Beta: sbb23! <333
Word Count: ~10,500
Disclaimer: Not true. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.
Summary: The problem, Kris thinks, isn't the wolf's instinctual surrender; it's the human's complete capitulation.
Notes: Thank to sbb23 for the beta. I don't know what I'd do without you. <333 Also, thanks to elizaria for alpha reading, encouragement, and suggestions. The next time you come to visit I promise I'll stock up on breakfast foods at the very least. <333 Lastly, I'm going to dedicate this to daemonicangel because I happen to owe her about a million words for different charity efforts. <333
Control – Kris has it in spades. He aced all the tests – even the ones they made up on the spot – filled out all the forms, and passed the psych evaluations with flying colors. His permit reads A Class, his journal comes with three pages of notes on his exceptional compartmentalization, and he was offered a job at the Werewolf Registry within hours of completing his last examination. He turned it down, stuck the permit into the back pocket of his jeans, and went home to sulk.
A Class means functioning at an exceptionally high level. A Class means he can apply for a werewolf-specific job (and with his glowing records he'd get it too). A Class means miniscule traits of dominance and sufficiently submissive behavior towards humans. A Class is, in short, embarrassing.
Kris knew, of course, right from the start that his was not a dominant wolf. He figured, even after his first traumatic change, that he would pass whatever tests they threw his way, because his inner wolf is the lazy kind. He can feel it, always, at the very back of his mind, watching the world with a calm that borders on disdain. It doesn't want to bite, or maim, or dominate. It wants to roll over, belly up, and surrender.
If the Registry could look into his head instead of just taking his words at face value, Kris would be mortified. It's one thing to have control and another thing, all together, to be waiting for someone to push you into the ground and own you. When they ask how he managed to compartmentalize his wolf to such an extreme extent, he always turns his hands palms up, shrugs, and says it just happened that way. In reality he knows that he had to, or he would have ended up a danger to himself.
Every week Kris meets with Megan, his contact at The Registry. It's customary for fresh wolves, because while the permit is issued within months of first bite, the probation period lasts for two years. It's unusual for a fresh wolf to manage A Class. It makes Kris interesting, which he thinks is really code for boring.
The meetings are normally pretty standard. They talk about his week, address whatever issues he might have (none so far), discuss lycanthropy in general, and at the end he's usually asked to participate in some study (lycanthropy is the fastest growing research field in the United States) and he usually says yes. The studies pay well in the way that waiting tables just doesn't, and while completing an obstacle course while alternating between human and wolf form can be embarrassing (public nudity, it's a thing), it also pays the rent.
It's typical, Kris thinks, that once he's settled into a comfortable routine, something happens to fuck it up.
Kris can tell something is off the moment he walks into Megan's office for his two o'clock appointment. Distress radiates off her in waves powerful enough to make even his lazy wolf sit up and take notice, but she smiles her usual easy smile when he walks in, gesturing towards the uncomfortable chair in front of her desk.
"Kris," she says. "How nice to see you again."
"And the same to you," Kris responds, as he always does, reluctantly sinking down into the chair that might have been a torture device in a past life. His nose twitches. Megan changed her perfume, but it doesn't mask the scent of tension – it's just adds a lingering touch of jasmine to it. The combination is nauseating.
"So how have you been?" Megan's smile borders on manic and Kris wonders how long it'll take her to get down to business, because he knows this scent, it means favors and not the favorable kind (for him, that is).
"Good," Kris answers, with a slight shrug. "Solid."
She nods. He doubts she even listened.
"Okay," she says, squaring her shoulders and putting her palms flat against the desk. "I have a problem."
Kris nods, because of course she does.
"And as far as problems go this one is pretty… big."
Kris nods again, shifting slightly to keep the chair from killing his back. (It doesn't make it better, but it also doesn't make it worse. He considers it a win, mostly because he suspects it the only battle he's going to win today.)
She sighs, pushing her curly hair back from her face. "Have you ever heard of Adam Lambert?"
Kris thinks that a more accurate question would be: Who hasn't heard of Adam Lambert?
Rockstar turned werewolf, turned werewolf rockstar. It's not the kind of story that is kept quiet once the cat, or wolf in this case, is let out of the bag, and it's not as though Adam Lambert was the meek and quiet kind to begin with. (Reluctant gay rights activist, bonafide rockstar, envelope pusher, and glam advocate – as far as noise goes, it doesn't get much louder than that.)
"I have a couple of his albums," Kris answers when he realizes that Megan is still waiting for him to say something.
"That's good," Megan says distractedly, picking one of the files on her desk and flipping it open. "You like him then?"
Kris shrugs, he's not committing to anything.
"So here's the thing." Megan looks up. "I need your help. We need your help and I'm not just talking about the registry here, I'm talking about the entire werewolf community."
Kris stares at her, unblinking.
"Adam is a PR dream. Rockstar and lycanthrope. The epitome of a well-adjusted wolf and one that lives his life under close scrutiny at that. It's amazing, except…"
Kris can guess where this is going and he doesn't like it. He really doesn't like it.
"He's spiraling out of control."
Oh, there's that word. Kris huffs out a breath and slowly folds forward to rest his elbows against his knees.
"What does that have to do with me?" Kris asks, even if he can guess, of course he can.
"I…" Megan slumps. "I don't know. We're fumbling for straws here. I don't even know if you can do anything, but we've done everything we can do and he's still…" She straightens up, pushing her hair back again. "He's C Class, or he was C when we issued his permit. With the way he's slipping he'd barely manage D."
"Oh," Kris says. C Class means issues, D is… worse.
"It would be different if he was just an average Joe, but he's right in the spotlight and any precautionary action from our side would start up a discussion we'd rather not have again, but then… we also can't let one individual throw us right back to the fifties."
Kris nods. The fifties were bad, really bad, everyone knows that.
"I know I'm basically telling you to put your own life on hold for the greater good but…" Megan throws out her hands, fatigue like a halo around her head. "I don't know what else to do."
Kris would like to point out that she hasn't really asked him for anything yet, but he doesn't. It's hard to argue with the tired lines around her mouth, or the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Kris likes Megan, he liked her from the first moment they met, and he always had problems with saying no to beautiful women. It can be argued that's what put him into this position to begin with.
"You will be… compensated, of course," Megan says, but he thinks she already read his tired acceptance in the lines of his body.
"Yeah?" Kris asks.
She mentions a sum. Kris nods, because, yes, that will do. That will do nicely.
