Think of the Children

[kradam_12321]

Title: Think of the Children
Author: kradam_12321
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~11,000
Disclaimer: These are real people, therefore not mine. This never happened.
Warnings: N/A
Prompt: For this prompt for Round 13: Bonds.
Beta: The wonderful chelseafrew, over at LJ. Any remaining mistakes are most definitely mine.
Notes: This prompt was so much fun to write!! Hope you enjoy it, and comments are much appreciated. :-)
Summary: After a major falling out, Kris and Adam are both booked to perform at the telethon for Feed the Children. Avoiding each other seems like the best option, until an anonymous donor offers five million dollars if they can stay handcuffed together for a week. Simon, of course, thinks it's a wonderful idea.

"Um, Adam,” Alexis said, sheepishly, setting her cellphone down into her lap, “I think there's been a miscommunication.”


Adam looked over at her suspiciously, cocking an eyebrow and setting down his wine glass. Those words were always dangerous, coming from his handler—they could mean anything from, “your dinner reservations have been changed to 7 o'clock,” to, “one of the staff accidentally leaked your sex tape to the tabloids.” (Thank God that had never happened.)



“Should I be worried?” Adam asked, calmly, and Alexis shook her head quickly, regaining her smile in a heartbeat.



“No, no of course not! It's really just a tiny inconsequential thing; I'm sure it won't cause very much trouble at all, and besides it's all for charity so--”



“Alexis,” Adam said, in a tone that made her stop short and fidget nervously with the cellphone in her hands. “What is the problem?”



“Well, it seems that... You remember that telethon, right, for Feed the Children? On Friday? Well, somehow they made a mistake and....” She paused, before rushing through the rest of the sentence, as if she hoped Adam might miss it. “Well it seems that they booked Kris to perform that night.”



Adam stared blankly back at her, the words floating numbly on the surface of his mind. “You're fucking kidding me.”



“Um.... No,” Alexis replied, shrinking back as if bracing for the wrath of Heaven. “But I could—I can make it so the chances of you two running into each other is very slim, and--”



Bile rose in Adam's throat, and he bit back a curse, fingers clenching around the delicate stem of his wine glass.. “I'm not doing it, Alexis. I refuse. Call up Simon and tell him to cancel my appearance.”



“The thing with that is,” Alexis pointed out, timidly, “It's a children's charity, Adam, and if you back out.... To be blunt, you'll look like a diva. Not all press is good press, despite popular belief. And Simon certainly wouldn't be pleased, which might lead to, er, changes in promotion for the album and whatnot.”



“So what you're saying,” Adam replied, his chest locked tight with emotion, “is that I'm utterly fucked.”



“I'll do everything I can to keep you two apart; I know—” Alexis began, but Adam cut her off, pushing away from the table and slamming a twenty dollar bill down onto it.



“The correct answer to that would be yes,” he hissed, storming out like the diva management was afraid he would be construed as. “Fuck this.”



~



“No, Julia, I can't do that,” Kris protested, mouth dry. “If Adam's going to be there—I can't be around him, okay? I've told you that explicitly.”



“I know, Kris, but your booking was last minute, and we didn't know he was going to be performing as well,” Julia explained, catching and holding his flickering gaze. “And it's a charity, Kris—a sponsor put $80,000 on you being there to perform. More than half of that is going directly to the charity. If you back out.... You'll look bad, your management will look bad, and Feed the Children will be out over $45,000.”



Kris scrubbed a hand over his face, fighting back the stupid, irrational tears that threatened to well up.



“That's not much of a choice,” he murmured, fiddling with the hem of his button-down. “But at least try.... Try to keep interaction to a minimum, okay? It's better for both A-Adam and me if it's that way.”



“Okay, Kris,” Julia agreed, squeezing his arm sympathetically and leaving him to stare mistily out the window.



~



“Oh, Adam,” Tommy said, voice filtering high and concerned through the speaker. “How could your management do that to you? After all of the things he accused you of—”



“Tommy,” Adam warned, pinching the bridge of his nose and fighting back a wave of nausea, a migraine beating against his temples. “Don't. It was years ago. I don't want to, you know....”



“Sorry, sorry,” Tommy sighed. “I still struggle with the spontaneous urge to stab him in the balls, though, so you can't really blame me.”



“That's just because you're a dramatic queen at heart, straight or otherwise,” Adam pointed out, and Adam could imagine Tommy nodding agreeably.



“I take pride in that,” he replied. “But that's not the point—I'll be over with a surprise...that being a bottle of tequila...in fifteen minutes, okay?”



“Thanks, babe,” Adam said, offering a short goodbye before snapping his phone shut and laying it onto the table.



He wandered over to his bookcase, fingers reaching immediately for a certain book, tucked away onto the top shelf. He thumbed through it, not pausing until the last page—too many memories were contained there; the simple binding of that photo album held more pain than Adam was willing to face.



The page held only one photo, centered in the blank white paper background. Sunlight fell dreamily across still-familiar brown hair, lighting up dark eyes that were full of laughter as Adam—carefree Adam, younger Adam, the Adam in the photo—kissed his cheek.



Something stung in Adam's chest—their joy was obvious, and Adam remembered that moment of laughter, and the little kiss that had followed.



He remembered that night a few months later, as well.



Adam snapped the book shut and shoved it hastily back into its place, swallowing thickly around the knot in his throat and turning away from the bookshelf.



~



Kris usually didn't condone excessive cussing, but now, pacing the length of his living room, he couldn't stop the flood.



“Fuck,” he said, again, turning on his heel to begin another lap. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”



He was done up in his best semi-formal attire, and the limo would be here at any second. He hadn't brought anyone to a public event since—he pushed away that thought quickly—and, for once, he was glad that he was alone. Sitting still and smiling at a partner would be completely and utterly impossible now, with what felt like clenching fingers twisting around his stomach.



A horn beeped once outside, short and direct, and Kris startled, head whipping towards the door. He knew how neurotic he must look—he had to get it together. He couldn't be seen like this under the harsh, unforgiving glare of the stage lights.



Kris licked his dry lips and headed out the door, smiling weakly at the driver as he climbed into the limo.



He turned and was met with Julia's concerned face, eyes quickly and discreetly surveying the sight in front of her. Despite Kris' earlier misgivings, the fake smile he pasted onto his face must have been convincing, because Julia smiled and immediately relaxed, patting his arm.



“You doing okay?” she questioned, and Kris just nodded and smiled, not trusting his voice to be steady.



His exit from the limo was met by a barrage of photographers, and Kris smiled gamely, slinging his guitar over his shoulder and feeling his face strain from the effort. The expression felt pasted on—his eyes flashed around immediately, watching for a dark head. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he saw it.



A portly, harried-looking man intervened after a few minutes of blinding flashbulbs, shooing him into the building and following behind. He was barking orders into a headset, and paused long enough to point Kris down a long hallway.



“You're dressing room is down there,” he said. “Someone will come to get you a few minutes before you're on. Be ready.”



He rushed off, then, and Kris sighed, carving a path through the bustling backstage hallway. Kris could hear the announcer speaking onstage through a nearby monitor, encouraging people to call in and donate.



Kris muttered an apology as he squeezed through another clump of people, raising his eyes and freezing dead. At the end of the hallway, ringed by a group of people, was an all-too-familiar, dark-haired beauty.



