Summary: "I get needing space. But there's space, then there's your own private Mojave Desert. That's a lot of empty personal landscape."
Author Notes: Futurefic. Sometimes, you just need to write about rain and beaches. Everyone has kinks. Mine are often weather related. Just go with it.
Disclaimer: All untrue.
He wakes up to the feel of the sheets sliding down his legs and toward the floor; eyes closed, Kris clings to sleep and moves only enough to grab for an edge that slips through his fingers before he can even start to get a good grip, air conditioning raising goosebumps across the bare skin of his legs and shivering up his arms. Opening his eyes, the room comes into vague focus; well, more specifically, a shape comes into vague focus, a shape that resembles the only person on earth who could possibly have talked the hotel into giving him a key to this room. "Adam?"
"There we go." It's too dark to see his face, but Kris can hear the smile in his voice; cool fingers wrap around his hand and pulling him unresisting toward the edge of the bed. Kris tries to work out the reason--leave bed? Is it morning? Is there a fire? Does Adam have a death wish?--but by the time he remembers how to fight back, he's sitting up and Adam's already urging him to his feet. "Come on."
"Um." Rubbing his eyes blearily, Kris trips over two discarded boots and something slippery and soft that feels like velvet when it wraps briefly around his ankles. Neither, he thinks, are his, which argues that Adam for Adam-reasons known best to himself came to his room and then took off clothing, inexplicable and yet, weirdly, not completely unfamiliar behavior. Adam catches him before he can stumble, arm wrapped around his waist and pulling him by sheer will toward the door of the room, soft denim rubbing against the bare skin of his knee. "Adam--?"
Adam clamps a hand over his mouth as they emerge into the hallway, ducking his head to look both ways like a spy from a blockbuster, then darting toward the elevators with Kris in tow and hitting the button for second floor for no reason that Kris can ascertain.
"So no one sees us," Adam whispers, despite the fact they're alone in the elevator, thumb rubbing over the knob of bone at his wrist, sympathetically, like Kris is a little slow. It's a totally ruthless application of a fact that Adam is very much aware of, thanks to being roommates and tourmates, sharing rooms and buses and occasionally beds and on one memorable occasion while very drunk, a bunk: Kris really isn't capable of complex decisions right when he wakes up.
They're a couple of years from those days, but some habits remain unchanged when everything else has. And apparently, the random fact that they happen to share a hotel now while Adam's recording is enough to revive the it right where they left off. "Adam--" Kris starts, coming awake a little more, alarmed at the quick flow of numbers that means they're almost--
The elevator dings softly, and Adam impatiently waits the half-second for the doors to open before ducking his head out again, eyes narrowed. "Okay, we're good," he whispers, pulling Kris down the hall and toward the stairs marked exit. Kris won't claim he's the world expert on hotel layouts, but he's going to guess from years of way too much experience with them that these are the ones that open to either an external location, or possibly the garage. For things like fires. The ones with alarms attached. "Um, Adam--"
"Don't worry," Adam says, ignoring the bright red warning and smaller, but no less red, emergency lights and pushing the door open. No alarm. Kris should be more surprised than he is. "Got it covered."
"When you picked up my key?"
Adam grins, pulling him into the concrete stairwell. "They were very helpful," he answers cheerfully, moving to double time and making Kris kind of hate Adam for taking up a morning jogging habit, according to the paparazzi that treat him like a twenty-four hour reality TV show. "Come on."
It's not like Kris has a choice; it takes all his concentration to get one foot in front of another and not tumble down solid concrete and die in tragicomedic fashion only a few weeks before the end of his tour. It wouldn't even qualify as ironic at this point, just weird.
Kris is almost dazed when he realizes they're outside, blinking at the feel of hot, overly humid air after the controlled environment in the hotel. There may be something to be said about the fact Kris isn't as used to dealing with actual weather as he once was; he spends the majority of his time either inside a building, a bus, or standing on a stage, and with the latter, at least, he really doesn't care all that much about temperature; performances under stage lights make every day summer. Craning his neck, he checks the sky and surprised to realize it's cloudy. "It's going to rain," he says a little blankly.
