Randomly, Kris on a journey of personal discovery:
"So Ben was like--" Adam makes a vague gesture, casually obscene, stretched out on the hood of his car with a pensive expression as the ocean beat a distant counterpoint against the rocks below them. "What, closeted?"
Kris picks up his beer and thinks about it. "No? He was just, you know--he really liked blowjobs."
Adam's shakes his head in bewilderment at the strangeness of people who don't live a life that makes porn superfluous.
(Not that Adam doesn't have porn. Adam and porn are not strangers at all.)
"For three months?" Adam sighs, taking a drink. "You know, I could--"
"I have a full beer and that jacket is Prada," Kris says darkly. "Think about how you want to finish that sentence."
Adam hunches his shoulders protectively, pulling the soft leather closer. "I was going to say," he answers defensively, black-smudged blue eyes narrowing in betrayal, "I know some guys--"
"That's--actually worse," Kris says after finishing his beer, more to remove himself from the temptation than anything else. Dropping the bottle over the side of the car, Kris turns his head enough to make sure Adam can see his appalled horror. "You're not pimping me out to your friends."
"I was thinking more--"
"Or your hook-ups," Kris adds implacably to derail the crazy before he wakes up to a selection of text messages offering all the gay experience any man could ask for as approved by Adam Lambert. There's nothing about this plan that could possibly go right, even by accident. "I think I can handle it, thanks."
Adam rolls his eyes. "Fine, since you're doing so well, who am I to try to introduce a little variety--"
"There's something to be said for intensive practice," Kris says thoughtfully, scooting closer as the chill breeze coming off the Pacific cuts through his t-shirt. Adam lifts his arm and Kris settles gratefully against the big, warm body, the smell of leather and aftershave and Paul Mitchell settling around him in a comfortable, familiar haze. "You know. Getting it right."
Adam finishes his beer, pretending he doesn't want to ask while Kris pretends he won't eventually tell.
"Okay," Adam says, tossing the bottle into the darkness before running his fingers deliberately through Kris' hair. "Where should I start?"
Kris shivers and leans into the touch with a sigh; Adam might not always win, but he sure knows how not to lose. "Ask me about my reflexes. We'll go from there."
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