Long Live the King

sequel to exit wounds

It's not every day that Feds come to the precinct, and they certainly never show up in a festive mood, so when Kris spots Johnson at his desk, joking with Matt with a disturbingly generous smile on his face, his nose starts to itch in suspicion. Then Johnson turns around, spots him, raises his arms up in a victorious fashion, and Kris' trigger finger twitches.

"Allen!" the kid says. "Finally. I've been waiting forever."

"What for?" Kris replies, taking the two steps between them to shake the kid's hand. Like it or not, it's better to stay on friendly terms with the tiniest, greenest Fed Kris has ever met. He's proven to be useful in the past.

"I got great news for you. Wanted to deliver in person." He bounces back and forth on the balls of his feet like he can't quite contain his excitement, and Kris wonders once again how they let this kid become an agent.

"Yeah? What kind of news?"

Johnson grins. "The King," he says slowly, savoring the words, "is dead."

Kris freezes. Maybe he's misheard, maybe Johnson means someone else, maybe it's a frickin' joke... but Johnson looks like a kid on Christmas day, and what else could he possibly be here for? Kris went to him for information on Adam, told him he had a special interest in the case, so of course he thought....

"How?" Kris manages to choke out, bracing one hand on the desk for support. "When?"

"Yesterday. Langley's been following a lead about a heist for a couple of weeks, and apparently it went down last night. He said he got three of them, two small time guys and the infamous King himself. I saw the report, man. Filed in triplicate."

"And—you're sure he's dead? Not just—not wounded?"

Johnson makes a gun with one hand and mimics shooting. "Two shots to the chest. Langley's good."

Kris swallows and his ears pop, the hum of the bullpen suddenly rising impossibly high. He shakes his head but it doesn't get any better; it's getting harder to breathe in the room, it's too crowded, too hot, he needs to get out of there, he needs—he should—

"Hey, you okay, man?" Matt says, sticking his pen behind his ear and getting up.

Kris waves his concern away. "Yeah. Yeah. I just. I gotta. I got somewhere to be."

Then he turns tail and tries very hard not to run.

~

Kris drives for two blocks and then pulls over at an almost deserted parking lot in a residential area. He hangs onto the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip—his hands won't stop shaking otherwise—and tries to breathe in and out steadily.

It doesn't work. His heart is going a mile a minute and he feels so cold that his teeth are chattering.

He rests his head on his hands and waits for it to pass.

~

When Kris finally manages to pull himself out of his daze, it's dark out. He'd turned his phone off because Matt wouldn't stop calling, and Kris can't even imagine how he will go about explaining this situation to him. There's no way he can focus on any case right now anyway.

He'll go home, he decides, and open that bottle of vodka Matt left behind months ago. He'll drink until he can bring himself to pray for Adam, until he can cry about it maybe, and then he'll drink some more, hopefully until his brain shuts down and he can sleep.

Hangover and everything else, he'll deal with tomorrow. Later. When the sun's out. Proving that, King or no King, it is indeed another day.

Tonight, Kris just needs to drink.

~

The door of his apartment sticks as it always does and Kris curses loudly, turning the key with enough force to hurt his fingers. The lock gives a rusty whine but refuses to budge.

"God fucking dammit!" Kris yells, kicking the door once, twice, three times—his foot hurts, but what the fuck ever. The fucking door is standing between him and his bottle of vodka. Emboldened by the creaking of the hinges, Kris kicks again. Maybe he can kick it down? Contrary to what the TV shows would have people believe, cops don't just kick in every door they come in contact with. Kris has personally never done it himself, which can only mean that it's about time he tried. He braces himself to shoulder the damn thing open, but before he can, the keys he left in the lock jingle and the door is opened from the inside.

Adam Lambert stands on the other side of it. With a fucking smile on his face.

"Hi," he says guilelessly, grinning at Kris.

Kris punches the grin right off his face.

~

Kris is perched on the side of his bed, a wet t-shirt wrapped around his fast-bruising knuckles, and he feels like he's just woken up from a deep sleep. Everything's so sharp and colorful all of a sudden. If Kris could think beyond Adam right now, it would probably scare him to realize how out of reality he has been for most of the afternoon. He can't even tell how much time has passed.

He remembers arriving at the precinct around 2 PM. He turns his phone on to check the time now. It's 9:30.

"Okay, what was that?" Adam says from the door, holding a bag of frozen peas to his jaw.

A hundred possible answers flash through Kris' mind, some hysterical, some cool and collected, some angry. What finally comes out of his mouth is, "Why do the Feds think you're dead?"

It's a perfectly legitimate question. It's a question a cop would ask. Kris feels proud that his training managed to outlive his shock.

Adam grins. It makes Kris itch to punch him again.

"Why do the Feds think anything?" he says, flippant. "Because they're a bunch of idiots." He straightens up from his slouch against the doorjamb, looking like the cat that got the cream.

Kris supposes that it's a good thing from Adam's perspective that he's fooled the FBI.

Fuck Adam's perspective. Seriously.