He was laughing with some of the other celebrity guests, looking stunning in a charcoal-gray suit, and Kris swallowed back the mix of emotions that welled up at the sight.



Four years. Four years without so much as a glimpse of him—four years of anger and sadness and confusion.



Kris was just urging his muscles into motion when Adam instinctively glanced over, their gazes meeting. Adam's face was as expressive as ever, Kris foggily noticed—he could read every emotion that played across his ex-lover's face.



Adam stood frozen, hands clenched at his sides, while Kris fumbled into his dressing room.



Coward, coward, coward, he thought, dropping his guitar by the door and running his fingers roughly through his tousled hair.



Those expressions flitting across Adam's face replayed themselves in Kris' head: shock, fury, grief, and, worst of all, some semblance of wretched, left-over affection. After four years apart, they couldn't stand to forget any more than they could stand to remember.



By the time the crew member came to fetch him, Kris had numbed himself through the strings of his guitar, fingertips stinging from pressing them down far too hard. The telethon's announcer was all white teeth and beaming smiles, praising his accomplishments and generosity for performing in support of Feed the Children.



They cut away to another short clip promoting the charity and giving out the number for donations, and Kris knew one thing even before he launched into the song he had agreed to sing, before he ever looked out over the sea of people attending the event—Adam wasn't watching from his seat in the crowd. He wasn't watching at all.



~



Adam found his way back to his seat after his own performance, applauding whatever large donation the host had just announced. He was sure his performance had been stiff, stilted—he'd been on auto-pilot, singing the words he knew by heart.



He couldn't get the sound of Kris' voice out of his head.



A shrill rriiinnggg sounded, and the announcer moved over to the other side of the stage, where several rows of operators were working, their fingertips tapping rapidly across the keyboards. He picked up a large, black phone from it's cradle, answering it with a cheerful “Hello?” It was the phone reserved for timed calls from large corporation and personal donors, and the host ooohed appreciatively.



“Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is quite impressive!” he said, hanging up the phone. “Pending agreement to their terms, a private donor has pledged five million dollars to Feed the Children!”



The audience broke into loud cheers and applause, the host beaming as the channel cut away to another advertisement reel.



Adam knew that five million was a big fucking deal, especially for a children's charity...but all he could think of was Kris in that hallway, looking rumpled and terrified with his guitar hitched up over one shoulder. Just like the old days, if only his expression of shock had been swapped for one of quiet affection and contentedness.



Adam started at an unexpected tap on his shoulder, and a member of the crew crooked a finger at him, pointing backstage. Adam raised a slender eyebrow, but followed him backstage.



“Sorry to pull you away,” the crew member apologized, “but Mr. Cowell requested to speak to you regarding the terms of the last pledge.”



His eyebrows shot up in sync this time. He was involved in the terms of a five million dollar pledge? Although, he supposed it was plausible—if the donor was a fan with more money than he or she knew what to do with. He would probably be asked to go out to lunch, maybe sign a few autographs or play a couple of parties.



He'd lulled himself into a false sense of security by the time he stepped into the office (it's just a fan that wants a picture or a little date; no biggie) and he stopped dead just inside the doorway, his stomach jumping into his throat.



Simon was sitting behind a long, simple oak desk, hands folded on the surface and eyes crinkled in a thin smile. The expression alone would have alarmed Adam—it's Simon, and that smile can never be a good thing. But that wasn't what made his stomach clench sickly.



Kris' head whipped around to the door, as his big, brown eyes widened to become impossibly large, staring disbelievingly at him.



“What's going on here?” Adam asked after a stunned moment of silence, his voice dripping with a deathly calm that he didn't feel in the least. His heart was thundering in his chest, acutely aware of Kris staring at him with what appeared to be budding anger. Four years.



“Weren't you told? I've called you here to discuss some terms laid down by a private donor,” Simon explained, tapping his fingers against the desktop. “Take a seat, Adam.”



Adam wasn't brave enough to say what he was thinking—I'd really rather not—so he pulled the second chair as far away from Kris as possible, sitting down and crossing his ankle over his knee. He could tell without looking that Kris was facing away, probably still reeling with his own consternation over the situation.



“Can we make this quick?” Kris asked quietly, and Adam's jaw clenched.



“I'll try to keep it brief,” Simon replied, raising an eyebrow. He almost looked amused. Adam had to wonder, briefly, if the man was in fact lacking a heart.



He paused for a second. “There's no point in beating around the bush. A private donor just pledged five million, providing that we meet some, ah, unusual terms.”



“Just what would those terms be?” Adam asked, chewing on his thumbnail and keeping his eyes firmly trained on Simon.



“Ah,” Simon said, “it seems that she wants you two to be handcuffed together. For a week.”



The room fell into incredulous silence, until Adam managed to eloquently wrap his lips around his thoughts. “What. The actual. Fuck?”



Simon shrugged. “Apparently the woman is a fan of both of yours, and has missed seeing you two together.”



“So the crazy bitch wants to handcuff us together?” Adam near-shouted, and Simon nodded.



“But how are we supposed to—to go to the studio? Or drive?” Kris asked, lips still parted in shock as he unconsciously rubbed at his wrist.



“More like,” Adam snapped at him, before turning to Simon, “How are we supposed to fucking shower? Or use the fucking bathroom?”



“She has agreed to allow four breaks a day, fifteen minutes in duration, for bathroom breaks and showers.... But other than that, you two will have to figure it out,” Simon shrugged.



“No, wait just a fucking minute,” Adam growled, “There's no fucking way I'm agreeing to this. No fucking way. I don't care how much money she offered.”



“Oh, did I forget to mention?” Simon asked, purely rhetorical. “Your management already accepted the offer. It's for the children, you know.”



“Oh my god,” Kris mumbled, glassy-eyed, and Adam cursed, storming out of the room.



~



“Let the slavery begin,” Adam muttered to himself, once Kris' stuff had been transferred into his bedroom. They had decided, after much argument, that they'd be staying at Adam's apartment for the duration of the term—Adam's cat, Mr. Snuffles, had been what tipped the scales in his favor. He had seriously considered calling Brad to thank him profusely for making him take the scrawny little thing when Brad moved into his pets-free apartment.



Kris was staring uncomfortably at his shoes a few feet away, and Simon approached them, cuffs in hand. At least they were padded.



“Okay, guys,” Simon said, briskly. “The schedule for breaks is posted on the fridge, and the keys are on the counter. But be warned—we have, at the donor's request, installed a temporary camera above the keys to monitor them. If the keys are moved out-of-schedule, or not returned to their proper place, we'll know about it. Your drivers are available to ferry you both around if you wish to go out. Oh, and handcuff yourself under the camera. If you don't, we'll be forced to assume that you took them and chucked them into a corner somewhere.”



“Great,” Kris said, dryly, and Simon smiled infuriatingly, cuffing Kris' right hand to Adam's left. Well, at least he could still write. The cuff settled heavily on Adam's wrist, the short chain forcing him to step a few inches closer to Kris.



“Get yourselves familiar with the schedule, boys,” Simon commanded, heading towards the door, “and I'll see you in seven days.”



The door shut heavily behind him, and Adam let loose a long sigh, heading for the sofa before remembering that Kris' body was very much attached to his.



“Ow,” Kris said, stumbling after him and flopping gracelessly onto the couch next to him, shooting him a glare. “Adam, this isn't going to work if we don't look at each other. You can't just drag me around like a doll all week.”



