(Every Heart is) Like a House on Fire

aka the cop au

Kris does not enjoy annoying people, and he downright fails at intimidation. Some people think being a detective requires him to be a master at both, but Kris makes do with bullheaded stubbornness just fine. And besides, people who need his protection are usually pretty cooperative. Adam Lambert is an anomaly.

The club is not the kind of place Kris would voluntarily hang out. He can’t be blamed for having bad associations when it’s usually his job that takes him to these places, and more often than not because someone has died in them. The darkness pierced by multicolored beams of light, the thumping rhythm and the smell of alcohol mixed with sweat is not what he’d call fun. He calls it a snake pit in his head, that’s what the people coiled around each other in the dance floor remind him of.

Kris considers himself to be a good person, but he wouldn’t say he is selfless. He is not here out of the goodness of his heart; it’s his job to protect these people. It’s incomprehensible to him that the people in question do not appreciate his presence even when there is such obvious threat. Call him old fashioned, but he thinks if one needs the protection of the police, and the police is kind enough to offer it, one should not turn it down or try to hamper the detective assigned to his case at every opportunity.

He nurses his coke and watches the crowd from the bar. Lambert left for the back room when he saw Kris coming and even the cheerful redhead behind the bar is giving him looks. You’d think he was the one who tried to bomb their club two weeks ago.

“Hello, Kris.”

It’s Charlie. Of course Lambert called Charlie.

“He called you.”

“Yes,” Charlie says, taking a seat beside Kris. “Again.”

“Look, Charlie, this is my case, I’m not gonna let it go just because your friend doesn’t like me. In case you haven’t noticed, someone’s trying to kill him. And I’m not letting anybody die on my watch.”

Kris thinks he shouldn’t have to explain all this to a fellow cop, but if years on the force have thought him anything, it’s that in most ways cops are no different than normal people. Some of them are just plain dumb.

“Come on, Kris,” Charlie says, winking at the bartender who hands him a mineral water. “It wasn’t a personal thing. Someone tried to scare off the fags. It happens. You know how that goes around these parts. It’s not like you’re gonna stop them just by being here if they ever try anything again.”

Charlie is seriously beginning to piss Kris off, and that’s not an easy feat. “You made detective and I didn’t notice?” he says, looking up and down the guy’s uniform. He used to like Charlie, too. Now, not so much.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Adam is my friend, and you’re making him uncomfortable. You’re not solving anything by sitting here every night.”

Kris is done discussing this. “Don’t tell me how to do my job,” he says, and looks Charlie in the eye so he gets that it’s a warning, not just friendly banter.

Spending his off hours at a club where people go for cheap fucks is not high on Kris’ list of things to do. He has a son he’d rather be tucking in, and honestly, after last week, he wouldn’t mind catching some z’s himself one of these nights.

Abandoning his drink, he makes his way to the back and follows the fresh paint smell to Lambert’s office. The last time he was in this room it was a bit charred because of that sorry excuse for a pipe bomb, this time it looks like a glitter bomb went off in here. Lambert is sitting behind a large desk, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the wall. The glare only intensifies when he sees who’s at the door.

“Detective Allen,” he says with an ugly smile twisting his lips. It makes Kris shut the door with a little more force than is strictly necessary. Lambert doesn’t even flinch. He raises an eyebrow at Kris.

“Enough,” Kris says.

Lambert nods. “Exactly.”

“I don’t like this place,” Kris explains with a low voice. “I don’t enjoy being here. But this is my job, this is my case, and if my normal people clothes are bothering your customers here, boo-hoo.”

“There’s a line between doing your job and harassment,” Adam says. He gets up from his chair and stands before Kris, towering over him. “I don’t like cops. For all I know it was a cop who placed that bomb. I want you out of my club and away from me.”

The thing is, Kris has nothing against Adam Lambert. He might have thought Lambert was a stripper the night they met, but it was an honest mistake; the guy was half naked, wet all over, with black make up running down his face. And it isn’t like Kris treats strippers with anything less than the respect he treats any other citizen with. That night he got the feeling that one of the firefighters said something inappropriate to Lambert, but it’s not like he can control everything everyone says. It’s not fair that he’s being judged for other people’s sins.

“Mr. Lambert,” Kris says in his most honest voice. “I’m sure you have your reasons for not liking cops, and I respect that. But I am not a prejudiced person. I don’t judge people’s lifestyles. If you think I have anything against you, you’re wrong. The only reason I spend so much time here is because I honestly believe you are in danger. And it’s my job to protect you.”

Lambert’s eyes narrow, turning into two black rimmed slits. “Really?” he drawls. “That’s all?”

Kris feels him take a step forward, bringing their bodies even closer. He is not intimidated by the guy’s build; he knows he can have him on the floor in five seconds flat if he needs to. The only reason he feels nervous is because he doesn’t want this situation to get completely out of hand. Lambert has managed to make a simple case difficult enough for both of them already.

