Summary: They really aren't being careful.
Author Notes: The internet is for porn. And you know, other stuff. Mostly this was to break through a block on my other fic, which totally worked, so well done porn. Who knew it could heal writer's block? It's magic like that.
It's never a good sign when Adam wakes up to Brad sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter looking ridiculously awake and cheerful well before noon. For one, it's before noon on a Saturday and what the fuck? For the second--
"How did you get in here?" Adam says, then promptly loses interest in the answer at the smell of Kona permeating the air. Pouring a cup, Adam drinks it straight before pouring another, this time pausing for sugar and a little cream; feeling marginally more awake, he leans against the counter to stare blearily at Brad and try to figure out what's going on.
"Don't stress, honey; no breaking and entering here." Not looking up, he holds up the key before tucking it away. "So I don't need to ask how you're doing--"
"When did I give you a key?" Adam asks suspiciously, taking another drink and trying to parse together some kind of coherent protest on the unlikelihood.
"I'm hurt," Brad starts, looking up, then blows out an annoyed breath. "Last time you locked yourself out, you left a copy with me for emergencies."
Adam tries to convey disbelief with his eyebrows alone.
"I'm very persuasive and you were very high," Brad answers smugly, then looks back down at his phone; twisting his neck a little, Adam tries to see the screen. "I'm also very impressed, by the way. Not with your brain, obviously, since that seems to be offline if you're pulling shit like this." Turning the phone, Brad pushes it toward Adam. It's not a great picture, too dark and grainy-edged, wobbly like the owner had been in a hurry, but Adam knows what he's looking at; a narrow view between bodies shows Kris straddling his lap in a quiet corner couch, shirt half-buttoned and head tilted back, Adam's hand shoved beneath the low waist of his jeans. "Just gotta show off your new toy, honey?"
"Private party," Adam answers, pausing to send it to his account before flickering through the rest. "Who?"
"Former friend of a friend."
Adam smiles. "Got a name?"
"Former will do, and you're fucking lucky, don't pretend you don't know that."
"Luck, good friends, blackmail, outright bribery…."
"Luck," Brad answers, eyes narrowing. "Keep this up and someone's going to figure out they like you less than what they could get in a bidding war for something like this."
Adam nods and takes another drink, because honestly, he knows that and even so, nothing's going to change. "In my defense--"
"You're literally fucking each other stupid?"
Adam gestures helplessly; yes, of course, what else could it be? Going back to the coffee pot, Adam gets another cup from the cabinet, absently filling it and adding sugar while Brad glares at him like Adam's behavior is that inexplicable when it's anything but.
"I'll talk to Kris and see if he has any sense left," Brad says finally. "Far be it from me to deny the transcendental quality of orgasms, but one of you--"
"Hey," Kris says, voice gravelly and sleep-thick as he wanders into the kitchen, cutting off further conversation at the knees. Rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes blearily, hair sticking up in every direction, Kris passes Brad sublimely unaware of his presence, Adam's boxers sliding incrementally down the sharp bones of his hips like the world's slowest strip tease. Catching his breath, Adam can read last night, the last few months, in the dark purple smudges trailing down his hips, the outline of teeth fading high on one shoulder and red blotches on his throat, thin red lines stretching down the length of his back; in the way Kris moves, relaxed and easy in his skin; and in the thin strip of leather circling his throat, resting just above the small, hard bones of his collar.
He loves seeing Kris like this, soft and hazy from sleep and sex, focused on Adam to the exclusion of anything and everything else. Easing into the space between Adam and the counter, Kris wraps an arm around his waist and leans into Adam's chest sleepily. Curling a hand around the back of his neck, Adam brushes a kiss against his forehead. If Brad weren't here, Adam would make Kris undress for him in the white-gold spill of morning sun and keep him like that all day, never farther away than the reach of his arm, all that skin offered up for Adam to look at and touch and taste.
He wonders belatedly how okay he is with Brad seeing Kris when he's like this; it's not surprising to realize he's not, not at all.
"Coffee?" Kris murmurs finally, pulling back just enough for Adam to give him the cup, and he takes a sip, eyes half-closed and lashes dark sweeps against golden skin. Adam thinks a little desperately of Brad with a perfect fucking view and the fact that Brad's right about both the stupidity and the luck, then Kris puts his cup down and tilts his head up, swollen pink mouth stretched in a sleepy smile and he forgets why he should care.
A too-short time later, he just manages to slide Kris off the counter and onto his own feet again, easing a hand out from under the sagging waist of the boxers, and breathe. "S'early," Kris murmurs thickly against his collar, drawling the words across his skin like warm honey. "Come back to bed already."
