Sagarian (sagarian) wrote,

Unethical Bedside Manner

Title: Unethical Bedside Manner
Fandom: American Idol RPS
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Rating: Hard R

Summary: Kris is hurt during tour rehearsals. Nurse Adam to the "rescue."

Disclaimer: None of this is real. I do not mean any harm nor do I make any money from this. I claim no rights to any person/character mentioned herein.

Notes: Response to the American Idol Porn Meme request by anonymous: kradam, one of them gets like a sprained/broken ankle/leg or something and the other has to help them bathe. one thing leads to another, katy or no, up to you. hard R to Nc-17

Extended Notes: Boo-urns to my ability to write porn. I tried, anon! Plus, I included my special brand of awkward humor. Sorry, anon!

Adam weaves in between the other dancers like a leather-shiny serpent, hitting his mark hard and tight with a hip thrust, shimmy, hair flip, snap.

He knows he should tone down his fabulousness just a little bit. It’s completely unfair to show up the other nine idols during the tour rehearsal, but he can’t help himself. The sparkle-sparkle is in his blood. The chain of nucleotides in his DNA spell out F-I-E-R-C-E.

Adam twirls, throws up a hand, and wiggles his ass as he backs up to the end of the dance line. He humps an imaginary person, dips it low and then missteps.


All the performers stop dead, ten mimes suddenly trapped in a box. The music loudly shreeeeches off like a skipped vinyl record (later, this will confuse Adam as he is pretty sure it was a digital player).

For one moment, they are all frozen in time.

Then it passes, and the Kris-shaped heap on the floor whimpers again, this time with some confusion laced with the pain.

As everyone realizes what’s happened and rushes to surround their fallen comrade, Adam somehow manages to transport from the other side of the stage to Kris’ side before anyone else can get within a foot of him.

He crouches over him, placing a supportive hand on his back when Kris struggles to sit up.

“Are you okay?”

Adam sweeps back the sweaty hair sticking to Kris’ forehead with a gentle hand, unmindful of the other idols, choreographers, lighting and audio guys that watch them intently. There may as well be one spotlight shining down on the two men while the other players fade into the background.

Somewhere on the stage, Gokey’s jaw tries to look taut under a layer of chub.

“I hurt my ankle,” Kris bites his lip, trying to keep his big-boy face on. It hurts like a bitch but nothing he can’t (owie, owie, owie!) handle. He leans forward, grasping his right calf above where the ache radiates from.

“How bad?” Adam asks, eyeing the offending body part with trepidation. It appears to be in an anatomically correct position but, although he knows a lot (a lot) about the male body, orthopedics isn’t his area of expertise.

Kris tries to experimentally dorsiflex his ankle and his mouth immediately falls open into a horrified “O.”

“Allison,” he breathes raggedly when he can, “Cover your ears.”

She rolls her eyes and doesn’t even flinch when “SHIT-DAMN” fills the entire auditorium.

Despite the volume of his curse, Kris begs off an ambulance and instead gets Adam and a random stage-hand to help him hobble one-legged to the bus and rides straight to Providence Saint Joseph Medical Center.

Five hours later, Kris is sprawled on the queen-sized hotel bed the physician had suggested (bunking on a tour bus? No.) like a distressed damsel.

He watches Adam putter around the room, getting pillows, ice, and painkillers like a dutiful nurse.

Adam in a nurse’s uniform…

The second Kris even dares to imagine this, his mother repeats herself over the phone, demanding his focus.

“Kris, honey? I asked what the doctor said.”

Kris goes back to staring at the ceiling, the phone slick and oily against his still grimy, post-rehearsal head.

“It’s just a grade one sprain, bordering on grade two. Nothing broken. Some ligament tearing, but nothing too major. I don’t even have to have an air splint.”

“Well, what kind of treatment do you need?”

“Rest. Ice. Elevation. Really, it’s okay, mom. Don’t worry.”

After he’s managed to make Mama Allen feel just a little less anxious, he rings off with an “I love you” and a promise to call first thing tomorrow.

He snaps the cell closed and lays it on his chest, blowing out a long sigh as he closes his eyes.