“Thanks so much for your input, Kris,” Adam bit back, massaging his temple with his free hand. “But excuse me if I'm a just a little bit unhappy with this arrangement.”



“Because obviously, I'm loving it,” Kris moodily replied, turning on the television. “I'm not the one who asked to be handcuffed to you for a week. So, get your diva bitching out of the way, and deal with it.”



“Fuck you, Kris,” Adam snapped. “I should have known you'd take this opportunity to hurl some more insults.”



“I never hurled any insults,” Kris argued, face pinching in irritation. “I addressed a perfectly valid issue, and you were too busy being defensive to even—”



“Just drop it,” Adam finally said, raising his unbound hand in surrender and turning away as well as he could. “It was four fucking years ago. It's over. Let's just be miserable together for a week, make sure the charity gets their five million, and go our own separate ways again.”



“Fine,” Kris agreed, curling into a position that left Adam's arm uncomfortably stretched across the couch, and Adam sank down into the cushions, his head throbbing.



~



Kris studied the counter carefully, rubbing his wrist where it had sweated earlier. They had just separated for their noon break, and Adam had dropped the key back into its little candy dish before promptly disappearing into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The handcuffs were left curled around the dish, glinting menacingly.



Kris had used the bathroom and was currently staring at the camera guarding the key. It was one of those small, black, round cameras and was mounted on the underside of one of the cabinets, directly above the candy dish.



If he took the key, they would see. If he moved the camera, they would see. If he chewed off his right arm at the elbow, well.... They'd probably just handcuff him by the other arm.



He could always just make a run for it...but all of his stuff was in the bedroom, where Adam was no doubt sulking. And the pledge would fall through. It was for the children, after all.



So, in short, Simon had covered every possible loophole.



Kris loved children, but he couldn't help but loathe the undoubtedly insane fan that aspired to help said children by attaching him to his ex-lover.



And dammit, despite all of the time apart, he still remembered. The lines around Adam's eyes were a little deeper, but it was still the same face he'd woken up to every morning, the face he slapped that night everything fell apart.



“It's been fifteen minutes,” Adam announced, walking out of the bedroom. “Better put these stupid things on before Simon comes to rip us a new one.”



Kris didn't reply, his chest tight, and Adam reached past him, grabbing the cuffs. He quickly attached their wrists, before dragging Kris over to the phone.



“What're you doing?” Kris asked, eyebrows furrowing.



“Ordering takeout, obviously,” Adam replied, shortly. “There's no way in hell I'm going to try to cook like this.”



“Good plan,” Kris agreed, “considering you almost managed to burn down the kitchen cooking with both hands.”



“That was only once, and that lasagna was still fucking awesome,” Adam shot back, but his tone was a distracted one as he waited for the pizza place to answer their phone.



The gangly teenage delivery boy stared at them comically when they answered the door, looking doubtfully down at their wrists as Adam paid him and took the pizza with his free hand.



“Are you both...okay?” he asked them, looking like they might have handcuffed themselves together in a fit of insanity.



“Please leave,” Adam said by way of an answer, shutting the door in his face.



~



“Adam!” Kris complained as Adam scrubbed at the dishes in the sink, obviously taking out his frustrations on the china, and on Kris' arm in the process. “You're going to rip my arm off!”



“Who needs all these stupid appendages, anyway?” Adam muttered, dropping a plate into the drying rack. “And it's not like I can help it; my dishwasher has been on the fritz for a week, and the stupid plumber hasn't called me back.”



“I'm sorry stupid life is getting on your stupid nerves,” Kris replied dryly, and Adam fumbled the plate he was holding; the piece of china splashed into the water, sending bubbles flying everywhere.



Kris almost laughed, until he saw the tears welling in Adam's eyes.



“I can't fucking do this,” Adam said shakily, dropping his arms down against the edge of the counter and laying his head against them.



Kris, despite everything, felt a stirring of pity in his chest, and he laid his free hand hesitantly against Adam's shoulder. “Hey now....”



Unsurprisingly, Adam jerked away from his touch, Kris' knuckles knocking against Adam's clenched fist.



“Maybe we should talk about this,” Kris suggested timidly, and Adam laughed once flatly.



“I don't fucking want to talk to you,” Adam replied, and Kris backed up a step, stung by the words.



Kris supposed there was no arguing with that.



~



Kris was fine, fine during their last break of the day, fine as he slipped into his pajamas and brushed his teeth. He was okay as they reconnected their wrists, and he was perfectly fine as they entered the bedroom together.



He was even all right as they climbed awkwardly into the bed they had made love in so many times, trying to work out a comfortable arrangement for their arms.



But he was most certainly not fine when Adam turned away, and Kris noticed that the pillow under his head was still his. Undisturbed and unchanged, still there after four years apart—the only unaltered memory of their time together in this house, in this bed.



Kris sniffed, surprised at the sudden tears welling up in his eyes, and he quickly wiped his thumb across his cheeks, choking down a soft noise. He thought he was over this—he thought that after four years he would finally be over Adam fucking Lambert.



Adam tensed a little at the next badly-stifled snuffle, turning around again to face him. Kris stiffened, trying to hide his face against the pillow, but Adam's eyes widened slightly anyway.



“No, come on,” Adam said beseechingly. “Don't cry, Kris. It's only a week.”



“That's not why I'm crying, you asshole!” Kris hiccuped, jerking farther away from him and burying his face into his arms.



Adam was silent, but shifted closer, raising himself onto one elbow. Kris felt a tentative hand caress his hair, carding through the strands once, twice, the gesture calming him as effectively as ever.



The fingers withdrew after a few moments, and Kris curled onto his side, staring sightlessly at the wall as Adam turned away again.



~



The alarm jarred Adam into wakefulness, and he groaned, fumbling around the bedside table to turn it off. His arm was pulled uncomfortably behind him, and he turned, coming face-to-face with the still-sleeping Kris.



His hair was mussed into a crazy assortment of angles, his soft lips just slightly parted. The only thing amiss was the slight puffiness beneath his eyes, speaking of last night's tears. He looked so young, Adam mused dimly—this moment belonged to years past, when Adam would have woken him with smiling kisses and soft, whispered words.



Adam sat up and reached impulsively for the notebook and pen he always kept under the edge of his bed for scribbled lyrics. He flipped it open to a new page and quickly divided the page, feeling like a teenager as he labeled the sides Why I Should and Why I Shouldn't.



Why I shouldn't


1. We haven't spoken in four years.

2. When a relationship fails once, it's bound to again.

3. I'm still angry at him for all the things he insinuated that night we fought.

4. He'll be leaving in a week anyway.

5. This isn't a fucking fairy tale—we aren't going to jump into each other's arms and suddenly be happy again.

6. I'm over him.




Why I should


1. I'm not over him.

2. I've missed him every single minute that he's been gone.

3.





Adam stared down at the list in his hands, sighing and rubbing his hand through his hair. He closed the notebook and slid it back under the bed silently—the outcome was pretty clear.



“Kris, get up. Our break is in five minutes,” Adam said, shaking Kris' shoulder and averting his eyes from the way Kris' dark eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he woke.



~



Kris gazed out the window with inscrutable eyes, watching as Adam's Mustang disappeared around the corner. The moment they had separated themselves, Adam had been out the door. He wanted to get “out of the house,” apparently.