Twenty-four hours later, Kris steps off a plane and into chaos. Noise and people, sights and sounds and smells that are all unfamiliar, all wrong, and for one terrifying moment he finds himself slipping. Spiraling, they call it, a retreat to base level instincts that lets the wolf out. It only last for a second, but Kris still finds himself backed up against the wall with his teeth bared in a snarl.
No one pays him any attention, a steady stream of people move past him towards the creak and rumble of the baggage carousels, without a glance to spare for the man against the wall. He takes a deep breath and then another one, familiarizing himself with the new scents, the new noise. It takes a moment, but then his posture relaxes and he pushes away from the wall. Traveling, he decides, is infinitely less comfortable when you're a wolf.
There are two people waiting for him in the arrivals lounge, both men, neither of them Adam. One of them is holding a sign with his name, the other has a suitcase at his feet. The man with the suitcase steps forward first, extending his hand in greeting. He's a wolf, Kris doesn't have to sniff him to know.
"Kris Allen?" he asks, smiling when Kris nods. "I'm David Cook, Adam's Registry contact. Nice to meet you."
Kris takes his hand, and at the back of his mind his wolf rolls over. Not because of David's hand in his, but because of the scent that clings to David's skin. The scent of other.
"You're leaving?" Kris asks, nodding towards the suitcase.
"Ah, yes." David scrubs his hands together. "They need me on another case."
Kris can't imagine doing this professionally when he doesn't even know if he can do it unprofessionally.
"I'm sure you'll do fine," David says, as if he can read Kris's doubts on his face. "At this point, any kind of progress would be fine, better than fine actually."
His posture says: This is a disaster and I'm washing my hands of it.
He hands Kris a folder with papers spilling out at the sides. "Here's everything you need to know about Adam's schedule and preferences, as well as my case notes. Good luck."
"Thanks," Kris says, holding the folder gingerly.
"My number's at the back. Call me if you need anything."
"Okay." Kris tries for a smile. His list of numbers to call in an emergency is getting ridiculous.
"Well, I better get going," David says, picking up his bag. "Adam'll meet you at the hotel."
"Bye," Kris says, craning his neck to look after David as he leaves. He doesn't know if he's ever felt so alone in his life.
"You ready to go?"
It's the driver. He's got Kris's bag in one hand and his beat-up guitar case in the other.
"Yeah," Kris says, clutching the folder to his chest. "Okay."
Kris's room is nice – the kind of nice he wouldn't have been able to afford in a million years two days ago. It doesn't go very far to calm his frazzled nerves. The entire hotel reeks of wolf, as if the scent seeped into the walls, and it makes Kris's teeth itch.
No one met him in the lobby, but the concierge slipped him a note with his room key that says Adam's handler will meet him for lunch in an hour. He takes a quick shower and changes his clothes, then sits down on the bed to take a closer look at the folder. He's still trying to make sense of Adam's schedule, a mess of dates and times and places, when there's a knock on the door.
Adam's handler turns out to be a tall good looking woman called Lane. Her smile says efficient, her eyes glimmer skeptic and the line of her shoulder says tired. Kris's wolf doesn't need words to know.
They have lunch on the small table by the panoramic windows – crisp salad with ripe tomatoes, goat cheese, walnuts and a creamy tzatziki, all familiar flavors. Kris soon learns that this is one of Lane's many ways to deal with Adam – minimizing the input of the unfamiliar.
"And I get it," she says, gesturing with her fork. "I think it's disorientating to wake up in a new city every other morning. I can't even imagine what it must be like for you."
Kris nods. "It'll take some getting used to that's for sure," he says.
He still feels off kilter. He's familiar with the concept of city pulse, of course, but he never actually got it until he had all of his senses magnified by a thousand. He doesn't think it's necessarily a bad thing, to break out of his comfort zone, but it makes him feel weird, as if he's waltzing to a conga.
"David gave you the folder, right?" Lane says, viciously stabbing a piece of cheese.
"Yeah," Kris says, glancing towards the alarming numbers of papers strewn over the bed.
"You should find a copy of Adam's rider in it and while god knows the damned thing is already ridiculous, if you can think of anything that might help, don't hesitate to tell me. We don't need a repeat of the curry incident."
Kris very carefully doesn't ask. He doesn't need more reasons to be terrified.
"I'm going to be honest with you," Lane says, putting her fork down. "I'm exhausted. We're all exhausted. Adam's doing the best he can but he's really struggling right now and it shows. He holds it together for the concerts, but we've had to cancel all other appearances indefinitely. Even when he's doing better I can't trust him to not turn on a dime and snap at someone."
Lane shakes her head, shoulders slumping. "I love Adam, okay? He's one of the sweetest guys I've ever met, but this is… this is hard."
Kris nods, because he gets it, or thinks he does. He's heard the same thing said so many times about other people – other wolves – even about himself. Because the truth is that no matter how good you are, or how much control you have, you're not quite the same person you once were, and you never will be again.
"Can I ask a few questions?" Kris asks. "I know I have the folder but it's a bit… intimidating."
Lane laughs. "Sure."
"How long has it been since first bite?"
"About five months."
"And he's been struggling all this time?"
Lane shakes her head, quick and sharp. "No, he was doing really well in the beginning. It wasn't easy, but he was adjusting."
"So what happened?"
Lane throws her hands out. "We don't know. One moment he was fine, going in for a meeting with Megan and then he just… wasn't."
Kris nods, thoughtful. He doesn't even know where he's going with all his questions, but he supposes he wants to get a feel for Adam before he meets him. It probably won't make a lick of a difference with how things play out, but it's something at least.
"Can I ask you a question?" Lane asks.
"Of course," Kris answers. If he was Lane, he'd have more than one.
"What makes you the right man for this job?"
Kris considers this, then he smiles. "Absolutely nothing."
When Lane's gone Kris calls Megan, both to check in and to put off the inevitable – meeting Adam. He's not entirely sure what time it is in LA, but Megan picks up after two rings. They chat idly for a few minutes about the trip and Kris’s ten seconds of spiraling, with Megan apologizing profusely for not preparing him better.
"It's okay," Kris says the third time Megan says she's sorry. "I'm okay."
"Are you really?" Megan sounds honestly concerned, as if she's having doubts, and Kris doesn't like that at all. He needs at least one person to believe he can do this.
"I'm good," he says, and this time he almost believes himself.
"I know I just threw you into this," Megan says. "But I really think you're going to make a difference, I do."
Kris smiles; sometimes he thinks Megan can read his mind. (It's probably not that far from the truth.)
