for me. The store was kind of a mess. I was chatting with a customer. And… I was wearing one of her hats.”
Kris’s eyebrows go up as he runs the offenses over in his mind. “It was one irresponsible night, and she fired you? Without giving you a warning?” Matt’s blush deepens and Kris gets it. “She did give you a warning.”
“Two,” Matt whispers, eyes fixed firmly on his knees.
Kris presses his lips together and sighs. “Oh, Matt.”
“I tried, okay? You asked me to try and I fucking did.”
“Getting fired doesn’t exactly help our bills situation,” Kris mumbles, and the second the words leave his lips, he wants to bite them back because the look Matt shoots him is downright icy.
“At least I got hired.”
“I applied everywhere I could, Matt, you know that.”
“And yet look where we are.”
The two sit silently, both of them looking at their hands, bundled-up lumps on opposite ends of the couch. Kris's temper is up slightly - the dig was unfair of Matt, he knew Kris had wanted to find work. It wasn't his fault that he was too polite and too ordinary and too forgettable to be anything more than a name on an application. He is careful not to say this aloud; Matt always protests whenever Kris starts to get down on himself, and Kris doesn’t want to turn this into a woe-is-me party. It’s not the time.
Eventually, he sneaks a glance at Matt. Matt's thumb works away at the cuticles of his other hand, and Kris feels himself slump. He's been unfair and now Matt is anxious. And yeah, things are hard. They could end up living on the street if something doesn't turn around soon. But they'd gotten themselves in this situation together, and snapping at each other certainly won't get them out of it.
"Sorry," Kris murmurs, and extends an arm to rub Matt's shoulder. Matt lets him and Kris smiles a little in relief. They're okay.
"Maybe someone will call tomorrow," Matt says, and Kris happily takes the peace offering.
The lights go out.
"Maybe tomorrow's not soon enough," Kris says, blinking into the darkness.
"Apparently not," Matt agrees, and he slumps back into the couch. "Now what?"
Kris knows he shouldn't bring it up - he's heard Matt talk about them, and the blow-up they had when Matt confessed he wanted to be a musician instead of running a chain of hotels. He knows Matt came to New York to get away from that, so that he wouldn't have to suffer through disapproving looks at Thanksgiving and subtle jabs at his own independent life. He knows that asking Matt to open that world up again was like asking for the moon.
He also knows that they're running out of options.
"Your parents," Kris says into the silence, and Matt's groan is immediate. "No, I'm sorry, but hear me out. Rent is due in a week and we're already freezing. We won't even be able to see once the sun goes down. What else can we do?"
"I'm not calling my parents and asking for money."
“You don’t think they’ll be happy to hear from you?”
“They’ll tell me they knew I could never do this on my own and laugh in my face.”
“They love you,” Kris says, sliding a hand into Matt’s, rubbing his thumb with his own. “They might give you a hard time, but they’ll come through.”
“You don’t know them.”
“Matt, what else can we do?” There’s a note of desperation creeping into Kris’s voice now - he always tries to hide that away, tries to be confident for Matt. Matt hears it, and he gets it at least a little, because he groans, buries his head in Kris’s neck, and exhales loudly.
“I’ll call them in the morning.”
And Kris grins, arms wrapping around Matt and lips moving down to press a kiss above his temple.
“Thank you.”
“Only for you, man.”
***
It takes Matt until three in the afternoon to work up the courage to call his family, spending the early afternoon rearranging their small apartment, Kris watching from his perch on a high metal barstool. There isn’t much to rearrange, and Kris is pretty sure Matt adjusts the coffee table four times by the time he finally gets up the courage.
He uses the pay phone on the street below their apartment - doesn’t want to give his mother a number where she can call and nag him whenever she pleases. Kris goes down with him. The last thing he wants is for Matt to have to do this alone.
The way Matt’s fingers shake as he punches in the phone number tells Kris he doesn’t want to do this alone, either.
Kris can’t hear the voice on the other end of the line, but he knows Matt well enough to gauge the conversation by his expressions. From the first word - “Dad?” - a fake grin covers Matt’s face, as if that alone will travel through the phone and fix all their problems. Kris watches as Matt nods politely, playing the good son as he surely listens to fabulous updates in the lives of successful family members, taking it as a good sign that the conversation didn’t start with shouting.
“So Dad, my roommate and I are having a little bit of a financial issue…” Matt begins, a bit of a shake in his voice, and Kris wants to hold his hand.
Matt barely gets out another word before he receives a barrage of questions from the other end. “No. No. Not really. No, Dad.” And he keeps answering, quieter each time, his voice shrinking away until it just becomes a headshake, the voice on the other end of the line barely seeming to notice.
“Okay. Bye.”
Matt hangs up the phone and turns, leaning against the building wall, the back of his head pressing into the cold brick. His eyes are closed, as if he’s trying to will away the last ten minutes. Kris moves in immediately, hands moving to Matt’s sides to run soothingly against his hips because he doesn’t quite know what else to do.
“You okay?”
Matt shrugs and opens his eyes, and there’s a dullness to them that Kris isn’t used to seeing. When he speaks, his voice is ragged, like something’s been ripped out of him. “He wants me to move back home.”
“Yeah, but you knew he was going to say that.”
“I know,” Matt says, a hand moving up to rub his eyes. “I know. But it’s still… part of me hoped he’d help me out, you know? Not just order me home.”
“Are you -” Kris can’t quite ask.
Matt shakes his head no.
“Because you know I can’t,” Kris’s voice lowers, like his words are only meant for Matt’s ears. “My family, my town…” he swallows, meeting Matt’s eyes. “The week I spent there after coming out was the worst one of my life. I can’t do that again.”
