It was always a little weird watching Katy do a sex scene, but usually Kris didn't mind, mostly because he didn't have a clue who the guys were and didn't care. Katy made fun of him for never watching TV and never going to the movies, even though that was what bought them the house and the cars and all the fancy stuff—okay, so they never actually got around to buying the fancy stuff for the most part, but it got them the money they could have bought it with. But hey, he was an audio kind of guy, and he wasn't going to complain if that made the guest star love interests all anonymous. Especially not after this.
Kris had thought it was going to be cool. He'd actually let Katy make him sit through an entire season of American Idol for the guy, and he even had this song banging around in the back of his head that he really wanted to shove into Lambert's hands, if he could figure out a way to forget that he had been raised with civilized-people manners for thirty seconds, which granted was a long shot. But he could maybe mention casually he wrote songs, and if Lambert didn't seem to mind, then Kris could hint in a really subtle way—
Okay, fine, wasn't going to happen. But it would still be nice to meet one of Katy's co-stars where he could have a conversation that didn't end in blank stares or the weather. Anyway, that's what Kris had thought, so he'd wandered by the dressing rooms to say hi before the sex scene—because it would get weird after, he figured—except someone dashed ahead of him, yanked open the dressing room door and said, "Adam, five minutes before we need you on set."
Kris had been about to give up, except then the door opened again and Lambert stuck his head out, oddly innocent-looking and fresh-scrubbed in the typical vampire victim look, his hair brushed smooth, eyes—eyes kind of huge and panicky, actually, and he looked at Kris and they lit up.
Kris blinked, because okay, he played the L.A. clubs pretty often, and he got photographed with Katy a bunch, so it wasn't completely impossible Lambert had recognized him, but—
"You," Lambert said, "you are my savior, oh my god, please, you," urgently, grabbed Kris's wrist, and tugged him into the dressing room.
"Me?" Kris said, doubtfully.
"This is okay, right?" Lambert said, pausing, the door just pulled shut behind them.
"Sure...?" Kris said, not exactly sure what was going to happen but game, and then he was getting lifted up onto the dressing room counter by the thighs, Lambert's mouth locking on his, hot and wet and hungry, and Lambert's hips were pressing between his, right up against his cock.
"Oh, yes," Lambert said, murmuring, against his neck. "Oh my God, you smell amazing."
"Oh," Kris said, feebly, thinking that wow had they cast Lambert wrong, wrong, wrong. "Uh, I'm married—" he started to say, except Adam was kissing him again before that came out, and Kris's hands were on Adam's waist—which was bare under the robe because Adam was naked because Adam was going to be naked with Katy—
Adam had Kris's pants open and was doing a slow, heavy grind into him, dragging his big cock up and down all along the length of Kris's dick, and Kris finally managed to rediscover muscle control and tipped his head back and gasped out, "I'm married!"
"Ohhh, no, really?" Adam said, disappointed, and stopped—stopped in the sense of locked in place, his hips pressing in tight, right there, so if Kris looked—not that Kris was looking but—all right, so it was hard not to look—and Adam's dick was right there, long and huge and hard, a little wet right at the tip, pressed up against Kris's open fly and the cotton of his shorts, against his own swelled-up dick.
"Yeah, really," Kris said, strangled, staring down at their cocks. "To Katy O'Connell."
"Wow," Adam said, after a moment, still without letting go. "Well, this could be awkward."
"You think?" Kris said.
So now here he was sitting on the sidelines with his jacket folded over his lap, and Lambert was sprawled out in the bed, drowsy-lidded, sheets rumpled around his body, his cock full and heavy between his legs—thanks to making out with Kris, jeez—and Katy was prowling over him, doing that innocent-girl smile with an edge, nothing on but the murder-red lipstick and the pale blue thigh-highs and heels, leaving kisses on Adam's bare thighs, a trail of lipstick aftermarks until she bent her head over his crotch.
Adam dropped his head back and moaned, a beautiful sound, husky and low and pleased, and Kris needed to be watching this in private with an option to clear the history afterwards, not out here in the big room with all the lights all over and Adam doing the shuddering death throes like an orgasm, his neck arched and straining, his mouth open, his chest shivering with breath. Katy raised her head up, the little trickle of blood from the pouch in her mouth running down the corner, and oh, crap, they hadn't miscast Adam, because she was swinging easily to straddle Adam's thighs, and taking a switchblade out from under the pillow.
"We're going to be together a long, long time, beautiful," she said, sultry, and drew the prop blade down her finger, nice and slow, where the CGI people would put the blood in afterwards to make Adam a recurring guest star.
"And cut!" the director yelled. "Okay, one more take, and this time let's try it a little slower—let's make it even more sexy, guys."
Kris let his head thunk back against the wall. He was so screwed.
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