(Plain)Clothes Don’t Make the Man

aka the homeless!kris fic

Adam lets himself have twenty minutes every night to daydream. Any more and he knows he will get carried away – he did that once out in the desert and it was a bitch to come down from – so now he’s careful; he times it. The park is quiet after dark, most people too spooked to hang around, and it takes seventeen to twenty-one minutes to walk from one end to the other. It’s the perfect opportunity.

(Adam doesn’t get scared easily. It helps that he towers over most people – plus he has the pepper spray his mom makes him carry, so he’s covered.)

Once or twice in the past, his thoughts have lingered over his love life, ‘finding The One’ is a dream everyone seems to share, and there’s always the ever favorite ‘winning the lottery’ one, but for the most part, Adam’s fantasies involve big stages, millions of fans, and performing – night after night. He likes planning, down to the smallest detail, how his life is going to change when – not if! – that finally happens for him.

His feet hurt like a bitch tonight – been standing for three hours, singing 80’s classics – so the first thing that pops into his head is the thought of owning a car. He likes sports cars – sleek and flashy – but he thinks he’ll probably have a limo to drive him home when he makes it big. It’ll have room to sprawl, to rest his feet after a show, and there’ll be a bottle of perfectly chilled champagne waiting for him in there. He’ll have a cute driver to go with it, who will also be his bodyguard. A guy that wears sharp suits and is ruggedly handsome, with enough muscles to break you in half. An ex-cop, maybe. He’ll have retired early, tired of bureaucracy; he’s honorable to a fault and likes kids and dogs.

(His subconscious, which always sounds worryingly like Brad, tells him that his fantasy driver is too ridiculous even for a lame Hollywood cop movie. Adam tells him to shut it. He still has fifteen minutes. He’s free to be ridiculous right now.)

Adam lets the sound of leaves crunching under his boots carry his mind away. Home, he thinks, picturing his cockroach ridden apartment and his roommates. No offense to Allison and Tommy, but when he’s rich and famous, Adam will move out. His home will be a mansion. At least ten bedrooms, a Jacuzzi, and a huge pool. And he’ll also have a villa in France as a hideout – for when he doesn’t feel like dealing with publicity. Which means, obviously, that he’s going to need a private jet to fly back and forth. He won’t fly it himself – that’s so Travolta – but he’ll handpick the crew. They will all be young and wild, dependable but creative.

Adam is determined to always work with the best, but there’s no way he’ll ever let stuffy, unoriginal people near him – no matter how professional they are. He knows that the streets are full of potential going to waste, just because people can’t see past the tattoos and colorful hair . . . well, Adam can. He’ll surround himself with talent. He’ll build his own family – a sparkly, colorful family . . . a glamily.

He grins, delighted at his epiphany – first a glamily, then a glam nation, and then WORLD GLAMINATION – and stops to fumble his phone out of his pocket to call Brad and ask him to join his glamily.

That’s when he hears it.

Someone’s playing guitar . . . a familiar tune. Adam looks around, blinking to wake up from his fantasy, and there it is. A guy, sitting alone on a bench, huddled in his coat – which, frankly, is downright fugly and makes him look ridiculously small – playing one of Adam’s favorite songs.

“Is that . . . ? Oh, that’s brilliant.”

The guy raises his head, hands freezing on the strings, and Adam realizes that he said that out loud.

Oh, well.

“Sorry?” the guy says, polite and oh so Southern.

Adam slinks closer as if hypnotized. The accent is Adam’s Kryptonite; he’s made many, many bad decisions because of boys with honeyed accents. And does he learn? Nope, never. Ask his mom – or better yet, ask any one of his exes. Brad, especially, would love to expand on Adam’s flaws, particularly the ones involving him using his smaller – comparatively speaking, of course – head.

(Adam doesn’t understand what’s so wrong with that, really. What’s the point of denying attraction? It’s natural and beautiful, and no, it doesn’t always work out, but he refuses to suck all the magic out of it by repressing it all and trying to make rational choices.

In his experience, when it comes to love and sex, logic is overrated.)

“Go on,” he says, gesturing to the guitar the guy is cradling in his lap. “You were singing.”

He perches on the other end of the bench, leaving plenty of room between them, and after a moment’s hesitation, the guy starts playing again, looking only slightly creeped out.