Matt reaches for Kris this time, a hand settling at the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get money,” he whispers, not smiling.
It’s Kris that moves in, hand sliding across the stubble on his jaw, kissing him. “Thank you for trying.”
***
Kris stands in the bathroom of their freezing, dark apartment several days later and swears loudly. He immediately hears a rustle from the next room and waits - he only curses for a reason, and he knows it’ll bring Matt running.
“Did you get replaced with your evil twin and not tell me?” Matt asks from the doorway.
Kris spins away from the sink to face him, a hand coming up to run through his hair. “We don’t have water.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Yeah, cause that’s a funny joke.”
Matt moves into the bathroom and fiddles with the tap on the sink, waiting in anticipation for at least a trickle of water. The sink remains dry and Matt slams his hand against the porcelain, frustrated.
“We don’t have water and rent is due in two days,” Kris whispers from behind him, and the words and we have no money linger, unsaid, in the air between them.
The silence is long, longer than usual in a situation like this, and Kris watches Matt’s back as he runs a hand over the tap once more. There’s something going on in Matt’s head, and Kris wishes he could just shake him, get him to share with the class. But no, Kris waits, because given the time, Matt will always talk.
Instead, Matt spins around, large hands reaching out to grasp the front of Kris’s sweater and pull him in, hard, for a kiss. Startled, Kris’s reciprocation is lacking, and he pulls back long enough to ask, “What’s that for?”
Matt shakes his head, and Kris can see a pink flush creeping over his cheeks in the grey light from outside. “Don’t. Come on,” Matt encourages, a hand coming up to Kris’s cheek as he pulls him in for another kiss.
The urgency of it all surprises Kris a little, but Matt’s warm and eager, and his arm circles tightly around Kris’s waist and presses their bodies together, so who is Kris to complain? His hands come up to fist in the front of Matt’s shirt, holding on for dear life as he kisses back, taking the opportunity to explore Matt’s mouth. It’s familiar and they’ve done this a hundred times before, but it’s a comfortable familiarity. Something he could do a hundred more times and still not be sick of it.
Kris lets Matt maneuver them into the bedroom, and he falls easily onto the bed when Matt pushes him down. Matt’s straddling his lap almost immediately, lips sucking at Kris’s throat, and Kris’s hands roam over Matt’s back as he revels in the feeling. Matt pulls back to grab at the hem of his own shirt, and Kris’s hands immediately come down to meet them.
“Don’t. It’s freezing in here - we can do this mostly clothed.”
Matt’s voice is raw and needy. “Don’t want to.”
So Kris pulls Matt’s shirt over his head in one smooth motion.
Matt’s a solid guy, and Kris loves that he’s a presence in bed, commanding and real and very much there. After shucking his own shirt, Kris kisses Matt’s collarbone, letting his hands explore the rest of Matt’s chest. He’s interrupted, however, by Matt pulling away and climbing off his lap, chuckling at the indignant expression on Kris’s face as he does so.
“The pants have to go, Allen.”
Matt’s fingers are shaking a little when he pulls down Kris’s jeans, and Kris can’t tell if that’s from the cold or something else, nor can he decide which possibility is worse. Instead of dwelling, Kris brings a hand to Matt’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss, fingers stroking the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Matt soon loses his own pants as well, and when he spreads himself out overtop of Kris, his cock presses hot against Kris’s thigh and Kris moans into his mouth.
Kris thinks he could happily stay and kiss Matt for hours, pressed together just like this, but Matt begins a slow slide down his body, kissing and licking and nipping the expanse of flesh before him. Kris knows he’ll be dotted with red marks in the morning, but Matt’s tongue dips into his navel and he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he simply brings a hand to the top of Matt’s head and encourages him downward.
“Looks like somebody wants to be in charge here,” Matt smirks, kissing Kris’s hipbone.
“You down there for a reason?” The anticipation is already making Kris short of breath.
“Should I be?”
“Tease.”
Matt licks a stripe up Kris’s cock. “Sorry, what was that?”
Matt doesn’t spend long down there, just long enough to get Kris all hot and bothered (which just isn’t fair, in Kris’s opinion, but voicing this complaint might put an end to the whole thing so he keeps his mouth shut). He takes his time, licking Kris thoroughly, then wrapping his mouth around him to suck almost greedily. This makes Kris’s head tilt back and a whimper escape his mouth, and Matt smirks around him, pulling off and kissing his abdomen.
“How’re you doing up there?” Matt asks, and even with his eyes closed Kris can hear the grin Matt has to be sporting.
“Less talking, more action.”
“Impatient.”
“Damn right I am.”
Kris watches as Matt laughs and moves away only briefly, snagging up lube and a condom from the bedside table. He settles himself resolutely between Kris’s knees, spreading his legs wide. Matt coats his fingers, blowing on the lube to warm it up, which Kris appreciates because God knows he’s already cold. Matt slides one finger in slowly, just the tip at first, and Kris’s hips lift off the bed almost at once at the feeling.
“More already?” Matt asks with a breathy laugh, and Kris just groans, trying to push back against his finger.
Matt obliges, sliding the finger in as far as it’ll go, giving Kris a second to adjust before he moves it in and out. It’s not long before Kris can take a second, and his hips stutter as Matt curls them both just slightly. When Matt pushes in a third, he waits, letting Kris breathe through the sharp pain. To Kris’s relief, Matt makes up for it a moment later when he finds just the right spot to press against, eliciting a low, sweet moan from Kris, and from the way Matt’s panting, Kris can tell it’s probably having quite the effect on him, too.
Matt pulls his fingers out, leaning down to kiss Kris again. Kris kisses back at first, but his hips continually press up against Matt, rubbing himself on Matt’s stomach. When Kris pulls back, he nips at Matt’s lip once before urging him forward. “Come on.”
