[ all these things - part 2 ]
Oct. 14th, 2009 11:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
winterlivepart 1
~
"It's only fair," Adam informs him, warming to his topic. "You're obviously sparing me for a reason but I'm still on my way to the gallows. The way I see it, you owe me and I owe you. Let's settle accounts."
Kris covers his mouth with his fingers, and examines Adam over top of them. After a long moment, he takes them away and clears his throat. "You mean, like... here? Now?"
"Why not?" Adam's feeling expansive, invincible. It's just endorphins, but he always got off on those - you don't pick a job where you have to rappel down elevator shafts if you don't. He leans back in his chair, lifts his chin in challenge and spreads his arms. "I'm right here, baby. But not for long..." He lets it trail off, raises an eyebrow.
In his head, he hears Cassidy's voice. What in fuck are you doing, Adam? One day this fuck-it-all, daredevil bullshit is going to get you killed, and I won't be able to save you. That was on a job, two months ago. He didn't listen then, either.
This feels just like doing a job. Adam's heart is thumping so hard against his ribs that it kind of hurts.
Kris stands up, eyes narrowed. He circles the table with catlike precision, incapable of falling or faltering, and touches his fingers to Adam's face. "You know," he says gently, with just a hint of pity. "You're distracting, and... beautiful, in a weird kind of way. Can I say that? But I lied to you, before. I know what you do. It means something that you confessed, it means a lot. But even with that, I can't let you walk away."
"Maybe not," Adam shrugs, faking nonchalance as his mind grinds throught his new information, picking out the important parts. He knows his angle, though, he knows he's got his foot in the door, and he's not backing off. "All I'm saying is that I'm here now, and so are you. I know what you want and I can give it to you." Slowly, so it's clear that he's letting Kris call the shots, Adam takes hold of Kris's wrist and opens the fingers to expose his palm. He presses his lips to the warm skin, licks salt from the creases. "Nobody ever has to know."
Kris's breathing gets minutely heavier. He curls his fingers against Adam's jaw, making sure to only touch in the lightest possible way. Adam listens to the changes as he slides the point of his tongue under the ball of Kris's hand and up the inside of his wrist. Here, there's the faintest human scent - not laundry detergent, not soap, just skin and sweat. It's like unlocking a door, the rush of discovery and success. When Adam's tongue finds the delicate line of a scar, he sucks hard.
There's a tiny sound, for reward; a hitch in the breath, maybe, or a word that didn't quite make it. Adam can't help but look up; Kris's red cheeks and bitten lips, and the way he's watching, obviously watching, that's too much to fucking handle. He jerks on Kris's wrist to get him closer, a sudden, sharp movement.
He's not expecting the way Kris gives under his touch and uses the table to literally run over top of him, his sneakers making him soundless. It all goes so fast that when Kris lands on the other side and keeps pulling, Adam's helpless to do much of anything except fall.
He lands hard on his hip, the chair goes flying, and Kris has him on his back and pinned in the next breath - only this time it's his hands on Adam's shoulders, and he's crouched over Adam's hips like he doesn't quite know if he's allowed to touch down. His eyes are sharp, clear, and he looks like he's wondering whether his next move is a kiss or a finger stab to the throat.
It's hot. Adam knows he's crazy and he doesn't care; it's pushing his fucking buttons. This is a challenge, a gamble, with the highest possible stakes. There's more to it than that, there's something about Kris himself that makes Adam want to get in there, figure him out, take him apart. But he isn't feeling fantastically analytical right now, not with the warmth that's almost pressed against him making him fight not to squirm. "You have to believe me," he whispers, staying exactly where Kris put him and trying with little success to wipe the smile off his face. "I have, like, zero desire to get away from you right now."
Kris squints down at him, and closes the distance. Adam can feel breath against his lips, so close, almost there. He risks lifting a hand to Kris's thigh but he needn't have bothered with encouragement; Kris's tongue touches his lips and Adam's whole body leaps to attention without his input. Kris's voice is soft - "That's good, right?" - but there's this edge in it that makes it seem like he might be goddamn teasing, and there is only so much a man should be asked to bear.
"That's so fucking good," Adam assures him, and slides his hand back and around to pull that compact, dangerous body down.
His stomach is warm and giving, his thighs just the right kind of tight against Adam's hips. He squirms a bit under the hold but he doesn't break free, and Adam interprets this as yes, please, more. It's a gamble again, it's like Three Card Monte with the understanding that the wrong card will blow your hand off. But he makes the move, slides his hands around to cup that perfect ass and gives his hips a long, rolling cadence.
Kris sighs and sinks down to kiss him. His mouth tastes like grapes, and a 21 at Blackjack, and it's sweet on his lips.
Adam's so hard already, he's like a fucking kid, and he's on his kitchen floor. He tears away from the kiss and leans up to kiss and bite at Kris's throat. "Let me take you to bed," he urges. "Let me get under these clothes. God, I want you."
"You don't even know me," Kris murmurs pleasantly, his hands in Adam's hair; it's not a denial.
"Don't care," Adam murmurs against his throat. He grips harder, hungry for skin. "I will. You tell me more every minute."
Kris laughs. "That's... unusual," he says, and levers himself up. He stands over Adam for a second, peers down at him quizzically. "I can't tell if you're oversexed, or just deeply fucked up."
Adam moves his arms over his head and stretches, feels the anticipation running through him. "Probably a little of both," he smiles, and then folds an arm behind his head. "I really do like the bed, but it wouldn't be the first time I've fucked on the floor."
Kris seems to consider, then wrinkles his nose in distaste and backs up, giving Adam room to stand. He slips away toward the stairs, moving effortless and smooth, irrespective of physics.
Adam follows, and watches him inspect his way through the house. He marks entrance points and barriers, the way any professional would; he'd make a good thief. If Adam could just stop watching the solid curve of shoulders through that shirt, the swell of his perfectly rounded ass under his perfectly beat up jeans, Adam might try to recruit him. But as it stands, his blood's pounding in his ears and his fingers itch to get under what he sees, to get started.
Mustn't spook the killer virgin with shop talk.
Kris opens the door to Adam's room. The sight is wildly erotic; way too much, way too fast. Just his fingers on the doorknob, the fade of his fingerprints on brass, and Adam's dying to suck them, find the calluses with his tongue.
He's probably got a trigger callus. If he uses guns. God, what there might be under the ordinary-boy clothes, behind the brown eyes and easy smile - Adam can't contain himself. He reaches out.
Kris catches his wrist before he even feels the hint of fabric on his fingertips. It's fast, it's like reaching into a whirlwind; Adam feels the bed slam into his knees and falls down onto it before he even figures out how Kris turned him. He's laughing when he figures out what happened, even though he's going to bruise.
"You're so weird," Kris says, and climbs onto the bed to straddle Adam's thighs. Quick fingers go to work on his shirt, tugging up without ever touching.
Once he's over the surprise, Adam helps, lifting his shoulders and pulling off fabric and necklaces. He tosses the whole thing off the edge of the bed and shoves his hands up under Kris's shirt. "Fair's fair," he says, his voice sliding down into the sex register. "Gimme."
"I guess if I don't, you'll just steal it," Kris asks, keeping his arms down.
Adam shakes his head, not following. "Just get it off before I have to rip it off you."
Nothing changes about Kris's face, but somehow his expression becomes filthy. "What if I wanted you to rip it?"
"You're not a fucking virgin," Adam growls, angered at the very idea. He pulls at the fabric, straining to keep his fingers from becoming fists. "You're screwing with me."
Kris laughs under his breath, quiet and secret and too wicked for public consumption, and lifts his arms.
As Adam suspected, his chest is honed and tempered, and there's a white latticework of scars that wind around him like ghost ivy. A string of black beads around his neck holds a worn metal pendant that looks like an ancient dog tag. Kris touches Adam's face with his toughened hands, and Adam reluctantly obeys the unspoken command and looks up.
"I'm not lying," Kris says, an obscure kind of pain in his eyes. "You need to be good to me."
It makes Adam's heart trip. It's a moment of reality, dashed into they game they're playing, and he believes it without hesitation. "I will be so fucking good to you," he says, sincere as he knows how to be. "I'll make it good, I swear."
