rec: starstruck (wip)

For the record, if the Taming of the Shrewesque fic isn't updated soon, something tragic is going to happen. I have no idea how the people who have been reading this since like, May aren't burning cities or threatening hunger strikes or something. Has no one attempted blackmail or bribery? What are you waiting for?

Wait, there may be people who aren't reading this yet. Oh, you.

Direct links to all four threads in the aianonlovefest:

Starstruck - thread one, thread two, thread three and thread four, AIRPS, Adam/Kris. Yes, you have to follow it through comments. Yes, that would in a sane world be annoying. This is not a sane world. This is an awesome world that trust me, you really won't care until you realize there is no more. Then you know, tragedy.

In which aivilo_18 hates me and sent me a link so I, too, could connect with feeling like a heroin addict in withdrawal in a really big way (I sent it to svmadelyn, so this is actually turning into a The Ring-like situation, except a.) giving it to other people doesn't help and b.) no one crawls out of any electronic devices, which is good, because now I'm creeping myself out, let's ignore this segue now, please). I love this story stupidly and I think have memorized key passages and have a Pavlovian response to the parts that involve food (ie I snack) and possibly an interest in wine? I don't--like wine. And yet.

Oh, and I posted In the Land of the Delta, AIRPS, Adam/Kris yesterday to LJ. Forgot about that.

Comments

Re: Amnesia 4

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

I've got Cthulhu!Adam bits and I'm not afraid to abuse them!

Wait. That--that didn't come out right.

Re: Amnesia 4

[seperis.livejournal.com]

*eyes glaze over*

I'll see your morning freak out and raise you a disgruntled immortal!

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

In all honesty, Adam really should have known better.

Firstly, it's not as if a kid like Kris has a snowball's chance without getting the hell trained out of him, not with that honey-sweet latent power stuck on him like a tan--or steak sauce. Second, it's not as if Adam didn't stick him with the Paladins for (mostly) that very exact purpose. Train him, raise him, keep him from being swallowed alive until--until Adam decided otherwise. There was a deal made and Adam counted on the finicky zealots to keep the course.

He just didn't count on sweet, shiny Kris growing up to a contrary little fucker.

That all Paladins are fighters does not mean, per se, that every Paladin pursues active combat. Some study, some heal, some spend safe, pleasant lifetimes cocooned behind sanctuary doors. Adam might not celebrate the glamor of Kris growing a stoop and adopting 7th century runes as his private kink, but at least the kid would be in one piece doing it. It'd make for a good life.

Kris does not agree.

Kris, with his wicked doe-eyes and his rebellious hair and his quarter-moon smile, Kris takes to conflict like a tuna to open water. Adam overlooks the early commemorations on combat and warding. He's ridiculously tolerant of Kris' unflagging ranking in the dueling range. He even manages, more or less, to accept the occasional supervised field assignments. But when Kris is sanctioned for his ordained vigil into the Order, Adam puts his foot down.

—which totally sends the ritual chalice tumbling and splatters honeyed wine on his suede, damn it, because Paladin rites are absurd. He makes a point of saying so. Loudly.

Kris doesn't give a sign of noticing. He stays kneeling on the needlessly arctic floor, palms flat on his thighs, head bowed. His breathing is even as a dreamer's. Adam stops cursing.

He tries, “This is a fantastically stupid idea.”

He tries, “A great power meeting great responsibility does not automatically translate into a career of attempted suicide."

He tries, “If you die, I'll laugh. A lot.”

He tries, “If you die, I'll raze this whole order to the ground.”

Kris kneels and breaths, and does nothing.

Finally, Adam stomps near enough to kiss the idiot's fool neck (but doesn't), licks his pinky and wiggles it inside Kris' ear.

There's another slow, wasted moment of placid breathing before Kris' eyes open. “What, seriously?”

“Chinese water torture at a discount rate,” Adam says. He clasps his hands at his front and looks down. At Kris, always at Kris. “You shouldn't do this.”