Kris's first meeting with Adam happens by chance. It's probably for the best; if Kris had gotten more time to worry, he'd have worn a hole in the carpet.
He's in the lobby, looking to buy a bottle of water that won't cost him an arm and a leg (sure, all his expenses are paid, but it's a matter of principle), when Adam walks in with his entourage. The moment he walks through the doors Kris knows and even if he didn't, Adam isn't hard to spot. He's easily a head taller than most of his friends, hair jet black and cut with brilliant blue, and he moves with the kind of easy grace you'll only ever find in a true predator. Kris doesn't stand a chance.
In less than five seconds he's up against the wall with one of Adam's hands wrapped tight around his throat – staring down the wolf. Kris yields – it's imminent, instinctual –too fast to even be spiraling. His eyes cut to the side, his chin tilts imperceptibly back, his body melts against Adam's, and for one amazing moment everything in his world is right.
Then someone pulls Adam away and Kris remembers how to breathe again. He lifts a hand to his throat, rubbing at the reddened skin and resolutely ignores the way the wolf whines at the back of his mind.
"Oh god, Kris," Lane says. "Are you okay?"
She's wringing her hands, actually wringing her hands, Kris doesn't think he's ever seen anyone do that outside of old movies.
"Yeah," he says, trying for a smile. "I'm good."
Adam's standing eerily still, shoulders squared, head held high, and Kris doesn't have to look at him to know the wolf is still in control. Lane reaches out to touch his shoulder and Kris finds himself flat against the wall again, this time with Adam's ass digging into his stomach and Adam's sole attention focused on Lane, a deep rumbling growl rising from his chest.
Kris thumps his head back against the wall, hard. Kris's experience with other werewolves is limited, and for the most part it's been extremely civilized. Well-adjusted werewolves don't need the whole push and shove routine to get their point across, the pecking order decided with a few subtle shifts of body language. A well-adjusted wolf knows to never a challenge a human, because they'll never get the response the wolf needs.
Kris takes a deep breath. He'll never be able to solve this situation as a wolf, his wolf is way too happy about Adam calling the shots, but he can solve it like a human.
"That's enough," he says lightly, pressing his hands against Adam's tense shoulder blades.
Adam's growl dies in his throat and he slowly, very slowly, turns around to look down at Kris. The wolf still shines out of his electric blue eyes, making Kris's stomach turn itself into all kinds of knots, but he doesn't give in to the urge to submit, instead he meets Adam's gaze head-on as a human, the wolf tightly leashed at the back of his mind.
He lifts one of his hands, ignoring the way his fingers tremble, and puts it flat against Adam's chest.
"You have to fight it," he says, keeping his eyes locked on Adam's face. "It's who you are, but it's not everything you are."
Adam's chest heaves, pushing against Kris's hand, and for one moment Kris thinks he's going to lose, then Adam's shoulders slump and he shakes himself, the wolf retreating from his eyes. Kris lets his hand drop, curling it into a fist against his side.
"Fuck," Adam says shakily, running a trembling hand through his hair. "That was…"
"Over the top? Unnecessary? Stupid?" Kris suggests, eyebrows arched casually, even if his voice trembles.
Adam chuckles weakly. "All of the above?"
"Yeah," Kris says, smiling despite himself. "Pretty much."
They retreat to Adam's suite. Adam, Kris, Lane and a motley crew of Adam's friends and employees. Introductions are swift, with Adam tensing every time someone shakes Kris's hand, but they get through it without incident.
"So what's the plan?"
The question comes from Adam's lead guitarist, Monte, who's sprawled over a chair with his eyes trained on Kris. He's a small guy, a bit on the stocky side, with a funky beard and kind, tired, eyes. Kris just shrugs, sitting down gingerly at the edge of one of the couches, next to Adam's bassist, a slim guy with lots of eyeliner and a shock of bleached hair. Kris doesn't remember his name.
"Don't touch him, Tommy," Adam says, from where he's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Suck the fun out of my life, why don't you?" The slim guy says, and out of the corner of his eye Kris sees him pull his hand back from where it was about to land on Kris's shoulder.
Kris gives him a brief smile and Adam clears his throat… loudly. Kris sighs, keeping his own hands primly in his lap. This is going to be a lot of fun, he can tell.
"You have a week," Lane says later that night. "That's how far I was able to clear Adam's schedule without having to sacrifice one of my kidneys. The label isn't happy about it, but they'll have to suck it up."
Kris nods, leaning his elbows against the railing of his balcony and looking out of the glimmering city lights spread out below him. "You know I'm not a miracle worker, right?" he says.
Lane chuckles. "From what I've seen so far, you're pretty fucking amazing."
Kris shakes his head, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. He turns to look at Lane, primly seated at one of the chairs against the wall with one leg crossed over the other. She looks tired, but there's something in her eyes that wasn't there earlier – hope.
"Look," she says. "I get that you think you're no one special and I know you have no qualifications for this type of job, but the way you broke Adam out of his spiral earlier? No one's been able to do that lately, not David, not anyone. For what it's worth Adam listens to you."
Listens. Yeah, that's one way to put it.
Their first lesson is a disaster – for Adam. Kris on the other hand gets plenty of opportunities to work on his control.
"This isn't helping," Kris says, cheek smudged against the carpet with Adam's heavy weight braced across his shoulders.
"Are you sure?" Adam slips a hand down along Kris's side to curl around his hip, making Kris's stomach tighten with helpless want.
"Yes," he hisses angrily, wriggling out of Adam's unforgiving hold.
"Your body doesn't think so," Adam points out, crawling forward on his hands and knees until he's on top of Kris again, hands curled around his shoulders to hold him down.
Kris considers his options. His head aches with the strain of holding the wolf back, Adam's weight on top of him, the fierce possessiveness in his eyes, it all comes together into the kind of wet dream he never even dared to imagine, but that's not why he's here.
"Are you really looking to add rapist to your resume?" he asks, the calm of his voice belied by the panicked spike of his pulse.
There's a moment when Adam looks as if he's actually considering it. Maybe because they both know that no matter what human Kris thinks, his wolf will always says yes, but then Adam’s mouth curls with disgust and he pulls away, backing until his ass hits the wall.
Kris shrugs himself and pushes to his feet, regarding Adam's dejected slump calmly.
"Maybe you should leave," Adam says without looking at Kris.
Kris nods. "Okay," he says easily.
One step towards the door and Adam's right there, pushing him back. "No," he says, eyes wild.