Adam untangles his fingers from Kris' hair reluctantly. "Brad's yelling at me right now, baby; give me a few minutes and I'll make him go away."
Kris pouts, eyebrows drawn together sharply, then he stretches up on his toes and kisses Adam, slow and sloppy and filthy-sweet before reaching for his cup, murmuring an absent "Morning, Brad," with a languid little wave on his way out.
Adam's not a complete dick; he gets Brad another cup of coffee, because no one can really be prepared for living, breathing porn wandering around at seven o'clock in the fucking morning. Adam lives with this and he's still not used to it.
Brad finishes most of the cup before saying, a little blankly, "Defense accepted. You are literally fucking each other stupid."
"Pretty much, yeah." Adam watches Kris pause halfway to the stairs, easing the too-large boxers back over his hips. "I’m okay with that."
Brad, who hadn't bothered to pretend he wasn't watching the same thing, glares at him. "For the record, people who don't even know you hate you right now."
"You might be surprised to know," Adam says thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the open doorway as Kris disappears up the stairs, "that thought isn't what's keeping me up at night."
"Please shut up," Brad answers sincerely, gesturing for another cup of coffee. With a sigh, Adam goes to get it; experience says protesting will only delay the inevitable and he's suddenly not really in the mood to argue. "I'm surprised you let him out of bed at all."
And isn't that a temptation he's already fighting daily. Adam grins. "Send me the rest of the pictures before you leave, would you?"
"After I finish my coffee," Brad answers sweetly, taking a tiny sip, secure in the knowledge that Adam so does not have the attention span to argue right now. "Get some rest, honey. You look a little tired."
Brad's not wrong or anything; they're not acting like rational adults who have some general idea that actions equal consequences. It's that a casual lunch to catch up had become Kris in his bed, eager and shaking and unbelievably willing as Adam held him down and kissed him quiet, opened him up with his fingers slow and dirty until Kris was begging for his cock. It's that Adam woke up the next morning with Kris warm and boneless against his chest, waking dazed and deliciously slow when Adam eased inside him, panting yes when Adam said he was going to keep him.
It's that Kris is half-asleep in his bed right now, empty coffee cup abandoned on the bedside table and boxers forgotten on the floor; it's that Kris has stayed four months and counting and Adam doesn't really worry that he'll ever leave.
Rational describes none of those things; he likes his way so much better.
Crawling in beside him, Adam considers sleep for all the seconds it takes for Kris to tilt his head back, looking up at him with sleepy eyes and saying, "Brad is here?" like he just figured that out.
"Home delivery of some pictures with bonus lecture," Adam answers, nuzzling behind his ear and losing interest in conversation altogether. He can feel Kris is thinking by the faint tension running beneath his skin; easing back, he kisses Kris until he can feel him unwind again beneath his hands. "Don't worry about it."
Kris smiles and lets it go, opening his mouth for Adam's tongue, fingers sliding into Adam's hair and already rubbing half-hard against his thigh; this early, Kris is impossibly pliant, rolling onto his back in the mess of sheets and pillows, arching with a pleased murmur into every touch, like he's never wanted anything else.
Adam had thought about what Kris might be like in bed in the casual way you thought about anyone you wanted, even if they weren't someone you thought you could ever have. Sometimes it was shy and awkward, sometimes frantic and eager, always hot, but careful, too, and a little bit afraid, because while the mechanics of sex would translate easily, the context was entirely new.
He'd never thought any farther, though, imagined first times that ended hot-white and fade to black; even if he had, he doesn't think he could have imagined it would be like this.
Pulling back, Adam brushes a kiss to his temple and watches the brown eyes open slowly before hooking two fingers in the thin leather and tugging. "Sit up."
"Shh," he breathes against the back of Kris' neck, licking the imprint of his teeth before resting his chin on one bare shoulder and tightening his hold on Kris' hands, wrapped around the smooth edge of the headboard. Kris shudders, moaning when Adam lazily thrusts into him. "You'd come right now if I let you," he says, looking at the purple-red head of Kris' cock, head shiny-slick and swollen, easing back out as Kris whimpers helplessly. "Just from my cock in your ass."
Catching his earlobe between his teeth, Adam bites sharply on the next thrust, Kris tightening around him, braced arms shaking. "Don't move your hands," Adam murmurs, letting go as Kris' fingers stretch briefly before wrapping around the smooth edge, knuckles nearly white. He loves stretching Kris out in his bed, tied up helpless and begging, but there's something addictive about this, using only his voice to keep Kris where he wants him, how he wants him, and the way Kris responds to it, wanting so badly to please.
