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linzeestyleI have broken through the barrier in this fandom that does not let me write glittery PWP about aliens from planet fierce. Or, more specifically, about the Elle photoshoot, because that many people cannot Tweet about Kris wearing wings and getting dressed up in Adam's clothing without somebody writing something.
This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
revid, because she is an enabler.
found by the golden ones
[Kris/Adam][AI8][nc-17][~1,200 words]
When he looks in the mirror, Kris feels sort of ridiculous, rich leather and black v-neck and a pair of high shimmering platforms not doing anything to glam-rock the plain guy hiding under them. The makeup on his face itches, a little, and when he turns this way and that his eyelashes sparkle with stick-on rhinestones. One of Adam's little touches -- but the whole thing is, really, right down to the wings he has pooled at his feet like fallen angels. "Naughty and nice" is such a stupid cliche, and Kris would have protested that Adam's always been the sweet one, except lately, with Kris, Adam's earning those horns.
Kris takes one last look in the mirror and smirks at himself, rolls his eyes and does his best to shrug out of the jacket. The leather is slick and warm like a second skin, catches on his arms and traps them behind him. Kris twists awkwardly to free himself but then he feels someone grab the hem, tug so his arms are pinned tighter against him. Kris doesn't have to look to know that it's Adam, but it still helps to get confirmation in the form of black-tipped fingers against his cheek.
"God, you have no idea how you look," whispers Adam, breathy like he might actually be overwhelmed. Kris chuckles and leans into the touch -- half because it's Adam, and it's been a long day, and half because he can't seem to stay up on these shoes. "I wish you'd let me dress you up more often."
"I think the people I'm not screwing are going to think differently." Adam growls, practically purrs, and turns Kris' face enough to kiss him, wet and open; the hand in Kris' jacket twists, tight enough to be a little uncomfortable. It's not something Kris thought he'd be into, ever, but his dick says otherwise. Adam breaks the kiss long enough to look down and chuckle.
"Oh, I think you're wrong. Did you even look in the mirror?" Adam lets go of the jacket, wraps one hand over Kris' shoulders. Steps them both backwards in an odd sort of dance, other arm coming out to encircle Kris' waist so when the shoes make him stumble, he still stays upright. It ends with Kris' shoulder blades hitting the slick surface of the mirror, and Kris thinks, this is gonna smudge it right before Adam bends to suck hard on his neck.
"Trying to make me?"
"Well, I could do this from behind..."
Kris giggles, breaking off into a gasp when Adam nibbles his throat. "God."
"Worshiping idols."
"Screw you." Kris laughs, squirming against the mirror. He feels giddy like this, lightheaded and strange -- it's in the makeup, and the clothes, like he's someone else entirely. It's playing dress-up, Adam had told him, back months (feels like ages) ago when the pictures leaked, trying to explain it. You never want to try pretending? Kris hadn't gotten it, had never wanted any skin but his own, but oh he gets it now, wearing dark denim and leather and feeling his own thick mascara brush his cheeks when his eyelids flutter. He feels outside of himself, prettier, hotter -- feels like the kind of guy he'd thought Adam would be into. He tips his head back and lets himself sigh, lets himself be held up when Adam presses a leg between his own.
"I don't think so," murmurs Adam, "but maybe if you ask nicely."
The boots they've got Kris in are enormous, weighted things. They make him almost Adam's height but they're unwieldy, impossible to move for more than an awkward, halting shuffle. He can't lift them with any finesse and it's driving him crazy -- he can feel Adam's cock thick and hard against his thigh, but he can't get himself any closer. It's a weird feeling, legs held down by the boots and hands trapped by his jacket, and he's not sure he likes it until Adam seems to notice, bends enough to grip his knees and straightens, abruptly. The move shifts Kris' weight and he wraps his thighs around Adam's hips, back and shoulders braced against the mirror, making it ripple against the wall. Kris lets out a surprised woah and his trapped hands scrabble along the smooth glass; his ankles lock heavy against Adam's ass and oh, God, suddenly the angle's so much better.
Kris pushes up, grinding against Adam, and their cocks rub together through two layers of starch-new denim. "When I fall on my ass," he gasps, arcing his back, "it's gonna be on you, totally."
"Like I'd let my boy fall" grins Adam, rolling his hips. "I wish I'd gotten your pants off."
"Knew you wanted in my pants."
"Been there, done that." Adam snakes a hand between them and cups Kris' cock, giving a possessive squeeze like it's his property, anyway. "You know how fast I can make you come?"