And away from Kris.



Kris, comparably, had nowhere to go...and no car to go with, anyway. So he busied himself with wandering aimlessly around the apartment, grabbing an apple from the kitchen and pausing in front of the bookcase.



Adam had always had an eclectic collection of books, and Kris ran a fingertip slowly across the spines of them, waiting for one to strike his fancy. That was always how he chose his books—he reached for one whose cover catches his eye and his interest.



A glint of gold sparkled at the edge of his vision, and he reached up onto his tip-toes, pulling down what appeared to be a thick, leather-bound album shoved hastily onto the shelf. The spine was embossed with gold lettering, reading simply, “Photo Album”.



Kris settled onto the couch with the album, setting his apple aside and flipping open the heavy cover. The first page was a group of photos from Idol—Adam and him laughing backstage, Adam ruffling his hair at the finale after-party and whispering something into his ear.



Kris' throat was suddenly bone-dry, and he turned slowly through the pages, following the photographic progression of their relationship.



Adam's arm around his shoulders, the Idol Tour bus behind them. Their first date, Adam's lips pressed to his face in a playful kiss as Kris giggled. A few months later in Venice, Kris' head tucked against Adam's neck in their gondola. In their shared apartment, unpacking the moving boxes with wide grins on their faces. Their one year anniversary, sipping wine together at the French restaurant Adam had taken him to.



Finally, the last page fell open onto his lap, holding one lone picture. Fingerprints were smudged across the plastic covering where Adam had ran his thumb along Kris' cheek in the photo, over and over again. This was the last photograph they had taken together, a few months before everything began to deteriorate around them.



Kris blinked down at the picture before dragging his own smudged fingerprint over Adam's smiling lips in the photo, closing the book, and returning it carefully to the the shelf.



~



“Adam,” Allison said, blinking up at him in surprise. “I didn't expect to see you this week.... At least not, you know, alone.”



Adam smiled weakly, checking his watch. “Well, I have to be back in ten minutes, so I have to leave in about five.”



“Oh, right,” Allison nodded, gesturing him in. “Hurry up; come in. I don't want Simon castrating you for being late.”



Adam followed her in, sinking down onto the couch, and Allison plopped down next to him, dropping her arm over her shoulder. “What's the matter, big bro?”



“I don't even know how to explain it,” Adam sighed, resting his cheek against her hair. “Seeing him every day reminds me of what we were, and now it's just...hostility. Blatant hostility. I hate it. I hate looking at him and remembering how much I fucking loved him, and then having to remember what happened between us.”



“Well,” Allison patiently said, as she always did when shelling out her teenage advice to older, jaded men, “Why in the world do you two have to hate each other?”



“Um,” Adam said, and Allison nodded enthusiastically.



“Exactly.”



“It's not like I can just forget all the things he said to me, Alli,” Adam protested, crossing his arms and checking his watch again. “He practically called me a whore.”



“I didn't say forget,” Allison said, “but even if your relationship is 100 percent completely and utterly over.... It's only a week. Why make yourselves miserable in the bargain by going at each other's throats?”



“Dammit,” Adam sighed, laying his head back against the sofa, “You always make so much sense. But it's harder than you think.”



“I can imagine,” Allison replied. “But seriously. Think about it, young Padawan.”



“You're such a dork,” Adam said, smiling despite himself. “I'd better get going.”



“All right,” Allison agreed, seeing him to the door and hugging him tightly. “You know I love both of you, Adam. Work it out! That crazy bitch might have been onto something you know.”



“Whatever you say,” Adam murmured, heading out to his car.

~



Kris glanced up from where he was reading on the couch with Mr. Snuffles curled on his lap, watching as Adam rushed in. Adam called him over urgently, and Kris laid aside his book, shooing Mr. Snuffles off his lap and trotting over.



Adam's fingers fumbled the cuff around his wrist, locking them together just as the clock on the microwave changed.



“On time,” Adam sighed, relieved, and Kris stared blankly at the little smile Adam sent him, caught off-guard. He managed a hesitant grin in return, following Adam to the couch and resuming his former position.



“I hope you don't mind.... I borrowed your book,” Kris said, raising the novel he had chosen and trying to forget the pictures he had seen.



“Oh, it's fine,” Adam said, voice pleasant, but Kris could read a certain tightness about his eyes, still. “But.... Would you mind if we got out of here for a while?”



“Uh, no, of course not,” Kris said, “Where?”



“The nearest park, I thought,” Adam suggested, and Kris nodded his agreement before pausing.



“You really want to go walking around like this, though?” Kris pointed out, rattling their joined wrists, and Adam shrugged.



“I don't really care,” Adam said. “I mean, the paps are already all over this.”



“True enough,” Kris sighed, and Adam grabbed his cellphone, calling their driver.



Soon, they were in the back of a simple SUV (Adam had decided a limo was hardly necessary for the park), and Kris glanced uncertainly over at Adam, biting his lip.



“What.... What brought this on?” he asked, and Adam lifted one shoulder in reply, staring out the window at the passing buildings.



“I went to visit Alli during the break,” Adam explained, quietly, “and she gave me some advice. Basically, why shouldn't we try making this as comfortable for each other as possible, considering the alternative is to be mutually miserable and hostile?”



“Oh,” Kris murmured, his heart sinking for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on. “Oh, right.”



They left their driver at the park with instructions to return for them in an hour, and they wandered out together over the large, grassy space, squinting their eyes against the bright sun.



Dogs of all sizes were frolicking in the grass, and Kris and Adam wandered aimlessly among them, drawing more than a few curious stares from the dogs' owners.



“Watch out!” a voice called, and they both turned just in time to see both a Frisbee and a tiny Jack Russell terrier flying towards them.



Adam instinctively reached to catch the Frisbee, yanking Kris up onto his toes as he grabbed it out of the air, and Kris yelped as the terrier jumped at his knees, sending him stumbling into Adam.



They tumbled over in a tangle of limbs, and the air was knocked out of Kris' chest with an “oof,” his chin connecting heavily with Adam's chest.



“Sorry, sorry,” Kris gasped, rising onto his elbows and trying to maneuver off Adam despite their attached wrists, but Adam just dropped his head down into the grass and laughed, the terrier licking companionably at his face while its owner rushed up.



Adam's shoulders were shaking, and Kris dissolved into giggles of his own, sprawling out beside him in the grass. Their eyes met for just a second, shining with mirth together for the first time in years, before they were interrupted by a high, scolding male voice.



“Missy! Missy! Get off of him, you idiot!” the man said, yanking his dog away from Adam. “I'm so sorry guys, oh my god. She's so, so stupid.”



Adam and Kris managed to regain their footing, watching with amusement as the thin, blond man shouted at his dog. “Why must you be so dumb, dumb dog? Why do I love you so much? That's a bad dog!”



He eventually gave up, and Missy wagged her tail happily at his feet, unperturbed by his scolding. His eyes widened a bit as he looked up at them, however, eyes catching on the padded cuffs joining their wrists.



“Oh my god, Kris and Adam, right?” He beamed, releasing Missy to attack her Frisbee in the grass. “I heard about you two on the news last night—handcuffed together for charity!”



“Indeed,” Adam agreed, and Kris' smile faded as the taller man shifted a few inches further away from him, their situation again taking priority over their brief moments of laughter. “We decided to get out for a while...as weird as we may look.”