Yes, Kris's wolf says. Yes, yes, yes. And also, maybe, please. Kris ignores it.
"Adam," he says sharply, reaching out to push against his shoulder. "For fuck's sake snap out of it."
It takes a moment, but then Adam blinks, eyes clearing, and Kris lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. They start over.
Their second lesson is… better.
"For this to work you have to talk to me," Kris says, picking at his lunch. "Not just react. Talk."
Adam nods, suitably chastised. He hasn't even touched his food.
"Eat," Kris says, letting his voice land just this side of commanding.
Adam's shoulders tense and his head snaps up. It takes a moment, but then he picks up his fork.
"I don't want to be like this," Adam says later. He's sprawled on his back on the floor with one arm resting over his eyes.
Kris's eyes catch on the jut of his hipbones and the rise of his chest. He wonders how much weight Adam lost in the last five months.
"You have to sort yourself out," Kris says. "The wolf will always be there and it'll always react. You have to learn how not to listen."
Adam pulls his arm away to look at Kris. His eyeliner is smudged around his eyes and the foundation rubbed away in places, revealing his freckles. He's beautiful, but Kris already knew that.
"How?" he asks.
Kris fights his urge to shrug.
"You have to come to terms with the fact that you are two different people now and neither of them is the person you used to be," Kris says the next day.
They're on Adam's bed, facing each other with two feet of distance between their knees. It's a test and one that Adam's been acing so far.
Adam nods, face attentive. He's looking at Kris as if he has all the answers – it's terrifying.
"I was fine," Adam says. "I really was. I mean, it was hard sometimes to tell what was me and what was the wolf… but I was adjusting."
"So what happened?"
Adam shrugs, much in the same way Lane did. Kris doesn't believe him.
The thing about wolves is that they don't lie, mostly because they don't have to. They don't care about convention or the boring minutiae of human life. They're not out to make friends with pleasant smiles or white lies. Wolves operate on instinct and instincts don't lie.
It's the hardest part about being a werewolf – this constant clash between instinct and humanity. Adam knows exactly what went wrong, he knows it the same way he knows how to breathe, but he doesn't want to tell Kris. It's progress, if of an awry sort.
"Have you ever been in love?" Adam asks. "The crazy, head-over-heels, I-can't-live-without-this-person kind?"
"I thought I was," Kris answers, looking away from Adam's attentive eyes. The disappointment is still too real, the hurt too fresh. He doesn't want to go there, not with Adam, not even with himself.
"What happened?" Adam's voice is soft, concerned, and human, so very, very human.
Kris shrugs. "I changed," he says.
It's been almost a year, a year of living with the wolf at the back of his mind. A year of finding his feet and swallowing the disappointment. A year of getting better, without ever really owning up to what went wrong.
Kris looks up again, meeting Adam's gaze. "Yeah," he says. "Oh."
Adam opens his mouth, but snaps it shut again, hands balling into fists against his sides. The silence stretches out between them.
Kris isn't stupid. He knows what this is. He knows what it is that makes Adam's lips pull back when someone touches him, he knows what it is that makes his stomach tighten with want when Adam pushes his boundaries. He knows why he can't sleep at night wondering whether Adam's touching someone else. He knows. He's just not going to acknowledge it.
It's in every damned textbook. The unattainable goal. The holy grail of lycanthropy. Bonded. Mated. Unconditional. Forever.
But wolves are not human and humans need time.
Things improve. Adam improves. Slowly, he learns how the cage the wolf again. Slowly, he learns how to control himself around humans. Even more slowly, he learns how to control himself around Kris.
"You smell like other people."
Adam's back is rigid, his nostrils flared. He stares at Kris down the length of his nose as if Kris can change his scent by pure force of will.
"It's the wolf, Adam," Kris points out. "Fight it."
"I am fighting it," Adam says tightly. "If I wasn't you'd be naked by now."
Kris's blood relocates south and his shoulders square, but in the end he has a shower and he changes his clothes and he curses the day he met Adam Lambert – human, wolf, rockstar. It's easier that way.
Adam really is the sweetest guy. He's funny, clever, and amazing, and he'll happily spend hours talking about everything and nothing, focusing his entire attention on Kris as if Kris is somehow interesting when there's really nothing in his life worth writing home about that isn't directly related to Adam. (He's pretty sure his mom is getting tired of the postcards by now.)
They just fit – easily, naturally – and it's getting to be a problem. Kris knows how to deal with the wolf. He has no idea how to handle himself.
The week comes and goes, and Kris's status as a miracle worker is firmly cemented. They start moving again, from city to city, country to country, doing the things they were always meant to do. Adam's schedule picks up speed and breaks into a run; trying to keep up is making Kris dizzy.
The only constant is Adam. Friend, now, brother, but not pack. Not ever pack. Kris can't go there, can't let himself want that. Can't own up to how lonely he's been or how much he needs, and Adam is patient for once. Content with waiting. Maybe because he knows there's no way he won’t win in the end.
The tour moves along, with Adam singing his heart out almost every night and Kris watching from the sidelines. Impressed, jealous even, and hopelessly – irrevocably – turned on. Adam on stage is something else – it's wolf and human in perfect sync, notes that go on forever, and a show that leaves Kris breathless just watching it.
It makes him think of his own dreams, his own hopes, and the guitar that he hasn't touched since he changed (even if he insists on taking it everywhere). Watching Adam he can finally admit to himself just how scared he is that the wolf took that too, just like he took everything else.
"Play us something," Monte says, nodding towards Kris's guitar that's leaning against the wall. "I wanna hear you."
"Yes," Tommy chimes in from his careless sprawl across Kris's bed. Candy wrappers litter the pristine white sheets around his body, and sugar gleams in the manic tilt of his smile.
Adam doesn’t say anything, he just watches, eyes unreadable and dark.
"Forget it," Kris says. "You honestly think I'm going to play in front of you guys? In your dreams."
"Oh come," Tommy clambers to the edge of the bed putting himself firmly on top of Sutan who's trying to read a book. One of Sutan's arms comes up to wrap around his waist, easy and familiar, and something ugly stirs in Kris's chest. Something angry and spiteful, and he carefully tucks his hands in under his thighs.
"No," he says.
Tommy opens his mouth to protest, but snaps it shut when Adam shakes his head. It's not hard to see why Adam works with these people, this pack, and at the back of Kris's mind the wolf whines. The moon will be full in two days and even Kris's carefully constructed control is slipping.
Adam waits until they're alone before he pounces. Metaphorically this time and Kris almost wishes he'd gone for the jugular instead. He picks up Kris's guitar case and snaps it open, taking the guitar out.