“It's tradition,” Kris smiles. Actually smiles, the tiny lunatic. “Fasting, meditating...”

“Being on your knees for half the night isn't tradition, Kris; it's a date or a paid appointment. Or a hazing tradition. Also, not what I meant.”

“I know,” Kris says. “But I was hoping the idea of fraternities would distract you. Come on, want to make up spanking rumors for the acolytes to overhear?”

Watching the calm, small figure Kris makes--the steadiness of his gaze, the patience of his hands, the damn damn smile--makes Adam wonder when exactly he let himself get as distracted as he did.

Re: I'll see your morning freak out and raise you a disgruntled immortal!

[seperis.livejournal.com]

*makes inaudible noise* How is Kris so cute?

Finally, Adam stomps near enough to kiss the idiot's fool neck (but doesn't), licks his pinky and wiggles it inside Kris' ear.

Amazing Cosmic Powers == reduced to wet willy. That's so--IDEK.

Re: I'll see your morning freak out and raise you a disgruntled immortal!

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

The cuteness is rather less prominent in an earlier scene.

...where Adam kind'a beats the sh*t out of him.

(Also: in many ways, Adam is the ancient primordial power ever.)

Re: I'll see your morning freak out and raise you a disgruntled immortal!

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Now that's teasing.

Re: I'll see your morning freak out and raise you a disgruntled immortal!

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

Someone wicked and wise told me: war is hell'ish.

i've just accessed my wip folder in googledocs

[seperis.livejournal.com]

It's six hours between his dressing room and the hospital door, broken between two cars and a flight that he can't remember.

Katy's curled up in a chair by the bed, watching out the window, head turning honey-slow when he walks in. "He's sleeping."

Swallowing, Adam takes a careful breath, rewinding through the dozen voices that had told him he didn't need to worry to find the one who had known he would. He hadn't heard anything after *car accident**, because he'd read it all in a thousand tweets cut with the liveblog of his performance tonight; he'd just stepped onto the stage when Kris' publicist had told the world the hospital he was in.

"He's been in and out," Katy says, closing the unread magazine in her lap as she gets to her feet, shaking out folds of wrinkled scarlet silk around her feet. "I'll get some coffee."

She slides out behind him and closes the door with a flip of her wrist; privacy has never felt so much like an accusation. The click, though, does what their quiet voices didn't; Kris' eyes flicker open, pupils blown wide behind a narcotic glaze, blinking toward the door in confusion before he shuts his eyes again, wincing against the dim light. "Hey. You're not here."

Adam bites his lip. "It's all a drug-fueled dream." He thinks he can walk again now, crossing the room to ease down on the edge of the bed. Kris blinks up at him slowly from black-ringed eyes. "You know what comes next," he hums, fighting the urge to touch when he can't remember where it will hurt. "Rehab."

"No Winehouse in the hospital," Kris murmurs, rubbing his eyes with one hand, wincing at the pull of the IV. Adam wraps his fingers around the thin wrist, tape scraping against his palm as he eases it back before Kris can pull the needle free, then laces their fingers together. "Not ironic enough."

"So I hear your driver forgot how to drive?" Adam asks carefully, stroking his thumb over Kris' knuckles.

"LA doesn't know how to drive. Good company." Kris sighs, squinting slightly as he looks at Adam. "You're seriously not here."

"You're seriously stoned," Adam answers, pulling the IV closer when Kris shifts to his back, blinking in vague surprise at the sight of his own bandaged hand when it falls on his stomach. "Check it out; I'm off the hook for guitar lessons for a month."

Kris grins, starting to push his hair from his eyes when he discovers the cast all over again. "Ow."

"Let's not make it worse." Adam brushes his hair back, hoping Kris can't feel how his hand shakes as he trails his fingers down Kris' face. Two black eyes; he can imagine the jokes already, and that's just the ones from their friends. "You look like shit."