Adam pauses as they cross the parking lot in the direction of an unidentifiable roar of sound, looking up with a frown. "That's inconvenient," he says, sounding like the presence of the natural world has betrayed him in some fundamental way. "But better not to be followed," he adds positively, always one to find the silver lining, and with prejudice at that. Tugging Kris' hand, he leads them from concrete to smooth grass and by a--palm tree.
Even more than the weather, it says a lot about Kris' life to date that it's a shock to realize that sound is the ocean. "We're going to the beach," Kris observes as a thin black line begins to thicken on the horizon, darker than the cloudy night sky. "So I forgot there was a beach."
Adam snickers softly as the ground changes to sand, shifting beneath Kris' feet, thick and soft and a little hot. Sweat's already breaking out on his back, cotton clinging to his skin, and Kris glances at Adam in his black jeans with a worn t-shirt that look really familiar. "Did you steal my shirt?" he asks, bewildered.
"I can give it back," Adam says; Kris' eyes have adjusted enough to see the slow smile. "Now?'
"God," Kris says, shaking his head as the sand compacts beneath them, damp, then forgets all about Adam's distressing new habit of stealing clothing after breaking and entering, staring at the black roll of water only a few feet away. He forgets he's exhausted and went to bed early in a terrible mood, and he even forgets his terrible mood is now a fixture in his life and moving quickly into personality trait, because God, that's beautiful. "Oh wow."
"Thought so," Adam says smugly, pulling him toward an outcropping of rock that extends into the water far enough to see waves crashing helplessly against it farther out. "Up here."
"Rain," Kris points out as they make the first rock, feet scrambling a little over the weather-smoothed surface that have felt the feet of thousands of tourists.
"We'll get just as wet down here as up there, baby," Adam says reasonably, pulling him up until they hit level stone, comfortably warm to walk on, though at noon it would probably bake their feet in moments. "If you wanted to stay dry, you should have called me back."
"Er." Kris looks uneasily at the sky again but stops even trying to fight Adam's pull, leading them to a spot comfortably distant from the splash of water but close enough to take in the view. From the worn state of the stone, Kris guesses this is a popular area. "I went to bed early?"
"Called at five. In the afternoon," Adam answers like Kris can't tell time anymore, pulling Kris to sit beside him before letting go and pulling one knee up to rest his chin on and stare moodily at the water. Kris blinks at the presence of make-up, the kind Adam wears when he goes out at night, vividly red-streaked black hair falling in his eyes. It's an incredibly good look for him. "And let me say, lame. I wanted you to go out with us tonight! I haven't seen you in forever!"
Yeah, and that would be the reason he fell defensively asleep before ten. "Not really my scene," he says, a little awkwardly, scuffing a heel against the stone. "You know."
"No, I don't, and it is your scene. You love dancing. And you actually don't look hilarious doing it anymore."
Kris bites his lip. Dancing on a stage is nothing compared to a club; the moves are improvisation, the audience is so much closer, and it's easy to leave a lot of victims in your wake. Adam had fed him two shots after the third near-assault and took him out himself, losing themselves in a club big enough that no one knew who they were, grimly carrying out his duty as gay ambassador to straight men in need of rhythm in between bursts of hysterical laughter.
He got the job done, though, and suddenly, clubbing with the rest of the Idols had been a lot more fun, something to look forward to rather than endure.
"It's been a long tour," Kris answers, trying to keep the tiredness from his voice and failing. It's not that he doesn't get enough sleep these days. The lack of anyone to call at night before bed, bring on tour, or fly home to visit has seriously done wonders for his well-restedness. He may be the first person in history so boring even the paparazzi look at him in faint horror, like he may start a trend and soon they'll have no work at all, because as it turns out, ruthless normality after a while does make them go away. Well, sometimes, anyway. "Narcolepsy?"
"Nice one," Adam says approvingly, blue-smudged eyes meeting his. "I'd be so much more offended if I didn't know that radio silence is pretty much status quo for you right now. By the way, your mom says if you call on Sunday, I get cake."
Kris can't help the grin. "When I was a kid, she always had a plate of cookies ready after school, for my friends when they came over. She's so not above bribery."