“Come on, what?” Matt asks, a glint in his eye because they both know Kris won’t say it. Kris is too much of a gentleman to demand it, to ask Matt to fuck him, even though he’ll think it a million times in his head. Instead, he just pleads with his eyes and ruts with his hips, and Matt gives in. He always does.
“Fine,” Matt says with a breathy laugh, reaching down to push Kris’s knees even further apart. Kris watches, slack-jawed and staring as Matt rolls the condom down over his cock, bending forward to kiss Kris’s stomach once more. Kris meets Matt’s eyes, nodding, and Matt slowly pushes in, his head dropping forward as Kris clenches around him.
It doesn’t take long for Kris to be ready to go, and he grabs Matt’s shoulders and presses his hips up insistently. Matt’s more than happy to oblige, pushing back against him and establishing a rhythm. It’s a little faster, a little more frantic than Kris is used to, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders about that. But the rest of him is so consumed by feel and taste and Matt that he can’t waste more than a second’s thought on the matter.
When Matt snakes a hand between the two of them to pump him, Kris loses the rhythm for a second, hips faltering as they push eagerly into Matt’s hand. Kris tries to find the rhythm again, taking a few moments to pace himself with Matt’s thrusts, and all Kris can do is wrap his arms around Matt’s neck and kiss him like he never wants to stop.
“I love you,” Matt murmurs against his lips as they take a breath, and something’s happening to Kris’s heart because this is the first time Matt’s ever said that to him and he didn’t think it was possible to feel more complete.
“Love you too,” Kris gasps back, kissing the corner of Matt’s mouth, his cheek, chin, anywhere his lips could reach.
Matt kisses his lips again and then drops his head to Kris’s neck, where he kisses over and over, mumbling “I love you,” in between, hips speeding up as he works his hand faster over Kris, trying to get him off first.
It doesn’t take long - one “I love you” followed by his teeth scraping against Kris’s neck - for Kris to shout and arch his hips, coming messily between them. Matt’s rhythm falters as he thrusts forward several more times, Kris’s orgasm bringing him over the edge as well.
Matt’s head stays pressed into the crook of Kris’s neck, Kris feeling Matt’s heartbeat strong against his chest as they recover. His hand moves up to the back of Matt’s head, running through the sweaty hair there as he presses a kiss to the side of his head. Kris’s eyes are closed and he lets his lips rest there.
Matt eventually raises his head and brings his lips down to brush across Kris’s.
“Remember that, okay?” Matt requests, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Remember that I love you.”
Kris’s hand comes up to Matt’s cheek, thumb brushing against the subtle freckles there. “Of course,” he replies. “You remember too, all right?”
Matt rolls off him, rearranging the bed sheets so they’re both tucked up under them together. Sliding right up next to Kris, he curls an arm around his waist and kisses his shoulder. “Will do.”
***
When Kris wakes up to an empty bed, it doesn’t hit him right away. No, he lies there for a moment, wishing Matt would’ve waited for him to wake up before getting out of bed. He entertains a brief fantasy where they woke up together and made pancakes and read the New York Times, choosing to ignore the fact that they don’t subscribe to the Times and the only breakfast food in the kitchen is a box of Rice Krispies. Eventually, he drags himself out of bed and into sweatpants and a hoodie, thinking that even sharing Rice Krispies at this point wouldn’t be so bad.
He finds an empty living room when he steps out of the bedroom. That’s when he starts to worry.
A quick scan of the kitchen and the living room don’t reveal Matt, so he backs up into the bedroom, moving to check the bathroom. Empty. Kris notices that the toothbrush holder only contains one toothbrush - his own red one. Its companion, Matt’s green one (“They look like Christmas!” Matt had happily proclaimed when he set up the cheesy tooth-shaped holder), is missing.
And that’s when he knows.
Kris doesn’t have to scan the bedroom to notice that Matt’s clothes aren’t hanging alongside his own in the closet. He doesn’t have to check the front door to see that Matt’s runners aren’t piled next to Kris’s own Converse. He checks anyway, though, just to be sure.
Part of him wishes he hadn’t, because maybe then it would hurt less.
He paces the apartment at least a dozen times before he spots it.
A white piece of paper sticks to the fridge under Matt’s “Welcome to Tijuana!” palm tree magnet (he’d never been, but his cousin had brought it back from one of his crazy drunken weekends, or so he’d told Kris). When Kris approaches and gingerly pulls it down, he can see ‘Daniel Giraud’ typed in embossed font on the upper left corner. And written in the center, in perfect handwriting that Kris knows isn’t Matt’s, is a number that will cover rent and utilities for at least the next three months.
Kris blinks at the cheque, reading the number several times over.
When he flips it over, he finds a tiny Post-It note containing Matt’s barely legible scrawl.
K -
I wish I could’ve done better for you. But this is the only solution I could find. One of us should get to stay in the big city.
Good luck.
Remember.
- M
And remember he does.
end.
Author: kissoffools / wakeyourheart
Pairing: Kris Allen/Matt Giraud
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Living in New York City isn't all it's cracked up to be... at least, not for a starving musician and his boyfriend.
Disclaimer: So, so not real. It's an AU, ffs. And as always, if you found this by Googling someone you know, PLEASE hit that back button. It's better for everyone.
Notes: Written for the plaguedbymen challenge, with the prompt "Kratt penniless busker AU". Word count: 5727. A million thank yous to my wonderful beta, geekinthepink82 , who's slow as molasses but knows his shit. ;) And I gotta give some love to narcolepsy9girl too, because I wouldn't have started shipping Kratt without her.