Kris gives him that inscrutable gaze, then leans down. There's an electric hiss along his skin as chest touches chest, as Kris takes a kiss off his lips in delicate bites. Adam forgets and grips those slender hips a little harder than he should, but Kris just gives this curt, breathy groan and opens wider.
Kissing is easy. Licking his lips and drawing out more of those little moans, it's second nature for Adam, who loves kissing like other people love God. No, that part's simple; what's hard is keeping his hands steady as he maps out Kris's back. The bare skin is puckered and lined, and it's more than you'd think, even for a killer. Killers shouldn't get marked up like this, they wouldn't be very fucking good at the job if they did. Adam struggles to keep touching, keep his fingers soft and exciting instead of seeming curious.
Kris grips his hair harder, puts his sweet mouth up next to Adam's ear. "Piece of advice," he whispers.
Adam freezes, another shot of adrenaline chasing his blood around his body.
"Never go to Myanmar," Kris says.
"I'll keep that in mind," Adam tells him, letting his hands come back to rest on Kris's hips, like home base. He's starting to sense the note he needs to strike to get in control of this situation, and it's good. He's going with it. Soon he might even be able to guess what it is. "I'm sorry," he says respectfully, wanting the vulnerability Kris has shown to keep coming. "Did you want me not to touch them?"
Kris thinks about that for a second, nose tickling against Adam's temple. "It didn't feel bad," he decides, and then there's a slow flush of warmth along his skin. His voice goes soft. "That is... if you don't mind them."
Adam nuzzles against Kris's neck, cradling that hard, slender body against his own. "Let me see," he murmurs, and rolls them over. Kris looks good on his bed, of course, and Adam kisses him thoroughly before backing up, urging him over onto his stomach with the gentlest hands.
It takes a long second. It takes patience. But Kris slides onto his belly and allows Adam to climb up between his thighs, to brace his hands on either side and lean down.
"You're just different," Adam says, kissing one thick, faded line across Kris's shoulder. "They're just like tattoos. They don't make you less beautiful, they make you more you."
It's artistic bullshit, of course. But it's always gotten Adam through.
It seems to please, at any rate; Kris goes pliable and warm under Adam's mouth and bows his head forward, exposing the back of his neck. The line of it - down from his skull, down his back, the dip and swell of muscle - is gorgeous. He's like a fucking superhero, just the right shadows in just the right places. Adam traces that line with his tongue, and when he reaches Kris's jeans he tries to edge underneath. "Let's get these off," he murmurs, curling his fingers into the waistband.
Kris gets up on an elbow and looks back over his shoulder. "Please don't try to leave," he says, sounding vulnerable. "I like you."
Adam wants to smile and say it's okay, he wants to promise, but that deep, secret voice inside is urging him a different way. What his instincts are telling him to do here seems almost cruel, makes him seem like a jerk - but they've never been wrong. He chokes back the sweet words and pulls a scowl. "You think I'd be here if I didn't like you?" he challenges. "You think because I'm a thief, I'm a slut, too? Like I'd fuck you just to distract you while I planned my getaway?"
Kris blinks at him.
The feeling is becoming more real now, even as Adam says it. He's convincing himself, and it isn't even hard. "I'm sorry, man, but that's fucking offensive. I know this isn't the world's most conventional social circumstance, but if you think I'm that guy, fuck you. You might as well just off me right here because I don't know if I like you anymore."
There's a beat, then two. Adam waits for it.
Then Kris moves, and Adam's face pressed into the duvet and Kris's knee in his back. Flash forward, before he even blinked. There's an arm locked around his neck, and even though he's currently comfortable, Adam has no doubt that with only a very little shift of anybody's weight, Kris could snap him in half.
Adam breathes, deep and deliberate. "Go on. Waiting."
"You're crazy," Kris says, sounding confused and irritated.
"No. Well, maybe, but I'm sure not like anybody else, and no offense, but the sooner you learn that, the better. Now, I'm not gonna try to escape, so let me up."
It takes a moment, but he unwinds his arm and backs up to crouch over Adam's legs. When Adam flips to look, Kris's face is wary and tight. The lamp over the bed is hitting him just right to hide his eyes in shadows. It's more honest, to have him looking like the dangerous thing he is; it's better. Adam reaches out to touch his face and he tenses all over.
"Easy," Adam says, keeping his voice low and soft. "I'm not trying to hurt you."
"You couldn't," Kris scoffs, or tries to. His voice has the right tone, but no real power.
That trips his instincts again; he ignores the challenge and reaches for Kris's jaw again, nice and slow. "This is supposed to feel good. You're supposed to have fun."
"What if I don't want to have fun," Kris says, and pushes Adam's hand aside. He pulls open Adam's belt with one fast move, which takes Adam completely by surprise. When Kris drops out of his crouch to kneel astride Adam's hips, reaches in and grips his cock, it's a downright shock.
Adam gasps, falls back on his elbows as the sudden rush of pleasure overwhelms his clever plans. "Yeah," he struggles to say. "That's okay. If you want, we can, we can do whatever, ohhh, fuck."
Kris's face is still in shadow, but Adam can see him lick his lips. "Is that good?" comes the breathless question, as he twists his fingers and grips harder.
"Mm," Adam hedges, wincing. He leans back into the pillows and puts his fingers on Kris's wrist. "It's better with some lube," he says. "I could show you?"
Kris's hand stutters and he draws away. Off balance. Unsure. Better. "Okay, so, uh. Where is it?"
Adam's mind is kicking in again, and this time the instinct is screaming at him: now, now, do this right now. It all makes sense now, the plan, the end game he's planned out before he even knew he thought of it. This is how it goes, though, Adam knows that, and it's an insane risk. He could die ten ways, if it goes bad. But the win... the win would be monumental. Legendary.
Adam takes a deep, measured breath, and nods toward the nightstand. "Right there. In the drawer. Get the condoms while you're there."
Violence hovers in the air between them, because Kris is looking at Adam with suspicion in the lines around his eyes. He's learned by now to sense the moments that Adam is working him, working the situation. Of course he has. He's a fucking professional.
But Adam holds very still, and eventually Kris crawls over to the drawer and opens it up. He picks up the bottle and sits back on his heels to open it.
The second his eyes flick down to the bottle, Adam lunges at him.
It's work to hold him. Things fall over and smash on the carpet, the light goes out. Kris fights like a demon even after Adam wrestles him down to the bed, and he's not afraid to claw and bite. Adam's bleeding from three places before Kris goes still. "What do you want?" he asks, voice taut and terrifying.
Adam meets his eyes and tells the truth. "I want you."
"No," Kris says, and starts to struggle again. Adam holds him tighter, kisses his temple, and keeps his head far enough away that his jugular's protected. It takes longer this time; they're sweating and sliding against each other before Kris gives up and snarls at him. "Let me go!"
"Why, are you gonna leave?" Adam challenges, his voice rising. "Are you gonna kill me?"
Kris grits his teeth and says nothing.
Adam scowls at him. "See, that's what I thought. You'll just stay and talk to me until you prove I'm just some scumbag, so you won't feel bad about taking this from me and then killing me. But that's stupid. I'm not. You know I'm not, or you suspect, right? So why not take the chance?"
"I can't!" Kris blurts out, sounding surprised and young.
"No, you can," Adam insists. "You can't kill me or you'll never trust anyone enough to let them do this for you. You'll never trust yourself not to kill them halfway through."
Kris stares, wide-eyed.
"Believe me, I know," Adam half-laughs. "It took me years to be able to go to somebody's house and not go straight for the most expensive thing they owned. But you have to try. It's crazy that you, who by the way are sexy as fuck, has never had sex, let alone a boyfriend. Do you even have any friends?"
Shaking his head, Kris breaks Adam's heart.
He dares to ease off on Kris's wrists. "You're so talented. I've seen you checking your routes in here, planning ahead. You do all the right things and you could be making so much money. You could be ready for your retirement score, man, and you don't even have a friend. You're killing me, here. You could be so happy."
"How do you know I'm not?" Kris mumbles, rubbing a knuckle across one eye.
Adam shakes his head. "Come on. We both know you're not."