“That's good,” the man smiled, then paused. “Oh, I'm Troy, by the way! I came to exercise my stupid little rat-dog,” he said, leaning over to coo at Missy when she barked at his shoe.



“She's cute,” Kris smiled, and Troy beamed at him.



“You guys wanna play catch?” he asked, holding up the Frisbee and raising an eyebrow. “I mean, if you have time. And don't mind possible bodily injury?”



Kris glanced uncertainly up at Adam, but Adam only grinned, nodding his agreement.



“Great!” Troy chirped, backing up a ways and letting the Frisbee fly.



In no time at all, Adam and Kris were covered in grass stains, repetitively brought to the ground by a combination of clumsy, joint fumbling and Missy's unchecked enthusiasm for this new game.



“Kris! Don't windmill your arms like--”



“I can't help it; you're too tall for me to--”



“Use your short legs, Kris! Use them!”



Kris collapsed heavily into the grass forty-five minutes later, gasping for air around the laughter caught in his chest. Adam's hair was mussed, a leaf stuck in the inky strands, and Kris reached for it absently, throwing it away.



“That was so fun!” Troy giggled as Missy settled herself contentedly between them, panting heavily in the hot sun. “But Missy and I better get going.”



“All right.” Adam smiled, standing up and shooing Missy over to him. “It was really nice meeting you.”



“You too, guys!” he said, waving as he headed off across the field.



“We'd better head back,” Adam said, checking his watch after a moment of silence, and Kris nodded, dragging himself to his feet. They reached the edge of the park, sitting down together to wait for their driver.



“That was fun,” Kris commented, and Adam nodded, chuckling once.



“It was,” he agreed, rubbing at the green-stained denim of his pants, “but these jeans are completely ruined now.”



“Ah, good detergent will get that out,” Kris said, waving a dismissive hand, and Adam laughed, giving him a small, genuine smile, the one that crinkled his eyes and made Kris' stomach flutter. Used to make his stomach flutter.



“I forgot; you're the queen of laundry,” Adam replied, and Kris grinned back at him, eyes catching momentarily on his freckled lips.



Adam caught the errant gaze and instinctively licked his lips in reply, eyelashes lowered. Kris dared to move forward, impulsively leaning into Adam's space, and Adam's breath hitched, his whole body tensing.



“Kris,” he protested, lips moving just a few inches from Kris', “we can't just—”



Their driver pulled up in front of them just then, cutting off Adam's words, and they stood as the driver ushered them inside the car. Adam's eyes were dark and inscrutable, and he scooted as close to the door as he could get, his bound arm stretching away from his body to make distance between them.



Kris bit his lip, gut clenching—he'd done the wrong thing, and it had fucked everything up. Adam was still angry at him, of course he was, and he knew, somewhere inside of him, Kris was still holding onto that anger as well.



Kris' eyes burned, and he turned his face away, staring sightlessly out the window. The rejection still stung him, however wise a decision it might have been.



The car rolled on, and their breathing, along with the slight metallic clink of the chain between them, were the only sounds to be heard.



~



Kris wedged his spatula under the pancake and neatly flipped it, watching as it landed with a sizzle. He paused, biting his lip and shooting a glance over at Adam. It was their break, and Adam was slouched over the table skimming through a magazine, his steaming coffee mug by his side.



“So, do you wanna go out somewhere today?” Kris asked,casually, and Adam flipped a page, his expression flat.



“Not really,” Adam replied shortly, and Kris poked at the bacon in the other pan, pausing for a moment.



“Are you sure? Because I've been craving ice cream, and there's this really good place I know a few blocks—”



“I said I don't want to go anywhere, Kris!” Adam finally snapped, looking up from his reading, and Kris slammed the spatula down onto the counter, whipping around to face him.



“Whatever happened to 'making this as pleasant as possible for both of us?'” Kris asked, throwing his arms apart in frustration, and Adam pushed back from his chair, mirroring Kris' expression.



“Well excuse me,” Adam replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “if I'm just a tiny bit offended by you coming on to me like that yesterday!”



“We were having a good time,” Kris defended, averting his flushed face as he shoveled food onto his plate. “It didn't mean anything, okay?”



“So you were just fucking with me then, huh?” Adam laughed, bitingly humorlessly. “Well, nice joke. Hilarious and hypocritical.”



“How am I hypocritical?” Kris asked, his lips thinning in aggravation.



“After all the things you accused me of,” Adam said, his voice steadily rising, “Four years after you practically called me a cheating whore, you just fucking—” Adam waved a hand sharply, the rest of the sentence sticking in his throat.



“You don't have any fucking idea—” Kris replied before cutting himself short in order to rein in his hitching, angry breaths. “This isn't all my fault, all right, Adam? I'm sorry that I even considered the possibility that I might still having feelings for you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”



“I didn't want to hear anything,” Adam shot back. “I didn't want to deal with this shit at all.”



“Fine,” Kris muttered, mostly to himself, his lips puckering as he scrubbed angrily at the batter stains on the granite counter top. “Then you can just continue being insensitive, and I'll just continue suffering alone, as always.”



“Wait, what was that last part?” Adam asked, eyebrows lowering incredulously, but Kris just threw the dishtowel into the sink and turned, carrying his food into the living room.



“Nothing, Adam. Just fucking forget about it.”



~



Adam sighed to himself, eyes fixed on a rerun of America's Next Top Model while Kris scribbled into a notebook beside him. Kris was struck with inspiration at the oddest times—Adam could remember him leaving the dinner table to write down a snatch of melody, or getting out of bed at 2 AM to jot down a line of lyrics.



Mr. Snuffles was curled in his lap, and Adam absently stroked his black-and-white speckled ears, thinking.



He couldn't get the image of Kris out of his head, leaning close to him as they sat side-by-side. “It didn't mean anything, okay?” Those words had hit him like shards of broken glass, cutting far deeper than Kris ever could have imagined. Because despite his indignation, all he'd wanted to do was hold his face and kiss the breath out of him, right there on the grass.



Adam had just opened his mouth to say something, anything to fill the heavy silence, when the front door burst open and Tommy trotted in, talking already.



“Hey, guess what,” Tommy said, loudly, “You will not believe the rumor I just read about in Perez's blog—”



Adam barely had time to tense in panic before Tommy froze halfway into the room, glitter-ringed eyes locking onto Kris' tensed, bristling form.



“Oh,” Tommy said, his voice cold and false. “Lovely. So the rumors were true, after all.”



“Tommy,” Adam replied lowly, standing up and wincing as Kris was dragged along behind him. He grabbed the smaller man's elbow and leaned in closer, whispering into his ear. “Don't make a scene, okay?”



“I won't,” Tommy hissed back, “but why the hell didn't you tell me about this?”



“So you wouldn't burst in and give him trouble,” Adam whispered back, ignoring the looks Kris was giving them, just a few feet away.



“You're incredibly dense sometimes,” Tommy huffed. “I won't give him any shit if you don't want me to. I'll leave, too, if you promise to keep me informed.”



“I promise,” Adam sighed, and Tommy nodded once, sending him a short wave and leaving without another word.



“Why's he so angry?” Kris asked, face stony as he stared down at the floor. “Have you been bitching about me to him?”



“Hey,” Adam said, catching his elbow and forcing him to meet his gaze. “That isn't fair. I told him not to say shit about you. I've told him that every time he's tried.”