Adam snickers, undistracted. "I get needing space. But there's space, then there's your own private Mojave Desert. That's a lot of empty personal landscape."
Kris wrinkles his nose, though God knows the description is apt. "I know."
"Mmm." Adam's shoulder presses against his. "But I'm still offended, for the record. I expect you to take me out to a really awesome dinner before you leave. And maybe another one after you get off tour." Adam thinks about it. "Four, really. One for each letter of the word 'good' which has been the extent of your text responses for months now."
Kris can't entirely deny the justice. The salty smell of the ocean is picking up a faintly new scent, chemical like ozone, and Kris looks up at the clouds with a sense of inevitability. "You know, it's about to start pouring--"
"I don’t care." Adam's smile is nowhere to be found, and Kris feels a weird pang at the expression on his face, equal parts hurt and bewildered, barely hidden. It's not that Adam's not right; isolation is hard to achieve on tour, and that very fact Kris managed it proves he applied a serious work ethic to the task. "I get this isn't about me, but you know, it sort of is."
"It's--complicated." Kris feels Adam move away; not much, a tiny cooling distance between them, but still so much smaller than the one that Kris opened between them and isn't sure he knows how to close, or even if Adam really wants to. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want to talk about it."
"You wouldn't have had to." Adam looks at him, eyes dark. "It really would have been enough just to hear from you and know you were okay without having to resort to hearing it from your band and your PA. Who probably don't like me very much at this point, considering how often I was calling them."
Kris winces, looking away to stare out at the water, feeling as much a jerk as he's actually been these past months, this past year. "They don't like me much either," Kris offers. "I was kind of equal-opportunity with the jerkness, if that makes you feel better."
Adam thinks about it, chin pressed to his knee. "Maybe a little," he admits, then seems to shake himself. "And I seriously did not drag you out here to make you feel guilty. I just--I don't want us to become those kind of friends."
"You know--convenient." Adam wrinkles his nose, and Kris gets it. "I have a lot of those already."
Kris bites his lip; he doesn't, but that's one of the few positive trade-offs of personal jerkness on his social life. "You're really inconvenient," he answers earnestly, wanting to get that look off Adam's face. Adam's mouth twitches. "Totally. I like that."
Adam looks at him, faintly suspicious, and Kris can't help giggling, leaning into Adam again, so warm compared to the slowly cooling air that means rain is coming, and coming fast. Adam's mouth twitches again, then he grins, leaning back and shaking his head. "Yeah, fine, but you do this again--"
"Five dates," Kris answers, and his voice doesn't even tremor when he uses the word that slips off his tongue by accident, smooth as honey, like he means it. "I'll even cook--"
Adam winces; some people really just do not get over kitchen fires.
"--and then order take-out. And seriously, Adam," as a single drop lands on his face, "rain."
"What, will you melt?" Adam rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling. "Fine, let's get back before you drown or something. You can start by taking me out for pancakes." Resting a hand on Kris' shoulder, he leans over, brushing an absent kiss against his forehead, and then he leans forward to press a kiss against his lips.
Kris isn't prepared for that, though he wonders a little if he really ever could have been. It's a sweet, friendly Adam-kiss, the kind he gives to friends and family, probably to his mother for all Kris knows, and it doesn’t mean anything. But that was before, when Kris was someone else and had all his lines set by a promise he'd meant to keep all of his life; it's different now when he's a year from any line he didn't draw himself. And God in heaven, he's missed Adam.
He isn't prepared, and that's why he leans into it, because before he couldn't, wouldn't, but now he can, even though, God, he shouldn't, it's totally not cool to--to--to keep kissing his best friend stop it stop it stop it right now--
Adam draws away a belated thirty seconds later, blue eyes huge and shocked, and Kris thinks that life lived in a personal Mojave Desert really might not be that bad of an option, all things considered.
Adam stares at him for a second, and under any other circumstances, Kris would mark this as a win, because the odds of shocking Adam are on par with roulette. "Um," Kris starts, trying to think of what to say to make this okay and not either horribly sleazy or weird. "It's--it's about to--going to--"
"Going to rain, yes, we've established that fact beyond question. But--" Adam licks his lips, and Kris can't help following the motion, hears Adam say, "Thought so," one big hand cupping the back of his neck and kissing him again, this time not friendly at all.