He’s singing Bad Romance, which makes Adam want to whoop with joy, and even though he starts softly, wary of his audience, he picks up soon enough, getting into the rhythm. Adam always has this immediate reaction to Lady Gaga – yesgodwantthatwanttobethatsobad – but this is different. This slower acoustic version of the song is not at all what Adam wants to do with his music, but it’s – it’s why he loves music, if that makes sense. It’s about creating and transforming; letting yourself bleed into a song and make it yours. That’s what this guy is doing – and doing it in the cutest way possible, with scrunched eyes and a lopsided mouth – and Adam is entranced.

The guy can’t quite hit the high notes and Adam finds himself helping out, which earns him a surprised glance. Adam shrugs and offers a friendly smile. The guy returns it tentatively. Then they’re off again, singing the chorus together one last time before finishing off with a flourish.

(Adam tries not to show off too much. He fails.)

Grinning like an idiot, Adam holds out a hand.

“I’m Adam. And that . . . that was amazing.”

The guy puts a cold hand in Adam’s and ducks his head. “Kris. You were pretty awesome yourself.”

Adam wonders if Kris is blushing. He sounds like he is.

“So . . . isn’t it a bit late to be hanging out in the park on your own?” Adam asks, checking his watch. It’s past 11 PM.

Kris shrugs and picks nervously at the strings. He nods toward his guitar case, propped open next to the bench. “Got nothing better to do.”

Adam sees a couple of quarters and just one lonely bill lying on the red lining, and even though he can’t afford to give away money with the rent due next week, he digs out his wallet and drops a five in there.

“You don’t need to do that,” Kris says, earnest. “Seriously. Don’t—”

“Kris,” Adam says, cutting him off. “Just say thank you.”

Kris opens his mouth, looking ready to spout more nonsense, but Adam holds up a hand to silence him.

“And play me something sassy for my exit, please.”

Kris smiles with one side of his mouth and bites his lip. He starts playing.

Adam offers him an appreciative smile. He turns to leave. “See you around,” he throws over his shoulder.

His hips keep moving to the beat even after the music fades and his smile lasts all the way home.

~

Adam honestly doesn’t think he’ll see Kris again – he’s never seen him before, so Kris was probably just passing by – but the next night, he gets two coffees on his way home anyway. Just in case there’s someone at the park sitting alone in the cold or something. It’s not a big deal.

His heart wiggles excitedly in his chest when he spots Kris perched on the same bench. His guitar is sitting next to him and he’s pulled his knees up to his chest, looking like a little kid in his dad’s clothes.

“Cold?” Adam asks, all suave and mysterious, offering the large coffee he got for Kris.

Kris doesn’t startle like Adam had hoped – he’d been stealthy! – but he does seem surprised. “Thank you,” he says, accepting the cup and wrapping his hands around it for warmth.

Adam watches him take a sip and shiver, and it suddenly hits him. “You don’t have anywhere to go.”

He should have seen it: the bed head, the ill-fitting coat, the backpack next to the guitar case . . . Kris is homeless.

Kris shrugs. He doesn’t seem embarrassed, which is good, because that kind of awkwardness would be hard to diffuse, but it’s also obvious that he isn’t about to pour his heart out to a stranger. He just says, “Struggling artist,” like that explains everything, and takes another sip from his coffee.

Adam sighs. “I’m a struggling artist, but you don’t see me sleeping on a park bench.”

Kris shrugs again. “It’s not forever. I’ll find something soon enough.”

“You don’t get it,” Adam says, shaking his head. He gestures at the trees around them. They look downright scary with their dark nooks and their creepy creaking sounds. “This place is dangerous at night, and you’re . . . you’re . . . tiny!”

Kris raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t go all macho on me. You’re pocket-sized and you know it. And this place – is like the perfect hunting ground for a serial killer.”

Kris looks amused. “Hunting ground?”

Adam nods decisively. “Yes. Hunting ground.”

“And you would know this, because . . . you hunt here yourself?”

Kris is grinning. Adam is picturing him lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood and the damn infuriating man is grinning at him, like this is all a joke. “I could be!” Adam says. “That coffee could be poisoned for all you know. It could be drugged! I could be planning to do all sorts of things to you!”