“Oh,” Kris replied, dropping his eyes, looking a little embarrassed. “I— Sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”



Adam loosened his grip on his arm and just looked at him, caught a little off-guard. “Um, it's okay.”



He paused, then, watching Kris as he stood there uncertainly, nimble fingers playing absently with the hem of his shirt.



“I was thinking,” Adam said, and Kris glanced up at him from under his lashes, dubious. “You were talking about a good ice cream place yesterday.... You wanna go?”



Kris smiled, a little hesitantly, and Adam's heart stuttered in his chest. “Sure.”



~



“Urgh,” Adam said, grimacing, “I can already feel my teeth rotting.”



“You're the one who wanted to get the cotton candy dip,” Kris pointed out, finishing his cone and throwing the napkin away. “If you lose all of your teeth and can only eat applesauce for the rest of your life, it's nobody's fault but your own.”



“Thanks for the lovely thought,” Adam replied, pulling a face and chuckling despite himself.



“No problem,” Kris grinned as they set off back for Adam's apartment.



And Kris could almost forget about everything, walking together like this—he could almost hide away the knowledge that the metal around their wrists was the only thing keeping them together now.



“Hey, Kris,” Adam said, quietly, “I wanted to ask you something. You mumbled something last night about...suffering alone? And it's been bothering me since.”



“Maybe we shouldn't get into it again,” Kris replied, guarded, and Adam stopped for a moment on the sidewalk, looking at him.



“No,” Adam insisted, his eyes direct beneath a spray of sun-dappled hair. “I'm asking.”



“Okay,” Kris sighed, biting his lip and as he tried to work his emotions into solid, logical words.



(“Kris?” Adam called, footsteps sounding in the hall, and Kris quickly lowered the lid of his laptop, covering the news story there. Pictures of them on the street. Captions that just avoid being suspicious. And God, the comments. The ones questioning his faithfulness during his marriage to Katy far outnumber any of the other, more positive ones.



“Yeah?” Kris finally replied, swallowing around the knot in his throat, and Adam paused, his eyebrows bunched in concern.



He walked over and opened the laptop, skimming the page quickly. By the time he was done, a thin crease had formed between his eyebrows.



“Are you okay?” Adam murmured, nosing into the hair at his temple and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and Kris forced a smile, nodding.



“Of course.”



Kris wondered briefly if his smile was a transparent as it felt, but Adam only grinned back and kissed his forehead.



Apparently it wasn't.)



“You remember when we came out?” Kris asked, wincing at the stupidity of the question, but Adam only nodded.



“Of course I do. Right after our one year anniversary.”



“Well, your career was skyrocketing, and I told you I was fine when you'd leave to go out to the clubs,” Kris murmured, fingers tightening a little by his side. “I even told you that when you'd kiss Tommy on stage. But I was never fine. And you were never there.”



(“I'll be back sometime tonight,” Adam called from the bathroom before walking out and shrugging on his leather jacket. “Sure you don't wanna come?”



“No,” Kris murmured, smiling weakly from where he was sitting on the couch. “I'll be fine.”



“All right,” Adam smiled, shutting the door behind him as Kris' eyes screamed, “Stay with me stay with me please.”)



“Wait, what?” Adam asked, incredulous. “Seriously? I was always there when you said you needed me;.You're the one who pulled away from me. Then you threw around some bullshit accusations—”



“There you go again,” Kris said, throwing his free hand up in aggravation and stomping into Adam's apartment ahead of the other man. “I knew I shouldn't have even answered, because you can't even listen to me for three minutes before starting a shouting match!”



Adam dropped down onto the couch next to Kris and sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. He looked tired, so immeasurably tired, and Kris continued before he could speak.



“I missed you, Adam,” Kris admitted, his voice splintering. “The media was going insane, speculating about if we were fucking in the mansion, if I had been cheating on Katy all along...while you were off being a rock star somewhere. I might have told you that I was fine, but if you'd ever bothered to look, you'd have seen that I wasn't. Not at all.”



Adam opened his mouth to cut in, but soon deflated under the outpouring of Kris' hurt. “And suddenly, you were going to the club all the time, getting smashed and flirting and whatever the hell else. And you were making out with Tommy on stage at every opportunity, and I just—”



“You know that was just what the audience wanted to see, Kris!” Adam said, and Kris sent him a hard look.



“I know that's not all that it was about,” Kris replied. “I got angry, and accused you of far more than I'd meant to, but I know it wasn't that simple.”



(“You've been running off for months now to God knows where!” Kris shouted, facing Adam in their dimly-lit living room. Night had fallen outside, and the curtains were drawn, the room seeming to close in upon them. “And all of that shit with Tommy, fucking eating his face whenever you get the chance—are you fucking him? Or someone else in the back room of those goddamn clubs?”



Adam just stared at him for a moment, eyes smoldering with something more intense than anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? That's really what you think of me? Well then, fuck you, Kris Allen. Fuck you.”)



“Every time I kissed him,” Adam murmured, his voice low and hollow, “I was thinking of you and trying to fill that hole. I felt like you were a different person—I was missing you so fucking badly it felt like someone had stabbed a hole in my chest.”



He paused, then, and Kris just stared at him, wide-eyed and silent.



“You'd been drawing away from me for months. I'd ask you again and again if you were all right, but you'd just smile that fucking half-assed smile and say you were all right. I asked you to go places with me, and you said no. I'm not a fucking psychic, Kris. We hadn't made love in a month.... You would barely even look at me. So I went out and got drunk and tried to figure out what the fuck went wrong. And I never cheated on you, Kris.”



(Adam threw back another shot, welcoming the burn it ignited in his throat. Kris' face was still fresh in his mind, smiling and telling him to go without him; he didn't mind. It would almost be a believable ruse, if not for those eyes. Those beautiful, dark, haunted eyes.)



“If I had known how to get you to open up to me,” Adam said, voice gravelly, “I would have helped you. I felt like I'd been trying to reach out to you, and you were just shooting me down.”



“I thought....” Kris replied, voice catching, “I thought that you were just tired of me moping around. I thought you wanted to get away from me. And I hated the thought of losing you to someone else, so I broke and asked you if you'd found someone else. And y-you were just so defensive...and when you left.... I just assumed that I was right.”



“Well you weren't,” Adam mumbled, scraping at his nail polish. “I couldn't believe you'd ever think that.”



“I don't know that I...ever really believed it,” Kris replied, watching the way Adam's eyelashes dipped to brush his cheeks. “But I was angry, and I.... I felt like I needed to come out with some kind of an explanation.”



“Well, now you have one,” Adam said, eyeliner-rimmed eyes meeting Kris'. “And I have one too.”



Kris' reply died on his tongue, and he licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. He'd forgotten just how many shades of blue and gray were present in Adam's eyes.



“So...that's it?” Kris asked, stupidly, staring at him a little perplexedly. “We cut off all contact for four years over something that took us an hour of level-headed discussion to figure out?”



“Hey, nobody ever said we were intelligent,” Adam pointed out, a small grin tugging at his lips, and Kris beamed back, chest swelling with the release of some lingering weight.



~



“What do you mean I'm booked to be in the studio?” Adam said, pausing over the pizza they had ordered and furrowing his eyebrows. “Have you forgotten, Alexis, that I'm handcuffed to Kris right now?”