“Jesus. Third day of rehearsals and I’m already flat on my ass.”

He can hear Adam shuffling around at the foot of the bed, feels his tangible presence without even trying. He wonders if Adam is staring down at him.

He unconsciously squares his shoulders and flexes his arms a bit.

“Just give it a few days,” Adam’s voice comes from somewhere above him, “You’ll be back doing that cheesy boogie-woogie with the rest of us in no time.”

Kris huffs a small laugh and peeks open his eyes.

Adam is staring down at him, gripping a pillow in his large hands.

Caught, but showing no shame whatsoever, Adam cocks an expertly manicured brow.

“You ready to get that leg up?”

Kris moves up on his elbows, the bed sheet briefly sticking to the back of his neck.

“Actually… I feel kind of gross. It’s like I’ve been in this funky gear forever. I can’t go to bed like this.”

Kris glares at his swollen ankle like it’s just ruined his whole life, hoping Adam will fill in the blanks.

“I know what you mean,” Adam says, scratching at the stiff hairs on the back of his head, “I wish I could say I’m covered in a fabulous glitter sheen, but it’s actually plain old greasy sweat.”

Kris’ eyes go soft and he tilts his head while looking up at Adam from under his lashes.

“Man, I appreciate you sticking with me today,” he says sincerely, “I know that hospital wait was hell and you’ve been running around since this morning. If you want to go back to the-”

“Kris, do you want to take a bath?”

Kris’ jaw snaps shut mid-sentence. He’s got about four seconds to answer before it appears like his brain was sprained instead of his ankle.

Adam’s got that faux-innocent look firmly in place: eyes held carefully wide over a slightly pouting mouth.

Kris gazes at the latter for way too long. The four-second timer buzzes.


He’s pretty sure “no” wasn’t even an option, but he’s not exactly positive what the yes is in response to.

“I’ll hook you up,” Adam smiles cryptically and disappears into the bathroom.

Cryptic, Kris thinks, maneuvering himself to the edge of the bed to sit halfway on the side and keep his right leg still stretched out.

That’s the word he’d used to describe the subtle shift in his and Adam’s relationship ever since they reunited after Idol.

Even when they were roomies back at the mansion and Adam admitted he found Kris to be a stone cold fox, their bromance remained neatly platonic. Kris is the ultimate get-along guy and Adam is just too kick awesome not to like. Despite the attraction, the friendship was just that.

Nothing phenomenal took place before the critical shift. One day, Kris met up with Adam to visit a recording studio right before rehearsals began and bam. Everything changed.

Adam’s flirting is no longer so harmless and Kris’ reaction to it is no longer so innocent.

He’s just so aware of Adam now, in a way that he never was before. When Adam enters or leaves a room, Kris knows it with an extrasensory perception. When Adam speaks in low and intimate tones, Kris feels the words like a tickling across his scalp. When he smiles, Kris’ eyes automatically fall to that scattering of freckles around his mouth and they stay there until those lips curl into something less wholesome.

Anyone who strays too close to Adam gets captured into his gravitational pull and Kris never expected to be immune. But, it was more than that. It’s like he’s got spidey senses and the only “station” they can pick up is one that plays “All Adam, all the time.”

He has obviously been breathing in too much of the other man’s fairy dust.

Kris hears the water cut on in the bath and a few moments later, the smell of honeysuckle bursts forward on a billow of steam.

All kinds of alarms are going off in Kris’ head, but he’s pretty much deaf to it all.

Because Adam chooses that moment to emerge from the bathroom amidst the silky mist and approach the bed where Kris is still sitting like a slack-jawed yokel.

“I hope you like it hot.”

“Yeah,” Kris answers stupidly, as if it’s not a totally obvious rhetorical question that was only meant to serve as another innuendo to make him further doubt his sanity.

Adam leans in close to get an arm around Kris’ waist while Kris slings his arm around Adam’s (wow, broad) shoulders and tries to think about a family member helping him. And while his mother would never feel this solidly strong and masculine against him, if he can just use his imagination…

Kris had opted for the luxury suite just because he can and now he’s damn glad he did. The bath is one of those wide, circular spa-types that will allow him to spread out. He already knows he’s going to need help getting up from the bottom of the tub, though.