Kris’ grin turns impish. “What kind of things?”

Adam’s jaw drops.

Kris turns away with a low chuckle, looking slightly uncomfortable, like he didn’t expect himself to say that either, and Adam shakes away a fantasy where he has Kris handcuffed to his bed.

“Flirting,” Adam says finally, “won’t save you when some psycho comes at you with a knife.”

“This is just for a couple of days,” Kris says, turning serious. “And I do know how to protect myself.”

Adam stares at him long and hard; Kris does seem to be telling the truth. He’s not nervous; he looks confident. But sooner or later he’ll have to sleep, and no one can protect themselves while asleep. How is Adam supposed to sleep in his warm bed when he knows Kris is out here, all alone, freezing his ass off on a park bench? That just won’t work.

He shakes his head and stands up. “Okay. Pack your things,” he says. “You’re coming with me.”

“What? No.”

“Yes,” Adam says, nodding. “If it’s only for a couple of days, then you can just crash on my couch. At least it’ll be warm and I can vouch for my roommates. No serial killers in the apartment, I promise.”

Kris looks pleasantly surprised, but as far as Adam can tell he’s not even remotely tempted to accept the offer. “Thank you. Really. But I’m okay here.” He pats his bench fondly. “It’s a good bench,” he says.

Adam crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t stomp his foot, but it’s a close thing.

“Besides,” Kris says, “you can’t just take any stranger in. I could totally be a serial killer.”

Adam snorts.

Kris looks hurt. “I could,” he grumbles.

“Come on, Kris,” Adam says after a beat. “I’ll worry if you sleep here.”

Kris’ answering smile is warm and honest; it lights up his whole face – possibly even the whole park. It makes Adam’s toes tingle. “I’ll be okay. You go on home.” Then he reaches for Adam’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. His fingers are cold, but the guitar calluses on their tips burn their marks on Adam’s skin.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kris says.

Adam looks around for a moment, conflicted – but then it suddenly occurs to him.

“Here, take this,” he says, handing over his can of pepper spray.

Kris stares at it as if he’s never seen one before.

“It’s the least I can do,” Adam says, wiggling the can. He has more at home. His mom gives him one every couple of years, just in case.

Kris takes it from him, wrapping his fingers around it securely, and then gives Adam an impossibly earnest look – one that makes Adam mentally kick himself and try to remember that, no, Kris is not a stray kitten he can just put in his pocket and take home.

“Thank you,” Kris says.

Adam waves it away. “Not a problem.” He nods once and turns to leave. “Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

~

Three hours later, Adam is back with a plate of cookies and two wool scarves.

“What?” he says to Kris’ raised eyebrow. “I got bored.”

He stays for over two hours, trying – and for the most part succeeding – to make Kris talk about himself, but then the day finally catches up with him and he falls asleep with his head on Kris’ shoulder. Kris wakes Adam up with a quick shake and spares him an exasperated look before declaring that they’re calling it a night.

Before he leaves, Adam gives Kris a tight hug, checks that he put the pepper spray in an easy to reach pocket, and leaves one of his scarves with him.

~

The third night, Adam comes prepared. Before he left for work, he’d dug out the thermos Allison’s mom had given them as a housewarming gift and put the leftover cookies in a Ziploc bag. So now he has plenty of coffee, three store-bought sandwiches, and cookies for dessert. He also brought his iPod to share some of his own music. He feels like he’s back in high school, going over to a friend’s house for a sleepover.

Except, he never did do that in high school.

“You never had a sleepover? Seriously?” Kris asks when Adam tells him that.

“In high school? No.”

Adam sniffs at his sandwich suspiciously and then takes a bite. Not as fresh as it could be, but it’ll do.

“That’s sad, man. I miss sleepovers.”

“Yeah, well,” Adam says. “You look like the type who would fit in. I was always . . .”

“Different?”

Adam snorts. “One way of putting it.”

If there’s one thing Adam doesn’t lack in his life right now, it’s people to talk to. He has his roommates, his friends, his colleagues and contacts – he networks like a pro by now – he even has his mom and dad and Neil. Hell, he still talks to his exes. That’s why it’s baffling that he’s going out of his way to spend time with some homeless guy at the park at night. Kris is cute, sure, but Adam meets a lot of cute guys. He doesn’t invite them all home – and when he does, it’s usually for sex, not for charity.