“Yeah,” he says, and holds himself steady as a large hand with black painted nails reach for his face.

And that’s when the bullets start raining.

~

Kris knew this would happen. He had a gut feeling. But did anyone listen? No, of course not. Charlie seems contrite when Kris leaves the scene with blood running down his arm, but all Kris cares to spare for the man is a mean look at this point. It’s not like he likes feeling vindicated about these things.

He finds Lambert sitting on a bed at the E.R., his hand bandaged and his shirt torn. Kris doesn’t know why this guy always ends up topless in his presence. He is shivering like he is in shock; someone should have given him something to put on. It’s standard procedure to give the victim a blanket, but the cops always seem to fail at simple things when faced with Lambert’s wrath.

Kris grabs a blanket from an empty bed and places it over Lambert’s bare shoulders. The man jumps a little, startled and grabs Kris’ hand, eyes wide open. “You’re okay?” he breathes out, his eyes scanning Kris’ face, looking kind of manic.

“Yeah,” Kris says, taking the chair next to the bed. “You?”

“Fine. Fine.” He nods his head mechanically. “I’m just--” he trails off.

“Scared,” Kris completes the sentence for him. Lambert nods. “That’s okay,” Kris says. “I was a little scared myself.”

“You didn’t look scared,” Lambert grins. “You looked bad-ass.”

Kris chuckles and rolls his eyes. That sounds like something his son would say and he is five.

Megan walks into their bit of curtained off area as Kris tries and fails to get up from the chair without hurting his arm. His shirt is beyond saving at this point; he doesn’t want his jacket to get bloody as well.

“Detective Allen!” she greets him cheerfully. “You’re back.”

She helps him up and shoos him towards the empty bed.

“Let me see that arm.” She pushes his jacket down, making him hiss, and tugs the bloody dressing loose with efficient moves, making Kris bite his lip to not cry out.

Surprisingly rough for a doctor, that one.

“Kris is one of my regulars,” she explains to Lambert as she cleans the wound. “He’s a tough guy, but someone should tell him he doesn’t have to get shot every other week to prove it to the world.”

“It grazed my arm, that’s all,” Kris protests when he sees Lambert’s face. The guy looks like he’s either going to puke or cry.

“You need a keeper, I swear to God,” Megan mumbles.

She gets out the needle and Kris has to bite back a groan. Surely this doesn’t really need stitches? He has used butterfly bandages for worse. He has a feeling that Megan is being mean to him on purpose, but it wouldn’t do to whine about this in front of the guy he has been trying to convince to trust him to be professional.

Lambert seems hypnotized by the wound Megan is stitching up, and Kris wishes he’d had gotten that taken care of before finding the guy. He doesn’t need puke on top of everything else tonight. He can handle fire, ashes, blood and guts just fine. Puke is somehow the worst.

“Mr. Lambert,” he says in his best I’m in charge voice, not that it has ever worked on this one before. “You shouldn’t go to your apartment for a while. Do you have anywhere to stay?”

“Adam,” the guy says, eyes still glued to the wound.

“What?”

He looks up, blue eyes steadier than they have any right to be. “You saved my life. You should probably call me Adam now.”

Kris nods. He can do that. That’s a step in the right direction. “Adam. You have anywhere to stay? Family?”

Adam shakes his head. “They don’t live here.”

“What about your boyfriend?” Kris asks, thinking of the guy with the red convertible, driving down the street like a maniac the night of the bombing, almost rear-ending a fire truck.

Adam looks confused. “What boyfriend?”

He didn’t come out and say it to Kris, but anyone looking at him can tell that Adam Lambert is nowhere near any closets when it comes to his sexuality. Maybe he just doesn’t want his boyfriend to know, Kris thinks. He had seemed pretty pissed when he realized someone had called the guy that night.

“Red convertible. Blue pajamas.”

“Oh, Neil?” Adam says, waving a hand. “That’s my brother. He’s in New York right now. I hope no one’s called him this time. He’ll flip when he hears this.”

Kris thinks a bombing followed by a drive-by shooting within two weeks is plenty reason to flip out. The guy would be well within his rights to.

Adam is shaking his head. “I’ll get a room at a hotel. No need to alarm anyone.”

Kris slumps where he sits. Of course he wants to go to a hotel. Adam Lambert has the protective instincts of a beetle.

~

He takes the guy to his own apartment.

It’s not like Kris won’t be seeing him first thing tomorrow anyway. Besides, he couldn’t let Adam go to a hotel after throwing himself in front of a bullet for him. Hotels are a security nightmare. He could put two uniforms in front of the door and still find the man dead in his room in the morning.