Adam helps him sit slowly on the edge, keeping that right ankle in full view.

Now that it’s no longer elevated at all, said ankle proceeds to immediately start throbbing. If he was a cartoon it’d be bright red and balloon-sized and sound like a drum being pounded in synchronicity with his heartbeat.

Adam notices the pained look on Kris’ face (and he’s not really sure how because he hadn’t been looking in that direction at the time).

“Let’s get you down in there so you can rest your leg up on the rim.”

Kris nods and stares down at his hands while he unbuttons his shirt, unable to stop the shyness that immediately tries to steal over him.

Neither the shirt buttons nor his fingers will cooperate with the task. The buttons slip easily out of his suddenly moist and stupid-acting fingertips.

The hot, thick air in the bathroom settles heavily on his skin and the slight light-headed feeling from his blood settling around his right lower extremity isn’t supporting his ability to actually do stuff.

The throbbing in his ankle takes on another cadence. Beads of perfumed perspiration sting his eyes.

“Shit, Adam,” Kris sighs, shaking his head in defeat and making a poor-me face. He keeps his gaze lowered.

Adam, who’s been watching Kris with more than a little quiet amusement, doesn’t require a clearer request.

While Adam’s deft fingers make quick work of the shirt, Kris tackles his pants’ fasteners.

(Unless he faints dead away, he’s doing his own damn pants.)

Kris shrugs off the opened shirt and does a shimmy-lean-tug to get the pants out from under his ass without having to stand. He pushes them gingerly off his legs and then his briefs are left as the last barrier between his junk and full exposure.

He briefly wonders how dumb he’d look if he got in the bath with his underwear still on and immediately dismisses the thought. No way is he going to look like a jerk in front of Adam, especially when he’s wearing that maddening half-smirk as if he’s expecting Kris to do exactly that.

Kris has a stern mental talk with his cock (“Stay flaccid, you traitorous son of a bitch”) and then quickly wiggles out of his briefs before he loses his nerve.

“Get my leg,” he says with forced detachment as if he’s talking to a medical professional.

He knew it was coming, but when Adam’s large hand wraps underneath his calf, his whole leg jerks involuntarily and pain spikes in his ankle.

“Oh God,” Kris moans pitifully and starts to back up toward the middle of the tub to lower himself down.

When the hot, satin-smooth water envelopes him, his moan turns obscene.

Adam attentively sets up his leg on the tub side with the pillow and ice from earlier.

Now that his nakedness is hidden by soapy froth, Kris lets himself completely relax and enjoy the patient role a little bit more.

“Can you wash my foot for me? Can’t reach.”

He feels like he can get away with this because he’s poor widdle Krissy with a bad ouchie and Adam is his voluntary personal attendant.

Adam doesn’t give him any shit for his prima donna act. Without comment, he sits on the side of the tub with a thick cloth and dips it in the water between Kris’ legs.

Kris doesn’t have a “thing” for feet, but the slippery-slide of Adam’s wet fingers along his sole and in between his toes makes his cock jump.

Kris doesn’t know how obvious it is, but he lets one hand trail teasingly along his hardening flesh under the water, watching Adam touch him with lowered eyelids.

Just when Kris is starting to think his enjoyment of Adam's ministrations is going to spill out into the water, Adam abruptly announces he’s “all done!” and tosses the cloth at Kris’ chest.

Kris and his erection are momentarily confused. It looks like Adam is preparing to leave. And that’s just not on.

Adam straightens up the bathroom a little, folding Kris’ pants and rearranging the bath salts, obviously giving Kris some time to grow some balls.

“I didn’t want to say anything, but you totally stink too, you know,” Kris says finally when Adam starts drifting toward the door, half-heartedly flinging a few suds at him. The white foam against his shiny black pants looks entirely too suggestive.

He tries to keep his voice light and playful, but there’s a guttural undertone that makes it sound as if he’s been smoking and drinking like he’s got a serious problem.