But no, that’s not right either. This isn’t charity. He’s not here because he feels bad for Kris.

There’s just something about him – something puzzling, something interesting. Adam can’t figure him out and he really wants to.

Kris may be cute – very, inexplicably cute – but when you look at him objectively, he’s a pretty average guy. Adam probably wouldn’t have looked twice at him under normal circumstances. (Okay, maybe twice, but definitely not a third time.) Adam loves his voice, his style, but still, he’s not exactly an earth shattering vocalist. He has average eyes, average body, cute yet average hair – what’s incredible is that all these innocuous parts of him somehow come together to make for a fascinating package. He has a stealthy sort of charm; you don’t realize what’s happening until you find that you can’t take your eyes off of him.

Kris has an average family, has led an average life, but Adam hangs onto his every word when he talks about them. He watches Kris’ face obsessively, trying to catch every little detail: how his lips move, lopsided and wicked, how he rolls his eyes with fond amusement, how he stares at Adam at times, seeing through every defense Adam has.

It’s a bit unsettling how, sometimes, when Kris is really focused on something, all his soft edges suddenly disappear and he looks sharp enough to cut. It’s only there for a second, blink and you’ll miss it, but Adam has been paying attention. It’s like the self-confidence thing – that also comes and goes with Kris. Adam can’t quite pin it down.

And then there’s the touching.

Adam started it himself, he’ll readily admit to it, but he only had the best of intentions, honest. He wanted to keep Kris warm, and at the same time, give the signal that it’s okay to sit a little closer, that Adam was okay with physical contact. All Adam did was put an arm around Kris’ shivering shoulders. It was Kris that leaned in without a pause, melting his body against Adam’s, and after that, it seems the floodgates have opened.

There’s no other way to say it: they’ve been cuddling. Kris is very much a cuddler. Adam doesn’t think he even realizes that he’s doing it, and there’s no way Adam can put a stop to it. It’s addictive.

Adam should have seen it coming though, because Kris obviously has problems with personal boundaries when it comes to casual PDAs. Adam has seen people talk with their hands before, but even those tend to keep them away from the listener. Kris, on the other hand, accentuates every word with a touch. Grabbing Adam’s shoulders, patting his chest, touching his hand and touching his hand and touching his hand – until Adam thinks he might just lose it. He didn’t realize handholding could be a form of foreplay, but Kris manages to make it one. He plays with Adam’s fingers, his palm, his wrist; rubbing, tickling, teasing, and Adam shivers under his touch, trying not to whimper.

“ . . . right, Adam?” Kris says.

Adam blinks. “Right,” he says with a nod. “Yes.”

“All right then,” Kris says, pulling away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Adam checks his watch. It’s 1 AM. He had planned to stay until at least 3! He pulls Kris back toward him, giving him a don’t mess with me look when Kris puts on his determined face.

“You’re cold, you’re bored, you weren’t even listening to me,” Kris says – mostly into Adam’s coat, because Adam seems to have miscalculated a bit as he tugged Kris into place and now Kris’ face is smushed against Adam’s shoulder.

Which Adam is totally okay with, by the way.

“Go home,” Kris says.

“Come with me,” Adam counters.

“Adam . . .”

“Kris . . .”

Kris looks up and Adam realizes that their faces are inappropriately close. “Look,” Kris says, licking his lips. Adam holds his breath. “I know you feel bad, and I know you worry, but trust me, okay? I’ll be okay.”

“This isn’t—” Adam has to clear his throat and start over. His heart is beating too fast; he’s pretty sure Kris is close enough to hear it right now. “You’re a great guy. And I’m not just saying that. You’re a good person and you’re talented and special and you can use a favor or two right now. So just let me.”

Kris smiles as he pulls back, but then scrunches his face and says apologetically, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Adam huffs and throws his hands up. “You know, if we had met at a bar or something, got to talking, and you’d said you needed a place to stay for a couple of days – I probably would have offered. And once you got your own place, I’d have bought you a drink and asked you out. I don’t understand why this has to be any different.”

“Well, you did buy me a drink,” Kris says. “Several, in fact. But you didn’t ask me out.”