Kris stopped with a slice halfway to his mouth to listen in, amused. “The management wants--? The management are the ones who allowed this whole handcuffing business!”



Adam sighed and rolled his eyes, over-dramatic, and Kris giggled silently, pulling up another slice of pizza.



“Fine, Alexis. Slave driver. I'll be over. Okay. Bye.”



Adam hung up the phone and just looked at him apologetically, and Kris finished off another piece, shrugging his shoulders and licking a drop of grease off of his fingers. “I'm fine with it.”



“That's good,” Adam grinned, “because I have no say in the matter, apparently. Management wants me to get this track laid down by next week.”



Kris closed the pizza box with his free hand while Adam called up their driver. He'd said he was fine with it, but truthfully, he was excited to see what Adam was up to in the studio. Since their fight four years, he'd forced himself to stop listening to Adam's music—the sound of his voice had been a sharp pang in his chest, one that reminded him far too much of home.



Alexis met them outside the studio 45 minutes later, offering Adam another apology and shooting a quick, worried glance at Kris. Kris knew that look was for Adam's sake—he could imagine his reaction when Alexis had given him the news that Kris would be at the telethon as well.



Adam only smiled at her, however, heading into the studio with Kris at his side, their padded, cuffed wrists brushing. Kris could read the relief in her expression, clear as day—she'd no doubt been imagining apocalyptic scenes of wrath between them. Kris, personally, didn't hold that silent sigh of relief against her.



Alexis ushered them into a recording booth where a few individuals were sitting in front of a long panel of mixers and sound equipment. They all knew about Adam and Kris' week-long arrangement, apparently, because not one of them batted an eyelash at their joined wrists.



They took a seat on a small sofa, and Kris relaxed back into the cushions, looking around the room. He'd been in similar booths hundreds of times, and he settled in quickly, listening absently as Adam and the others chattered about the track.



His eyes eventually wandered to Adam, who was sitting close and gesturing excitedly with his free hand. He looked a bit off, lopsided without both hands to complete his characteristically animated gestures, and Kris smiled, watching his lips as he spoke.



Kris could appreciate the passion Adam put into this—even now, just discussing melodies, his eyes were bright and pleased, earlier protests forgotten.



Some time later, they moved to the other side of the glass, Kris standing by as Adam arranged himself in front of the microphone and slipped on his headphones. Kris was suddenly, irrationally afraid that he would sneeze or cough or something and ruin the take, but then Adam was singing, and Kris forgot what he'd been worrying about in the first place.



It should have been strange, hearing Adam sing along to music Kris himself couldn't hear, but Adam's voice was soft and sweet, caressing over the first verse. He hadn't heard Adam sing in person since he'd moved out all of those years ago, and the sound was nothing short of an electric shock to his stomach, goosebumps breaking out on his arms, just like the first time he'd heard him sing during Idol.



Adam let his eyes slide closed, shutting out everything but the music, and Kris watched him, noticing the freckles on his lips and the way his hair fell down across his forehead, a little longer than Adam usually let it get.



A few minutes later (or it could have been hours; Kris wouldn't have noticed), the man behind the mixer shot Adam a thumbs up, gesturing him out, and Adam grinned, pulling off the headphones.



Adam turned the smile towards him, face glowing and slightly flushed. “Sorry, this must be so boring for—”



Kris cut him off, leaning over impulsively to press a simple, soft kiss to his lips, the peck chaste and brief. Kris' stomach fluttered pleasantly, and he grabbed Adam's wrist with his bound hand, the chain trailing over their fingers as Kris kissed him again.



Adam blinked at him once they separated, face blank with surprise, both of them forgetting the men on the other side of the glass. Adam was actually blushing, his cheeks tinging the slightest bit pink.



“Kris,” he murmured, “I'm not sure that we should....”



“I just wanted to see,” Kris said, eyes tracking Adam's wavering gaze, “if it felt the same.”



“Did it?” Adam asked, quietly, raw vulnerability flickering in his eyes, and Kris nodded, tightening his grip on Adam's wrist.



“Yes,” he replied, simply. “It did.”



~



“Thanks,” Adam smiled, waving to the driver as they left the car. The sun had already set, moonlight reflecting glassily off of the pavement as they approached the building.



“Let's go talk on the roof deck,” Adam suggested, pressing the elevator button for the top floor with one painted thumb, and Kris nodded his agreement, slowly.



The elevator doors slid open at the top floor, and Adam led Kris up a small flight of metal steps, emerging onto the roof. Kris looked around in wonder, immediately stunned by the moonlight, shining silver off the flowers and surrounding buildings. The city was laid out all around them, a million pinpricks of light winking at them.



Adam took a seat next to Kris on a long bench, turning to look at him. His breath caught—Kris was gazing intently at him, and Adam could see the effect of four years in the sharpness of his jaw, and the almost imperceptible lines around his eyes.



“Kris,” Adam said softly, hyper-aware of how close they were sitting, their eyes locked in some silent conversation. “I don't know if this is a good idea. I mean—we've been apart for four years. All of the bad feelings between us.... How can they just go away?”



“Who says we can't work through them?” Kris questioned, and Adam remembered those lips, remembered how much he'd wanted to taste them again when Kris had kissed him in the studio. “The fact that we still feel something after everything that happened between us.... That means something. I know it does.”



Kris paused, a small smile curving his lips. “I know that song you sang in the studio today. It's come a long way...but you wrote it for me first, remember? And you still.... You still sing it the same way.”



Kris' words surprised an answering smile out of Adam, and he raised his free hand, tracing it lightly along Kris' cheek. Kris nuzzled against his palm, lightly, and Adam swiped a thumb gently over his eyelashes, feeling them flutter against him in reply.



“You remember that?” Adam smiled, surprised but pleased. The lyrics had been scribbled on a piece of paper, left for Kris the night after they'd first made love, all of those years ago: I want everything that you are. Everything, everything.



“Of course I do,” Kris replied, his breath catching as Adam leaned in to kiss the corner of his smile.



Kris' free arm wrapped around Adam's shoulders, and Adam sighed as he caught his lips, the smallest groan rumbling up from deep in Kris' chest.



Adam ran his free hand lightly up Kris' arm, curving it around the back of his neck and bringing him closer, fingers carding through the soft tendrils of hair there.



Adam effortlessly parted Kris' lips, rediscovering the shape of his supple mouth with small flicks of his tongue, and Kris sighed lowly, going soft and pliant beneath him.



Kris' arm tightened around his back, and Adam cradled him closer, thighs and chests brushing as they breathed into the kiss. Kris' mouth tasted like toothpaste and apples and something earthy and organic, and Adam trailed his free hand down the dip of Kris' lower back and around to his thigh, squeezing lightly. Their bound hands entwined on the bench, and Kris quivered under the pressure of his fingers, moving his hand to where he was aching against his zipper.



“Kris,” Adam grated out, rubbing the heel of his hand against Kris' straining cock. “Are you sure this is what you want?”



“Yes,” Kris panted, eyelashes fluttering as Adam cupped his hand under the weight of his balls, feeling him through the denim of his jeans. “Want you inside me.”



“Want it too, baby,” Adam rumbled, nipping lightly at the shell of Kris' ear and pressing a tender kiss there. “Want it so bad.”



“Let's go,” Kris whispered, smiling up at him, and Adam took Kris' bound hand in his own, leading him back down the stairs.