If this pairing is a DNW for you, please just skip on by. If you'd like to read it and give it a chance, I'd love that. But if you're just coming in to comment and rag on the pairing? Don't waste your time.
“They cut our heat.”
“Shit. Are you serious?”
“Yeah, the radiator’s cold.”
“Did we have it on before?”
“It’s February.”
“Let me see.”
“What, you think I’m lying?”
Matt kneels next to the radiator, shooting Kris a look. “No,” he mumbles, extending two fingers to brush against the cracked paint of the pipes. “Dammit.”
Kris sinks to the floor beside him, legs crossed. “I thought we paid that bill.”
“No, that’s the one we put off,” Matt reminds him. “Said we’d do it after the weekend, once we made a little more.”
“Frig,” Kris says, because he remembers that weekend. Remembers standing outside the subway, cheeks raw from the wind, watching couple after couple steadfastly ignore them. Matt had been sure that Valentine’s Day would be worth it - happy people are more willing to part with their change. That much is fact. Too bad the happy people were too busy looking at each other to notice the guys with the guitars.
“Now what?” Matt asks. “By morning it’ll be freezing in here.”
Kris tilts his head. He’s always been the one to get them out of messes, and he’ll be damned if he can’t do it this time. “How much have you got in your account?”
“Dude, I’ll barely be able to buy food next week.”
“Yeah, me too.” Kris bites back his real reply, trying to remind himself that this isn’t Matt’s fault. Kris runs a finger along one of the knots in the floorboards, lifting up a trail of dust. “We should clean these.”
“How about we play house after we stop ourselves from freezing to death?” The snap in Matt’s tone makes Kris shrink back a bit.
“Fine,” he agrees, trying to sound hopeful. “Look, do you think you could maybe call -”
“We’ve been over this,” Matt interrupts, and Kris feels guilty because they have, dozens of times. “I’m not calling anyone.”
“Sorry,” Kris apologizes. Matt shrugs it off, leaning back against a dusty armchair.
“Look, we’ll just play more,” Matt reasons. “Spend six hours out instead of three.”
“In the middle of winter? Matt, that’s not -” Kris rubs his eyes, frustrated. Matt’s never had to work for anything before so of course he doesn’t get it. “Nobody even pays attention to us out there.”
“We’ve just had a couple of bad weeks,” Matt assures him. Kris wonders how he’s able to go from concerned to optimistic in a matter of seconds. But that’s just always how they’ve worked, he figures - Matt overdramatizing everything while Kris plans their next step carefully. It really wouldn’t work any other way.
“It’s been more than a couple of weeks.” Kris picks at the rubber sole of his shoe.
“Well what else are we gonna do?!”
Kris keeps his eyes downcast, and okay, maybe he’s avoiding Matt’s gaze because he knows the answer already. “Get a real job?”
Matt’s derisive laughter is exactly what Kris expects to hear. “Yeah, right.”
“No, come on!” Kris urges, because when he can get excited about something, usually he can pull Matt along for the ride. “We can pour coffee, or flip burgers -”
“Kris,” Matt snaps, and Kris knows he’s lost.
“We’re not going to make next month’s rent,” Kris says quietly.
After a moment, Matt lets out a deep sigh, and it’s a sound Kris only hears when he knows he’s gotten through to Matt at least a little. “Look, let’s… we’ll go out one more time tomorrow. Do a full day. If we don’t make more than twice what we normally do, I’ll fill out a couple applications.”
Kris raises an eyebrow at him because even twice their normal amount isn’t going to do much about the fact that they’re currently without heat. Matt meets his eyes evenly, and there’s a plea there.
“I didn’t move to New York to become a barista, Kris.”
Kris flops backwards onto the cool floor, legs stretching out, because dammit if Matt isn’t the most persuasive person Kris has ever met. “Fine! I give you one day.” And even he can’t help but laugh when Matt whoops and jumps on him, promising to do well and placing an enthusiastic kiss to his lips.
***
They’ve been busking for half an hour when a dollar bill lands in the open guitar case at their feet. That’s when Kris realizes that this isn’t going to go as well as Matt hopes.
He feels awful about it, because Matt’s just so damn enthusiastic. He’s not the best guitar player by any means - can really only strum out six or seven chords - but he really tries, throws himself into the song like every single one means something to him. And that’s one of the things Kris likes most about Matt, when it comes right down to it. His reckless abandon, the way that music is just a part of him and he couldn’t let it go if he tried.
Kris feels terrible that he’s asking Matt to try.
They stand on a small patch of cement next to the subway, grey slush under their feet. It’s cold and Kris can’t stop a shiver from convulsing through his body every once in awhile, but he never mentions it. Kris promised he’d do this day for Matt, and even though almost everyone who walks by ducks their head and quickly disappears down the subway stairs, Kris keeps playing because he know that it matters to him.
Busking in the summer probably works better, Kris figures. More people outside, after all. He’s sick and tired of not seeing many people on the streets. Sick and tired of watching the ones that are duck their heads against the wind and hustle on by. He likes playing music, sure, but hates being totally ignored.
After two hours, they hit five dollars. Matt counts their change carefully, double-checking, and Kris sees his smile falter just for a second. It makes him ache.
“No worries,” Matt says, straightening up, and he’s immediately reaching and picking up the guitar again. Matt nods pleasantly to a woman as she goes by, and it actually hurts Kris to watch her turn her head away from him. Undeterred, Matt plucks out the opening chords to ‘Three Little Birds’. “Come on, people like this one.”
A gust of wind almost blows Kris’s scarf off his neck, and he hurries to wrap it tighter to keep himself warm. Every little thing is gonna be all right, indeed, Kris thinks wryly as he joins in.