“Because I already feel creepy enough!” He gesticulates to emphasize how very unsettling this whole thing is. It gets a bit wilder than is strictly required perhaps, but he has a lot of feelings about this. “I want to just wrap you up and carry you away!”

His frustration is entertaining for Kris, apparently, because he’s smiling that maddening, lopsided smile at Adam again, and looking up at him through his lashes – which is, like, so not fair. How is Adam supposed to—

Oh, hell.

Adam’s palms cup Kris’ face, easy and perfect, and Kris lifts his face without hesitation. His lips are cold and chapped; when Adam delves inside, his mouth tastes like cookies.

Kris kisses the way he sings, with an almost lazy, slow-burning passion that catches you unawares, and he carries his seemingly perpetual amusement at life into the kiss, grinning against Adam’s lips when they break apart to breathe, and then kissing Adam again and again, his soft lips stretched wide.

“I’d have said yes,” Kris says, breathing hard.

“Hm?”

“If you’d asked me out,” Kris clarifies. He sits back and pats Adam’s knee. “I’d have said yes.”

“Oh.” Adam feels a bit lightheaded.

“Now, go home,” Kris tells him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Too dazed to argue, Adam packs his things.

Kris steals one last kiss before Adam leaves, and when Adam looks back from the corner, Kris is staring down at his feet and grinning.

~

Next day, Adam has an epiphany and starts calling in favors. He doesn’t know why he didn’t think of this before – it’s so obvious, so awesome – but now that he has, he’s not above begging people to get Kris an audition. By the time he has to leave for his gig that night, he has four auditions already lined up.

He writes the information on the back of an envelope with his glittery purple pen and grins all the way to work.

He flies through his set, smiling at his audience probably more than he should, and when he’s finally done at 10:30, he just grabs his bag and runs. He doesn’t bother changing out of his suit or toning down his make-up like he normally would and makes only one stop on the way to get coffee from the usual place – and then he continues running all the way to the park, where he makes himself slow down and walk the rest of the path, if only to catch his breath and not look like an insane person when he arrives at the bench.

He’s busy planning their first date in his mind when he hears the sound of struggle.

He sees Kris on the ground, fighting with a guy in a black hoodie, and his stomach drops. He should run and help, call 911, do something, but he’s completely frozen, flashing back to the pictures his overactive imagination had come up with: Kris hurt, stabbed, bloodied, dead . . .

But then . . . Kris stands up and the other guy stays down. Because – Kris is holding a gun.

“What . . .?” Adam breathes out. No one hears him.

As he walks closer to Kris, it feels a bit like he’s floating – which is fitting since this obviously has to be a dream. He must have fallen asleep in the backroom of the club, waiting for his check. How would Kris even get a gun? And even if he somehow did, how would he know how to use one? How would he know how to subdue a man – a man much larger than him – with a foot in his throat?

It makes no sense.

Kris is sweaty, Adam notes when he’s close enough, and he’s looking around expectantly – like he’s waiting for something, which is obviously not Adam, because when he spots Adam, Kris’ face goes tight and worried, and he says, “Adam, stay back,” in an authoritative tone Adam has never heard him use before.

Adam stops, and keeps staring.

Eyes still trained on Adam, Kris opens his mouth – to offer an explanation, Adam’s panicking brain hopes – he takes a deep breath, but then his mouth shuts without a sound. He shakes his head and says, almost to himself, “Anytime now, guys. Anytime.”

Magic words, Adam thinks absently, when two cops round the corner immediately, guns in hand. One of them is in uniform, the other, a woman with long blonde hair, is wearing a leather jacket and kick-ass boots.

“Finally,” Kris says to the woman as the uniform cuffs the man on the ground. Kris puts his gun away – which means, yeah, it’s his gun, not borrowed or anything. “You took your time.” He hands a small bag of something to the woman.

Drugs. Guns. Cops.

Adam snorts, more out of nervousness than anything else. All this scene needs is some theme music and it’ll be like something out of one of Tommy’s favorite cop shows.

“And this must be Romeo,” the woman says with a smirk. Adam doesn’t realize she’s talking about him until he hears Kris’ gruff reply. “Megan. Don’t.”