~



Adam shut the door heavily behind them, their cuffed hands caught awkwardly in front of them as they headed for the bedroom. Their progress was stumbling, still leaning in to exchange deep kisses, and Adam giggled when he nearly fell over Mr. Snuffles, earning himself an indignant meow.



They tumbled onto the bed with no semblance of grace, Adam's lips trailing fluid paths of fire up Kris' neck as they shuffled up the bed.



“We can't even get our shirts off,” Kris realized, laughing breathlessly, and Adam shrugged, rucking Kris' shirt up under his armpits and dragging his lips down his chest. Kris gasped, cradling Adam's head with his free hand when he dragged his tongue over a stiff, pink nipple, mouthing at the bud.



“Adam,” Kris groaned, sliding his hands up under his shirt to feel the planes of Adam's chest, raking his fingers lightly through the dusting of hair there. Adam felt Kris' cock nudging against the hollow of his hip, and he dropped his free hand to it, squeezing it gently through the denim.



“Baby,” Adam said, simply, and Kris nodded in reply, nuzzling Adam's other hand where it lay on the bed, chained to his own.



Adam buried his face into the salty hollow of Kris' throat, mouthing at his collarbone as his free hand fumbled with the waistband of his jeans. Kris raised his hips, helping Adam to drag the jeans down his thighs, and Adam tossed them away, returning to Kris.



The sight made his breath catch in his throat—he was sprawled out and panting slightly, hair rumpled against the pillow. His reddened lips parted slightly, eyes dark as a flush spread down his chest, his shirt bunched under his arms.



Adam slipped his hand inside Kris' underwear, keeping his eyes locked on Kris' face as he slid his fingers around his hot, silky length. The action was met with a soft gasp, and Kris bit his bottom lip, spreading his thighs to the touch.



“Hey,” Kris protested, sucking breathless kisses against Adam's jaw and tugging at his belt loops. “Not fair.”



Adam grinned, withdrawing his hand from Kris' briefs to quickly undo his own pants, shoving them off of his legs and tossing them carelessly aside. Kris' eyes raked over his solid thighs--and the bulge between them--his tongue tracing quickly over his bottom lip.



Adam relaxed down onto him, nosing at his cheek and running his free hand slowly through his hair.



“I've missed this,” Adam murmured, barely a whisper, and Kris sighed his agreement, capturing his lips.



Adam hesitated at the top hem of Kris' briefs, glancing up at him with an uncertainty in his gaze not seen since their first time together in this position. But Kris only smiled and nodded, mouth opening against Adam's neck in a moan as he dragged his briefs one-handed down his hips, freeing Kris' swollen member.



Adam traced his fingertips lightly down the length of him, swallowing Kris' moans of pleasure as he thumbed over the head of his cock, spreading the slickness there.



Kris' hips bucked up at the pressure, knocking Adam's hand lower to the soft skin behind his balls. Kris' hole twitched against the light touches Adam ghosted across it, grasping for him, and Adam raised Kris' thigh with his bound hand, Kris' fingers locking around his wrist.



He fumbled the bedside table drawer open, pulling out a small bottle of lube and flipping the top open with his thumb.



“Help me out here,” Adam said, laughing breathlessly, and Kris took the tube with his free hand, slicking Adam's fingers. Kris tossed the bottle aside, and Adam smiled, kissing his knee lightly and feathering teasing touches across his entrance.



“Adam, please,” Kris said, his back arching against the bed, cock laying flushed and swollen against his stomach. “Don't make me wait.”



“We've both waited long enough,” Adam agreed, sliding his middle finger slowly into the velvety heat of Kris' body, and Kris met the motion with a long undulation of his hips, eyes slipping shut.



Adam pumped two fingers slowly into him, curving them deftly to nudge his prostate, and Kris moaned low, arms wrapping tightly around his waist to keep him close.



“That's all I need,” Kris whispered, and Adam nodded, sliding on a condom and withdrawing his fingers.



He settled into the cradle of Kris' thighs, nudging the glistening head of his cock against Kris' loosened hole, and Kris met his eyes, nodding.



“How long has it been?” Adam whispered, twining their handcuffed hands together on the mattress beside Kris' head, and Kris squeezed his fingers, ghosting a kiss across his lips.



“Four years.”



“Oh, baby,” Adam cooed, pressing into him, and Kris gasped, eyelashes fluttering darkly against Adam's cheek. Kris opened smoothly around him, enveloping him in slick warmth, and Adam pressed his face to Kris' cheek, hot breath fanning over his skin.



Soon, he was buried to the hilt, and they paused, lips locking as their connection seared into their flesh. Adam wanted to get closer, to crawl inside and curl up next to Kris' thundering heart, but he settled for wrapping Kris' thigh around his hips and holding his hand on the bed, cradling him close.



Adam's hips quickly picked up the familiar rhythm, and Kris rocked down to meet him, hooded eyes glued to his face. Adam was surrounded by Kris, his body, his scent, his legs around his back, and he never wanted it to stop, never wanted to let go of this fragile moment. Kris was tightening incrementally around him, and Adam bit out a moan against his lips, their bodies rocking with his thrusts.



“Adam,” Kris rumbled, a low, nearly-continuous moan caught in his chest, “I'm gonna c-come.”



Adam just smoothed his free hand down Kris' chest in reply, wrapping it around his aching cock, and Kris arched against him with a cry, thick ropes of come spilling across their stomachs. Adam had no chance at holding out, not after four years of missing this closeness, and after a few stuttering thrusts he followed behind, burying his face against Kris' neck and moaning through his climax.



They remained in panting silence for a few minutes, interspersed with sated, heavy kisses, until Adam gently pulled out and threw away the condom, curling himself around Kris' sweat-slicked body.



“Love you,” Kris whispered against his mouth, his honey-brown eyes glowing, and Adam gazed down at him, fingers tracking gently across his cheekbone.



“I love you too,” he replied, smiling and leaning into the fingers Kris drew through his hair. “And I'm so—”



“Hey, no,” Kris protested, touching his lips to silence him before placing a searching kiss there. “This.... This is enough.”



~



“What....?” Julia asked, stopping dead alongside Alexis, and Kris cast an amused glance at them, resting his cheek against Adam's shoulder. They'd walked in on them giggling together and nuzzling on the couch, and their eyes looked fit to bug out of their head. Simon stood to the side, looking mildly amused.



“I had to put up with you raging around for three weeks,” Alexis said to Adam hollowly, “and you two....”



“We figured things out,” Adam shrugged, grinning when Kris hid his smile in the fabric of his shirt. “I guess that donor knew what she was doing.”



“How nice,” Simon said, beckoning them over. They came, and he undid the handcuffs, tucking them away as a few men uninstalled the camera from the counter top.



“And now,” he said airily, “that you two have made amends, it will be so much easier to book you for events.”



Kris and Adam just stared at him, and he shrugged without an ounce of self-consciousness. “What? Everyone wins.”



He paused, then, heading back towards the door. “Well, boys, you're free to go as you please. The donation has officially been wired to Feed the Children.”



“That's great,” Kris replied, and Simon gave them one more small smile before leaving, the rest of the visitors hurrying out after him.



Adam turned to him once they were gone, the slightest uncertainty still present in his baby-blue gaze, but Kris only smiled, linking their fingers together.



“Don't worry,” he murmured, their hands locking together beside them. “I'm not going anywhere.”