"You look amazing." Kris' eyes flicker shut, fighting morphine all the way down. "I really--just…a minute. Okay?"

He's out before Adam can wonder why he'd ever need to ask.

After this: hookers.

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

"Listen," Adam says, laying a ringed hand on Kris' shoulder and Kris moves.

Energy knifes down his arm, heart to shoulder to hand, a scalding rush crystallizing at his fingertips. At fifteen Kris is untried and raw, but good. Good enough to rank top of his class, good enough to practice with full puissant knights and, sometimes, good enough to win.

Adam is tall, but Kris is close; the two-fingered jujitsu strike clips skin before Adam jerks back, throwing Kris aside like a rag. It's a weak toss, though, and Kris rolls to his feet with textbook ease ready for retaliation.

It doesn't come.

Adam is motionless, one hand over his face. Even with a gallon of adrenaline churning his system, Kris can't help freezing. In all the years he's known him, been with him, Kris has never touched Adam with force much less violence. And Adam--there's a decade of Adam's palm on his head, Adam's thumb near his wrist, Adam tapping his shoulder, Adam patting his back, Adam tugging his ear, Adam holding his hand. For a moment that decade drowns the room.

"Adam, I--"

The hand moves to show the smile underneath: small and sharp, as mocking as the perfect, unblemished cheek.

"Really, Kris," Adam says. "Who do you think you're dealing with?"


(AN:* The term "puissant" comes from M. French and means "powerful". A friendly source claims it sometimes popped up in descriptions of chivalry and rank. Personally I'm stealing it from the Faerie Queene.)

-+-+-

Re: After this: hookers.

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Wow, Kris, you're kind of an asshole. *glee* Does he get beat up now?????

Re: After this: hookers.

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

Huh.

I probably should've included the reason why he attacked Adam, eh?

Also: yes.

this is totally war

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Kris is mostly boneless after Adam sucks him off, slow and luxurious, taking his time with it. Kris' tells are visible from space, which is rare enough that Adam slows it down even more just to watch him. You don't get to adulthood without sexual hang-ups of some kind--the definition of adulthood could be considered the process of getting rid of hangups, sexual and otherwise--but he hadn't found anything Kris doesn't like or doesn't want. It's ridiculously hot, the kind of thing even porn couldn't pull off and yet it's here in his bed.

He learns: Kris likes to touch, all the time, skin to skin, and Adam can make him beg with two inches of heated space between them; he likes to kiss, open mouthed and messy and wet and lasting forever; he has zero inhibitions when it comes to where he likes to be touched or how, but just because it's new doesn't mean he's not going to do it; he's surprisingly vocal and isn't shy about it, like, at all; and he loves to be held down, pliable when he's pinned against the mattress and positioned and held.

It's not that Adam doesn't know what to do with this kind of checklist; this is what fantasies or lifetime obsessions are made of. But in general, it's something you either introduce gradually into a relationship or something that's cleared in its entirety in negotiation before a bed even makes an appearance.

Pushing over a pillow, Adam watches Kris' eyes flutter open, breath evening out as his fingers flex against Adam's hip. He threads his fingers through Kris' hair, waiting for him to surface, wondering if he can convince him to sleep a little while and ease some of the desperate exhaustion away. Adam strokes soothingly down the length of his back, skin smooth and warm, so relaxed he looks drugged, glazed eyes and sweetly pliant.

Shutting his eyes again, Kris licks his lips before opening them fully; Adam's not sure what to make of that look, but it's not regret and Kris isn't even trying to pull away. "Hey," Kris whispers, husky and thick and not tracking yet, not really. "Adam."

"Shh," Adam breathes against his ear, feeling Kris shiver. "Tired?"

"Always."

Where Kris is concerned, he apparently has a limitless of reservoir of anger. Pressing a kiss against Kris' forehead, he thinks about calm lakes and forests and pretends visualization exercises actually work. "Why don't you get some sleep, baby," he murmurs, cupping Kris' face, the faint trace of stubble rough against his hand.