It’s not that he doesn’t like busking. There are moments like this, where they hit a groove and he can look over and trade glances with Matt, and they know they’re on. If the whole experience could be moments just like this, he’d never stop playing. But he runs his fingers over the strings, plucks out a riff, and he knows all too well that it isn’t. Playing to a crowd that ignores you, hoping you don’t get frostbite, and barely making money? That’s busking.
That’s what he can’t keep doing.
“Matt,” Kris says softly after they’ve run through their standard set of songs. It’s well into the afternoon now, and they’re not making enough.
“‘Wonderwall’ on four,” is all Matt says.
Half an hour later, it starts to snow. Kris watches as the people around them pick up the pace, hurrying for cover. Matt pauses only long enough to pull on gloves.
It’s starting to get dark when they strum out the last chords to ‘Revolution’. Kris adjusts his grip on his guitar, trying to shake out his joints. Playing outside in the cold does no favours for the body. He’s ready to launch into another song, because he’ll stay outside as long as Matt asks him to. Instead, Matt stops and pulls his scarf tighter around his neck. Then he wordlessly passes his guitar to Kris and kneels down in front of the guitar case.
Kris watches him count the money, separating the dimes and quarters and dollar bills into careful piles, nudging them back into place when the wind makes them shift. Matt’s mouth silently moves as he counts, and Kris keeps waiting for a smile. Kris wills the amount to be enough.
“Sixteen thirty-five.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Kristopher, I’m not a moron.”
Kris moves at once towards him, crouching down so he can wrap an arm around Matt’s shoulders. “I know you’re not,” he says softly.
He can feel Matt deflate under his touch, and he doesn’t know what to do. The look on his face - like someone’s killed his dream - makes Kris ache. Possibly because he feels like it’s his fault. Kris moves in a little closer, settling himself down on the pavement and ignoring the wet patches seeping through the knees of his jeans. He leans his head against Matt’s shoulder and waits. Give him enough time and Matt will always talk.
“I didn’t move to New York to become a barista,” Matt mumbles, and it all sounds different this time.
“We just have to make enough to catch up on our bills,” Kris tells him, “and once we do that, we can scale back. Work a little less. Maybe even try and book a real gig.” He nudges Matt’s shoulder with his own.
Matt is silent for a long minute and Kris’s brain is working, trying to find something else to say to convince him. “This isn’t giving up, Matt. This is… getting our heads above water again.”
Matt turns his head to look at Kris, and there’s a smile on his lips. Finally. “I guess it can’t hurt to fill out a couple applications,” he concedes.
Kris breaks into a relieved grin and leans forward, kissing his cheek. “It’ll all be okay,” he says confidently, because why on earth wouldn’t it be?
The two pack up their guitars, dusting snow off their cases. Matt pockets the change and they start to make the three block trek back to their fourth-floor walk-up above the Chinese takeout place. They’ve gone maybe half a block when Matt slides his gloved hand into Kris’s and stops, pulling Kris towards him.
He brings his lips down on Kris’s and they kiss languidly, slow and deliberate and foolishly ignoring the chill of the New York February night. Matt’s lips are chapped and they rub rough against Kris’s, but he doesn’t care, pushing the kiss a little deeper because it’s Matt and he’s beyond caring about that kind of stuff. Kris’s thumb is stroking the stubble on Matt’s jaw gently, and when they break apart to breathe, Matt leans down again to nuzzle his nose against Kris’s. Kris laughs, stealing one more quick kiss.
“Dork.”
“Sap.”
“You like it.”
Matt wraps an arm around Kris’s waist and they start back towards their cold apartment. “That I do.”
***
They spend the next afternoon trudging around the Village and filling out applications.
Kris stops into almost every place they come across - coffee shops, shoe stores, bars, bodegas. He smiles at the person behind the counter, fills out an application neatly, and asks to see the manager. The manager, of course, is never in. Matt, on the other hand, is more selective. Won’t do fast food, won’t pour someone’s coffee. He seems to think that picking out clothes for people is a more dignified job, though, so he stops into a boutique. The clothes are grungy and look like they’ve seen the worst, but they’ve got a designer label and cost a bundle. Kris doesn’t get it, but Matt seems to. The woman behind the counter turns out to be the owner, and she and Matt get into a long discussion about scarves and glasses, and Kris listens to them laugh as he lurks behind the tie rack.
Kris applies to over twenty-five places, waits a week, and gets no phone calls.
Matt applies to one and gets hired the next day.
He comes home with a grin on his face, letting the door slam as he skids across the floor. He slams into Kris, jostling him as he cooks Spaghetti-Os over a hot plate in his parka. Kris laughs and flicks tomato sauce onto Matt’s cheek.
“She hired me!”
“Who, that lady from yesterday?”
“No, the Tooth Fairy.”
“I hear she’s got a great dental plan.”
Matt whacks him on the arm. “Yes, Anna, you tool!”
“That’s awesome!” Kris says, hand coming up to rub the place where Matt hit him.
“I start tomorrow - turns out she needs someone else to run the shop in the evenings and thinks I’m ‘very personable’,” he quotes with a bizarre British accent that Kris doesn’t get, considering he was pretty sure Anna was from Queen’s.
“Congrats, man,” Kris smiles, bumping Matt’s hip with his. He then turns back to his Spaghetti-Os, stirring carefully. His hand moves again to his upper arm, rubbing the sore spot again.
Matt’s eyebrows quirk up. “Did I actually hurt you?”
Through two sweaters and a parka, he’d honestly barely felt it. Rather than denying it, he juts out his bottom lip and turns his big eyes on Matt. “It really hurts, Matty,” he pouts dramatically.
The corner of Matt’s mouth turns up and he steps in closer to Kris. “Oh, dear,” he says softly, big hands coming up to run over Kris’s arms. “Whatever shall we do with you?”