Or too friendly, or something, soft lips with an even softer tongue licking over his lower lip and coaxing him to open his mouth, let him in; Kris can taste the faint remains of alcohol beneath hotel coffee and something that's just Adam and very, very good. Tentatively, Kris rests a hand on his shoulder, warm skin beneath sweat-damp cotton and getting damper from the slowly escalating rain, soft and a little warm and barely there, ozone thick around them and the temperature dropping by the second.
Kris comes out of this one dazed and shaking, mouth heavy and unable to get a full breath. Adam's watching him, both hands holding his face and searching for something. "This is why?" Adam says incredulously, blinking at Kris with raindrops shimmering on his lashes like tiny diamonds. "Holy shit. I should have just gotten a flight like I wanted to in the first place and settled this months ago."
"Um." Kris fights the urge to lean in again, but he can't stop himself from threading his fingers through Adam's hair, and Adam kisses him again, fast, licking inside his mouth like he's already established residency and Kris kisses him back, trying to get closer until he's half in Adam's lap, one hand sliding under the collar of Adam's shirt and trying to convince himself that he doesn't need to breathe.
This time when they pull back, it's raining, really raining, soaking Adam's hair and Kris' clothes are already wet through, goosebumps everywhere, but he can't remember if he's supposed to be cold. Hand trembling a little, Kris wipes away Adam's smearing eyeliner with his thumb and kisses him again, Adam's mouth warm and amazing and it's so good, and what the hell, it's not like anyone ever melted in the rain before.
Then abruptly, Adam pulls away; before Kris can start to read anything into it, he's pulled to his feet, bare feet sliding a little on the smooth rock. How they get down in one piece Kris is never entirely sure, but eventually they're stumbling in wet sand and Adam stops to kiss him again with rain pelting down on them, drawing back with the same slightly incredulous look. "Seriously," he breathes, thumb hot against his wet jaw, "we have to work on communication."
Kris nods a little dazedly, looking in the vague direction of the hotel, lights drowned by sheets of falling rain, stumbling after Adam up the incline until he's pushed up against the palm tree he'd seen on their way, wet and scratchy against his back and both Adam's hands under his shirt, sliding hot up the length of his back and mouthing down the side of his neck, dragging his teeth like an endless tease. "Why didn't you--" Adam sucks a kiss into the thin skin below his ear, fingernails digging into Kris' back. "You had to know I--"
Kris swallows hard, water dripping in his eyes from his hair and feeling stupid and weird both. "Cute?" he manages on an indrawn breath; attraction is different from wanting, and both are miles away from where Kris found himself once he was free and able to take stock of himself again. It's not that he thought it would be hard to get in Adam's bed; it's just that once there, he'd want to stay. "I didn't want to, I couldn't--" The friendship of a lifetime pitted against one night or maybe two; Kris had never been very good at gambling with so much to lose.
Adam's leans his forehead against Kris'. "No, you don't--," he breathes, then pauses. "God, come on, I'm not doing this in a storm." With a too-brief kiss, Adam pulls back, pulling Kris from the tree and in the vague direction of the hotel, sliding a little on the wet grass before they hit concrete.
Adam pushes him against the wall twice in the stairwell, shoving his hands under his shirt and knee pressing between his legs, kissing him long and dazed for a few long seconds; in the elevator, he's slightly more careful, one hand resting low on Kris' back, fingers sliding in the sagging waist of his shorts and sending sparks up with every scrape of his nails; on a different floor entirely than Kris', they emerge into a quiet hall and walk four doors down leaving a trail of water staining the carpet dark behind them.
Taking his keycard from his pocket, Adam pushes it in the door and pulls Kris inside the dark room. Kris gets a second to orient himself with the light from the hall before Adam pushes him up against the door, slamming it shut with the combined weight of their bodies. Adam drags off his soaked shirt, hands hot against rain-chilled skin, before pulling off his own, and God, yes, all that bare skin and Adam's mouth, biting at his shoulder and up the side of his neck, long sucking kisses, wet and slow and making him feel dizzy and unfocused, legs trembling beneath him until Adam's the only thing keeping him upright.