"Now, you will play," he says, handing the guitar over.
Kris takes it, letting it rest across his knees, but he shakes his head stubbornly.
"It wasn't a question," Adam points out.
Kris ignores him. He doesn't understand, can't understand. Adam’s life molded itself to his new four-legged shape – Kris's life just didn't.
"It's okay to be scared," Adam says kindly, the bed dipping with his weight as he sits down next to Kris. "It's okay to suck too. But you didn't carry it all this way because you don't want to play."
Kris takes his time tuning it, fiddling with the strings, refamiliarizing his fingertips with the press and shape of different chords. Adam waits, calm and silent, the very picture of a patient wolf when usually he's anything but.
Kris's fingers starts to pluck out a melody on their own, finally putting notes to the lyrics that have been spinning through his head lately. Truer now than they were when he serenaded the woman he thought would be his wife, truer now than they ever were.
"I don't know you, but I want you, all the more for that…"
Adam joins him on the second line, weaving a spell through the air between them, voices rising and falling with the kind of harmony that's one in a million, if even that.
"Words fall through me, and always fool me, and I can't react. And games that never amount to more than they're worth will play themselves out…"
"Take this sinking boat and point it home, we've still got time… Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice, you've made it now…"
When the song winds to an end – the last clinging note dragging out in breathless harmony – Kris's heart trembles in his chest. Every fiber of his being, wolf and human, is attuned to the press of Adam's thigh against his, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and the suggestive drumbeat of his heart.
"Now, do you get it?" Adam asks hoarsely.
Yes, Kris's wolf breathes.
"No," Kris lies.
"You have too much control," Megan says when Kris calls her in desperation, after Adam left the room with a huff, and an angry swish of tail that managed to be more literal than metaphorical despite his human shape. "I thought you might."
"Too much control for what?" Kris asks.
"Oh, come on." Megan sounds exasperated. "You know this. It's in every textbook you ever read and I know you read all of them."
"No," Kris says, harsh and stubborn. Not that.
"Yes," Megan hisses.
"No," Kris repeats. "Just… no."
Yes, the wolf whispers at the back of his mind – soft and seductive.
"Why are you even fighting this?" Megan sounds sad. "It's wonderful."
Because he thought he had that once, but it only took one sniff to know just how wrong he'd been and he tried, God knows he tried, but it didn't work – he couldn't make it work – no matter how far back into his mind he pushed the fucking wolf.
"I just can't," he finally says, squeezing his eyes shut against the pressure building in his chest.
Adam's pissy in the morning, wound too tight and snappish with everyone, but he never crosses the line, even though the wolf growls in his burning blue eyes, and howls in the electric too-human twist of his mouth.
"I will never be able to thank you enough," Lane says after breakfast, obviously taken by the level of control Adam's displaying, curling her hands around Kris's shoulders and shaking him lightly.
Kris feels nauseous with guilt, but he still offers up a vague smile. "I didn't do anything," he says.
"Lane," Adam whines from the other side of the room, pushing Tommy to the side to get to them.
Lane lifts her hands from Kris's shoulders with an eye-roll and a muttered apology. Adam flails a hand in her direction and bends down to sniff at Kris's shirt. He heaves an exaggerated sigh and rubs his wrist against Kris's shoulder before bending down to sniff again.
Kris squeezes his eyes shut, cheeks burning, while his stomach twists and curls with helpless yearning.
"You have to move away," Adam says, as if it's a perfectly reasonable request, rubbing his fingers down over Kris's arms.
"I have to do no such thing," Kris says stubbornly, opening his eyes to glare at Adam.
Three weeks ago it would have been a challenge, now Adam just smiles, fond and indulgent. "If you're going to keep being stubborn about this, then yes, you do," he says blithely.
The hair at the back of Kris's neck stands up, but he's not aware that he's growling until he feels his chest vibrate with it. Adam's eyes narrow, but he doesn't take the bait.
"You know what," he says, voice tight. "You're not even a werewolf."
The flinch is immediate, instinctual, ashamed, and the growl dies on Kris's tongue. Adam doesn't seem to notice.
"You're a fucking were-ostrich with your head buried in the sand." Adam takes a step back, eyes hard, and the bite of the moon in his voice. "Why don't you get back to me when you've grown the fuck up?"
He turns on his heel and stalks back towards Monte and Tommy, who are lingering at the entrance to the breakfast room, pretending that they're not watching the show. Kris flinches when Adam's hand lands between Tommy's shoulder blades, lips pulling back to show his teeth, but Adam doesn't even spare him a glance.
Kris spends the afternoon sulking in his room. Adam has a couple of interviews, the last before his enforced moon rest, and he took off after lunch trailed by his usual mismatched following. Not that it matters; his scent is in the fucking walls, taunting Kris's already weakened defenses.
A were-ostrich Adam called him and it would be funny if it wasn't kind of true. Repression is a serious condition in a werewolf and one that the Registry doesn't take lightly. Repression means hours upon hours of therapy and months of tests before they'll even think about issuing a permit. Yet, Kris made it through with straight A’s and a gold star to boot, but then he’d never tried to repress the wolf. He reserved that for everything else.
Sure, he shoved the wolf to the far corners of his mind, but he was never able (or willing) to deny his newly-honed instincts, not even when life as he knew it fell apart around him. Katy left, his friends pulled away, maybe to give him space but he never tried to pull them back in, and after a while they stopped trying, too. Even his family didn't know what to make of him, and in the end it was easier to be alone – easier, but not better – and it's all coming back to haunt him now.
Kris thought he'd gotten used to the duality of his new personality – the instinctual wolf looking to belong and the terrified human not willing to put himself out there – but Adam is turning his entire world upside down and inside out by just existing. Kris doesn't know how to deal with more.
Adam comes back late, smelling of smoke, and booze, and other people's sweat. His hair is in wild disarray, eyeliner smudged, and there's a flush to his cheeks that makes Kris grind his teeth even if he can tell Adam didn't have sex with anyone.
"You're late," Kris says, voice tight, ignoring the fact that he doesn't have the slightest claim on Adam, and that he's not supposed to care.
"And?" Adam asks snottily. The effect is completely ruined by the way he sniffs Kris's neck, eyes fluttering shut with bliss and heart rate spiking.
"And nothing," Kris huffs. "It was just a statement."
"Sure." Adam lifts his head, eyes a particularly stubborn shade of flint. "So did you grow up yet or is this round six-hundred-thousand-seventy-five of your cock tease act?"