A tentative hand settles against Adam's ribs. "But how do you know?" he asks, so soft. "We're nothing alike."
"Bullshit," Adam retorts. "We both do the job. That makes us as good as brothers."
Kris scowls. "This isn't brotherhood. There's a way things are supposed to be, and stealing, lying, killing people? That's not it. We're broken, Adam. We don't get a happy ending."
For that moment, the world hovers still around them, listening. The clock doesn't tick, the cars downstairs don't move, and Kris's eyes reflect the steady, unflickering streetlight.
Then, Adam brushes the backs of his knuckles over Kris's cheek. "Nobody ever handed me anything. I worked for everything I have. If I want a happy ending, I'll take it. And I'll steal you, too, Kris. It's who I am. It's who you are, too."
Kris says nothing, but his hand comes to rest on Adam's back.
Softly, slowly, Adam wraps his fingers around Kris's wrist. He can feel the tension, Kris fighting not to tear it away, and leans down to kiss at his neck again, warm and melting. "I'll do it right," he promises, writing it into the skin with his tongue. "You can trust me."
As if the words released something, Adam feels Kris's body relax under his hands. There's still tension, still fear, but Kris is back to being like he was when they walked into the house tonight - unsure, cautious, maybe even eager. Adam's starving for it, a rush of greed in his belly; he takes kisses off Kris's mouth, pulls and kicks at what's left of their clothes until there's nothing between them. His hair is past style at this point, and he has to hook it behind an ear as he makes his way past skin, firm muscle under his tongue. He grazes one nipple with his teeth, and Kris gasps, arches his back. "Sensitive," Adam notes appreciatively.
"Only some places," Kris says, voice tenuous. He knots his hands into the covers.
Adam kisses his belly and then looks up. Kris's eyes glitter back at him in the dark, and Adam wishes there were a light on, but he suspects it's too soon for that. He'll have to make do with touch. "You can hold onto my hair if you want," he says. "I like it."
Kris bites his lip, and then carefully pushes a hand into Adam's hair.
Adam grins against the soft skin and licks over the rise of a hipbone. He gets a tight, shivering sigh in response; gorgeous. "You're going to love this," Adam says, rubbing his nose against the heated skin. "Love it." With that promise he lifts Kris's dick and feeds it into his mouth one hard, solid inch at a time.
The taste is like a revelation, Kris's own personality stamped all over it. He might try to hide that he's human but Adam can hear the high, strained breathing going on, feel the grit of nails against his skull. The slick taste on his tongue is full of spice and sweet, almost nothing bitter to it, and Adam sucks and licks and memorizes, so when Kris goes to hide again, he'll remember.
"Oh," Kris chokes off, high up in the pillows. He sounds awed, shocked, urgent. "Oh God."
Adam streaks his nails down one bared, tender hip, turns his head so he can feel Kris's cock stretch out the side of his cheek. The spit slicks his lips and Kris is groaning under him, and all Adam can think is that anything he wants to do is going to be mind-blowing for him. He lifts away, strokes Kris tight and watches him gasp and claw at the mattress. "You're so fucking hot," Adam tells him with complete honesty. "Are you nervous?"
"Not now," Kris groans, shifting slow and restless.
Adam rubs his thumb under the head and gauges the resulting shudder. It's good, it's hot, and he's getting off on it, which is important. But at the same time, Adam's keenly conscious of his goals, here. He turns the problem over in his mind as he squeezes and strokes, tossing in a contemplative drag of the tongue from time to time just to keep Kris in the game.
The problem is that he doesn't know what'll make Kris flip. He doesn't know why Kris does this to begin with, though he can guess at the catalyst. Being broken in Burma would fuck anybody up, but it's a fair step away from PTSD to professional assassination. He can only assume that Kris was trained somewhere, that he has it to fall back on - maybe while he was captured? Impossible to say. But if he thinks it's all he has going for him, he doesn't need to be told he's good at it. He needs to know he's good at something else, that killing people isn't everything he can do. That he can make a choice. It's a good place to start, anyway.
"Tell me," says Adam, demanding Kris's attention. "Tell me what you want."
Kris's startled, dazed eyes jerk up to his. "I, uh. I don't know," he pants out, squirming under Adam's hand. "This is good."
Adam licks his lips, nice and slow. "But you can have anything. So you need to tell me."
"Um." Kris's voice trembles on the syllable, and he looks away. Adam would bet anything that he's blushing. "I liked before. When you had your, um. Your mouth."
"Want my mouth?" Adam croons, cupping Kris's hips. He puts his lips against the wet skin, brushing them back and forth in a liquid kiss. "Like this?" he asks, looking up along Kris's body.
He can't see the eyes that look back at him, shadowed as they are, but he can feel the weight of their gaze. Kris's hands tighten in his hair, hard knuckles against his skull. "No," Kris breathes, low and quiet. "Not like that."
Adam knows better than to tease. He slides down over Kris again in a long, smooth stroke, taking him deep. It pleases; he can hear the barely-there sounds, the ones Kris can't choke down. They're music to his ears, and he makes encouraging gestures alongside Kris's hips until Kris figures out that he can move them. Once he does, he fucks Adam with growing abandon, and when Adam starts choking and Kris is too far gone to even notice, he thinks it's time to put a stop to it. As gently as possible, Adam forces Kris's hips to the bed and pulls away.
It takes a little time. He twists and pushes under Adam's hands, he makes these sounds that might be growl or whine or something in between. The thrill of his movements travels up Adam's hands; he can feel Kris stopping himself from attacking. There's tension in all his muscles that says he wants to. But the seconds tick by, and he relaxes by increments down into the sheets, breathing deep and shaky.
"You all right?" Adam asks.
Kris shifts his knee, firms his grip on the sheet. "I. I think I want some more. If that's all right."
For the millionth time, Adam wishes he had some light. He settles for leaning down to kiss Kris's mouth, laying his hand along that sweet, ordinary face, and tries to sense his mood by touch.
It feels like he's all right. He arches up to meet Adam's kiss with fervor, looping a tentative arm behind Adam's back. He sighs, which is good. He pushes his body closer, which is great. Adam shifts his own hips to line them up, settle his cock into the groove of Kris's hip. "You'll get more," he promises, willing his eyes to adjust. "You'll get everything you want."
"I want," Kris pants, his dick pressing hard against Adam's belly as he rolls his hips. "It's good when you touch me. You should."
"Do you like it?" Adam asks, not needing an answer. He pushes his nose along Kris's neck, behind his ear, mouthing at the hot skin, taking in the subtle changes on his tongue. "Feel good on you?"
"Good," Kris agrees, his nails digging in at the small of Adam's back. It's close to what should be happening here, it's good enough that Adam's tempted to just let it finish like this. It could be enough.
Kris presses a hesitant kiss to Adam's shoulder.
"Oh, that's it," Adam growls, pulling back and yanking open his nightstand drawer. All his stuff is right where it should be; he rips open a condom with his teeth as he tries to manage the lube one-handed. He's in a motherfucking hurry, he's in and he has to take what he came for and close the deal before anybody can stop him.
"Adam," Kris warns, his tentative hand reaching out to make things slow down.
It's too late. Adam's dealt with the necessities and he's slipping slick fingers behind Kris's balls, down low. He lowers his head and kisses, licks. "You loved this," he coaxes. "Don't be scared now. Just trust me."
He's so tense, he's gripping the sheets again and his breathing is shallow. Under Adam's fingers, the muscles are right and hard. "It won't hurt, will it?" The question is perfectly formed, voiced with total seriousness.
Adam rubs his fingers there, firm enough to be felt. "It might hurt a bit," he says, dragging his lips over soft skin. "Just a bit. But after a minute, you won't even notice it. Promise."
Out of the dark, Kris's hand shoots down to grip Adam's free wrist. It's a serious grip, the kind that demands attention, and Adam lifts his face in surprise. Kris has sat up just enough that a slant of blue light from the window has caught him; his whole face is intense and demanding. "Not me, Adam. You."
Adam blinks. "Will it hurt me? No. Of course, no."
Kris looks away then, his mouth tight.
"I swear," Adam promises, climbing up to lie down beside him, pull him close. "I don't know why it matters, but I swear to you, it won't hurt me at all."