"Kris," Adam breathes against his throat, dragging his tongue up until he reaches Kris' mouth, sucking his lower lip for a heartstopping moment, before breathig a sweet kiss against his temple, panting against his skin, "you should have--just--"
"I couldn't--" Framing emotions into words is too hard--I've loved you since I met you and you're the one thing that I can't stand to lose when he's lost so much already. As friends, he can have him, keep him, but for Kris, sex changes everything; their friendship could survive almost anything, maybe even that, but Kris just might not. "I couldn't risk--"
"Not a risk." Kris can feel his cock rubbing slowly against his hip, hot even through two layers of wet clothing, and then Adam's hands slide down his sides, rainwater and sweat slicking his palms as he eases down Kris' shorts, denim-covered cock pressing against the bare skin of Kris' hip and making him shiver. Eventually, Kris finds himself stepping out of them dazedly, guided by Adam's hands heavy on his hips, then he's pinned against the wall and Adam drops to his knees without ceremony, taking him in his mouth.
"Fuck," Kris says, startling himself, bruising his fingers on the wood of the door before he grabs helplessly for Adam, sliding his fingers into thick hair, wet and clinging, trying not to pull and trying not to gasp and mostly failing at both, cock surrounded in impossible heat while the air conditioning chills his wet skin further. Kris tries to hold out long enough not to be pathetic, but this is Adam, and a glance down ends it; Kris comes with a breathless gasp, knees buckling completely.
Adam uses one hand to wipe the corner of his mouth, staring up at Kris, and even in the dark, the blue eyes are incandescent. "An absolutely sure thing," Adam says huskily, and Kris slides down the door, trying to remember how to breathe, helpless when Adam kisses him, tasting himself on Adam's tongue--oh God….
Straddling his lap, Kris works open the buttons of Adam's jeans, wet and impossible to get more than an inch before they catch on narrow hips. Adam giggles against his mouth, not doing a damn thing to help, though he's impossibly hard through the denim. Impatient, Kris shoves him back against the floor and jerks down the denim enough to confirm Adam did not feel particularly in need of underwear and Kris can get a hand around him, head slick when it slides over the palm of his hand. Adam hiccups a laugh and a groan together, arching enough for Kris to slide the jeans down a little more, biting Kris lip before drawing back with a smile Kris has never seen before. "Yeah, that--"
"I," Kris swallows; Adam's eyes are nearly black, pupils blown huge and ringed in electric blue, "I don't know how to--how do you want--" Doing this to Adam is a world away from doing it to himself. Adam's smile widens, cupping Kris' face and drawing him back down, hips arching into Kris.
"Oh baby," Adam says huskily, "you couldn't do this wrong if you tried."
Kris suspects he's going to be testing that tonight; a few false starts and then it evens out, not familiar, but not awkward either, and Adam doesn't hide what he likes, breathing encouragement until it's nothing but tiny, breathless gasps, and Kris kisses him when he stills, spilling hot over his hand and smearing between their bodies.
Adam's arm circles his waist before he can start to wonder if he should move, nuzzling contentedly against his throat, boneless and almost purring. "This," Adam says smugly against the hollow of his throat, "is much better than pancakes."
Kris laughs a little, stroking his fingers through Adam's hair. "Well--"
"I still want my five dates, though," Adam answers, licking up his chin, tongue warm and soft and sending tiny shivers through Kris' body. "Somewhere nice. Maybe flowers, too, I don't know? How do you do these things in Conway?"
"When I finish tour…" Kris starts in surprise; the vague, yawning emptiness of after tour isn't quite so empty. "When are you going back to LA?"
Adam tilts his head back against the carpet, frowning slightly in thought.
"Maybe not for three weeks or so? If you don't have anything else to…." Kris stops himself, appalled at the words falling out of his mouth without checking in at his head. Before he can try to explain he's not actually crazy, though, Adam nods thoughtfully and kisses him again, murmuring, "Yeah, that sounds about right."