Adam seems in a daze on the way there, his eyes going from his own hand to Kris’ arm. It’s been a long time since his first shooting, so Kris finds himself at a loss here. He doesn’t make a habit of taking care of the victims. He’s not sure what the protocol is here. Should he go with whiskey or hot chocolate? Or maybe Adam is one of those guys who conks right out after an ordeal like this. Kris hopes that’s the case.

Adam actually stays dazed all the way to the apartment. He accepts the towel Kris hands him and stands under the hot spray until Kris knocks on the bathroom door thinking he fell asleep in there. He wears his own jeans again, because there is no way any of Kris’ pants would fit him, and Kris finds a large t-shirt for him, which at least covers him up a little bit.

Kris spreads a sheet on the couch and hands Adam a pillow, pushing him softly down when he looks confused. Adam lies down hugging the pillow to his chest and sighs, closing his eyes. Kris thinks this has been unexpectedly easy as he turns around to head to bed, but then of course Adam grabs his wrist, and it’s not that easy after all.

“There’s a postcard,” he says. “In my apartment, on the kitchen table. I found it in my mailbox yesterday. It says ‘better luck next time’. I guess I should have given you that.”

He looks kind of sorry in a stoned–out-of-his-mind way. He’s not a bad guy, Kris thinks, just really, really stupid sometimes. Kris squeezes his hand and puts it back down on the covers.

“I’ll take care of it.”

~

In the last three years, Kris has gotten used to living alone. He usually wakes up at every strange sound now, no matter how small. So he literally jumps when he wakes up to find someone else in bed with him. His hand goes to his gun before he realizes who it is. It’s Adam, lying on top of the covers on the other side of the bed, watching him in silent fascination.

“Um..?” Kris says eloquently.

Adam’s fingers circle Kris’ ring finger. “You’re not married,” he says.

Kris shakes his head.

“But you have a son.”

Kris nods.

“What’s his name?”

“Sam,” Kris says.

Adam nods approvingly. “Good name.”

“You okay?” Kris asks. He is kind of worried that he brought home a lunatic, but he’s been watching Adam for a while now, and he doesn’t think he misjudged him that badly. The guy probably just took one too many painkillers tonight.

Adam nods again. “I snooped,” he says. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t look very apologetic. But Kris doesn’t mind that Adam looked around anyway. He has those pictures on display because he wants them to be seen. Sam is the one thing he did right in his life after all. “That’s okay.”

“I found my clothes,” Adam says. “Thank you.” And now that Kris looks, he is indeed wearing clean clothes that actually fit him.

“Had to send someone to your apartment for the postcard anyway,” Kris explains. It’s not like he went out of his way.

Adam doesn’t look like he heard him. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. “You took a bullet for me. You could have died.”

Kris rolls his eyes. “It was just a graze. And I told you I was there to protect you. That’s my job.”

Adam thinks hard about something for a second (not that Kris thinks he is capable of much thinking at that moment) then says “I’m sorry I was being a dick. I didn’t think--” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

He pulls himself up on his elbows and Kris thinks he’s moving to leave, thank God, because that was getting awkward, but Adam doesn’t move away, he pushes himself closer instead, and before Kris can protest, there are lips against his, moist and large and warm, and Adam gives him a firm peck that lingers for a while. He then pulls back to whisper a soft ‘thank you’ to Kris, and rolls off the bed.

Kris finds himself blinking sleepily in his wake.

~

The postcard actually breaks the case. They find a bunch of prints on it, and one of them turns out to be in the system. The print belongs to an ex-con running a grocery store not two blocks from Adam’s place, and even though he says he doesn’t remember who he sold the postcard to, staking the place out for half a day gives them the culprits on a silver fucking platter.

It turns out to be a botched gang initiation ritual, new members helping with the cleaning up of the neighborhood as they put it. The kids who did it think they are the shit, having watched one too many cop shows, but they cave pretty quickly once caught. Kris hadn’t ever considered the bombing being gang related, because honestly, he thought the gangs in the area would know how to make a proper pipe bomb, but these kids are just that, kids, and they don’t know shit. If there’s anything Kris hates more than kids with guns, it’s kids with guns who don’t know shit.

Kris has a new homicide waiting on his desk the next day on top of the three open cases he already had, the chief is on his ass about a conference he wants Kris to attend, and Sam is down with the flu, so Kris finds himself driving around town all day to follow leads, avoiding the chief when he is at the station, and running over to Katy’s whenever he has time to at least read Sam a story and tuck him in at night. He forgets all about Adam Lambert and his hot and cold routine.

Until Adam Lambert shows up at his apartment that is.

~

Kris is sick. He somehow managed to get the flu from Sam, and the chief banned him from the station until he could breathe without spewing out viruses. He had to transfer one of his cases to Nathan Maloney, and Kris hates Nathan Maloney with a fiery passion, but he has to suck it up and admit that he is beat this time. His head feels like a beehive, there’s no way he is solving anything in this state.