"Mm." Kris turns into it, lips pressed to his palm, the answer slurred against his skin. "Have to--this afternoon--"

Adam runs his tongue along the shell of Kris' ear. "Cancel it." Hazy-eyed, Kris blinks up at him. "Where's your phone?"

"M'jeans."

In the kitchen, yeah, too far. Reaching backward, Adam fumbles his off his bedside table, thumbing it on. "Your PA?"

Kris nods slowly. Dialing the number from memory, Adam waits to hear it ring, then gives it to Kris, who looks at it blankly before slowly pressing it against his ear. "Hey," he says huskily after a few seconds. "Kris. I--uh, borrowed Adam's phone." He hesitates. "Yeah, sorry, it's charging."

Faintly, Adam can hear her voice, low and soft, and Kris, barely awake, leans into Adam's hand when he strokes his hair again, slow and careful, working through the tangles until it smoothes out beneath his fingers. "Yeah," he says breathily. "I know." He looks at Adam. "It's--I--"

"Not feeling well," Adam whispers, holding Kris' eyes. "Tell her."

"I'm not feeling that great," Kris says, not looking away. "This weekend?" Adam shakes his head. "I think--clear everything? Yeah, I will. Fluids. Bye." Letting Adam take the phone, Kris reaches for Adam again, fingers skidding uncertainly down his side before settling tentatively. "Adam--"

"Get some sleep," Adam murmurs, pleased, cupping the back of Kris' head and drawing him closer until he can feel Kris' breath against his skin. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Re: this is totally war

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

I think that one stabbed something vital, internally.

Bring forth the catapults!

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

-+-+-

"I like civilization, Kris, I really do, but it plays hell with the memory. Some chubby monkey figures out how to use his thumb to spin a wheel or invents a printing press, and suddenly everyone forgets the basics. Like what it cost Prometheus to turn up the heat." Adam smiles. It's gentle: terrifying. "People forget, Kris. They start keeping score with cocoa beans and cowry shells and ludicrous little scraps of paper, and forget how a true price is reckoned."

Kris looks at the scorched walls and doesn't flinch, doesn't turn, when cool fingers curl at his nape.

"Blood," whispers Adam's magical voice. "The final due is always paid in blood."

He laughs again and sweeps his arms out. "These people? They knew it. They fucked themselves over for the privilege but they knew it. Your Mommy and Daddy, oh, they knew it too. They knew you, my precious honeyed wonder, were the real thing. And you can't use anything less to bargain with real monsters. Though I shouldn't give the lot too much credit; they threw you in with mongrels, the second-string appetizers. Like using the Hope diamond as a doorstop. Idiots."

"Lucky for me you came along then." Kris' throat is tight. The room in his memories is merging with the room here, and both are filled with Adam and his laughter. There's no room for breath, for peace. "My hero."

"Don't pout, it makes you appetizing." Adam says idly. "But to answer your whining: yes, you were lucky and you were screwed. By the time I arrived you were already branded, the smell was in your blood. I could've eviscerated every dumb fuck in the building and you'd still have been doomed, Kris. They already threaded a little darkness through your cherry-pink heart; one way or another something was going to grab the other end of that and pull. Drag you closer or tug you undone, but pull nonetheless."

"Why did you?" The tightness is increasing, it hurts. "Why me, why did you bother?"

"To be honest," Adam says sounding anything but. "I wasn't sure you'd be worth it either. You had potential, but people outgrow that frequently. Like baby fat. I had to supervise you very, very carefully to make sure my investment proved true."

And he did, of course, he did. Every year, safely isolated in whatever foreign comfort of Adam's choosing. Every lush hotel room, every gourmet lunch, every morning Kris woke up somewhere he'd never been--he was being gauged and measured. Evaluated.

Just as he is now, Kris realizes; Adam's eyes hold him tightly across the ruined floor, waiting. He looks no different that usual: calm, faintly amused while equally bored, beautiful in leather heeled boots and low-cut jacket.