"I'm not a cock tease."
"Yeah?" Adam snatches Kris's hand and pulls it down between his legs where his cock pushes hot and hard against the denim of his skinny jeans. "Are you sure?"
"Fuck you," Kris spits, wrenching his hand free.
He should never have opened the door, he knew that letting Adam in would only lead to this – a spitting contest fuelled by the moon tide rising in their blood. He was hard before Adam even knocked, but this is not where it ends, it can't be.
"Fuck," Adam hisses, raking a hand through his hair, messing it up further.
"No," Kris mutters stubbornly and Adam actually laughs this time, shaking his head slightly.
"What are we even doing here?" he asks.
Kris shrugs. "I don't know. You were the one that knocked."
"Oh?" Adam's head jerks up and he cranes his neck, as if he suddenly expects Kris to have company. "Right."
Kris sits down on the edge of the bed while Adam searches his room for potential suitors. He finds one of Isaac's discarded t-shirts (where? Kris doesn't know) and thrusts it into Kris's face.
"What's this?" he asks tightly.
Kris doesn't even bother to roll his eyes, it would be completely pointless. "It's Isaac's."
"And why is it here?"
"It's Isaac's," Kris reminds him. "When doesn't he take his shirt off?"
Adam glares suspiciously at him for a moment longer, but then he lets the arm holding out the shirt drop to his side along with his shoulders.
"I'm sorry," he mutters. "I just… I can't sleep if I'm not reasonably sure you're alone."
Kris wishes it was okay for him to make reasonably sure of the same thing, especially now that Adam smells like a whole party. He'd never admit it to Adam though, so he just shrugs.
"I don't think…" Adam cuts himself off, frowning. "I think it would be better if we actually…" He makes a vague gesture. "It wouldn't be as bad."
Kris has serious doubts about that, but then he doesn't actually mind Adam's possessive tendencies. It probably says a lot about him that he doesn't feel like owning up to.
"Uhm… good night, I guess," Adam says, moving towards the door. Kris doesn't comment on the fact that he's still holding on to the shirt.
"Night," Kris answers.
He watches the door long after Adam left.
The problem, Kris thinks, isn't the wolf's instinctual surrender; it's the human's complete capitulation.
Adam's obligated to check in to a facility for the full moon. Lane drops him off while Kris stays behind, free to go through the change in the confines of his room. The first thing Tommy does when Adam's gone is to give Kris a long tight hug, murmuring a heartfelt thank you against his ear. Kris laughs, hugging him back, but as soon as he's back in his room he has a shower and adds the clothes to his growing pile of laundry. It's habit by now.
He spends the night in solitude, pacing the confines of his room on silent paws, only finding some semblance of peace when his sensitive nose picks up Adam's scent from a discarded cardigan. Adam smells like home the way nothing has since he ended up this way, and he drags the cardigan with him to a corner of the room, eventually falling asleep with his muzzle buried into its soft folds.
The embarrassment upon waking is unbearable. Not only is he naked on the floor cuddling Adam's cardigan, Adam's sitting on the edge of the bed watching him.
"We have to talk," Adam says, not even bothering to leer when Kris pulls the cardigan down to cover his crotch.
Kris nods, pushing himself up. "I'm just gonna…" he flails his hand in the direction of the bathroom.
"Yeah," Adam says. "You do that."
His voice sounds odd, lacking all inflection, and Kris stops at the bathroom door to look at him.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
Adam nods without looking at him. "I'm fine," he intones.
Kris doesn't believe him.
A shower and some clothes go a long way towards making Kris feel human again, even if the post-moon lethargy makes his limbs heavy and his mind slow. The wolf has retreated to the back of his mind again, no longer pushing at his skin, but he still wants to whine when he walks out of the bathroom to the defeated slump of Adam's shoulders.
"Hey," he says softly, leaning back against the wall by the bathroom door.
Adam turns slowly, sliding his legs around the corner of his bed and leaning back against his hands. Kris wants to crawl on top of him and it's really hard to remember why he shouldn't.
"I was never very good at waiting," Adam says, mouth twisting with wry amusement. "Patience is not one of my virtues and this… this is torture."
Kris nods, taking in the inviting, if unintentional, sprawl of Adam's long legs, the ever so slight softness of his stomach underneath his grey t-shirt, and the definition of his arms where they stretch out behind him. Adam's nails are black and chipped at the edges, his hair soft and floppy, and the curve of his lips bare and commanding.
Kris's defenses fold and crumble like a house of cards in a raging storm. The last of the walls he built to protect his battered heart scatter with the sudden spike of his pulse.
Adam chuckles, raising his eyebrows. "Do I even want to know?" he asks.
Kris shakes his head mutely, eyes stuck on the graceful arch of Adam's eyebrows. "I'm scared," he says, finally admitting it out loud.
Kris shakes his head again, breath sticking thick and useless in his throat. He spent almost a year trying to not feel anything at all and now he feels everything all at once.
This is how it has to happen – total deference – not born out of the wolf's instinct to submit, but the human's need to feel.
Kris's legs are numb as he stumbles across the floor towards Adam, weak and useless; the decision to move made before his head has had time to catch on. It's need in its most fundamental form, pulse racing and cheeks flushed. It's love like he never knew it before, overwhelming and exquisite, almost painful in its acuteness.
Adam doesn't seem surprised when Kris crawls on top of him, eyes glimmering darkly and mouth curling into a smile.
"Hi," he says, lifting his hands to rest against Kris's shoulders, steadying him.
"Hi," Kris echoes dumbly, staring down into Adam's impossible face.
He never thought this would be his choice – his reward. Smiling, beautiful, a strange mix of soft and hard, hot and cold, but above all undeniably, irrevocably male. Hands on his shoulders, warm and strong; body, tight and muscular; taste… questionable.
Kris twists the chain of one of Adam's necklaces around his fingers, listening to the hypnotic staccato beat of his heart.
"Did you have breakfast?" he asks, suddenly concerned by the sharp point of Adam's hipbone against his knee.
Adam blinks and then he starts laughing. "Seriously?" he asks. "You're thinking about breakfast? Now?"
Kris reaches down to rub his hand over the offending bone, tracing the curve of it. "Breakfast is important," he says stubbornly, even as his fingers get distracted, wandering down towards Adam's thigh.
"Keep doing that and you're on the top of my menu," Adam says roughly.
"Oh." Kris snatches his hand away. It's an effort.