Megan rolls her eyes. “Pleasure to finally meet you,” she says to Adam with a wink.

Adam thinks he should say something, but can’t quite make his lips move. His brain is making connections so fast it’s making his head spin, and the conclusions he’s reaching are not reassuring.

Kris is not a struggling artist, he’s a cop. He was undercover, that’s why he was at the park. And Adam was probably being all annoying and clingy and endangering his mission or something.

Oh, God.

Adam didn’t know cops actually did this kind of stuff – not in his neighborhood, anyway! How could he have known! Kris should have said something – which, okay, he couldn’t have. Oh, God. What a mess.

And the woman – she must be Kris’ partner. Has she been listening in on them all this time? All those conversations, the flirting, the snuggling – the kiss?

Adam tries to swallow down the bile rising in his throat. He’s never felt more like a bumbling idiot in his life. Even back in high school.

“Adam,” Kris says carefully, snapping Adam out of his thoughts.

They must think he’s an idiot.

They’re probably not wrong.

“Yeah,” Adam says, trying to smile. “Wow.”

“I was—”

“Yeah, I got it,” Adam cuts him off. “You were . . . catching bad guys, making the world a better place, and all that stuff.” He’s pretty sure the smile on his face must be scary, but it’s the best he can do under the circumstances. It’s better than throwing up or running away in shame. “I guess I shouldn’t have worried about you being out here like bait, because, ha, you were bait.”

“Yeah,” Kris says, hands tucked in his pockets, shoulders drawn tight.

How can he be a cop! Adam’s brain screams, but facts are facts. This time. Hopefully.

“So . . . I guess you should get back to work,” Adam says, nodding towards Megan. She’s watching them curiously and with a knowing smirk. It makes Adam want to hit something. He doesn’t; he smirks back instead. “Here,” he says, handing Kris his coffee. “For a job well done.”

Saluting Kris with his own coffee cup is probably overdoing it, but Adam is focused on keeping his hands steady and making his legs move without wobbling right now, so he can’t bring himself to care about that. He thinks he hears Kris call his name, but chooses to ignore it. He walks with slow, sure steps, nods to Megan politely, drinks his coffee – and arrives home completely breathless.

~

Allison finds him in the kitchen, sitting on the counter and staring blankly at the envelope. She doesn’t have to try very hard to make him talk.

“Hmm,” Allison says after she listens to the whole horrifying story. “Vodka and ice cream?”

She has the best ideas.

~

“I called him tiny and pocket-sized and told him he couldn’t protect himself. I gave him my pepper spray!” Adam hides his face in a throw pillow. “I don’t even wanna know what he must have been thinking! He has a gun, and he probably knows how to kill a man with his pinkie!”

Allison snorts. “Dude, he’s not a super secret spy or anything. Get a grip.”

“You didn’t see the change!” Adam says, topping his glass. He’s determined to drown the humiliation in apple flavored alcohol tonight. “He was like cute and cuddly one minute and then deadly and, like, a Robocop.”

He thinks back to how Kris had held the gun, how he stood, not slouching, perfect posture. Just that one stance was enough to tell Adam how different he was from the cute little homeless guy who played Lady Gaga songs at midnight in a creepy deserted park.

“How come he can sing like that?” Adam whines. “That’s not fair. Cops aren’t supposed to be that talented. When does he even find the time?”

Allison rolls her eyes. “I’m sure he’s not always undercover. I’ve never seen him lurking around the neighborhood being homeless and cute before. That was probably just a one-time thing.”

“That I immediately fell for!”

Allison pets his hair, pulling his head down to her lap. Adam goes willingly. “It’s because you’re a good person. You brought him cookies for God’s sake.”

Adam muffles a frustrated whine against Allison’s jeans. He did that, didn’t he? Could he be any more lame?

“I’m too dumb,” Adam mumbles. If something seems too good to be true, most people would know to assume that it probably is.

“You are not too dumb.”

“Not too dumb,” Adam repeats. “No, just dumb enough.”

Allison ignores him. “How did that thing even work?” Allison says. “Why would a drug dealer even approach him? He was broke.”

Adam shrugs. He’d thought about that, but honestly, he kind of doesn’t care. “Maybe he was just staking the place out? Or maybe he was playing the desperate guy who wants to be a dealer? I don’t know.”