So Kris stays home and sleeps and sleeps and sleeps until he jolts awake with the doorbell and can’t tell what time it is. Is it even still the same day? The curtains are drawn; all he can tell is the lack of sunlight outside. He reaches for his cell phone, but there’s nothing on the nightstand; it’s probably still in his jacket pocket. Kris has no idea where his jacket could possibly be. He finds himself debating in his head if he should, or even could, get up to answer the door. They’d probably leave if he debates long enough, wouldn’t they?

Kris dozes off and jumps back into awareness with someone knocking on the door this time. It could have been 5 minutes or 5 hours since he last opened his eyes. For all he knows he slept for two days and is late for work now. He remembers not knowing where his phone is. Maybe they called him and couldn’t get through. Maybe something is wrong with Sam. He makes himself get up, moves slowly to the door, carefully holding onto the furniture along the way, and opens it.

Adam Lambert spills inside.

“Hi!” Adam says, getting his footing back. “Your car is outside, but you didn’t answer. I was worried.”

“I’m kind of sick,” Kris mumbles, taking in the blue jeans, the pressed shirt, and the black coat. Adam looks unexpectedly normal today. His hair is down, curling around his face. He is not even wearing make up. He is however holding a bouquet of purple flowers.

“Oh,” Adam says, taking in the pajamas and looking worried. “You haven’t been to the club. I wanted to thank you for what you did. I brought you flowers.”

Kris looks at the flowers. They look pretty. No one has brought him flowers, ever, he doesn’t think.

“Thank you,” he says, watching Adam slowly listing to the left. But then Adam grabs his arm and he realizes he was the one moving, not Adam.

“You should go back to bed,” Adam says, pulling him towards the bedroom. Kris doesn’t even have the will to say no.

~

Kris wakes up to the smell of chicken soup.

Padding into the kitchen, he finds Adam dancing with a ladle in hand, headphones in place. Kris can almost hear the song. It sounds like Madonna. The sleeves of Adam’s black shirt are rolled up, revealing tattoos climbing up both wrists, and Kris notes that he took off his shoes, so his purple sock clad feet are sliding on the floor as he shakes his hips.

Adam turns around still dancing, but stops and shrugs the headphones off quickly when he realizes he is being watched. “Hey. Hey, sit down,” he says, pulling a chair for Kris. “I made soup.”

Adam serves Kris a bowl of the soup, handling the ladle with a flair like he is mixing cocktails in his club instead, and there’s even fresh bread, which makes Kris melt a little bit where he sits. One loaf of bread usually lasts him a week, and even when it gets moldy, he has to scrape off the green stuff and eat it anyway. His working hours are not very conducive to shopping for fresh groceries. He can’t remember when he last had bread that actually smelled like bread.

The soup looks like it was made from scratch with real chicken, and not something heated from a can. Kris is pretty sure he would have noticed if he had chicken at home. Last he checked all he had was some yogurt and bananas.

“You went shopping?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, shrugging. “Used your key. Hope you don’t mind.”

Kris doesn’t know what he feels about Adam commandeering his kitchen and his keys, but he certainly doesn’t mind the soup or the bread. He can’t remember when he last ate, so who cares if the glittery half naked guy made copies of all his keys? It’s not like Kris has anything sparkly enough for him to want to steal.

“I hope it’s okay,” Adam says, watching Kris eat. “I never made soup before. Had to call my mom.”

Kris nods appreciatively and watches as a slow grin spreads across Adam’s face. There’s something very disarming about the way his face lights up. Kris did not expect to like this guy; it’s all very confusing for him.

Adam cleans the kitchen while Kris eats, and places everything neatly in the dishwasher. Kris would have objected, but he’s too busy with his second bowl of soup to say much. When he is finally done, he feels heavy and sleepy and content, and ready to go back to sleep. Adam looks ready to leave too, already in his shoes and coat. Kris doesn’t even know what to say to him; how to thank for something that is unexpected, unasked for and even somewhat inappropriate. Kris is pretty sure he wouldn’t have let any of this happen if he’d been in his right mind anyway.

Adam ushers him up and into the bed. He pulls the covers over him and places his phone on the nightstand.

“I put my number in there. You can call me if you need anything.”

That’s ridiculous. Why would Kris call him? He’d call Katy or something.

“The rest of the soup is on the stove. Your alarm will go off in 5 hours; you should eat some more then.”

Kris would have scoffed if he could; he’s not an invalid for God’s sake. But he really doesn’t have the energy, so he lets it go.

“Get well soon,” Adam says, one hand brushing Kris’ hair back from his face. If Kris sighs a little bit, it’s because his hand is cool and Kris has a fever.

He feels the bed move, thinks Adam is leaving, but drifts off before he can hear the door closing behind him.

~

Kris understands on an intellectual level that Adam is gay and available and has a hatred-turned-into-hero-worship kind of thing for him. That doesn’t mean he really gets what that might entail until Adam spells it out.