Kris shudders, because yeah, it's pretty fast. Adam knows him too well, has more tricks than Kris does -- they've done this a thousand times, in green rooms and crowded bunks and the kitchenette in the bus, once, so late at night that it was morning, Kris pressed against the counter top and biting down on the palm Adam kept clapped over his mouth as he fingered Kris open. It's stupid, and not like Kris, and maybe pretend is what this whole tour is made of. But dress-up or not, Kris feels honest, like this: it feels like Adam knows him, when he grinds down harder than anyone else would; feels like Adam has his number, when his fingertips press just this side of painful into the delicate skin between Kris' sternum and his throat. The sounds Kris is making are too high to be anything other than whimpers, but Adam kisses his face, whispers I've got you and perfect, and when Kris comes in his pants he feels that way, feels like Adam will catch him.
He doesn't, in fact, fall on his ass -- Adam catches him and pulls him forward, and Kris just slumps into his shoulder, too orgasm-hazy to do more than mouth at Adam's neck as Adam ruts against him, makes the mirror rattle threateningly as he grinds himself to orgasm against Kris' denim-covered hipbone.
It occurs to Kris, when he comes back to himself enough to appreciate just how clammy his jeans are getting, that Adam did not, technically, even have to touch his dick. "I feel like a teenager," he murmurs into the thick fabric of Adam's blazer; Adam chuckles, sounding happy and slurred. He nips at Kris' ear before straightening back up.
"It feels good though, doesn't it?" Kris' pants are sticking to his thighs and he can feel his makeup caking with his sweat. His arms are asleep where they're pinned behind his back, and he's pretty sure the mirror has an imprint on it that's going to at least somewhat implicate them both. But he's grinning back at Adam's expression, the way the pink gloss they put on him is smudged across his cheek and at the fact his hair is so screwed up he kind of looks like Alfalfa.
"Yeah." Kris leans back against the mirror, content to close his eyes and let Adam figure out how clean up and denial is going to work, in this case. He hasn't steered them wrong before, and Kris kind of likes letting someone else take the wheel. "It sorta does."
This is for
revid, because she is an enabler.found by the golden ones
[Kris/Adam][AI8][nc-17][~1,200 words]
When he looks in the mirror, Kris feels sort of ridiculous, rich leather and black v-neck and a pair of high shimmering platforms not doing anything to glam-rock the plain guy hiding under them. The makeup on his face itches, a little, and when he turns this way and that his eyelashes sparkle with stick-on rhinestones. One of Adam's little touches -- but the whole thing is, really, right down to the wings he has pooled at his feet like fallen angels. "Naughty and nice" is such a stupid cliche, and Kris would have protested that Adam's always been the sweet one, except lately, with Kris, Adam's earning those horns.
Kris takes one last look in the mirror and smirks at himself, rolls his eyes and does his best to shrug out of the jacket. The leather is slick and warm like a second skin, catches on his arms and traps them behind him. Kris twists awkwardly to free himself but then he feels someone grab the hem, tug so his arms are pinned tighter against him. Kris doesn't have to look to know that it's Adam, but it still helps to get confirmation in the form of black-tipped fingers against his cheek.
"God, you have no idea how you look," whispers Adam, breathy like he might actually be overwhelmed. Kris chuckles and leans into the touch -- half because it's Adam, and it's been a long day, and half because he can't seem to stay up on these shoes. "I wish you'd let me dress you up more often."
"I think the people I'm not screwing are going to think differently." Adam growls, practically purrs, and turns Kris' face enough to kiss him, wet and open; the hand in Kris' jacket twists, tight enough to be a little uncomfortable. It's not something Kris thought he'd be into, ever, but his dick says otherwise. Adam breaks the kiss long enough to look down and chuckle.
"Oh, I think you're wrong. Did you even look in the mirror?" Adam lets go of the jacket, wraps one hand over Kris' shoulders. Steps them both backwards in an odd sort of dance, other arm coming out to encircle Kris' waist so when the shoes make him stumble, he still stays upright. It ends with Kris' shoulder blades hitting the slick surface of the mirror, and Kris thinks, this is gonna smudge it right before Adam bends to suck hard on his neck.
"Trying to make me?"
"Well, I could do this from behind..."
Kris giggles, breaking off into a gasp when Adam nibbles his throat. "God."
"Worshiping idols."
"Screw you." Kris laughs, squirming against the mirror. He feels giddy like this, lightheaded and strange -- it's in the makeup, and the clothes, like he's someone else entirely. It's playing dress-up, Adam had told him, back months (feels like ages) ago when the pictures leaked, trying to explain it. You never want to try pretending? Kris hadn't gotten it, had never wanted any skin but his own, but oh he gets it now, wearing dark denim and leather and feeling his own thick mascara brush his cheeks when his eyelids flutter. He feels outside of himself, prettier, hotter -- feels like the kind of guy he'd thought Adam would be into. He tips his head back and lets himself sigh, lets himself be held up when Adam presses a leg between his own.