Sliding his hands down the length of Kris' body, skin sweat-slick and smooth under his palms, Adam reaches down to circle the wide stretch of Kris' hole around his cock, skin wet and tender, using his knees to spread Kris wider. Mouthing down his neck, Adam twists one swollen, sore nipple before lazily jacking his cock, thumb stroking along the leather wrapped around the base.
Panting, Kris' head tips forward against the headboard, every muscle drawn tense in a silent plea, eager and desperate and the hottest thing Adam's ever seen; he'd thought about what it would be like to have him, yeah, watching that pretty mouth and that perfect ass take his cock, making Kris want him as badly, as desperately as Adam wanted him, but he hadn't thought he could own him. Then again, he'd never known there could be a difference.
"Up now," Adam says, pressing a hand against Kris' stomach until he lifts his head, back straightening shakily as he shifts his balance to his knees again. Tangling his fingers in sweat-damp hair, Adam pulls his head back enough to kiss him, open his mouth up for his tongue like his ass does for Adam's cock. Sitting back on his heels, Adam lowers Kris slowly back into his lap, swallowing the low groan when his ass rests against Adam's thighs with Adam's cock buried in him to the root.
Pulling back, Adam licks the red-raw, swollen lips. "Fuck yourself," he murmurs, watching Kris' eyes flutter half-open, glazed over as he tries to focus. "Show me how much you love this."
Shaky, Kris eases himself up, thighs trembling as Adam strokes up the length, over the sharp jut of his hip and down, petting just around his cock where the skin is still too-sensitive and faintly pink, stripped clean and bare and impossibly soft. "I may keep you like this," Adam breathes, licking between his shoulder blades and cupping Kris' balls, round and heavy, squeezing to make Kris gasp. "Not a professional next time, though; I want to do it myself."
Kris slides back down too-fast, gasping; Adam smirks, biting his shoulder as Kris gets a steady rhythm, desperate to please Adam and driving himself crazier with every thrust, cock leaking helplessly. It goes on what feels like forever, half-drugged by the feel of Kris tight around his cock and his body beneath his hands, the taste of his mouth and the sounds he makes, by watching Kris like this, doing this for him, anything he wants, everything he wants.
Stroking his cock once, fingernails scratching below the sensitive head, delicate red lines that he'll see hours later on the pale skin, Adam cups his hips and pulls him back down to murmur, "You can talk now."
"…please, Adam, please," Kris whispers, rough and gravelly like the morning after a long concert and a smoky club and two shots of whiskey, like it hurts to talk: a rhythmic litany like it's been looping through his head long before he was allowed to say the words, "please, Adam, I want you, please."
Adam eases him back up, pinning him against the headboard with his hips; pressing a kiss below his ear, Adam reaches for his hand, easing his fingers open enough to lace his own between and thrusts inside him hard enough to lift him off his knees and hold him there.
"Don't come," Adam says, holding Kris' hip tight in one hand and pulling out before thrusting back in, faster, Kris unable to do anything but take it, "Please, Adam, yes, God yes," between choked breaths, cock trapped between his belly and the wood. Licking along the edge of the collar, tasting leather and skin and new sweat, Adam shudders at the hot burn working down his spine and through every nerve with each twist of his hips, fast, fast, until Kris is breathing his name and nothing else, head falling back against his shoulder, boneless and utterly pliant.
"That's my boy," Adam whispers, reaching down and finding the leather with his fingertips, pulling the snap free and unwinding it in a single quick pull. Kris stills, shuddering all over, and Adam gives him three more strokes before he breathes "Come now," so he can feel Kris fall apart against him and around him, coming seconds later with Kris still convulsing around his cock.
It's a while before he can make himself move but it's still well before he wants to, easing Kris into his lap, shivering at the aftershocks as he wraps an arm around Kris' waist and easing their joined hands off the headboard. "Let go now," he says firmly and waits as Kris does it, slow and dreamy and obedient from body memory.
"Good boy," Adam says, kissing his mouth softly before lifting Kris off his cock, smothering the tiny whimper with another kiss and urging him down on the bed. Kris makes a faint protesting sound when Adam takes a few seconds to toss the condom; cleanup can wait until later. Stretching out beside him, Adam pulls him into his arms, and Kris hums faintly as he settles, breath warm against his throat and bonelessly content.
Picking up the bracelet again, he snaps it back on his wrist, amused when Kris shivers, just a little. It's early and God knows Brad's not going anywhere; they can sleep a little longer. "Go back to sleep," Adam murmurs, stroking the back of Kris' neck, thumb lingering over the smooth stretch of leather, the cool metal buckle. "Brad can entertain himself for a while."
"Do you want to take it off?" Kris asks after a second, tensing just enough for Adam to feel it. "While he's here?"
As it turns out, maybe what Brad sees doesn't bother him after all. "No."