The flowers he brought while Kris was sick are in a water bottle on the kitchen table, still holding strong after a week. They smell nice, so Kris kind of hopes they’ll stay alive for a while yet. Katy used to buy flowers when they lived together; it’s something Kris didn’t know he missed.

The next gift he gets from Adam is a box of truffles. They are delivered to the station while he’s away, and he gets a few looks and a leer or two when he opens them at his desk. It’s a small box wrapped with a golden bow, and there’s a simple white card on it that says ‘Thank You --Adam’ in a loopy handwriting.

Kris sighs and leans back in his chair. He’s seen this happen a million times, not to him, but to a lot of other cops he has worked with. It’s the danger, the adrenaline, the gratitude; they all add up to this prince charming thing some people have. No one wants to be the damsel in distress, but there’s a certain romanticism to the idea of being saved anyway. It’s an art to know how to let down a person who was a victim not too long ago, and Kris fears he is not much of an artist in that sense.

He slaps the hands that come anywhere near the truffles and heads to the club. He has to knock for a while for someone to hear him, and asks the drunk-looking guy that opens the door if Adam is around.

Adam is always around. Kris has a feeling that the man lives in his office. He’s never heard of a club owner being a workaholic before, and thinks Adam might be the first. Adam looks up from the papers he was studying when Kris enters the room, and smiles wide when he realizes who it is.

“Hi!”

Kris finds himself momentarily distracted by the glasses Adam is wearing, but then remembers the truffles and why he came here in the first place.

“Hey,” he says, placing the box on the desk. “I came to return these.”

Adam looks confused. “You don’t like them?”

“I do. It’s not that. You don’t need to get me anything. Okay? Just a thank you is enough.”

Adam pouts. Kris can’t believe Adam is actually pouting. “It’s just chocolate.”

“I know. Chocolate is great. I love chocolate. I just don’t want you to think--” Kris can’t finish that sentence and Adam finishes it for him, looking a bit smug.

“That you’re interested?”

Kris’ face probably says everything there, because Adam smiles at him good-naturedly.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to cry or anything.”

Kris feels bad. He hates saying no to people; he’s not very practiced at it. “You’ve been through a trauma. And I was there. So that’s normal. It’ll pass. You should give it time,” he babbles.

Adam smirks at him. “I’m not the delicate flower you think I am, you know.”

Kris opens his mouth to say he didn’t—he wouldn’t—but Adam stops him. He gets up to stand in front of Kris, taking the abandoned box of chocolates and offering it to him. Kris has to take one, because refusing even that would be a crime now.

“You’re cute,” Adam says, making Kris choke on the chocolate he was swallowing. “And I like you.”

He cups Kris’ jaw with a warm palm to pull him closer, and gives him a long, slow kiss, licking the traces of chocolate from his mouth.

“Tasty,” he says, pulling back and licking his lips, leaving Kris kind of stunned and ruffled.

Kris has no idea what to make of this guy. He doesn’t even know what to say to this. “Okay, then,” he says and moves to leave, because standing there like an idiot is not helping.

“The offer stands,” Adam says to his back. “You know where to find me.”

~

Every cop has a thing. In Kris’ experience, for most guys it’s kids, for a good portion of the rest it’s rape. For Kris it’s women. Women beaten by men more specifically. He doesn’t have a childhood trauma or anything; it’s just the regularity of the crime that gets to him. It’s something that happens to a lot of women and is done by a lot of men, and none of those men are psychos or anything like that. They are normal people. People he would have maybe made friends with unknowingly. He’s had a couple of mandatory sessions with the department shrink, but he never felt comfortable enough to bring it up. They say the doc is good at what he does; Kris doesn’t want to risk finding himself talking about his mother and crying.

He knows the Maureen Jason case will be a bad one the minute he walks into the morgue. She has bruises, contusions, broken bones all over her fragile body; all done by someone much stronger than her and over a period of time; it’s not a one time beating. It doesn’t help that she is a tiny blonde and reminds him of Katy.

It’s an easy case, open and shut really, but it leaves this pent up energy inside him that makes him want to punch someone. Part of him wishes that the scumbag had resisted; that he hadn’t been stoned out of his mind when they found him. He knows it’s wrong, he needs to trust the justice system or what’s the point of doing this job, but he can’t help it. He would have loved to pound that fucker into the pavement.

The chief knows him too well; he takes in the look in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and tells him to get out of there and leave the paperwork for tomorrow. Kris gets his jacket and walks away, abandoning his car in the parking lot. He doesn’t trust himself behind the wheel.

