Summary: adam has a plan to get kris to try something "new" in each city they tour in.
"What do you mean, you've never kissed a guy?" Adam demands, looking absolutely scandalized by the admission. It's not exactly normal breakfast table conversation, but then, nothing about their relationship is normal. So. "Jesus, Kris, didn't you go to college? Please tell me you did SOME kind of experimenting, or I might just have to disown you."
Kris stuffs the rest of his bagel in his mouth and shrugs, a little bit. He had never really been the adventurous type.
Adam huffs out a dramatic sigh. "Do I have to teach you everything?" he says, and then his hand is curling around Kris's neck, pulling him in, not asking permission. Just doing. He plants a kiss against his lips that's both soft and aggressive, light and intentional, and when he pulls away, Kris's head is spinning. His mouth tastes like a combination of cream cheese and Adam.
"Um," he says, licking his lips.
Adam smirks. "I thought so."
"Seriously," Adam insists. "Try it."
Kris squirms. "I don't WANT to try it."
"Pleeeeease?" Adam goes into full-force pout mode, lower lip sticking out and all, which, Kris thinks, he probably picked up from Allie. And, well, how could he say no to that?
"Fine," he concedes. "But just this once."
Within seconds, Adam has him propped up against the mirror, thumb pressed carefully against his cheek, a pointy pencil aimed directly for his eye. Adam's tongue pokes out when he's concentrating, which Kris thinks is kind of funny.
Adam smacks him lightly on the head. "Stop laughing," he says. "You'll smudge the eyeliner. And I am so not reapplying it."
"I'll do it," Kris says seriously, "but I'm not going to like it."
Adam rolls his eyes, something he does kind of often with Kris. It's not that he's stubborn, it's just that he's -- okay, he's pretty stubborn, but he does, at least, have a reason. He loves french fries. He loves gravy. But putting them together?
Well. That's just weird.
Adam stabs a fork into the mess on the plate, scoops up a decent-sized fry, and shoves it towards Kris's mouth. He swallows hard before leaning forward, biting down. He chews and chews and chews, thoughtfully.
"It's... not so bad," Kris admits. "Actually. It's pretty good."
"It's poutine," Adam says, looking delighted. "Of course it's good."
Kris has a headache that he's pretty sure he's never going to get rid of. It hurts. No, it's worse than hurt. In fact, it might just be the death of him, a slow and torturous death, alone in his misery.
Adam peers into his bunk around three in the morning. He looks surprised to see him fully-dressed, staring at the bed above his with a tightened jaw, glossed-over eyes. "Why're you awake?" he whispers.
Kris winces slightly. "Migraine," he answers.
"Ah. Yikes. You need some medicine." When Kris opens his mouth to respond, Adam waves him away. Like they've had this conversation one time too many. "Not that kind of medicine, Mr. I-Refuse-To-Take-Pills. The better kind. The cuddly kind."
It's hard to suppress a snort when your head's about to explode, Kris thinks. He turns towards him, slowly, cringing with the effort. "The cuddly kind?" he repeats.
"Mm-hmm. Don't take me you've never had that kind before." Adam pats Kris's leg, climbs into the bunk beside him. They've never shared a cramped bunk before, but, well, it's not so bad. "Go to sleep," he says gently, one hand coming to rest against Kris's waist, the other dusting through Kris's hair, feather-soft.
Kris is out in seconds.
"Ten?" Kris says, lifting his eyebrows at the prospect. He smirks at Adam's expression, plucks the first plum out of the basket, and brushes it against his shirt. "I bet I can do fourteen."
For about two hours after the show, Adam avoids Kris. For a number of reasons, really, but there's one that's the most evident. One that he's pretty sure he's never going to get out of his mind. And. Just. Avoiding. It's necessary, if he wants to survive the rest of tour.
It's not exactly easy to do, however, when Kris's hand reaches out and snatches his shirt, seriously out of nowhere, drags him into a supply closet that's dimly lit and, ew, kind of gross.
"Um," Adam says, looking at Kris like maybe he's lost his mind. "What exactly are we --"
"Kiss me," Kris interrupts. "Now. I mean. Jeeze, Adam, you can't do THAT during a show and not expect me to want you to. Well. Kiss me."
Adam rocks backwards, very much aware of the fact that his shirt is still balled up in Kris's grip. "Me?" he says. "Excuse me, you tease, you were the one that was --"
"I've never made out with a guy in a closet before," Kris says, cutting him off again. The curl of his lips into a mischievous little smirk makes the back Adam's neck tingle. "So. Kiss me?"
west valley city.
"We," Adam says, gesturing grandly between the two of them, "are taking the day to pamper ourselves."
Kris fixes him with a confused expression. "Pamper... how, exactly?"
"Everything. Anything. All of it. I'm serious, whatever we need to do, we're doing it. The whole shebang. I, for one, could use a professional massage. And a mud mask. And a pedicure -- you could probably use one too."
The more Adam talks, the less Kris's expression changes. When Adam notices this, he trails off, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. "Please," he says. "Tell me you've had a spa day before."