"Do you know where the word prodigy really comes from?" Adam asks quietly. "It means 'omen', to warn or to show--in Latin, monstrare. A monster, Kristopher, a miracle beyond natural expectations." He laughs again. "Do you think I'd align myself with any mortal that begs? Because they have begged. They've raised towers and sunk ships to tempt my attention, Kris."

Kris doesn't mean to say it but, "Not the Paladins."

"No, not the Paladins." Adam's mouth quirks sourly. "They just sulk or record secondhand gossip in iambic pentameter. They want to guard the Balance with community service and muffin baskets."

"What did you--what did they offer you?" Kris asks. "What did you get for leaving me with them?"

"Kris. Kris, Kris, Kris." Adam laughs. "Don't be stupid, they never asked for you. We made a deal, your sainted keepers and I."

"Why?"

Adam smiles. "Ask Simon."

-+-+-

Re: Bring forth the catapults!

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Yes please. *purrs*

Re: Bring forth the catapults!

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

I don't actually have it.

Er...I have one where Adam is an alien and Kris is the old new kid, and nap is foreign territory?

Re: Bring forth the catapults!

[seperis.livejournal.com]

*sad* it would be wrong of me to post wip porn, wouldn't it?

*looks at googledocs* A lot of it.

Re: Bring forth the catapults!

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

...

...............you're not a very nice woman.

Re: Bring forth the catapults!

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Shh, I'm counting how many involve people tied up or being held down or spanked or threesomed or....

Darn, let me start over.

Release the hounds! (Wait, no, let me take a Benadryl first...)

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

May your toes be eaten by frogs!

That said:

xXx
Kris is nearly past the seventh floor when the elevator freezes and says, “Oh, you are not drinking that.”

That being a double-shot Arabian mocha espresso. Which Kris is, in fact, drinking and strongly appreciating. Past experience warns he's going to appreciate the caffeine boost a lot more and soon.

“I thought you weren't going to do this anymore,” he says. Carefully, he sets down the cup and slings his messenger bag forward, thumb brushing across the ID lock. “Personal space. We talked about it.”

“You wouldn't return my calls.” The voice is cheery, unapologetic. “Plus elevators are public space—even those mapping the innards of a diseased commercial behemoth. With fugly carpeting.”

Rather than stumbling into (another) capitalism-consumer-apocalypse debate, Kris clicks open his toolkit, ignoring the elevator's sunny taunting. He's worked, slept, and showered through worse. The elevator power-box is predictably annoying to locate; Kris finds it as much by instinctive luck as through the magnet. He doesn't bother trying to have his iTC run a control code to open the panel but goes straight at it with the sonic screwdriver. The 19E offices are high-tech wonderlands, but Kris is old school in all the best ways. He'll own the system in minutes.

The elevator doesn't seem intimidated by his progress. “Why the hell is Simon calling you out, anyway? And why the hell are you listening to him? You hate Simon.”

“I don't hate Simon.” Ok, reroute the secondary base-line to the third level. “Simon is my boss.”

“Employer.” The smugness is palatable. “You're freelance.”

“Also, currently under contract.” Kris pauses, mind split between curiosity and questing for the third bi-cable. “Do you hate Simon?”

“Would that shock you?”

“Do you want to?”

“Maybe. You're very, very cute when goggle-eyed. Wire's an inch to the left.”

“Thanks,” Kris says. “I wasn't ignoring you. Your calls. The Zurich job got tricky.”

“Blaming Switzerland is weak. I question your commitment to our relationship, Kristopher.”

“We don't have a relationship. People have relationships. We have—” The elevator surges up glibly, faux-jade panels folding open to a cluster of bland, curious faces peering in.

“Kris?” Ryan's mouth is a quizzical line. “What are you doing to the lift?”

“You had a virus in the wires,” Kris said blandly, flipping the screwdriver in one hand. “Gone now.”

Coward, he adds.

xXx xXx