It’s not a surprise that he finds himself at the club a couple hours later. It’s a struggle for him to not think about Adam Lambert these days. Kris has told himself nothing will come of it, and nothing should, but that doesn’t mean he stops thinking. He had good reasons for not coming until today. He is not gay for one thing. He is a non-practicing bisexual, and it would be way too much work to change that at this point in his life. Besides, this isn’t his style. The guy owns a club. He pisses off gangs. He is flamboyant and glittery, and yes, maybe also sexy as hell, but Kris is a family man, kind of; he doesn’t need all that in his life.

But then again, when something like Maureen Jason happens, he does need something like that in his life. Just for tonight, he promises himself, as he opens the door. He’ll just go and get them out of his system; Adam and Maureen both.

The staff is cleaning the place when he enters, getting ready to open up, and someone tries to stop him, but the redhead says he’s cool. Kris doesn’t feel like talking, he probably would have just flashed his badge if they pushed. He finds Adam sitting on the bar, drinking something with one too many umbrellas in it. He lights up when he sees Kris and jumps down to greet him.

“Hey, Kris! You came.”

Kris doesn’t remember ever giving him permission to call him by his given name, but when did Adam Lambert need permission for anything? He takes liberties left and right. That’s the kind of thing that would have annoyed Kris any other day, but today he feels like taking a few liberties himself.

Grabbing Adam’s wrist, he pulls the man towards the room in the back. He shuts the ridiculous purple door closed, locks it and pushes Adam against it. His hands find their way into Adam’s hair, spiky and sparkling, and he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. He can be as rough as he wants. Adam is a big guy. He can take it.

Kris has to push himself up on his tiptoes to reach Adam’s lips, but it’s worth the strain. Adam has warm lips, wet and yielding, but they are also insistent and strong. He groans when Kris bites them; he doesn’t pull back, doesn’t even flinch, but pushes forward for more. One of Adam’s arms snake around Kris’ waist to support him and Kris finds himself free to use his hands as he likes. He pulls at Adam’s t-shirt, and they break apart for a second to get it off, and Adam follows that by pulling Kris’ shirt free, flinging around a few buttons in his hurry to undo them.

Kris feels like climbing Adam like a tree and not stop kissing him until they are both sore from it. But there’s the trouble with breathing, and the gravity, and Adam, who is pulling back to look at Kris, all inquisitive eyes and tight mouth.

“Are you okay?” he asks, sounding way too serious for a guy with sparkly blue hair.

Kris doesn’t feel like talking. If he wanted to talk, he would have gone to Katy’s. He pulls Adam down by the hair, and pushes his tongue down his throat as an answer. Adam growls at him, and bends down a little further to bite his neck. Yes, Kris thinks, that’s exactly what he wants. He needs that itch scratched.

“I know what you need,” Adam says, reversing their positions. He turns Kris around and pushes him against the door, facing the ugly purple paint. Kris rests his forehead on the wood; it feels smooth and cold against his heated skin. Adam holds him in place when Kris tries to turn around and grabs his wrists to stretch them up above his head.

“Hold that,” he says, closing Kris’ fingers around a metal hook.

Adam’s hands move around his waist, tickling and teasing, and they undo his jeans and pull them down. The jeans fall down and pool around Kris’ ankles, making him feel ridiculous standing there in his underwear, but that doesn’t last long either. In seconds Kris finds himself standing buck naked, his privates getting intimate with a purple door. He wants to let go, turn around and go back to the kissing, he liked the kissing, with maybe a little bit of biting, but when he moves, Adam bites the back of his neck, whispering sssshhh to his ear, so he closes his eyes and holds on tight. It will be okay. Probably.

Kris hears Adam taking his clothes off and rifling through a drawer. His shoulders tense, he knows what that means. But he knew where this was leading the moment he stepped through the ridiculous purple door, and it’s not like he has never done that before, because he has. Once. When he was drunk. It’s just different to be naked and sober and waiting for it.

When Adam comes back, he plasters himself all over Kris, warm, naked skin everywhere, touching in places Kris has never touched a man before. Kris feels his hands, large and knowing, moving across his back and finding the kinks, massaging away the tension. A groan escapes his lips. He should have planned this better. He didn’t know there’d be a massage or he would have picked a place with a bed.

Adam’s hands move down his back, and Kris feels him crouch down, his lips trailing down Kris’ sides to his thighs. Kris hears a mewing sound and knows it must be coming from him, but as long as he doesn’t acknowledge it, he doesn’t think it counts. That’s a good thing, because nothing about this counts. It’s all just experimental therapy.

Kris can feel fingers where he never thought he would want anyone’s fingers before, probing and sliding in and making him blush so hard, he can feel his skin sizzling. Adam stands up, his fingers still going about their business deftly, and trails kisses up Kris’ neck, biting his ear, his chin, turning his face sideways to give him a wet and filthy kiss. Kris keeps forgetting to breathe, and thinks he would probably forget not to slide down if it wasn’t for the hook he’s been holding onto for dear life. Adam is that good. Or maybe Kris is that easy.