(Which is appropriate because he’s totally got a serious problem right now).

Adam turns his head and pretends to sniff himself.

He tosses his hair and plays with the hem of his shirt, training his patented “I know exactly what this does to you” expression on Kris.

“You’re right. I’m a dirty boy.”

Adam can turn on the filter any time he wants; he just chooses not to.

So he doesn’t hide the fact that they both want the same thing, but the next move has got to be Kris’.

Kris doesn’t even need the four seconds this time.

“Adam. Get in here.”

Adam doesn’t need to be told twice. He starts undressing slow and deliberate as if Kris has paid for the private VIP show (and if it comes to that, Kris’ got his Visa in the other room).

Kris wants to help undress him. He wants to do something, but his damn awkwardly-positioned leg holds him in place and he’s forced to watch Adam like a filthy pervert.

Something blond and pretty flashes through his mind here, but there’s no room left for anything more than Adam. Naked. and that other image dissolves before it fully forms.

Adam steps up to tub in front of Kris, cock swinging free and more impressive than Kris cares to admit. He swallows back the surge of saliva before it chokes him, but he doesn’t look away.

“This is the not-so-fun part,” Adam gestures for Kris to move forward, “Scootch.”

Kris’ ankle protests the extra movement, but he tells it to fuck off (“You’re not blowing this for me!”)

Adam slips in behind him when he can, grabbing his narrow hips and helping him up into his lap.

Some primal ganglia deep in Kris’ brain howls against sitting on another man this way, but damn if it doesn’t feel right and good.

He’s already completely hard now and (wiggle-wiggle) Adam is, too.

Adam drizzles the bath oil all over his hand, letting it sluice between his fingers and drip onto Kris’ chest. One hand circles teasingly around Kris’ nipples; the other disappears under the water.

Adam grips Kris tight without warning and tugs hard like he’s doing himself.

Kris arches in his lap, grinding back his hips with a sucked-in breath. He hooks a hand behind Adam’s head and tries to tear out the hair there.

Adam only gets rougher, biting and licking at Kris’ ear like he’s wanted to do since the finale.

“Yes… Oh… make me come,” Kris groans brokenly, laying his other hand over Adam’s wrist so he can feel the nearly violent movement of Adam working over his dick.

The pressure in his spine builds sharp and heavy and he rocks desperately into Adam’s pelvis without shame.

Adam drags his tongue along Kris’ jaw and squeezes at just the right moment.

Kris’ breath hitches in warning and Adam hisses when the hand in his hair yanks with bruising force.


Kris’ whole body jerks against Adam’s and his propped leg almost slides off the tub side. (He probably wouldn’t have even noticed.)

Adam strokes the slippery cock in his hand lazily, drawing out every last drop Kris has in him.

“God, Adam… God,” Kris sighs when he can, too blissed out to even feel guilty for coming so quick.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Adam laughs against Kris’ slick neck, tickling his nose with the short hairs there.

He’s not surprised at the bold admission. Not even straight guys are safe with him.

“I’m going to, baby,” he promises, low and dirty, “I’m going to carry you into the bedroom and fuck you face-to-face with your legs in the air. Gotta keep that ankle elevated.”

Kris grins and rests his head on Adam’s shoulder, turning to look for the intensity he can hear in Adam’s voice.

“Always watching out for me, huh?”

“Always,” Adam agrees and leans in so he can kiss those wet, pliant lips for the first time.

Kris takes him in eagerly, swallowing down Adam’s taste like it’s a drug.

Adam presses a kiss to his cheek and then holds him close in unexpectedly possessive arms, resting his head against Kris'.

“This could be dangerous,” Kris warns them both when the warmth of feeling secure and happy settles densely in his belly.

“Too late for me,” Adam admits in a soft murmur, his embrace tightening ever so slightly.

Kris trails his fingers across Adam’s freckled arms, rubbing slippery droplets into his skin.

He keeps the “Me, too” to himself, but he thinks Adam knows it anyway.


ETA: Haha, where the hell did I get the idea that there were thirteen idols performing at the tour instead of ten?
Tags: adam/kris, slash

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