“They must’ve had a plan,” Allison says. “We’ll get Tommy to figure it out.”

Adam shrugs. Whatever the plan, Adam’s pride had been the collateral damage. “Fuck his plan,” he says, but his heart isn’t really in it. A part of him can’t help but be thrilled for Kris. Kris isn’t homeless. He’s not a failure. He’s an awesome cop who busts drug dealers. That’s kind of brilliant.

And if Adam didn’t feel like punching Kris’ lights out right now, he would have called him up and told him that. Instead, he raises his head just enough to pour more vodka down his throat and lets Allison pet him.

He tries not to think. It doesn’t work.

~

Adam stops taking the shortcut through the park – it’s obviously too dangerous there at night – and lets Tommy and Allison pamper him at home, but other than that, he gets on with his life. He gets over the whole thing along with the hangover. At least that’s what he tells himself. He does believe that if you say something enough times, it becomes true. (Or you make yourself believe it, which is almost as good.)

Four days is enough time to make himself believe in a lot of things.

They’re getting ready to watch a movie when the doorbell rings. Adam lets Allison get it; it’s probably the pizza.

“Adam!”

Not the pizza, then. Adam gets up off the couch with a sigh, pulling his pajama bottoms higher on his hips.

“For you,” Allison says, an eyebrow raised, half-annoyed and half-amused. “It’s Kris.” She pulls the door open wider and adds, “if that is indeed his name.”

Kris looks like he wants to smile, but isn’t sure if he should. That’s not an uncommon reaction to Allison.

“Hi,” Kris says, after Adam shoos Allison away.

“Hey,” Adam says.

There’s an awkward silence.

“How—uh. How did you find my place?”

Kris shrugs. “I’m a detective.”

“Oh, right.”

There’s another awkward silence. A theory on how the awkwardness of the silence grows exponentially with every second that passes starts to form in Adam’s head. He’s wondering how he can do a controlled experiment to prove it when Kris finally speaks.

“I wanted to apologize. About the thing—at the park—”

“Oh, no, you really don’t need to do that. I understand completely,” Adam says. Reassuring. Suave. Completely in control of the situation.

“I should’ve explained it that night,” Kris says. He doesn’t sound particularly suave, but that’s okay. Adam can be suave enough for the both of them. “I should have at least told you—”

“No, really. It’s fine,” Adam insists.

Kris pauses, looks down at his feet. Adam does too, instinctively. Kris is wearing the same worn-out Converses Adam remembers from the park. They must be his own shoes then, not a part of the cover. They don’t much look like cop shoes to Adam, but what does he know about law enforcement anyway?

“You mean ‘it’s fine’ as in ‘it’s fine ‘cause I don’t wanna see you ever again,’” Kris says softly, matter-of-fact.

It’s kind of harsh, but not entirely wrong.

“I’m kind of not okay with that,” he finishes, looking at Adam through his lashes.

Adam hates it when he does that.

“I don’t . . . Look. I already made a fool of myself,” Adam finds himself saying. It makes something inside him cringe and protest, but Kris is putting himself out there – to what end, Adam still has no idea – and Adam feels that maybe he should offer something in return. “I probably annoyed you—and . . . and your partner. And I unintentionally hindered an investigation. So . . . I figure we’re at least even. You lied, but you had to. I was an idiot, because . . . well, I didn’t have the whole story. It worked out in the end. It’s fine.”

Kris is looking at him in that focused way of his, that, ridiculously enough, makes Adam a little weak in the knees. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve sent you away. That time, with the cookies. I should have,” he says. “But I didn’t.”

‘Yeah, what’s up with that?’ Adam wants to ask, ‘Why not save us both the trouble?’ but the words refuse to leave his lips.

“I just—I couldn’t. You were so nice . . . with the scarves and the worrying – the cookies. And—you were interesting. I wanted to hang out with you. And I really didn’t want to lie.”

Adam snorts. He begs to differ. Whether Kris wanted to or not, there had definitely been a lot of lying.

Kris holds up his hands, placating. “No, really. I didn’t lie to you about my name, my family, music – do you know how long it had been since I talked music with someone who just really got it?” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have lied about that, no way. It was just the cop thing, which I really couldn’t tell you. The rest was all me.”