Adam tears open the condom package, and Kris’ heart starts beating triple time. It’s almost like the whole thing is happening in slow motion, like Adam is taking his time and making him wait just to torture him. Kris is not in a place where waiting is an option right now, but when he tries to tell this to Adam, he finds that he can only talk one syllable at a time. Adam shushes his meaningless babblings and buries his face in Kris’ neck as he pushes in. Kris makes a choking sound, and then loses all coherent thought.

~

There’s heat and friction and the feeling of his insides being pulled in a way that doesn’t hurt, but is not exactly fun either. It’s a teasing feeling, but comes with a promise. And Adam makes good on the promise; he surrounds Kris with his body, with his breath and sweat, and he makes Kris growl and moan and almost cry. By the time he lets Kris come, Kris has began making the mewing sound again, and he can’t feel his arms anymore.

Adam is half dressed when he pulls Kris’ jeans up for him and makes him let go of the hook—he has to literally pry Kris’ fingers open to get him free. Kris groans and leans against the door to stay upright, but then Adam opens his arms and envelopes him in a hug, and Kris finds himself rolling into it gratefully, because Adam has the most huggable body he has ever seen. He is solid and comfortable and large enough for Kris to bury himself in.

Adam pulls away after a while, just enough to look Kris in the eye, thankfully not asking if he’s okay or not. Kris feels pathetic enough already. His hands frame Kris’ face, warm palms covering almost half of it, and he kisses Kris soft and mellow. Kris feels relaxed and sleepy, all tension gone from his body, and he thinks he can sleep through the night now, not thinking about anything but Adam’s lips. (And possibly other parts of Adam which he will not be admitting even in his thoughts.)

“I should go,” he says, resting his forehead on Adam’s cheek.

Adam’s hand tightens and he opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it without making a sound.

“Okay,” he says after a while, nodding and pulling back.

Kris feels cold and out of sorts. He finds his shirt and puts it on, crumpled beyond recognition, and buttons it up best as he can with the handful of buttons it has left. Then he steps out of the room without looking up at Adam and leaves the club.

~

Kris has been thinking. He has been thinking non-stop, in between all the case stuff in his head, before and after he visits Sam, while he talks to Katy, while he chats with his mother, he’s been thinking about Adam and how it wouldn’t work.

There are ways in which maybe it could work, but then Kris doesn’t really know Adam. Is it really something more than hero worship like he claimed? Would Adam even want it to work? He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to make allowances in his life for other people and their baggage. Kris has a lot of baggage. His job is a problem even in the most ideal relationship, and a five-year-old son is not something people want coming along with a boyfriend. There’s the ex-wife thing; Kris is not willing to alienate Katy for anyone, and that has caused problems in the past. Even if Kris accepts the gay thing, and the club thing, and the blue hair and make up thing, there’s still no guarantee that Adam will want this to be something anyway.

He is probably making something out of nothing. Adam may be hot and nice and huggable, but he also seems flighty and kind of juvenile. Kris can bet that he’s not thinking about this as much as Kris has been. And their lives are too different to mesh together in a way that would make sense anyway.

Kris decides that it’s the best for all involved and makes sure not to go anywhere near Adam’s club.

~

Kris has been on stake-out duty for the last two days, so he finds himself with 36 hours of off time. He sleeps a decent night’s sleep, does the accumulated laundry of the last couple of weeks and arranges a play date with his son. He is dusting with a rag he found under the sink when the doorbell rings. Katy is not due to bring Sam by for a couple hours at least, so Kris thinks it’s probably one of the neighbors coming to complain, because they are just not used to him walking around the apartment so much.

He drops the rag (thankfully unseen behind the door) when he opens the door to find Adam on the other side.

“Hi?” Kris says after a moment’s silence.

Adam walks in.

“Okay,” Kris says to himself as he closes the door. “Come in, then.”

Adam has his hands on his hips. “Are you done freaking out?”

Kris hasn’t been freaking out. He’s been thinking. There’s a difference. “I’m not freaking out,” he says.

Adam tilts his head. His hair, all up in the air, doesn’t even stir. He grabs Kris’ wrist and pulls him to the bedroom. Once there he pushes Kris down on the bed and climbs up to straddle him. There are objections at the tip of his tongue, but Kris finds himself straining up into Adam’s kiss instead, everything else forgotten already. He feels Adam pulling at his own clothes and helps him without letting their lips part. Just as he is getting to the good part, Adam pulls his hands away, stretches Kris’ arms up and ties them to the headboard with his tie. Kris wonders if he wore the tie just for that.

“Now,” Adam says, pushing Kris’ t-shirt up to lick a long, wet stripe up his chest. “I want you to explain to me why you didn’t call me.”

Kris can’t really think when Adam is on top of him. “Did you want me to call?”

Adam nods gravely as he unbuttons Kris’ jeans. “I waited.”

“Why?” Kris finds himself asking, and feels stupid afterwards.