"I couldn't hurt you," Kris says, almost to himself. He pushes against Adam's chest, clutches him around the waist and holds him, like a stuffed bear.
Adam bites his lip so he won't say anything out loud, and strokes Kris's back. He's won. He's golden, because Kris has gone from assassin to lover and Compass is fucking over. Compass is going down.
"Okay," Kris says, laying a tentative kiss against Adam's chest. "Sorry. Can you... try again?"
Adam lets himself smile. "Yeah, baby. Come on, lie back for me."
The slide of his fingers is easier now that Kris is ready; Adam murmurs into his ear to relax, to breathe and don't clench, and Kris obeys just enough to let Adam slip his fingers inside. Of course he's so tight, he's awkward and unsure and he doesn't seem to want to let go of Adam's hair. Adam just murmurs to him, soft and sweet, and tamps down the bone-deep satisfaction that thumps in his belly at watching him twitch and writhe.
"Do it," Kris demands, voice scratched to hell and fingers digging into Adam's shoulder. "Come on, I need. I want." He bites off the words each time.
"What do you need?" Adam asks, daring to tease a little as he slides between Kris's legs, hooks an arm under one of those scarred, strong knees to lift it high. Reaching down, he guides the head of his cock over the slick, grasping little hole. "You want this in you? Need me to fuck you, baby?"
Kris is in no position to answer, tossing his head on the pillow and arching under the touch. Adam smiles, smug in his victory.
And then Kris hooks a heel just behind Adam's knee and hauls back on one of Adam's wrists. He goes sprawling gracelessly, and underneath him Kris snickers. "Oh, you think you're funny!" Adam accuses, lifting himself up on one arm.
"I do, actually." Kris's smile is bright, even in the low light.
He is. He's funny. He's fucking adorable. Adam shifts to kiss him, his perfect bow mouth and his heavy jaw and his long neck that begs to be bitten. He's tastes like salt and something else, maybe baking bread. Something good. Adam finds himself genuinely liking Kris, which is... unexpected.
"Really," Kris tells him, coasting his knee along Adam's side, lifting it up. "I think that's enough foreplay, now."
"Dirty mouth," Adam notes, trying to chastise. It sounds more like a compliment. He kisses Kris's mouth again, and reaches down to take his own cock in hand. "Relax for me, now. Breathe, okay?"
Kris bows his head, and Adam fits himself to the tight little space and presses carefully inside.
In an instant, Kris is solid with tension from head to toe.
"Breathe," Adam reminds him, taking Kris's knees and hitching them higher against his chest. "Push against me."
Kris does, a tentative press down; Adam takes it slow, steady, ignores the sweat breaking out on his brow and low on his back. It's tight, it's so fucking tight, and the urge to snap his hips is almost impossible to resist, but Adam manages. He bites his lip and he digs his fingers into Kris's thighs, and he manages.
Kris makes choked-off sounds, sounds Adam can only hear because he's so close. He moves his hips in careful, tentative waves, and as the sounds start to lengthen, so do the movements. After an eternity of Adam trying like hell to be considerate, Kris touches his shoulder. "You can go a little deeper," he breathes, thereby shorting out Adam's higher functions.
Adam goes deeper, and after a minute, he speeds it up, too. His heart is hammering, his body demanding his obedience, and he's only just holding onto the edge of his control. He takes Kris's dick in hand and strokes, feels it getting harder against his palm. "Is it good?" he asks, needing to hear it. "Is it good for you, baby?"
Kris is panting now, his skin getting slick. He pushes into Adam's hand, into Adam's hips, and his fists are knotting and reknotting in the sheets. He's staring up at the ceiling, his mouth wide and slack. "It's. I. Oh, God, Adam."
There's his name again, his real name. Adam has to squeeze his eyes shut against the visual, has to stroke harder as his hips start to snap, hard and fast. "Come on," he pants, holding Kris down with his free hand, right over Kris's heart. "Just like this, come on."
Kris's moans climb in pitch, higher and tighter and more desperate. Adam can hear him tossing on the pillows and has to look; Kris's whole body is arched, pushing up. His cock throbs once, twice in Adam's palm, and Adam feels the sudden hard squeeze on his own cock just an instant before he understands what's happening. Kris opens his mouth and shouts so loud, so fucking loud as he comes, and Adam can't fucking take that sound after all this holding back. He puts his head down, he fucks Kris right through it all and into the aftermath, and when he hits his own orgasm it's like running into a brick wall. Suddenly there's nothing, there's just a stop, and he's boneless and twitching and trying not to put all his weight on Kris's shivering body.
It takes a long time to quit happening, actually. They shift and pulse and jerk against each other, panting from deep in their chests. It's so good that Adam doesn't want to move.
Eventually, he peels himself off the bed and stumbles into the bathroom, kissing Kris's forehead on the way out. He washes quickly because he wants nothing more than to fall into bed right now, and only remembers at the last second to be a good host and bring a towel with him.
Back in the bedroom, Kris is sitting cross-legged on the bed, naked in the middle of the sheets like a sexy Buddha. He watches Adam cross the floor, his eyes unreadable. Thank God there's light from the bathroom and Adam can see. He comes up to the bedside and holds out the towel. "Thought you might want this."
"Thanks," Kris says, taking the towel and blushing to the roots of his hair.
Adam sits down on the edge of the bed and settles a hand against the back of Kris's neck. "Tell me your troubles," he invites, keeping his voice soft and kind.
Kris sighs, drawing a knee up and resting his chin on it. "I really feel like I shouldn't kill you," he says.
Adam nods. "That's good. I like that."
"You would." A brief smile flashes over Kris's face before it resumes its thoughtful, serious focus. "But if I don't kill you, then my whole... code that I live by, I might as well throw that out the window, because according to it, I should have killed you when we walked into the apartment."
Biting his lip, Adam nods. "Kind of sounds like you already did make an exception."
Kris winces. "No exceptions. That's one of the rules. I broke my code, Adam. No way around it. All there is now is to fix it." He turns and meets Adam's eyes, wide and hopeful in the yellow light from the bathroom door. That light catches in his irises, turning them an eerie, wolfish gold.
Adam insinuates his hand down Kris's spine. "There's another way," he offers. "You could... write a new code. One that makes more sense to you, to the way you know things should be now."
"I want to," Kris confesses, gripping Adam's knee. "I really do. But what about everyone else?"
Adam blinks. "...who?"
"The others," Kris says, blushing again, and this time with shame. "People who died under the code. What about them? If there's a new code, didn't they all die for nothing? How could I live, knowing I killed all those people for no reason? Wouldn't I... wouldn't I just be evil?"
Adam touches his face, his deceptive, murderous, sweetly sad face. "Baby. You just make sure everyone who's died fits the new code too. You're not evil. You couldn't be. You just need to figure out the rules, that's all." He draws his thumb over Kris's cheek, along his jaw. He's so fucking beautiful, scars be damned. "I want to help you," Adam says, and finds himself meaning it.
Kris moves, whip-crack fast. Adam's learning to sense it now, and that's how he manages to hold Kris as they kiss, instead of being slammed back into the bed. He runs his hands over Kris's back, accepting the press of lips against his own, the tug of hardened fingers in his hair.
"I guess," Kris says, warm against his mouth. "If you'll help me. I could find something new."
"I know just where to start," Adam smiles. "But first, let's sleep. Everything's clearer in the morning."
Kris nods, settling against him like he could just sleep right on Adam's shoulder. "Okay. Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Adam promises, pulling them both down onto the bed.
Tomorrow they'll figure out Kris's new code, who's all right to murder and who isn't. Adam plans to top that list with anybody trying to hurt either of them - Compass's name being first among them. He won't be happy when he finds out Kris has gone off mission, and if he's tried for Adam once, he'll try again. Even if Adam weren't the sort to retaliate, which he absolutely is, it's only prudent to remove the threat.
Of course, this means Adam will have to come up with a code. That'll be new.
He sighs, slides closer and pulls the blanket up over them. "You're lucky I already know how to improvise."
Kris touches Adam's throat, and the razor scrape he left there stings with the salt on his fingers. His voice is like a vinyl record, rough and worn and warm. "I think we're both lucky."
