Work Header

I Got Ways To Make You Sing My Songs

Work Text:

Adam doesn't notice his new bracelet until they've pulled out of the driveway.

Kris had slipped it on at the last minute, running back to the bedroom because he 'forgot something.' And then he hustled Adam out the door and into the town car before his boyfriend could ask what it was. The last thing he wanted was Adam to try to talk him out of it.

Now that they're on the road, Kris makes a show of adjusting his sleeves, drawing back the cuff just far enough.

When Adam finally notices, he bursts into laughter.

Kris grins and keeps tweaking the sleeve innocently while he waits to hear what Adam has to say about his newest accessory.

He doesn't have to wait long. Adam reaches out and tugs at one of the lasso tails, tightening the cock ring another millimeter around Kris's wrist. "You trying to make a new fashion statement, honey?" he says, a laugh still shading his voice. When Kris looks up, Adam's smile is incredulous…and slightly disapproving. "This doesn't really go with your image."

Kris shakes his head. "It's a statement, but only meant for you."

Adam takes that in, his eyebrow lifting. "And what statement is that?"

"That I've got plans for us, after the party," Kris tells him, his gaze direct.

Adam slides across the back seat and squeezes Kris's thigh. "Yeah?"


Adam smiles, and Kris can tell Adam is thinking about it. And then Adam tugs at the silicone again. "Message received. You can take this off now," he suggests.

Kris considers that for half a second, but he made this decision hours ago and he's seeing it through. "Maybe it's also a fashion statement," he hedges, a bold smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Adam squeezes his wrist, the silicone tube pressing hard against his wrist bone, and Kris leans up for a kiss.




The party is a big gathering at a small house in the hills, hosted by some producer Adam worked with last year. Kris doesn't recognize the guy's name; after three albums, he can barely keep track of his own producers, let alone Adam's. It's a low-key night—Adam isn't wearing a single scrap of leather above his ankles, and he actually let Kris leave the house in jeans and a casual button down. They aren't attending to make a splash or to make connections. They're just paying tribute to a nice guy who finally landed a Grammy-nod.

Kris doesn't think their cock ring looks so out of place on his wrist. It's just a thin black tube with a small, black clamp. It goes well with the dark leather band of his watch, and the tails only stick out an inch from his shirt sleeve. If you didn't know to look for it, you'd probably miss it.

But Adam knows it's there—which is the point.

Kris revels in Adam's attentiveness, the sharp, anticipatory edge to their shared glances. Adam stays close to him all evening, his arm around Kris's waist, or holding his hand, or standing behind him with a possessive hand on Kris's hip as they mingle. His fingers keep tugging on the lasso, keeping it at the front of Kris's mind, keeping his cheeks slightly flushed and his breaths shallow.

Kris takes the last swig from his beer bottle and looks for a place to set it down. He ducks out from under Adam's arm, excuses himself from their conversation with a red-headed backup singer, and goes in search of a trash can. When he looks back, he takes a moment to enjoy the view.

Adam doesn't look like anyone else in the world. He's magnetic, beautiful, and sometimes Kris feels like he's falling in love with the guy all over again, that same jump in his stomach and knot in his throat like the first time they met. Tonight is no different; just looking at him gets Kris's heart racing. And the way Adam's clothes hug his body makes Kris's cock sit up and beg.

Kris shivers, thinking about tonight. He told Adam he has a plan, but that plan only gets as far as locking them into the bedroom and not sleeping for at least two hours. Preferably longer. Adam is the king of improvisation; Kris is sure he'll think of ways to pass the time. He considers the possibilities for a moment and makes a mental note to grab some snacks and water bottles from the kitchen when they get home.

He looks at his watch, noting that they've only been there for about an hour. It's way too soon to leave; Adam said he wants to stay for at least a couple hours. But Kris's eyes fix on the cock ring, and his cheeks heat up. Across the room, Adam tosses his head, rolling his eyes at whatever the red-head is saying. His hair falls messily across his cheek, and Kris wants to push it out of his face, wants to twist his fingers in it and tug, baring Adam's throat where he can kiss it….

Adam won't want to leave, but Kris knows how to change his mind.

It's easy to find the bathroom, and even easier to push his jeans down and get a hand on himself, to stroke his cock and picture Adam's teeth on his nipple, Adam's cock heavy in his mouth, Adam's fingers thick inside him. His body is already on board, his cock hardening the rest of the way, eager to come. Kris slips the cock ring off his wrist and fits it over his cock, right down to the base. He tugs on the ends, sliding the plastic clamp up until it's snug against delicate skin in a pinch that always drives him crazy. He hesitates for just a moment, letting himself whimper once in dread, before biting his lip and dragging his jeans back up.

Fuck him for choosing his tightest pair of pants tonight, but this hadn't been part of his plan.

He's panting and flushed by the time he gets the bathroom door open, shaking water from his hands. He pats his palms against his cheeks in a futile attempt to cool down and then dries them on his shirt tails, strategically untucked to give him some cover. Every step he takes is too much friction and the painful bite of denim seams against his cock, but he slaps a smile on his face and makes his way back to his boyfriend.

Adam is still talking with the singer, showing off his newest tattoo, his sleeve shoved up, twisting his wrist to display the text. Kris licks his lips, eyeing those extra inches of skin and ink, and squeezes Adam's other arm to get his attention. When Adam looks down at him, he takes in Kris's appearance and frowns.

"Hey, you feeling okay?"

"Yeah," Kris says, and cuts his eyes to the red-head. "Can you give us a second? Sorry."

The girl withdraws politely, and Kris breathes a sigh of relief.

Adam takes a step back and looks him over, like he'll be able to see what's wrong. Kris fiddles with his watchband, drawing Adam's attention to his wrists, and Adam says, "It's gone. Did you take it off?"

His shoulders have gone stiff, and he's scowling like he's about to accuse someone of giving Kris a hard time, so Kris explains, "I put it on," and slides into Adam's space. He rubs his cock against Adam's thigh, and Adam gasps and goes a little red himself.

Adam grabs Kris's hips and holds him tight, rolling his thigh against Kris's throbbing cock. "Wow," Adam says.

"I'm ready to go home now," Kris says, and if he's a little breathless, it's completely Adam's fault.

Adam says fervently, "Yeah, me too," and then, as though he can't help himself, he catches Kris's chin and tips Kris's face up for a quick kiss, and then one more. "I'll call the driver," he says. As he fumbles his phone out, his eyes drift down, looking for the bulge in Kris's painfully-tight jeans.

"Yeah, please," Kris says, and winds his fingers in Adam's belt loops to keep him from going anywhere without him.