Adam holds his hand on the way down to the breakfast room, fingers tangled tightly around Kris's, as if he's afraid Kris will change his mind. Kris realizes he might not have made his intentions completely clear even if crawling on top of Adam is about equal to sending out a gold-embossed invitation in his mind.
He waits until they're in the elevator, the jarring Muzak version of I Will Always Love You an appropriate backdrop to his flushed confession.
"I…" He licks his lips, pretending to find the floor very interesting. "That thing back in the room… that was me saying yes. In case you were wondering."
Adam squeezes his fingers, hard. "You should stop talking now," he says tightly. "Because if you don't, we won't have breakfast and we'll end up traumatizing the entire lobby."
Kris sneaks a glance at Adam who's got his free hand curled around the railing and a look of utter concentration on his face. Adam sees him looking because his lips curl into a pained smile.
"In case you were wondering, this is me trying to not pounce on you."
"Oh," Kris says. Oh.
"All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast." – John Gunther, American journalist.
"If you're not done with those goddamned eggs in the next ten seconds I'm going to have you on the fucking table." – Adam Lambert, at wit's end.
Kris expects to be nervous. In the end, he doesn't have time.
"Hey," he says, when Adam pushes him up against the bedroom door, hands tight on his shoulder. "I was just working on a good case of nerves."
Adam blinks, bending forward until their mouths are almost touching. "You actually are insane, aren't you?"
Kris nods, because he probably is. Insanity doesn't seem so bad though with Adam pressed up along his front and his breath warm and moist against Kris's lips.
"I wish I'd had more time to prepare," Adam says mournfully, pulling back slightly. "This is totally a roses and champagne moment."
And just like that it's back to being nervous.
"I have to warn you," Kris says, as Adam simply hoists him up and drags him to the bed following some sort of choreography only he knows. "I don't think I can live up to the hype."
Adam considers this as he gently puts Kris down against the sheets. "Bullshit."
Adam moves to the bottom of the bed to remove Kris's shoes and socks. Kris wriggles his toes and looks up at the ceiling. "Most of my experience comes with a vagina attached," he confesses. They never really had the talk, or any talk come to think of it. Kris had this whole speech planned on the nature of sexuality and the essence of wolves.
Adam's head jerks up from where he's contemplating Kris's feet, or maybe preparing some kind of mating ritual Kris has never heard of.
"Really?" he asks.
"Well, there was this one guy in college but…"
"What's his name?"
Kris lifts his head to consider the angry flare of Adam's nostrils. "Yeah," he says, letting his head thump back against the pillows. "I'm not gonna tell you his name."
"That's okay," Adam says darkly. "I have ways."
"You're being ridiculous," Kris points out because he feels that someone has to. "It was years ago. You didn't even know me back then."
"It's a matter of principle," Adam says, voice muffled as he's folded over nearly in half to remove his boots.
"Then your principles are stupid."
Adam makes a noise of triumph as his boot slips off and throws it across the room. "I'll have you know," he says as he starts in on the other one. "That my principles are awesome."
In retrospect it takes Kris too long to get it. It's not until Adam starts to fluff the pillows that it really sinks in; Adam's stalling. It should have been obvious, because once he gets it the acrid tang of uncertainty is right there, practically vibrating in the air between them.
"You're nervous," Kris says accusingly. He was banking on Adam knowing what he's doing here, because Kris certainly doesn't.
"Yeah, well…" Adam pauses in his quest to fluff the last pillow just right to run a hand through his hair. "I kind of have a lot riding on this."
Kris snorts. "I really don't think this is a one-time thing," he says. Then uncertainty sets in. "Do you?"
"Of course not," Adam says, unconcerned. "But it'll never be the first time again."
It's oddly sweet, like most things about Adam, and Kris reaches out before he even has time to think about it. "Come here," he says.
Adam goes willingly, letting Kris tug him down to rest on top of him.
"I don't care about the pillows," Kris says. "Or the fact that you can't find your iPhone speakers, or the tragic lack of champagne. I just care about you."
It's overwhelmingly true, the kind of true that settles deep in his stomach and spills out in a smile.
"I just care about you," he says again, letting the weight of the words hang between them.
It's surrender in its purest form, the last defense crumbling under Adam's weight. Suddenly, Kris wants to tell him everything — express every jumbled thought and hidden fear – strip himself bare metaphorically as well as physically, but most of all he wants Adam to kiss him.
There's no room for hesitation between their lips, no need for nerves. It's perfection – pure and simple.
"Yes," Kris murmurs, parting his lips for the delicate lick of Adam's tongue, as if somehow Adam didn't get it already.
"Yes," he says again, trailing off into a groan, when Adam licks at the roof of his mouth.
Adam doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. It's plain in the way he licks and nips at Kris's mouth, in the reverent curl of his hands around Kris's face, and the way he trembles like an aspen leaf in a storm.
"I'm here," Kris murmurs, sliding his hands around Adam's broad back. "I'm not going anywhere."
Adam doesn't relax exactly, but the press of his mouth becomes more insistent and less intimidated. Kris can feel the wolf stir at the back of his mind, ears perked and tongue lolling out. He smiles, letting himself spiral.
"Holy mother of…" Adam pants, collapsing against the sheets. "What was that?"
"Bonding?" Kris suggests weakly.
"Holy fuck," Adam says, pressing his forehead against Kris's shoulder. "Jesus."
Kris is sore, really sore. Wolves, it seems, don't understand the concept of proper preparation even though he vaguely recalls Adam trying with fumbly fingers and too much lube. He shifts slightly and makes a face at the messy slickness between his cheeks. It seems they also don't practice safe sex.
"Shit," Adam says suddenly, pushing himself up to look at Kris. "Are you okay?"
Kris nods, lifting a shaky hand to touch Adam's face. "I can feel you inside of me," he says.
Adam winces, hand slipping down to touch the inside of Kris's thigh. "I'm really sorry about that," he says.
"No." Kris shakes his head. "I can feel you."
It's like a warm tight point at the center of his chest where nothing but uncertainty and fear used to live.
"Oh," Adam says, a smile spreading across his face and glowing in Kris's chest. "Oh."
Adam's eyes dilate and Kris's breath sticks in his throat, and five seconds later Adam's pushing into him again. It's different this time, less urgent, less crazy. Kris is slick with Adam's come and willing so damned willing to receive him – the whole hard length of Adam's cock sliding in on one gentle thrust that Kris can feel in his teeth.
"Yes," he gasps, digging his nails into Adam's slippery shoulders. "Fuck yes."