~
"It's only fair," Adam informs him, warming to his topic. "You're obviously sparing me for a reason but I'm still on my way to the gallows. The way I see it, you owe me and I owe you. Let's settle accounts."
Kris covers his mouth with his fingers, and examines Adam over top of them. After a long moment, he takes them away and clears his throat. "You mean, like... here? Now?"
"Why not?" Adam's feeling expansive, invincible. It's just endorphins, but he always got off on those - you don't pick a job where you have to rappel down elevator shafts if you don't. He leans back in his chair, lifts his chin in challenge and spreads his arms. "I'm right here, baby. But not for long..." He lets it trail off, raises an eyebrow.
In his head, he hears Cassidy's voice. What in fuck are you doing, Adam? One day this fuck-it-all, daredevil bullshit is going to get you killed, and I won't be able to save you. That was on a job, two months ago. He didn't listen then, either.
This feels just like doing a job. Adam's heart is thumping so hard against his ribs that it kind of hurts.
Kris stands up, eyes narrowed. He circles the table with catlike precision, incapable of falling or faltering, and touches his fingers to Adam's face. "You know," he says gently, with just a hint of pity. "You're distracting, and... beautiful, in a weird kind of way. Can I say that? But I lied to you, before. I know what you do. It means something that you confessed, it means a lot. But even with that, I can't let you walk away."
"Maybe not," Adam shrugs, faking nonchalance as his mind grinds throught his new information, picking out the important parts. He knows his angle, though, he knows he's got his foot in the door, and he's not backing off. "All I'm saying is that I'm here now, and so are you. I know what you want and I can give it to you." Slowly, so it's clear that he's letting Kris call the shots, Adam takes hold of Kris's wrist and opens the fingers to expose his palm. He presses his lips to the warm skin, licks salt from the creases. "Nobody ever has to know."
Kris's breathing gets minutely heavier. He curls his fingers against Adam's jaw, making sure to only touch in the lightest possible way. Adam listens to the changes as he slides the point of his tongue under the ball of Kris's hand and up the inside of his wrist. Here, there's the faintest human scent - not laundry detergent, not soap, just skin and sweat. It's like unlocking a door, the rush of discovery and success. When Adam's tongue finds the delicate line of a scar, he sucks hard.
There's a tiny sound, for reward; a hitch in the breath, maybe, or a word that didn't quite make it. Adam can't help but look up; Kris's red cheeks and bitten lips, and the way he's watching, obviously watching, that's too much to fucking handle. He jerks on Kris's wrist to get him closer, a sudden, sharp movement.
He's not expecting the way Kris gives under his touch and uses the table to literally run over top of him, his sneakers making him soundless. It all goes so fast that when Kris lands on the other side and keeps pulling, Adam's helpless to do much of anything except fall.
He lands hard on his hip, the chair goes flying, and Kris has him on his back and pinned in the next breath - only this time it's his hands on Adam's shoulders, and he's crouched over Adam's hips like he doesn't quite know if he's allowed to touch down. His eyes are sharp, clear, and he looks like he's wondering whether his next move is a kiss or a finger stab to the throat.
It's hot. Adam knows he's crazy and he doesn't care; it's pushing his fucking buttons. This is a challenge, a gamble, with the highest possible stakes. There's more to it than that, there's something about Kris himself that makes Adam want to get in there, figure him out, take him apart. But he isn't feeling fantastically analytical right now, not with the warmth that's almost pressed against him making him fight not to squirm. "You have to believe me," he whispers, staying exactly where Kris put him and trying with little success to wipe the smile off his face. "I have, like, zero desire to get away from you right now."
Kris squints down at him, and closes the distance. Adam can feel breath against his lips, so close, almost there. He risks lifting a hand to Kris's thigh but he needn't have bothered with encouragement; Kris's tongue touches his lips and Adam's whole body leaps to attention without his input. Kris's voice is soft - "That's good, right?" - but there's this edge in it that makes it seem like he might be goddamn teasing, and there is only so much a man should be asked to bear.
"That's so fucking good," Adam assures him, and slides his hand back and around to pull that compact, dangerous body down.
His stomach is warm and giving, his thighs just the right kind of tight against Adam's hips. He squirms a bit under the hold but he doesn't break free, and Adam interprets this as yes, please, more. It's a gamble again, it's like Three Card Monte with the understanding that the wrong card will blow your hand off. But he makes the move, slides his hands around to cup that perfect ass and gives his hips a long, rolling cadence.
Kris sighs and sinks down to kiss him. His mouth tastes like grapes, and a 21 at Blackjack, and it's sweet on his lips.
Adam's so hard already, he's like a fucking kid, and he's on his kitchen floor. He tears away from the kiss and leans up to kiss and bite at Kris's throat. "Let me take you to bed," he urges. "Let me get under these clothes. God, I want you."
"You don't even know me," Kris murmurs pleasantly, his hands in Adam's hair; it's not a denial.
"Don't care," Adam murmurs against his throat. He grips harder, hungry for skin. "I will. You tell me more every minute."
Kris laughs. "That's... unusual," he says, and levers himself up. He stands over Adam for a second, peers down at him quizzically. "I can't tell if you're oversexed, or just deeply fucked up."
Adam moves his arms over his head and stretches, feels the anticipation running through him. "Probably a little of both," he smiles, and then folds an arm behind his head. "I really do like the bed, but it wouldn't be the first time I've fucked on the floor."
Kris seems to consider, then wrinkles his nose in distaste and backs up, giving Adam room to stand. He slips away toward the stairs, moving effortless and smooth, irrespective of physics.
Adam follows, and watches him inspect his way through the house. He marks entrance points and barriers, the way any professional would; he'd make a good thief. If Adam could just stop watching the solid curve of shoulders through that shirt, the swell of his perfectly rounded ass under his perfectly beat up jeans, Adam might try to recruit him. But as it stands, his blood's pounding in his ears and his fingers itch to get under what he sees, to get started.
Mustn't spook the killer virgin with shop talk.
Kris opens the door to Adam's room. The sight is wildly erotic; way too much, way too fast. Just his fingers on the doorknob, the fade of his fingerprints on brass, and Adam's dying to suck them, find the calluses with his tongue.
He's probably got a trigger callus. If he uses guns. God, what there might be under the ordinary-boy clothes, behind the brown eyes and easy smile - Adam can't contain himself. He reaches out.
Kris catches his wrist before he even feels the hint of fabric on his fingertips. It's fast, it's like reaching into a whirlwind; Adam feels the bed slam into his knees and falls down onto it before he even figures out how Kris turned him. He's laughing when he figures out what happened, even though he's going to bruise.
"You're so weird," Kris says, and climbs onto the bed to straddle Adam's thighs. Quick fingers go to work on his shirt, tugging up without ever touching.
Once he's over the surprise, Adam helps, lifting his shoulders and pulling off fabric and necklaces. He tosses the whole thing off the edge of the bed and shoves his hands up under Kris's shirt. "Fair's fair," he says, his voice sliding down into the sex register. "Gimme."
"I guess if I don't, you'll just steal it," Kris asks, keeping his arms down.
Adam shakes his head, not following. "Just get it off before I have to rip it off you."
Nothing changes about Kris's face, but somehow his expression becomes filthy. "What if I wanted you to rip it?"
"You're not a fucking virgin," Adam growls, angered at the very idea. He pulls at the fabric, straining to keep his fingers from becoming fists. "You're screwing with me."
Kris laughs under his breath, quiet and secret and too wicked for public consumption, and lifts his arms.
As Adam suspected, his chest is honed and tempered, and there's a white latticework of scars that wind around him like ghost ivy. A string of black beads around his neck holds a worn metal pendant that looks like an ancient dog tag. Kris touches Adam's face with his toughened hands, and Adam reluctantly obeys the unspoken command and looks up.
"I'm not lying," Kris says, an obscure kind of pain in his eyes. "You need to be good to me."
It makes Adam's heart trip. It's a moment of reality, dashed into they game they're playing, and he believes it without hesitation. "I will be so fucking good to you," he says, sincere as he knows how to be. "I'll make it good, I swear."