Kris shrugs, eyes tilting down and then back up. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Matt’s already pulling off his parka before Kris finishes speaking.
***
Matt storms in nine days later with a look of indignation on his face, and Kris knows what he’s about to say before he even opens his mouth.
“She fired me!”
Kris wants to bang his head on the coffee table in frustration, but he figures that’s less than supportive. Instead, he makes room on the couch for Matt, who flops down with an angry sigh.
“What happened?” Kris asks.
“She came in when I wasn’t expecting her,” Matt mumbles, and there’s a pink blush on his cheeks that, if Kris didn’t trust him so much, would probably make him worry. Kris stays silent, waits, and then - “I didn’t have the To Do list done that she’d left for me. The store was kind of a mess. I was chatting with a customer. And… I was wearing one of her hats.”
Kris’s eyebrows go up as he runs the offenses over in his mind. “It was one irresponsible night, and she fired you? Without giving you a warning?” Matt’s blush deepens and Kris gets it. “She did give you a warning.”
“Two,” Matt whispers, eyes fixed firmly on his knees.
Kris presses his lips together and sighs. “Oh, Matt.”
“I tried, okay? You asked me to try and I fucking did.”
“Getting fired doesn’t exactly help our bills situation,” Kris mumbles, and the second the words leave his lips, he wants to bite them back because the look Matt shoots him is downright icy.
“At least I got hired.”
“I applied everywhere I could, Matt, you know that.”
“And yet look where we are.”
The two sit silently, both of them looking at their hands, bundled-up lumps on opposite ends of the couch. Kris's temper is up slightly - the dig was unfair of Matt, he knew Kris had wanted to find work. It wasn't his fault that he was too polite and too ordinary and too forgettable to be anything more than a name on an application. He is careful not to say this aloud; Matt always protests whenever Kris starts to get down on himself, and Kris doesn’t want to turn this into a woe-is-me party. It’s not the time.
Eventually, he sneaks a glance at Matt. Matt's thumb works away at the cuticles of his other hand, and Kris feels himself slump. He's been unfair and now Matt is anxious. And yeah, things are hard. They could end up living on the street if something doesn't turn around soon. But they'd gotten themselves in this situation together, and snapping at each other certainly won't get them out of it.
"Sorry," Kris murmurs, and extends an arm to rub Matt's shoulder. Matt lets him and Kris smiles a little in relief. They're okay.
"Maybe someone will call tomorrow," Matt says, and Kris happily takes the peace offering.
The lights go out.
"Maybe tomorrow's not soon enough," Kris says, blinking into the darkness.
"Apparently not," Matt agrees, and he slumps back into the couch. "Now what?"
Kris knows he shouldn't bring it up - he's heard Matt talk about them, and the blow-up they had when Matt confessed he wanted to be a musician instead of running a chain of hotels. He knows Matt came to New York to get away from that, so that he wouldn't have to suffer through disapproving looks at Thanksgiving and subtle jabs at his own independent life. He knows that asking Matt to open that world up again was like asking for the moon.
He also knows that they're running out of options.
"Your parents," Kris says into the silence, and Matt's groan is immediate. "No, I'm sorry, but hear me out. Rent is due in a week and we're already freezing. We won't even be able to see once the sun goes down. What else can we do?"
"I'm not calling my parents and asking for money."
“You don’t think they’ll be happy to hear from you?”
“They’ll tell me they knew I could never do this on my own and laugh in my face.”
“They love you,” Kris says, sliding a hand into Matt’s, rubbing his thumb with his own. “They might give you a hard time, but they’ll come through.”
“You don’t know them.”
“Matt, what else can we do?” There’s a note of desperation creeping into Kris’s voice now - he always tries to hide that away, tries to be confident for Matt. Matt hears it, and he gets it at least a little, because he groans, buries his head in Kris’s neck, and exhales loudly.
“I’ll call them in the morning.”
And Kris grins, arms wrapping around Matt and lips moving down to press a kiss above his temple.
“Thank you.”
“Only for you, man.”
***
It takes Matt until three in the afternoon to work up the courage to call his family, spending the early afternoon rearranging their small apartment, Kris watching from his perch on a high metal barstool. There isn’t much to rearrange, and Kris is pretty sure Matt adjusts the coffee table four times by the time he finally gets up the courage.
He uses the pay phone on the street below their apartment - doesn’t want to give his mother a number where she can call and nag him whenever she pleases. Kris goes down with him. The last thing he wants is for Matt to have to do this alone.
The way Matt’s fingers shake as he punches in the phone number tells Kris he doesn’t want to do this alone, either.
Kris can’t hear the voice on the other end of the line, but he knows Matt well enough to gauge the conversation by his expressions. From the first word - “Dad?” - a fake grin covers Matt’s face, as if that alone will travel through the phone and fix all their problems. Kris watches as Matt nods politely, playing the good son as he surely listens to fabulous updates in the lives of successful family members, taking it as a good sign that the conversation didn’t start with shouting.
“So Dad, my roommate and I are having a little bit of a financial issue…” Matt begins, a bit of a shake in his voice, and Kris wants to hold his hand.
Matt barely gets out another word before he receives a barrage of questions from the other end. “No. No. Not really. No, Dad.” And he keeps answering, quieter each time, his voice shrinking away until it just becomes a headshake, the voice on the other end of the line barely seeming to notice.
“Okay. Bye.”
Matt hangs up the phone and turns, leaning against the building wall, the back of his head pressing into the cold brick. His eyes are closed, as if he’s trying to will away the last ten minutes. Kris moves in immediately, hands moving to Matt’s sides to run soothingly against his hips because he doesn’t quite know what else to do.
“You okay?”