Adam blinks at him, trying to see where he’s going with this. Knowing it wasn’t all a lie does make him feel better, definitely less like a fool, but— “Well, that’s nice,” he offers. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“Adam,” Kris says, his voice hard as steel, but his feet shuffling uncomfortably. “What I’m saying is that I . . .” There’s some more feet shuffling. “That you . . .”

Adam stares at him blankly. What’s he missing here?

“He’s trying to ask you out,” Allison says helpfully from the hallway . . . from where she’s apparently been watching them, leaning against the kitchen door and eating popcorn from a bowl.

Adam looks to Kris to gauge his reaction, and when he gets a sheepish nod in return, he gestures for Allison to leave without taking his eyes off of Kris.

“Oh, come on,” Allison says, but stomps away when Adam’s fingers get frantic in their gesturing.

“You’re asking me . . .”

Kris takes a deep breath and steps closer. “I’m asking if—”

From this close, he has to look up to Adam. That should not be such a turn on. And yet.

“—we’d met at a bar and got to talking, and I’d told you that I’m a cop who likes music, would you have bought me a drink and asked me out?”

Kris smells amazing. He always did smell amazing. Adam would make a horrible cop. Why didn’t he think that a homeless man shouldn’t smell this amazing?

Adam closes his eyes and lets the clean ocean smell of Kris fill his lungs.

“Probably not,” he says. It’s the truth.

Kris stumbles back a step, suddenly deflated. “Oh.”

Adam puts a hand on his arm to steady him. “I would have assumed that a cop wouldn’t date a guy like me, so I wouldn’t have even tried. And I would have missed out.”

“And now?”

Kris’ eyes are open unnaturally wide. He looks hopeful and tentative – though not weak, never weak – and Adam can’t resist cupping the side of his face in his palm. When Kris leans into his touch, they sigh almost in unison.

“Now I want you to come in.”

Kris rises up on his toes just as Adam leans down and they meet in the middle. Adam holds him tight, one hand sliding behind his neck, the other going around his waist, and Kris buries his fingers in Adam’s hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. The kiss is deep and hot – though it’s slightly awkward, because they can’t quite decide who should lead and who should follow. It’s something to work on, but Adam doubts he’ll mind it.

Adam feels lightheaded when they pull back, like he’s tripping; the world has a distinctly unreal hue to it. And Kris’ lips – Adam leans in for another kiss, a bite, a nip – they’re exquisite. Incredible. Perfect.

“You . . . I . . .” Kris stutters when Adam pulls back, looking dazed and wrecked. His hair is a mess, his undershirt is half out of his jeans, and his shirt is missing a couple of buttons.

Adam wants to take him apart and put him back together – find out what makes him tick.

Kris’ hand is in his – handholding as foreplay, Adam’s mind supplies – and Adam pulls it up to press a kiss into Kris’ palm – which makes him gasp – and then he sucks two of Kris’ fingers into his mouth.

That makes Kris moan.

“I’m taking this as a yes,” Adam says, pulling the fingers free.

“Hm?”

“That I can keep you,” Adam explains.

“Oh,” Kris swallows. “That. Right. Okay.”

Adam smiles. He has a feeling that he’s going to have a lot of fun making Kris lose his ability to speak in the future. “And since we already had . . . at least three dates, I think we can skip dinner and go straight to—”

“Dessert?” Kris offers.

“Bed,” Adam says.

Kris looks at their entangled hands, his own still wet fingers, and says, “Okay.”

Adam resists the urge to pick him up and carry him, and just settles for leading the way.

~

“Mmm,” Adam says, biting the inside of Kris’ thigh. “Make that noise again.”

“Wha—?” Kris raises his head to look down at him. “What noi—”

Adam licks up Kris’ cock experimentally, and there—that was the noise he meant.

“The one I can hear you making right now!” Allison’s voice comes from the other room. “Oh, my God!”

Horrified, Kris covers his face with his hands.

“I’m going out!” Allison says. “You guys better be all sexed out when I return!”

“Oh, God,” Kris moans. “Corrupting a minor . . .”

“She’s older than she looks,” Adam reassures him. “Now, let’s see if I can make you scream.”

The End

September 24th, 2010