He exhales with more force than necessary and wraps his arm around Kris's shoulders, guiding him urgently towards the door. "Kristopher Allen," he says, only half-amused. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Who're you texting?"
Kris doesn't glance up from the iPhone in his hands; if his attention wavers, even briefly, he'll screw something up. He knows it. He still hasn't mastered the Super Nintendo, after fifteen years of playing. How is he supposed to know how to use this thing?
"Katy," he answers, punching in letter after letter. His hands are too big for this, he thinks. That's the problem.
Adam smirks. He can't see it, but he can hear it. Can practically feel it. "Ooh. I'll leave you alone then..."
Kris's head snaps up, which, crap. "Not like THAT," he says, a blush creeping up his neck.
"Well, why not?" Adam studies his expression curiously. "We have, like, the next four hours off. You might as well."
Kris forces his eyes back to the phone, even though he's lost his train of thought. "I've -- we've -- never done that."
"Seriously?" Adam sounds disbelieving, like always, but then, well. He's used to it by now. "Give it a go, then. I'm sure it'll be a pleasant surprise for her." When Kris doesn't respond, for a long moment, red to the tips of his ears, he understands. It's cute, even. "Let me see," he says, thrusting his hand forward. "I'll help you get started."
This is wrong on so many levels, Kris thinks. But he hands it over anyway.
Adam hands him the silly string. "Here," he says, gleefully.
Kris looks down at it, then back at Adam, then back down. "I can't," he says, giving it back. "We'll get in trouble. No shenanigans, remember?"
There's a long pause. Adam stares at him, eyebrow quirked. And not in a good way.
"Fine," Kris says, uncapping the lid. "But if anything happens, I'm blaming it on you."
Kris is lying in his bunk, tangled up in the sheets, cheek pressed against the mattress. Adam is kissing his way across his neck. This is nice. Really nice. Soft lips, a little nuzzling, spooning from behind, and -- Adam sinks his teeth into Kris's shoulder.
"Oh," he says, surprised.
He doesn't bite hard enough to leave a mark, but he's never been bitten before, and certainly not like THAT. When Adam pulls away, he groans and pushes forward, against his mouth, sort of desperate and needy, silently begging him to do it again.
"I hate my hair," Kris groans. He's usually not, like, self-conscious, but. It's getting pretty thin on top, and he's already heard one or two or seventy-three "balding" rumors abound. "Why can't the hair stylists from the show just follow us around all the time?"
Adam laughs and flops onto his stomach, digging through his suitcase on the floor. "Aha," he says after a minute, straightening up. "Come here."
Kris approaches, but cautiously. Just in case. "What?"
"Wear this." Adam pulls something warm and snug over Kris's head. He glances backwards, over his shoulder, into the mirror.
"You want me to wear your beanie?"
Adam shrugs. "Why not?" He reaches forward, tweaks Kris's cheek in the way that he knows he hates. "It looks cuter on you anyway."
"I'll give you a dollar to ride that mechanical bull."
Kris fixes Adam with a stare. "Are you serious?" he says, glancing wearily at the contraption that had thrown Michael, an experienced rider, less than five minutes ago. Nothing about the experience seems like fun to him. "Only a dollar?"
"A dollar and a blowjob," Adam amends, and Kris's jaw falls open.
He swallows hard, even though his mouth is dry, and pushes away from the table. Towards the bull. "You're on."
Adam sinks to his knees in the dressing room, undoes Kris's belt deftly, expertly, lets it drop to the floor. Drags the zipper of his jeans down, miserably slow, tooth-by-tooth. And then eases his pants down, with his boxers, leaves them in a pool by his feet.
"Okay?" he asks, glancing up at Kris, because his knees are shaking a little, but not in a bad way.
Kris grips a hand through Adam's hair, fingers sinking below his neckline. Just wanting to touch, feel. Anything. "Y-yeah," he says, suppressing a shiver, suppressing the urge to buck forward. "Good," he adds. "I'm good."
His hands twine around Kris's legs, like a support system, stabilizing him, holding him up. He presses a kiss to the inside of Kris's thigh, soft, and then moves upwards, lips ghosting across his skin.
"Oh," Kris says, eyes fluttering shut, head tipping backwards. When he swallows, Adam can see his throat moving and pulling, every muscle, and God, it's such a turn on.
When Adam wraps his mouth around Kris, he makes a sound, a small cry, a noise that he's not sure he's ever heard before, but one he wants to pull from him, as much as he can.
"You're amazing," Kris groans, tugging lightly at his hair, just enough, and if Adam's mouth wasn't preoccupied, he would've said you too, Kris. You too.
There's a banner, when he wakes up, hanging across the front of the bus.
Welcome home, Kris!!! it boasts, and he knows that sloppy penmanship. Not to mention the fact that it's done entirely in pink.
He ventures to the back of the bus, where Adam is curled up on a couch, and he scrunches in beside him, gathers Adam's feet in his lap, fingers dancing along his anklebone. Adam lifts his head up, earphones blaring, and looks at him.
Kris smiles. "Thank you," he mouths, gesturing towards the sign.