Kris gives him that inscrutable gaze, then leans down. There's an electric hiss along his skin as chest touches chest, as Kris takes a kiss off his lips in delicate bites. Adam forgets and grips those slender hips a little harder than he should, but Kris just gives this curt, breathy groan and opens wider.
Kissing is easy. Licking his lips and drawing out more of those little moans, it's second nature for Adam, who loves kissing like other people love God. No, that part's simple; what's hard is keeping his hands steady as he maps out Kris's back. The bare skin is puckered and lined, and it's more than you'd think, even for a killer. Killers shouldn't get marked up like this, they wouldn't be very fucking good at the job if they did. Adam struggles to keep touching, keep his fingers soft and exciting instead of seeming curious.
Kris grips his hair harder, puts his sweet mouth up next to Adam's ear. "Piece of advice," he whispers.
Adam freezes, another shot of adrenaline chasing his blood around his body.
"Never go to Myanmar," Kris says.
"I'll keep that in mind," Adam tells him, letting his hands come back to rest on Kris's hips, like home base. He's starting to sense the note he needs to strike to get in control of this situation, and it's good. He's going with it. Soon he might even be able to guess what it is. "I'm sorry," he says respectfully, wanting the vulnerability Kris has shown to keep coming. "Did you want me not to touch them?"
Kris thinks about that for a second, nose tickling against Adam's temple. "It didn't feel bad," he decides, and then there's a slow flush of warmth along his skin. His voice goes soft. "That is... if you don't mind them."
Adam nuzzles against Kris's neck, cradling that hard, slender body against his own. "Let me see," he murmurs, and rolls them over. Kris looks good on his bed, of course, and Adam kisses him thoroughly before backing up, urging him over onto his stomach with the gentlest hands.
It takes a long second. It takes patience. But Kris slides onto his belly and allows Adam to climb up between his thighs, to brace his hands on either side and lean down.
"You're just different," Adam says, kissing one thick, faded line across Kris's shoulder. "They're just like tattoos. They don't make you less beautiful, they make you more you."
It's artistic bullshit, of course. But it's always gotten Adam through.
It seems to please, at any rate; Kris goes pliable and warm under Adam's mouth and bows his head forward, exposing the back of his neck. The line of it - down from his skull, down his back, the dip and swell of muscle - is gorgeous. He's like a fucking superhero, just the right shadows in just the right places. Adam traces that line with his tongue, and when he reaches Kris's jeans he tries to edge underneath. "Let's get these off," he murmurs, curling his fingers into the waistband.
Kris gets up on an elbow and looks back over his shoulder. "Please don't try to leave," he says, sounding vulnerable. "I like you."
Adam wants to smile and say it's okay, he wants to promise, but that deep, secret voice inside is urging him a different way. What his instincts are telling him to do here seems almost cruel, makes him seem like a jerk - but they've never been wrong. He chokes back the sweet words and pulls a scowl. "You think I'd be here if I didn't like you?" he challenges. "You think because I'm a thief, I'm a slut, too? Like I'd fuck you just to distract you while I planned my getaway?"
Kris blinks at him.
The feeling is becoming more real now, even as Adam says it. He's convincing himself, and it isn't even hard. "I'm sorry, man, but that's fucking offensive. I know this isn't the world's most conventional social circumstance, but if you think I'm that guy, fuck you. You might as well just off me right here because I don't know if I like you anymore."
There's a beat, then two. Adam waits for it.
Then Kris moves, and Adam's face pressed into the duvet and Kris's knee in his back. Flash forward, before he even blinked. There's an arm locked around his neck, and even though he's currently comfortable, Adam has no doubt that with only a very little shift of anybody's weight, Kris could snap him in half.
Adam breathes, deep and deliberate. "Go on. Waiting."
"You're crazy," Kris says, sounding confused and irritated.
"No. Well, maybe, but I'm sure not like anybody else, and no offense, but the sooner you learn that, the better. Now, I'm not gonna try to escape, so let me up."
It takes a moment, but he unwinds his arm and backs up to crouch over Adam's legs. When Adam flips to look, Kris's face is wary and tight. The lamp over the bed is hitting him just right to hide his eyes in shadows. It's more honest, to have him looking like the dangerous thing he is; it's better. Adam reaches out to touch his face and he tenses all over.
"Easy," Adam says, keeping his voice low and soft. "I'm not trying to hurt you."
"You couldn't," Kris scoffs, or tries to. His voice has the right tone, but no real power.
That trips his instincts again; he ignores the challenge and reaches for Kris's jaw again, nice and slow. "This is supposed to feel good. You're supposed to have fun."
"What if I don't want to have fun," Kris says, and pushes Adam's hand aside. He pulls open Adam's belt with one fast move, which takes Adam completely by surprise. When Kris drops out of his crouch to kneel astride Adam's hips, reaches in and grips his cock, it's a downright shock.
Adam gasps, falls back on his elbows as the sudden rush of pleasure overwhelms his clever plans. "Yeah," he struggles to say. "That's okay. If you want, we can, we can do whatever, ohhh, fuck."
Kris's face is still in shadow, but Adam can see him lick his lips. "Is that good?" comes the breathless question, as he twists his fingers and grips harder.
"Mm," Adam hedges, wincing. He leans back into the pillows and puts his fingers on Kris's wrist. "It's better with some lube," he says. "I could show you?"
Kris's hand stutters and he draws away. Off balance. Unsure. Better. "Okay, so, uh. Where is it?"
Adam's mind is kicking in again, and this time the instinct is screaming at him: now, now, do this right now. It all makes sense now, the plan, the end game he's planned out before he even knew he thought of it. This is how it goes, though, Adam knows that, and it's an insane risk. He could die ten ways, if it goes bad. But the win... the win would be monumental. Legendary.
Adam takes a deep, measured breath, and nods toward the nightstand. "Right there. In the drawer. Get the condoms while you're there."
Violence hovers in the air between them, because Kris is looking at Adam with suspicion in the lines around his eyes. He's learned by now to sense the moments that Adam is working him, working the situation. Of course he has. He's a fucking professional.
But Adam holds very still, and eventually Kris crawls over to the drawer and opens it up. He picks up the bottle and sits back on his heels to open it.
The second his eyes flick down to the bottle, Adam lunges at him.
It's work to hold him. Things fall over and smash on the carpet, the light goes out. Kris fights like a demon even after Adam wrestles him down to the bed, and he's not afraid to claw and bite. Adam's bleeding from three places before Kris goes still. "What do you want?" he asks, voice taut and terrifying.
Adam meets his eyes and tells the truth. "I want you."
"No," Kris says, and starts to struggle again. Adam holds him tighter, kisses his temple, and keeps his head far enough away that his jugular's protected. It takes longer this time; they're sweating and sliding against each other before Kris gives up and snarls at him. "Let me go!"
"Why, are you gonna leave?" Adam challenges, his voice rising. "Are you gonna kill me?"
Kris grits his teeth and says nothing.
Adam scowls at him. "See, that's what I thought. You'll just stay and talk to me until you prove I'm just some scumbag, so you won't feel bad about taking this from me and then killing me. But that's stupid. I'm not. You know I'm not, or you suspect, right? So why not take the chance?"
"I can't!" Kris blurts out, sounding surprised and young.
"No, you can," Adam insists. "You can't kill me or you'll never trust anyone enough to let them do this for you. You'll never trust yourself not to kill them halfway through."
Kris stares, wide-eyed.
"Believe me, I know," Adam half-laughs. "It took me years to be able to go to somebody's house and not go straight for the most expensive thing they owned. But you have to try. It's crazy that you, who by the way are sexy as fuck, has never had sex, let alone a boyfriend. Do you even have any friends?"
Shaking his head, Kris breaks Adam's heart.
He dares to ease off on Kris's wrists. "You're so talented. I've seen you checking your routes in here, planning ahead. You do all the right things and you could be making so much money. You could be ready for your retirement score, man, and you don't even have a friend. You're killing me, here. You could be so happy."
"How do you know I'm not?" Kris mumbles, rubbing a knuckle across one eye.
Adam shakes his head. "Come on. We both know you're not."
A tentative hand settles against Adam's ribs. "But how do you know?" he asks, so soft. "We're nothing alike."