"I don't think so," murmurs Adam, "but maybe if you ask nicely."
The boots they've got Kris in are enormous, weighted things. They make him almost Adam's height but they're unwieldy, impossible to move for more than an awkward, halting shuffle. He can't lift them with any finesse and it's driving him crazy -- he can feel Adam's cock thick and hard against his thigh, but he can't get himself any closer. It's a weird feeling, legs held down by the boots and hands trapped by his jacket, and he's not sure he likes it until Adam seems to notice, bends enough to grip his knees and straightens, abruptly. The move shifts Kris' weight and he wraps his thighs around Adam's hips, back and shoulders braced against the mirror, making it ripple against the wall. Kris lets out a surprised woah and his trapped hands scrabble along the smooth glass; his ankles lock heavy against Adam's ass and oh, God, suddenly the angle's so much better.
Kris pushes up, grinding against Adam, and their cocks rub together through two layers of starch-new denim. "When I fall on my ass," he gasps, arcing his back, "it's gonna be on you, totally."
"Like I'd let my boy fall" grins Adam, rolling his hips. "I wish I'd gotten your pants off."
"Knew you wanted in my pants."
"Been there, done that." Adam snakes a hand between them and cups Kris' cock, giving a possessive squeeze like it's his property, anyway. "You know how fast I can make you come?"
Kris shudders, because yeah, it's pretty fast. Adam knows him too well, has more tricks than Kris does -- they've done this a thousand times, in green rooms and crowded bunks and the kitchenette in the bus, once, so late at night that it was morning, Kris pressed against the counter top and biting down on the palm Adam kept clapped over his mouth as he fingered Kris open. It's stupid, and not like Kris, and maybe pretend is what this whole tour is made of. But dress-up or not, Kris feels honest, like this: it feels like Adam knows him, when he grinds down harder than anyone else would; feels like Adam has his number, when his fingertips press just this side of painful into the delicate skin between Kris' sternum and his throat. The sounds Kris is making are too high to be anything other than whimpers, but Adam kisses his face, whispers I've got you and perfect, and when Kris comes in his pants he feels that way, feels like Adam will catch him.
He doesn't, in fact, fall on his ass -- Adam catches him and pulls him forward, and Kris just slumps into his shoulder, too orgasm-hazy to do more than mouth at Adam's neck as Adam ruts against him, makes the mirror rattle threateningly as he grinds himself to orgasm against Kris' denim-covered hipbone.
It occurs to Kris, when he comes back to himself enough to appreciate just how clammy his jeans are getting, that Adam did not, technically, even have to touch his dick. "I feel like a teenager," he murmurs into the thick fabric of Adam's blazer; Adam chuckles, sounding happy and slurred. He nips at Kris' ear before straightening back up.
"It feels good though, doesn't it?" Kris' pants are sticking to his thighs and he can feel his makeup caking with his sweat. His arms are asleep where they're pinned behind his back, and he's pretty sure the mirror has an imprint on it that's going to at least somewhat implicate them both. But he's grinning back at Adam's expression, the way the pink gloss they put on him is smudged across his cheek and at the fact his hair is so screwed up he kind of looks like Alfalfa.
"Yeah." Kris leans back against the mirror, content to close his eyes and let Adam figure out how clean up and denial is going to work, in this case. He hasn't steered them wrong before, and Kris kind of likes letting someone else take the wheel. "It sorta does."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-10 07:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-10 07:29 am (UTC)But dress-up or not, Kris feels honest, like this: it feels like Adam knows him, when he grinds down harder than anyone else would; feels like Adam has his number, when his fingertips press just this side of too-hard into the delicate skin between Kris' sternum and his throat. The sounds Kris is making are too high to be anything other than whimpers, but Adam kisses his face, whispers I've got you and perfect, and when Kris comes in his pants he feels that way, feels like Adam will catch him.
You see, it's stuff like this that makes this more than PWP. Hot and Lovely. And Hot.
Yummmm, thanks. I consider it my solemn duty to enable whenever possible.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-10 11:44 am (UTC)*mems*
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Date: 2009-08-10 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-10 04:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-11 06:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-11 04:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-11 04:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-12 03:40 am (UTC)What is PWP?
no subject
Date: 2009-09-10 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-16 03:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 04:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 11:00 am (UTC)Like I'd let my boy fall
MY HEART.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 08:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-11 10:25 am (UTC)