Catching his breath, Adam can read last night, the last few months, in the dark purple smudges trailing down his hips, the outline of teeth fading high on one shoulder and red blotches on his throat, thin red lines stretching down the length of his back; in the way Kris moves, relaxed and easy in his skin; and in the thin strip of leather circling his throat, resting just above the small, hard bones of his collar.

you really do not waste time getting to the hotness, do you. and you know: i can't find porn hot if it's not legitimately well-written, i just can't. so equally important to my serious enjoyment of this fic is:

rough and gravelly like the morning after a long concert and a smoky club and two shots of whiskey, like it hurts to talk: a rhythmic litany like it's been looping through his head long before he was allowed to say the words

because that is unf-worthy prose. also, BRAD showing up, being his delicious brad self. hats off.