"Bullshit," Adam retorts. "We both do the job. That makes us as good as brothers."
Kris scowls. "This isn't brotherhood. There's a way things are supposed to be, and stealing, lying, killing people? That's not it. We're broken, Adam. We don't get a happy ending."
For that moment, the world hovers still around them, listening. The clock doesn't tick, the cars downstairs don't move, and Kris's eyes reflect the steady, unflickering streetlight.
Then, Adam brushes the backs of his knuckles over Kris's cheek. "Nobody ever handed me anything. I worked for everything I have. If I want a happy ending, I'll take it. And I'll steal you, too, Kris. It's who I am. It's who you are, too."
Kris says nothing, but his hand comes to rest on Adam's back.
Softly, slowly, Adam wraps his fingers around Kris's wrist. He can feel the tension, Kris fighting not to tear it away, and leans down to kiss at his neck again, warm and melting. "I'll do it right," he promises, writing it into the skin with his tongue. "You can trust me."
As if the words released something, Adam feels Kris's body relax under his hands. There's still tension, still fear, but Kris is back to being like he was when they walked into the house tonight - unsure, cautious, maybe even eager. Adam's starving for it, a rush of greed in his belly; he takes kisses off Kris's mouth, pulls and kicks at what's left of their clothes until there's nothing between them. His hair is past style at this point, and he has to hook it behind an ear as he makes his way past skin, firm muscle under his tongue. He grazes one nipple with his teeth, and Kris gasps, arches his back. "Sensitive," Adam notes appreciatively.
"Only some places," Kris says, voice tenuous. He knots his hands into the covers.
Adam kisses his belly and then looks up. Kris's eyes glitter back at him in the dark, and Adam wishes there were a light on, but he suspects it's too soon for that. He'll have to make do with touch. "You can hold onto my hair if you want," he says. "I like it."
Kris bites his lip, and then carefully pushes a hand into Adam's hair.
Adam grins against the soft skin and licks over the rise of a hipbone. He gets a tight, shivering sigh in response; gorgeous. "You're going to love this," Adam says, rubbing his nose against the heated skin. "Love it." With that promise he lifts Kris's dick and feeds it into his mouth one hard, solid inch at a time.
The taste is like a revelation, Kris's own personality stamped all over it. He might try to hide that he's human but Adam can hear the high, strained breathing going on, feel the grit of nails against his skull. The slick taste on his tongue is full of spice and sweet, almost nothing bitter to it, and Adam sucks and licks and memorizes, so when Kris goes to hide again, he'll remember.
"Oh," Kris chokes off, high up in the pillows. He sounds awed, shocked, urgent. "Oh God."
Adam streaks his nails down one bared, tender hip, turns his head so he can feel Kris's cock stretch out the side of his cheek. The spit slicks his lips and Kris is groaning under him, and all Adam can think is that anything he wants to do is going to be mind-blowing for him. He lifts away, strokes Kris tight and watches him gasp and claw at the mattress. "You're so fucking hot," Adam tells him with complete honesty. "Are you nervous?"
"Not now," Kris groans, shifting slow and restless.
Adam rubs his thumb under the head and gauges the resulting shudder. It's good, it's hot, and he's getting off on it, which is important. But at the same time, Adam's keenly conscious of his goals, here. He turns the problem over in his mind as he squeezes and strokes, tossing in a contemplative drag of the tongue from time to time just to keep Kris in the game.
The problem is that he doesn't know what'll make Kris flip. He doesn't know why Kris does this to begin with, though he can guess at the catalyst. Being broken in Burma would fuck anybody up, but it's a fair step away from PTSD to professional assassination. He can only assume that Kris was trained somewhere, that he has it to fall back on - maybe while he was captured? Impossible to say. But if he thinks it's all he has going for him, he doesn't need to be told he's good at it. He needs to know he's good at something else, that killing people isn't everything he can do. That he can make a choice. It's a good place to start, anyway.
"Tell me," says Adam, demanding Kris's attention. "Tell me what you want."
Kris's startled, dazed eyes jerk up to his. "I, uh. I don't know," he pants out, squirming under Adam's hand. "This is good."
Adam licks his lips, nice and slow. "But you can have anything. So you need to tell me."
"Um." Kris's voice trembles on the syllable, and he looks away. Adam would bet anything that he's blushing. "I liked before. When you had your, um. Your mouth."
"Want my mouth?" Adam croons, cupping Kris's hips. He puts his lips against the wet skin, brushing them back and forth in a liquid kiss. "Like this?" he asks, looking up along Kris's body.
He can't see the eyes that look back at him, shadowed as they are, but he can feel the weight of their gaze. Kris's hands tighten in his hair, hard knuckles against his skull. "No," Kris breathes, low and quiet. "Not like that."
Adam knows better than to tease. He slides down over Kris again in a long, smooth stroke, taking him deep. It pleases; he can hear the barely-there sounds, the ones Kris can't choke down. They're music to his ears, and he makes encouraging gestures alongside Kris's hips until Kris figures out that he can move them. Once he does, he fucks Adam with growing abandon, and when Adam starts choking and Kris is too far gone to even notice, he thinks it's time to put a stop to it. As gently as possible, Adam forces Kris's hips to the bed and pulls away.
It takes a little time. He twists and pushes under Adam's hands, he makes these sounds that might be growl or whine or something in between. The thrill of his movements travels up Adam's hands; he can feel Kris stopping himself from attacking. There's tension in all his muscles that says he wants to. But the seconds tick by, and he relaxes by increments down into the sheets, breathing deep and shaky.
"You all right?" Adam asks.
Kris shifts his knee, firms his grip on the sheet. "I. I think I want some more. If that's all right."
For the millionth time, Adam wishes he had some light. He settles for leaning down to kiss Kris's mouth, laying his hand along that sweet, ordinary face, and tries to sense his mood by touch.
It feels like he's all right. He arches up to meet Adam's kiss with fervor, looping a tentative arm behind Adam's back. He sighs, which is good. He pushes his body closer, which is great. Adam shifts his own hips to line them up, settle his cock into the groove of Kris's hip. "You'll get more," he promises, willing his eyes to adjust. "You'll get everything you want."
"I want," Kris pants, his dick pressing hard against Adam's belly as he rolls his hips. "It's good when you touch me. You should."
"Do you like it?" Adam asks, not needing an answer. He pushes his nose along Kris's neck, behind his ear, mouthing at the hot skin, taking in the subtle changes on his tongue. "Feel good on you?"
"Good," Kris agrees, his nails digging in at the small of Adam's back. It's close to what should be happening here, it's good enough that Adam's tempted to just let it finish like this. It could be enough.
Kris presses a hesitant kiss to Adam's shoulder.
"Oh, that's it," Adam growls, pulling back and yanking open his nightstand drawer. All his stuff is right where it should be; he rips open a condom with his teeth as he tries to manage the lube one-handed. He's in a motherfucking hurry, he's in and he has to take what he came for and close the deal before anybody can stop him.
"Adam," Kris warns, his tentative hand reaching out to make things slow down.
It's too late. Adam's dealt with the necessities and he's slipping slick fingers behind Kris's balls, down low. He lowers his head and kisses, licks. "You loved this," he coaxes. "Don't be scared now. Just trust me."
He's so tense, he's gripping the sheets again and his breathing is shallow. Under Adam's fingers, the muscles are right and hard. "It won't hurt, will it?" The question is perfectly formed, voiced with total seriousness.
Adam rubs his fingers there, firm enough to be felt. "It might hurt a bit," he says, dragging his lips over soft skin. "Just a bit. But after a minute, you won't even notice it. Promise."
Out of the dark, Kris's hand shoots down to grip Adam's free wrist. It's a serious grip, the kind that demands attention, and Adam lifts his face in surprise. Kris has sat up just enough that a slant of blue light from the window has caught him; his whole face is intense and demanding. "Not me, Adam. You."
Adam blinks. "Will it hurt me? No. Of course, no."
Kris looks away then, his mouth tight.
"I swear," Adam promises, climbing up to lie down beside him, pull him close. "I don't know why it matters, but I swear to you, it won't hurt me at all."