Matt shrugs and opens his eyes, and there’s a dullness to them that Kris isn’t used to seeing. When he speaks, his voice is ragged, like something’s been ripped out of him. “He wants me to move back home.”
“Yeah, but you knew he was going to say that.”
“I know,” Matt says, a hand moving up to rub his eyes. “I know. But it’s still… part of me hoped he’d help me out, you know? Not just order me home.”
“Are you -” Kris can’t quite ask.
Matt shakes his head no.
“Because you know I can’t,” Kris’s voice lowers, like his words are only meant for Matt’s ears. “My family, my town…” he swallows, meeting Matt’s eyes. “The week I spent there after coming out was the worst one of my life. I can’t do that again.”
Matt reaches for Kris this time, a hand settling at the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get money,” he whispers, not smiling.
It’s Kris that moves in, hand sliding across the stubble on his jaw, kissing him. “Thank you for trying.”
***
Kris stands in the bathroom of their freezing, dark apartment several days later and swears loudly. He immediately hears a rustle from the next room and waits - he only curses for a reason, and he knows it’ll bring Matt running.
“Did you get replaced with your evil twin and not tell me?” Matt asks from the doorway.
Kris spins away from the sink to face him, a hand coming up to run through his hair. “We don’t have water.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Yeah, cause that’s a funny joke.”
Matt moves into the bathroom and fiddles with the tap on the sink, waiting in anticipation for at least a trickle of water. The sink remains dry and Matt slams his hand against the porcelain, frustrated.
“We don’t have water and rent is due in two days,” Kris whispers from behind him, and the words and we have no money linger, unsaid, in the air between them.
The silence is long, longer than usual in a situation like this, and Kris watches Matt’s back as he runs a hand over the tap once more. There’s something going on in Matt’s head, and Kris wishes he could just shake him, get him to share with the class. But no, Kris waits, because given the time, Matt will always talk.
Instead, Matt spins around, large hands reaching out to grasp the front of Kris’s sweater and pull him in, hard, for a kiss. Startled, Kris’s reciprocation is lacking, and he pulls back long enough to ask, “What’s that for?”
Matt shakes his head, and Kris can see a pink flush creeping over his cheeks in the grey light from outside. “Don’t. Come on,” Matt encourages, a hand coming up to Kris’s cheek as he pulls him in for another kiss.
The urgency of it all surprises Kris a little, but Matt’s warm and eager, and his arm circles tightly around Kris’s waist and presses their bodies together, so who is Kris to complain? His hands come up to fist in the front of Matt’s shirt, holding on for dear life as he kisses back, taking the opportunity to explore Matt’s mouth. It’s familiar and they’ve done this a hundred times before, but it’s a comfortable familiarity. Something he could do a hundred more times and still not be sick of it.
Kris lets Matt maneuver them into the bedroom, and he falls easily onto the bed when Matt pushes him down. Matt’s straddling his lap almost immediately, lips sucking at Kris’s throat, and Kris’s hands roam over Matt’s back as he revels in the feeling. Matt pulls back to grab at the hem of his own shirt, and Kris’s hands immediately come down to meet them.
“Don’t. It’s freezing in here - we can do this mostly clothed.”
Matt’s voice is raw and needy. “Don’t want to.”
So Kris pulls Matt’s shirt over his head in one smooth motion.
Matt’s a solid guy, and Kris loves that he’s a presence in bed, commanding and real and very much there. After shucking his own shirt, Kris kisses Matt’s collarbone, letting his hands explore the rest of Matt’s chest. He’s interrupted, however, by Matt pulling away and climbing off his lap, chuckling at the indignant expression on Kris’s face as he does so.
“The pants have to go, Allen.”
Matt’s fingers are shaking a little when he pulls down Kris’s jeans, and Kris can’t tell if that’s from the cold or something else, nor can he decide which possibility is worse. Instead of dwelling, Kris brings a hand to Matt’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss, fingers stroking the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Matt soon loses his own pants as well, and when he spreads himself out overtop of Kris, his cock presses hot against Kris’s thigh and Kris moans into his mouth.
Kris thinks he could happily stay and kiss Matt for hours, pressed together just like this, but Matt begins a slow slide down his body, kissing and licking and nipping the expanse of flesh before him. Kris knows he’ll be dotted with red marks in the morning, but Matt’s tongue dips into his navel and he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he simply brings a hand to the top of Matt’s head and encourages him downward.
“Looks like somebody wants to be in charge here,” Matt smirks, kissing Kris’s hipbone.
“You down there for a reason?” The anticipation is already making Kris short of breath.
“Should I be?”
“Tease.”
Matt licks a stripe up Kris’s cock. “Sorry, what was that?”
Matt doesn’t spend long down there, just long enough to get Kris all hot and bothered (which just isn’t fair, in Kris’s opinion, but voicing this complaint might put an end to the whole thing so he keeps his mouth shut). He takes his time, licking Kris thoroughly, then wrapping his mouth around him to suck almost greedily. This makes Kris’s head tilt back and a whimper escape his mouth, and Matt smirks around him, pulling off and kissing his abdomen.
“How’re you doing up there?” Matt asks, and even with his eyes closed Kris can hear the grin Matt has to be sporting.
“Less talking, more action.”
“Impatient.”
“Damn right I am.”
Kris watches as Matt laughs and moves away only briefly, snagging up lube and a condom from the bedside table. He settles himself resolutely between Kris’s knees, spreading his legs wide. Matt coats his fingers, blowing on the lube to warm it up, which Kris appreciates because God knows he’s already cold. Matt slides one finger in slowly, just the tip at first, and Kris’s hips lift off the bed almost at once at the feeling.
