|Jealousy||Mutation/physical transformation||Weird crossovers||Futurefic||Touching, hugging, and cuddling|
|Hypothermia||First-person narration||Freestyle crossover||Sleeping arrangements|
|We're all going to die!||Hooker AU||Seduction||Telepathy||Families|
|Backstory||Darkfic||Worst-case scenario||First times||Yearning/oblivious|
(for the sleeping arrangements prompt, and for the ai_kinkmeme)
"Uh, so," Kris said.
"Hmm?" Adam said groggily. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Fuck, he hated being reminded he was thirty and couldn't handle seven vodka-and-tonics in a row anymore. He rolled over onto his back and groaned as his thighs pulled stickily free from the sheet. "What time is it?"
Then he sat up really fast and stared at Kris, who was in the bed, and naked, and had his hair going in six different directions and at least one bitemark on his shoulder. "Oh, we didn't," Adam said.
"Yeah, we did," Kris said, dry. "At least twice." Then he went a little pink, which looked adorable and would have made Adam want to bite him all over except apparently he had already accomplished that particular life goal, even if the details were a little vague and fuzzy at the moment.
Adam rubbed his face, and then he put down his hands and looked at them and said. "Oh, we really didn't."
"What?" Kris said, and then looked at his own hands, where he had a wedding ring on again, about forty-eight hours after he'd finally taken the old one off. "Oh, fuck."
Their phones started ringing at the same time, and Adam saw his publicist's face on the iphone screen, the fixed-shark-smile snapshot he'd taken of her while telling her to look as comforting and friendly as possible. "I'm so not taking that one," he said, and hit ignore.
"It's on TMZ?" Kris said. He'd answered his phone, which had clearly been the wrong, wrong, wrong thing to do.
Two hours later, after a Mission:Impossible-style extraction maneuver to get them out past the horde of paparazzi, they were in a limo headed to the airport, where a private jet would take them back to L.A. and the conference room full of lawyers already slaving away over hot divorce papers. Kris was staring out the window, his hair still damp from the shower and his left hand in his lap, his thumb pushing the smooth gold band in a circle on his finger.
Adam cracked open a Red Bull from the minibar and gulped it down as he tried to get his head back together. He was so completely fucked. There had been a strategy here—get Kris drunk, hook him up with some tawdry and expensive sex, let him fuck his way through the rebound phase and then pounce after he got sick of it all. The strategy had not included getting drunk himself and losing all sense of timing and being the tawdry and expensive rebound sex.
All right, it was time to focus on the bright side: amid the tawdry and expensive sex he had also managed to get them to the altar, which had been the eventual goal from almost the moment Kris had shown up on Adam's doorstep with his guitar case and a suitcase and a crumpled expression to ask for someplace to crash. That part was all well and good. Which made the next step obvious, when Adam thought about it that way, so after Kris had ducked into the back of the plane, Adam turned the other way and went forward to have a little conversation with the pilot.
Who was dubious, but Adam pointed out that he was in fact the one paying for this—he thought it was a little unfair that both his people and Kris's people had agreed this was his fault somehow, in fact, but at the moment he wasn't going to argue—and the pilot made a few calls to air traffic control and got the okay to change their destination.
"Uh," Kris said, when the airplane came down over Cabo San Lucas and they got out under the blazing desert sun.
"Just trust me on this," Adam said. "If we completely disappear for a couple of weeks, the tabloids will give up for lack of new material, and then we can go back to L.A. and take care of everything quietly," by which he meant throwing the biggest belated wedding reception ever, not that he planned to share that little detail with Kris right away.
They didn't have their passports and he hadn't made his own hotel reservations in four years, but it was amazing what being a rock star got you. Two hours later they were in a private white-draped cabana on the beach with iced tea, and Kris was still looking dazed, but he'd lost some of that tight, clenched-up look. Adam had gotten him into a swimsuit—teal and hot-pink trunks from the hotel gift shop, an extremely good look for him—and the ocean was roaring over the rocks nearby, and after the fabulous lunch there was a nap, and Adam didn't even have to make an effort for them to end up snuggled together in the middle of the cabana.
They woke up slowly as it got dark and a cooler breeze came in off the water. "If TMZ saw us now, we'd really be screwed," Kris said. He didn't try to untangle his legs.
Adam had his hand resting on Kris's waist. He slid it a little further around, into the small of Kris's back, and tucked the tips of his fingers just under the waistband. "I don't see why. We're married and everything."
Kris laughed. "If this is our honeymoon, where's the champagne and the non-stop sex?" He was trying so hard to make it sound like a joke, which meant it came out wobbly and tentative and gloriously obvious, and Adam sighed happily and nosed at Kris's temple, brushing a kiss over his cheekbone that made Kris's breath catch, audible.
"There's champagne on ice in our room," Adam said, and licked the outer curve of Kris's ear. Kris shuddered, and his hands tightened on Adam's hips.
"Oh," Kris said, low and rough. "And the—"
Adam kissed Kris's cheek again, and then the corner of his mouth, and then the bridge of his nose, nuzzling at him softly. "I don't think we need to go inside for that."
= End =
All feedback much appreciated!