"I couldn't hurt you," Kris says, almost to himself. He pushes against Adam's chest, clutches him around the waist and holds him, like a stuffed bear.
Adam bites his lip so he won't say anything out loud, and strokes Kris's back. He's won. He's golden, because Kris has gone from assassin to lover and Compass is fucking over. Compass is going down.
"Okay," Kris says, laying a tentative kiss against Adam's chest. "Sorry. Can you... try again?"
Adam lets himself smile. "Yeah, baby. Come on, lie back for me."
The slide of his fingers is easier now that Kris is ready; Adam murmurs into his ear to relax, to breathe and don't clench, and Kris obeys just enough to let Adam slip his fingers inside. Of course he's so tight, he's awkward and unsure and he doesn't seem to want to let go of Adam's hair. Adam just murmurs to him, soft and sweet, and tamps down the bone-deep satisfaction that thumps in his belly at watching him twitch and writhe.
"Do it," Kris demands, voice scratched to hell and fingers digging into Adam's shoulder. "Come on, I need. I want." He bites off the words each time.
"What do you need?" Adam asks, daring to tease a little as he slides between Kris's legs, hooks an arm under one of those scarred, strong knees to lift it high. Reaching down, he guides the head of his cock over the slick, grasping little hole. "You want this in you? Need me to fuck you, baby?"
Kris is in no position to answer, tossing his head on the pillow and arching under the touch. Adam smiles, smug in his victory.
And then Kris hooks a heel just behind Adam's knee and hauls back on one of Adam's wrists. He goes sprawling gracelessly, and underneath him Kris snickers. "Oh, you think you're funny!" Adam accuses, lifting himself up on one arm.
"I do, actually." Kris's smile is bright, even in the low light.
He is. He's funny. He's fucking adorable. Adam shifts to kiss him, his perfect bow mouth and his heavy jaw and his long neck that begs to be bitten. He's tastes like salt and something else, maybe baking bread. Something good. Adam finds himself genuinely liking Kris, which is... unexpected.
"Really," Kris tells him, coasting his knee along Adam's side, lifting it up. "I think that's enough foreplay, now."
"Dirty mouth," Adam notes, trying to chastise. It sounds more like a compliment. He kisses Kris's mouth again, and reaches down to take his own cock in hand. "Relax for me, now. Breathe, okay?"
Kris bows his head, and Adam fits himself to the tight little space and presses carefully inside.
In an instant, Kris is solid with tension from head to toe.
"Breathe," Adam reminds him, taking Kris's knees and hitching them higher against his chest. "Push against me."
Kris does, a tentative press down; Adam takes it slow, steady, ignores the sweat breaking out on his brow and low on his back. It's tight, it's so fucking tight, and the urge to snap his hips is almost impossible to resist, but Adam manages. He bites his lip and he digs his fingers into Kris's thighs, and he manages.
Kris makes choked-off sounds, sounds Adam can only hear because he's so close. He moves his hips in careful, tentative waves, and as the sounds start to lengthen, so do the movements. After an eternity of Adam trying like hell to be considerate, Kris touches his shoulder. "You can go a little deeper," he breathes, thereby shorting out Adam's higher functions.
Adam goes deeper, and after a minute, he speeds it up, too. His heart is hammering, his body demanding his obedience, and he's only just holding onto the edge of his control. He takes Kris's dick in hand and strokes, feels it getting harder against his palm. "Is it good?" he asks, needing to hear it. "Is it good for you, baby?"
Kris is panting now, his skin getting slick. He pushes into Adam's hand, into Adam's hips, and his fists are knotting and reknotting in the sheets. He's staring up at the ceiling, his mouth wide and slack. "It's. I. Oh, God, Adam."
There's his name again, his real name. Adam has to squeeze his eyes shut against the visual, has to stroke harder as his hips start to snap, hard and fast. "Come on," he pants, holding Kris down with his free hand, right over Kris's heart. "Just like this, come on."
Kris's moans climb in pitch, higher and tighter and more desperate. Adam can hear him tossing on the pillows and has to look; Kris's whole body is arched, pushing up. His cock throbs once, twice in Adam's palm, and Adam feels the sudden hard squeeze on his own cock just an instant before he understands what's happening. Kris opens his mouth and shouts so loud, so fucking loud as he comes, and Adam can't fucking take that sound after all this holding back. He puts his head down, he fucks Kris right through it all and into the aftermath, and when he hits his own orgasm it's like running into a brick wall. Suddenly there's nothing, there's just a stop, and he's boneless and twitching and trying not to put all his weight on Kris's shivering body.
It takes a long time to quit happening, actually. They shift and pulse and jerk against each other, panting from deep in their chests. It's so good that Adam doesn't want to move.
Eventually, he peels himself off the bed and stumbles into the bathroom, kissing Kris's forehead on the way out. He washes quickly because he wants nothing more than to fall into bed right now, and only remembers at the last second to be a good host and bring a towel with him.
Back in the bedroom, Kris is sitting cross-legged on the bed, naked in the middle of the sheets like a sexy Buddha. He watches Adam cross the floor, his eyes unreadable. Thank God there's light from the bathroom and Adam can see. He comes up to the bedside and holds out the towel. "Thought you might want this."
"Thanks," Kris says, taking the towel and blushing to the roots of his hair.
Adam sits down on the edge of the bed and settles a hand against the back of Kris's neck. "Tell me your troubles," he invites, keeping his voice soft and kind.
Kris sighs, drawing a knee up and resting his chin on it. "I really feel like I shouldn't kill you," he says.
Adam nods. "That's good. I like that."
"You would." A brief smile flashes over Kris's face before it resumes its thoughtful, serious focus. "But if I don't kill you, then my whole... code that I live by, I might as well throw that out the window, because according to it, I should have killed you when we walked into the apartment."
Biting his lip, Adam nods. "Kind of sounds like you already did make an exception."
Kris winces. "No exceptions. That's one of the rules. I broke my code, Adam. No way around it. All there is now is to fix it." He turns and meets Adam's eyes, wide and hopeful in the yellow light from the bathroom door. That light catches in his irises, turning them an eerie, wolfish gold.
Adam insinuates his hand down Kris's spine. "There's another way," he offers. "You could... write a new code. One that makes more sense to you, to the way you know things should be now."
"I want to," Kris confesses, gripping Adam's knee. "I really do. But what about everyone else?"
Adam blinks. "...who?"
"The others," Kris says, blushing again, and this time with shame. "People who died under the code. What about them? If there's a new code, didn't they all die for nothing? How could I live, knowing I killed all those people for no reason? Wouldn't I... wouldn't I just be evil?"
Adam touches his face, his deceptive, murderous, sweetly sad face. "Baby. You just make sure everyone who's died fits the new code too. You're not evil. You couldn't be. You just need to figure out the rules, that's all." He draws his thumb over Kris's cheek, along his jaw. He's so fucking beautiful, scars be damned. "I want to help you," Adam says, and finds himself meaning it.
Kris moves, whip-crack fast. Adam's learning to sense it now, and that's how he manages to hold Kris as they kiss, instead of being slammed back into the bed. He runs his hands over Kris's back, accepting the press of lips against his own, the tug of hardened fingers in his hair.
"I guess," Kris says, warm against his mouth. "If you'll help me. I could find something new."
"I know just where to start," Adam smiles. "But first, let's sleep. Everything's clearer in the morning."
Kris nods, settling against him like he could just sleep right on Adam's shoulder. "Okay. Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Adam promises, pulling them both down onto the bed.
Tomorrow they'll figure out Kris's new code, who's all right to murder and who isn't. Adam plans to top that list with anybody trying to hurt either of them - Compass's name being first among them. He won't be happy when he finds out Kris has gone off mission, and if he's tried for Adam once, he'll try again. Even if Adam weren't the sort to retaliate, which he absolutely is, it's only prudent to remove the threat.
Of course, this means Adam will have to come up with a code. That'll be new.
He sighs, slides closer and pulls the blanket up over them. "You're lucky I already know how to improvise."
Kris touches Adam's throat, and the razor scrape he left there stings with the salt on his fingers. His voice is like a vinyl record, rough and worn and warm. "I think we're both lucky."