“More already?” Matt asks with a breathy laugh, and Kris just groans, trying to push back against his finger.
Matt obliges, sliding the finger in as far as it’ll go, giving Kris a second to adjust before he moves it in and out. It’s not long before Kris can take a second, and his hips stutter as Matt curls them both just slightly. When Matt pushes in a third, he waits, letting Kris breathe through the sharp pain. To Kris’s relief, Matt makes up for it a moment later when he finds just the right spot to press against, eliciting a low, sweet moan from Kris, and from the way Matt’s panting, Kris can tell it’s probably having quite the effect on him, too.
Matt pulls his fingers out, leaning down to kiss Kris again. Kris kisses back at first, but his hips continually press up against Matt, rubbing himself on Matt’s stomach. When Kris pulls back, he nips at Matt’s lip once before urging him forward. “Come on.”
“Come on, what?” Matt asks, a glint in his eye because they both know Kris won’t say it. Kris is too much of a gentleman to demand it, to ask Matt to fuck him, even though he’ll think it a million times in his head. Instead, he just pleads with his eyes and ruts with his hips, and Matt gives in. He always does.
“Fine,” Matt says with a breathy laugh, reaching down to push Kris’s knees even further apart. Kris watches, slack-jawed and staring as Matt rolls the condom down over his cock, bending forward to kiss Kris’s stomach once more. Kris meets Matt’s eyes, nodding, and Matt slowly pushes in, his head dropping forward as Kris clenches around him.
It doesn’t take long for Kris to be ready to go, and he grabs Matt’s shoulders and presses his hips up insistently. Matt’s more than happy to oblige, pushing back against him and establishing a rhythm. It’s a little faster, a little more frantic than Kris is used to, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders about that. But the rest of him is so consumed by feel and taste and Matt that he can’t waste more than a second’s thought on the matter.
When Matt snakes a hand between the two of them to pump him, Kris loses the rhythm for a second, hips faltering as they push eagerly into Matt’s hand. Kris tries to find the rhythm again, taking a few moments to pace himself with Matt’s thrusts, and all Kris can do is wrap his arms around Matt’s neck and kiss him like he never wants to stop.
“I love you,” Matt murmurs against his lips as they take a breath, and something’s happening to Kris’s heart because this is the first time Matt’s ever said that to him and he didn’t think it was possible to feel more complete.
“Love you too,” Kris gasps back, kissing the corner of Matt’s mouth, his cheek, chin, anywhere his lips could reach.
Matt kisses his lips again and then drops his head to Kris’s neck, where he kisses over and over, mumbling “I love you,” in between, hips speeding up as he works his hand faster over Kris, trying to get him off first.
It doesn’t take long - one “I love you” followed by his teeth scraping against Kris’s neck - for Kris to shout and arch his hips, coming messily between them. Matt’s rhythm falters as he thrusts forward several more times, Kris’s orgasm bringing him over the edge as well.
Matt’s head stays pressed into the crook of Kris’s neck, Kris feeling Matt’s heartbeat strong against his chest as they recover. His hand moves up to the back of Matt’s head, running through the sweaty hair there as he presses a kiss to the side of his head. Kris’s eyes are closed and he lets his lips rest there.
Matt eventually raises his head and brings his lips down to brush across Kris’s.
“Remember that, okay?” Matt requests, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Remember that I love you.”
Kris’s hand comes up to Matt’s cheek, thumb brushing against the subtle freckles there. “Of course,” he replies. “You remember too, all right?”
Matt rolls off him, rearranging the bed sheets so they’re both tucked up under them together. Sliding right up next to Kris, he curls an arm around his waist and kisses his shoulder. “Will do.”
***
When Kris wakes up to an empty bed, it doesn’t hit him right away. No, he lies there for a moment, wishing Matt would’ve waited for him to wake up before getting out of bed. He entertains a brief fantasy where they woke up together and made pancakes and read the New York Times, choosing to ignore the fact that they don’t subscribe to the Times and the only breakfast food in the kitchen is a box of Rice Krispies. Eventually, he drags himself out of bed and into sweatpants and a hoodie, thinking that even sharing Rice Krispies at this point wouldn’t be so bad.
He finds an empty living room when he steps out of the bedroom. That’s when he starts to worry.
A quick scan of the kitchen and the living room don’t reveal Matt, so he backs up into the bedroom, moving to check the bathroom. Empty. Kris notices that the toothbrush holder only contains one toothbrush - his own red one. Its companion, Matt’s green one (“They look like Christmas!” Matt had happily proclaimed when he set up the cheesy tooth-shaped holder), is missing.
And that’s when he knows.
Kris doesn’t have to scan the bedroom to notice that Matt’s clothes aren’t hanging alongside his own in the closet. He doesn’t have to check the front door to see that Matt’s runners aren’t piled next to Kris’s own Converse. He checks anyway, though, just to be sure.
Part of him wishes he hadn’t, because maybe then it would hurt less.
He paces the apartment at least a dozen times before he spots it.
A white piece of paper sticks to the fridge under Matt’s “Welcome to Tijuana!” palm tree magnet (he’d never been, but his cousin had brought it back from one of his crazy drunken weekends, or so he’d told Kris). When Kris approaches and gingerly pulls it down, he can see ‘Daniel Giraud’ typed in embossed font on the upper left corner. And written in the center, in perfect handwriting that Kris knows isn’t Matt’s, is a number that will cover rent and utilities for at least the next three months.
Kris blinks at the cheque, reading the number several times over.
When he flips it over, he finds a tiny Post-It note containing Matt’s barely legible scrawl.
K -
I wish I could’ve done better for you. But this is the only solution I could find. One of us should get to stay in the big city.
Good luck.
Remember.
- M
And remember he does.
end.