Adam stops what he was doing. “Because,” he says, looking confused like it should have been obvious to anyone who had two brain cells to rub together. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and that was possibly the hottest sex in the history of ever.”

“You hated me,” Kris says. “When we first met. You hated my guts.”

Adam rests his chin on Kris’ chest. “You were cute and you were a cop. I hated you on principle. But then you had to go and be all heroic and clueless and hot.” He kisses Kris’ chest. “I’m kind of attached now.”

Kris feels himself blushing. “You don’t-- This isn’t--” He has reasons, he knows he has them, he just can’t seem to find them right now. “Am I even your type?”

Adam is smiling at him. “I think what we need is a gag,” he says to no one in particular. “Because you say the stupidest things.”

“I don’t--”

“No more talking!”

Kris feels Adam pulling his jeans down rather than see it, because his pillow fell off the bed while Adam was tying him up, and now when he tries to look down, his neck hurts kind of a lot. He feels Adam’s mouth on his stomach, working its way down. He shuts his eyes tight knowing what’s coming, he’s dreamt about it enough times to have a clear picture in his head of exactly how it would look, and finds himself trying to reach down when Adam finally takes him in his mouth.

“Adam— Adam!” Kris strains against the bonds. Of course Adam would know how to tie someone up so tight.

“Shush,” Adam says, pinching his thigh, and going back to doing sinful things with his tongue.

“Adam, untie me,” Kris demands.

Adam ignores him.

“Adam, come on, untie me,” Kris whines, pulling at the tie until his arms start protesting.

Adam rises up on his elbows. “Do you promise to be good?”

Kris rolls his eyes. “Will you stop being ridiculous and--”

Adam shakes his head and places a hand on Kris’ chest, pushing him back down and towering over him on his knees.

“Admit that you like me and I’ll think about it.”

Of course Kris likes him, that’s not really the problem. “Of course I do,” he says grudgingly. “But this lunatic act is not helping.”

Adam grins. “You like me lunatic.” He leans down to give him a kiss. “You know what you should do?” he asks, pulling back. “You should take me out.”

Kris feels his reasons, all those wonderful, valid reasons, drifting away from him as he lets Adam charm a smile out of him. “Then you should probably untie me.”

Adam’s grin grows even wider, and he unties the knot with one firm tug.

~

Kris is in the shower when the doorbell rings for the second time that day. He hears Adam yell that he’ll get it, and makes an aborted move to run out of the shower to stop him before realizing how stupid that would look. Adam answering the door to Katy and Sam without supervision is nightmare material, but Kris going out there wet and naked to answer the door instead of Adam would probably make matters even worse. He rinses out his hair in a hurry and is dressed within minutes.

The apartment is silent when he steps out of the bedroom, his hair dripping all over his shoulders. He thinks maybe it wasn’t them; maybe it was Jehovah’s Witnesses or something. But then he hears Sam’s laugh and follows it to the living room where Adam is sitting on the floor with Sam, watching him play with the yellow toy truck he calls Roger.

Kris feels spellbound by the picture. Adam looks strange next to his tiny little son, large and loud and strong, both with his size and his presence, but Sam doesn’t seem to find anything odd with his new friend. He hands Roger over to Adam and shows him how to play with it, making it go up and down the bridge he makes with his leg. Adam laughs when Sam corrects his route for the third time in a row, and Kris finds himself smiling at the look Adam gives him. Kris knows that look. He’s been giving that look to anyone and everyone since the day Sam was born. It says ‘isn’t he the most ridiculously amazing little man?’

Kris leans against the wall to watch Adam, looking at him with a different eye, seeing the laugh lines in his face, the crow’s feet around his eyes, and taking in the curl of his smile when he talks to Sam.

Katy calls for him from the kitchen, asking him to help her with the tea, and Kris has to blink a couple of times to clear his head as he goes. He kisses her cheek and takes out the mugs from the cupboard mechanically, all the while thinking maybe this will work after all.

Adam walks in, Roger in hand, leaning a bit too close to Kris as he asks what he is doing and whether they have something for Sam; fitting right in with Kris’ small kitchen and his plaid shirt and cheerful ex-wife, blue hair be damned.

Kris leans in to catch Adam’s lips with his, and hears a surprised ‘oh’ escape Katy’s lips, but he’ll handle that in a second, what he has to concentrate on now is the way Adam’s breath hitches in his throat, and his hand squeezes Kris’s arm, and how he melts into his touch.

Kris tries to keep the tongue to a minimum with Katy present, and pulls back, trying not to look like he is considering pulling Adam back into the bedroom. He probably fails. He doesn’t look up, but he is pretty sure Katy is laughing at him anyway.

“Does this mean we’re going steady?” Adam asks, one hand clutching Kris’ shirt, the other still holding Roger.

Kris nods. It probably does.

The End

July 8th, 2009