"Is this okay?" Adam asks, the genuine worry resonating in Kris's chest, tangling with the need, want, must have.
"You know it is," Kris responds on a blissful smile.
It's not quite telepathy, but it's pretty damned close. Adam's want – love – echoing through Kris's chest with every deep solid thrust, making him feel as if his brain is coming before his body's had time to catch up.
"God," Kris groans, arching up, desperate, almost reverent, as he clutches on Adam's neck.
Adam yields, easy now, pressing their lips together, and eating the moans from Kris's lips.
"So close, baby," he breathes, lips slipping on Kris's sweaty skin. "Can you… Are you with me?"
"Yes," Kris hisses, pressing his heels into Adam's thighs, needing him closer – harder.
Adam's sudden orgasm wrenches one from Kris's tired body, making him tremble and quake down to his toes. It feels as if he's coming backwards. The first pulse hits him square in the chest, making his body arch into a tight bow, before his cock jerks, spilling wet and hot against his stomach, pleasure washing through his body in an ever-moving wave.
"Fuck," Adam groans, mashing their lips together.
"Ungh," Kris agrees, chasing Adam's slippery tongue with his own, his fingers tight in Adam's hair.
He clenches his fingers when Adam pulls out, making Adam wince, a tendril of worry traveling through the new bond between them.
"I'm okay," Kris slurs, too tired and sated to the bone, easily following when Adam moves to collapse beside him.
"You sure?" Adam asks, petting Kris's hip gently when he shamelessly snuggles into Adam's side.
"Mmmhmmm," Kris answers, which is probably not as reassuring as it should be, but it's also all he can manage.
Adam's silent for a moment, still petting Kris's hip as if he's afraid Kris will bolt if he stops. "Yeah," he says then, low and pleased. "You're okay."
Kris mumbles an affirmative that turns into a grumble when Adam wiggles out from underneath him.
"Sorry babe," Adam says, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I'm just gonna get a washcloth."
Kris stares at the bathroom door the entire time Adam is inside, the almost-closed door makes him feel itchy. There's a whole chapter dedicated to bonding in The Werewolf – A History of Humanity and he kind of wishes he'd read the fine print.
"Did you read The Werewolf?" he asks when Adam finally comes out of the bathroom, with a towel slung over his arm and another clutched in his hand.
Adam blinks. "Uh… no?"
"It's requisite reading for werewolves," Kris points out, easily rolling over when Adam nudges his shoulder.
"It's eight hundred pages long and doesn't end with ‘and they lived happily ever after’," Adam counters, settling down next to Kris and wiping the damp cloth over his chest.
Kris links his hands under his head and watches Adam wipe him down. It's a temporary measure at best, but the lukewarm terrycloth feels like a tongue against his skin, slow and dragging, and he hums with contentment.
"You like that?" Adam asks, dipping the cloth down between Kris's legs.
"Mhmm," Kris murmurs, spreading his legs to give Adam better access.
Adam bites down on his lower lip. "We're not having sex again," he says.
"Okay," Kris agrees easily, rolling over on his stomach to let Adam continue his gentle rub down. He vaguely recalls a time where such a thing would have made him feel self-conscious, but there's no room for shame in this bed. Not when he can feel Adam getting hard without even looking at him, the renewed excitement like a tingle of want in his chest.
He lets out a soft sound of pleasure when Adam runs the cloth down between his cheeks, soft-warm pressure lapping at his sore opening and making his cock twitch with interest.
"My poor baby," Adam says softly, pressing a kiss to one of Kris's ass cheeks. "Does it hurt?"
"Not really," Kris answers. He's sore, of course, but it's not painful. He entertains an idle fantasy of Adam climbing on top of him and sinking right in that is apparently vivid enough for Adam to pick up on it.
"I meant it," Adam says sternly. "No more sex."
Kris rolls over on his side and gives Adam's burgeoning erection a pointed look. "There's something incredibly wrong with this scenario," he says.
He remembers sucking cock from college. He remembers it being pretty awesome. He doesn't remember the stern hands gripping his shoulders and pushing him back when he tries because that actually never happened before. He pouts up at Adam, not entirely sure when he got on his hands and knees.
"I don't trust myself right now, okay?" Adam says. "Everything's too intense."
Kris pouts some more, because seriously, Adam chose this moment to be concerned about his control issues?
"Oh, don't give me that look," Adam says. "You're spiraling all over the place, baby."
Kris frowns. Spiraling is scary – it means giving in to the wolf – it means losing the battle he's been fighting since day one. This isn't scary at all. He can no longer feel the wolf at the back of his mind – it's truly a part of him now – breathing when he breathes, moving when he moves.
"Huh," he says, sitting back on his haunches and scrubbing a hand across his face.
When he looks up, he realizes he can no longer see the wolf in Adam's eyes, but in the lines of his face and the flat of chest. The wolf is everywhere, yet Adam's control seems absolute.
"Finding your mate means finding yourself," Kris says, vaguely recalling a quote from The Werewolf that always intrigued him even when he pretended not to care.
Adam smiles, brighter than the sun and ten times as hot. "That's the only chapter I read," Adam admits, reaching out to tug Kris into his arms. "It'll take some getting used to for sure, but we'll help each other, right?"
"Right," Kris agrees, still reeling with the newness of it all.
He doesn't protest when Adam flings the towels to the floor and tips them over onto the pillows, but he does grumble when Adam lets go of him to pull the covers up.
"Pushy," Adam says happily, rewrapping his arms around Kris's back.
Kris winds an arm around Adam's waist and sneaks a leg in between Adam's thighs. He feels different somehow, stronger and more grounded. It's an odd feeling, if a welcome one.
"You're one half of an alpha pair now," Adam says smugly. "The Registry just won't know what to do with you."
"Did you just read my mind?" Kris asks, frowning even as he tucks his face into Adam's throat and breaths in the spicy scent of home.
"Maybe," Adam admits, pressing a kiss against Kris's hair. "You'll get the hang of it eventually."
Kris thinks it's incredibly unfair that Adam managed to turn the tables on him so completely, but then he never really knew shit about being a wolf. All he knew was control, and if Adam's taught him anything it's that control is really fucking overrated.
"That's my boy," Adam slurs, petting his hair clumsily, and Kris's answering smile threatens to eat his face.
Additional note: There is an odd bit of an epilogue for this fic that I had to remove due to character limit restraints. If there's anything in particular you'd like to see from this 'verse drop me a note in the comments and I'll see about including it with the epilogue. Thank for reading. <333