Adam merely shrugs, smiles back. He tugs his headphones down to his neck. "You're singing in front of 15,000 thousand people tonight who're all going to tell you how much they love you," he explains. "And. Well. I wanted to be the first."
"I have an idea." Adam slides the pair of sunglasses onto Kris's face, carefully, making sure he doesn't poke his eye out. Neither of them have ever been to Graceland before, but it's been a great day, relaxing, and actually really fun. "Let's talk in Elvis voices. All. Day. Long."
Kris snorts, peers over the shades to judge Adam's expression. "You're serious, aren't you," he says, and it's not a question. Not at all.
"Kris, wake up."
He rolls over, first, and then he groans, blinking awake. Being shaken is definitely not the best way to rouse him, and it's several minutes before his eyes adjust to the darkness. When they do, however, he's not entirely sure he's not still dreaming.
Adam's not wearing any makeup, so his freckles are in full-force. He's wearing a pair of low-slung shorts -- hello, hipbones -- and there's a towel draped over his shoulder, casually. But that's it.
"Adam, what're you --"
"We're going swimming," Adam interrupts. Kris moans again, his eyes sliding over to the clock on his bedside table.
"You woke me up at two in the morning to go swimming in the ocean?" he whines, tugging his blankets back up to his chin. "Adam, you can going swimming anytime."
"Yeah," Adam says. "But you can't go skinnydipping."
Kris sits up, blankets pooling around his waist. "I hate you," he says, but he's already climbing out of bed. Of course.
The ten of them gather by the sign, posed, arms around shoulders, cheeks pressed to cheeks, everyone smiling. The camera flashes. They simultaneously relax, limbs dropping, while the driver studies the picture. "Might want to retake that one," he calls to them. "Matt, you were cut out of the frame."
They all groan and line up again, waiting, and he retakes the picture and then gives them the thumbs-up, and they all amble back towards the bus, like they're glad to have that over with.
Adam snags Kris's arm. "Wait," he says. "I have an idea for a brilliant picture." He leans down, mouth hovering just beside Kris's ear, and whispers the idea he'd formulated during the first take.
Kris pulls back, shakes his head. "No. No way. I'm not doing that."
"Pleeease?" Adam flashes him his most dazzling smile. "It'll be hilarious."
"But there are people --"
"What people?" He glances over his shoulder, first that way, then the other. It's pretty deserted. "C'mon. I'll be quick."
Kris hesitates, but they both know he's going to give in. "Fine," he sighs, reaching for his belt buckle, and that's how Adam ends up with his phone's screensaver, the SUNRISE sign large and proud, and Kris right below it, bent over, bare ass in the air. "A full moon in Sunrise," he calls it, and he laughs every time.
"I think," Adam says, "we should have sex."
Kris nearly chokes on his Poptart; Adam pounds him on the back a few times until he's remembered how to breathe correctly.
"It's the next logical step," Adam points out, and, to his delight, Kris seems to be considering.
"Yeah," he says, after a few minutes, crinkling up his wrapper and shooting it towards the trashcan. He misses by a good few feet, but shrugs and turns back to Adam. "I think we should, too," he agrees. "But not like, you know. Not right now."
"Tomorrow?" Adam says, hopefully.
Kris shrugs. "Okay," he says, and it's settled.
The nice thing about being in Noop-town is that no one cares about them as much, and they find the time to duck back onto the bus a good hour before usual. "We really should be out there signing," Kris says, worried, cupping his hands around his face to gaze outside at the crowd.
"Please," Adam says, arms wrapping around him from behind, hand sinking below his belt. "All they care about is Anoop."
Kris shifts, leans into Adam's touch. "Good point."
Adam kisses him, then, long and hard and full of passion, and they fumble to the back of the bus, to the only little makeshift room with a lock, normally used for private phonecalls or Danny's meditation time, but tonight, it'll make do. "I love you," Adam says earnestly, tugging at the buttons on Kris's shirt,.
"You too," Kris says, when he remembers how to speak, when the heel of Adam's hand isn't pressing into his erection, his brain fuzzy in a good way. They get undressed fairly quickly, and Adam's prepared, has lube and condoms and everything else they could possibly need, and Kris knows it's going to hurt a little, at first -- and it does -- but also. It's. The feeling of Adam inside him, closer than he'd ever experienced before, and. Well. It's kind of amazing, too.
Adam climbs into Kris's bunk, tucks his head into the crook of his neck and it fits, perfectly, like that's what it's meant to do. "How ya doing?" he murmurs softly into Kris's ear, because he knows how it is, knows how it can be, after the first time.
Kris squirms around until he's facing him, presses a kiss against Adam's mouth. "Good," he says honestly. "Kinda tired, though."
He nods understandingly, slides an arm around Kris's waist, pulls him closer. "Ever cuddled with a guy you've had sex with?" he asks teasingly.
"Hmm." Kris pauses, pretends to consider, and Adam swats him when he doesn't respond right away. He laughs, snuggles in. "No, I think you'll be the first."
Adam doesn't point out the fact that they've still got more than a month and a half of tour left, plenty of time for things to get even better. He simply closes his eyes and smiles. "Good."