"Yeah, good for you. You fooled everyone," Kris spits out, fisting the wet t-shirt in his hands. "Hurray."

Adam scowls, takes a couple of steps closer. "Kris..."

"What!"

"Oh," Adam says, understanding dawning finally. For a criminal mastermind who has evaded capture for as long as he has, Adam can be disappointingly slow.

"Yeah," Kris says, a fake smile stretching his lips thin. "Oh."

"Kris, baby..."

Kris glares at him, and if looks could kill, there'd be bloodshed right about now.

Adam ignores him as he always does. He kneels in front of Kris, looking up at him with those brilliant blue eyes of his, open and honest and apologetic—and Kris falls for it, like he always does. Every time, he tells himself that this time will be the last. That he won't see Adam again. That he'll treat him like any other criminal if he does. And every time, Adam gets him with that one look. What kind of a cop does that make him? How can Kris keep doing his job like this?

He can't. He shouldn't. He's not sure if he even wants to.

One thing he does know, though, is that he doesn't want to do this anymore.

"I'm done," Kris tells Adam. "This is it."

Adam, one hand frozen halfway to Kris' face, says, "Done with what?"

"With this." Kris nods at the two of them. "With you. I'm done."

"You can't break up with me," Adam says, incredulous. "Not over this. I'm here. I came here. I couldn't have known that you'd find out so fast—"

"Adam," Kris interrupts his babbling. "I'm not breaking up with you. I can't break up with you when we're not in a relationship."

"Now you're just being mean," Adam says.

"You're delusional," Kris says, completely accepting the fact for the first time. "You're crazy. And you make me crazy. That's why I'm done."

Kris thinks back to a time when he used to spend his free time with his friends who were simple and fun and not in the least enigmatic or dangerous; he remembers what it was like to date girls who just wanted to see a movie and hold hands.

Suddenly he misses home so badly that he can taste his mom's apple pie.

Adam Lambert is not apple pie. He's not Katy or Cale or Charles. He's not Matt or Danny or any of the guys from the precinct. He's a highly addictive exotic fruit that Kris can't afford to want.

Adam is sitting back on his haunches, palms covering Kris' knees, and he's looking up at Kris, determined and scared both at once.

They're not good for each other. They will, most likely, be the death of one another. Adam must know that. He may be crazy, but he's a survivor. And if he had an angle, some hidden motive for seeing Kris, he would surely have used it by now. This makes no sense.

"Baby, listen," Adam says, squeezing Kris' knees. "I know you're upset right now—"

Kris chuckles. "I'm not upset," he says, choosing to ignore the pet name. He would never let anyone else call him baby, no way in hell, but with Adam he's always had to choose his battles. And he wouldn't admit this under pain of death, but Kris might have kind of liked the name at the time. Now it makes him queasy, but it's probably too late to say no. "I'm pissed. I'm fucked up. And I'm tired."

"Yes, okay," Adam says, licking his lips nervously. "You're tired. You should sleep, and we'll talk about this in the morning."

"There's nothing to talk about," Kris tells him. "I will sleep, but first you're going to leave. Or I'll just arrest you. Your choice."

Adam holds his gaze and Kris doesn't even blink. He hasn't made an arrest threat in a very long time. He hasn't considered it since maybe the third time they met. But tonight he's angry enough to actually go through with it, and Adam can apparently tell the difference, because with a nod he gets up and takes a step back.

"Okay," he says. "Okay. If that's what you want."

Kris doesn't say another word. He just watches Adam turn around and leave.

~

Kris takes a scalding hot shower and wishes he could cry. He feels so full, ready to burst, but it's the kind of fullness that doesn't seem to dissipate with violence. The punch hasn't helped one bit.

He's tired, but he doesn't think he can sleep.

He's thinking that maybe he'll go out for a walk, clear his head—when he enters his bedroom and finds Adam sitting on his bed.

Adam gets up. "You can arrest me in the morning. I'm not leaving you alone tonight."

Kris doesn't know what he's doing until he's standing right in Adam's space. After that, he sees the kiss coming, but he still can't do anything to stop it.

~

They have kissed before, many times.

On the nights Adam stayed over, the kisses were always chaste and sleepy and innocent. Adam only brought out the steamy ones for when he was leaving, when they had no time to take it any further even if they wanted to. Adam is smart. He always knew Kris would put a stop to things if they ever actually had sex. Kris still doesn't understand why he would spend so much energy on a relationship with no perks, no future, and too much danger for both of them, but the fact is, Adam did. Just like he's doing tonight, standing his ground, even though for all he knows Kris is going to call for back-up any second.

For the record, Kris has no intention of calling anyone.

Adam's mouth is generous and giving and soothing, which tells Kris, among other things, that Adam is being patronizing right now, treating Kris like he's fragile, like he doesn't know what he wants, but Kris can't bring himself to care. His mind is stuck on the feel of Adam's skin, Adam's breath, Adam's chest—Kris spent the better part of the day imagining Adam's body cold and still on a slab, his skin ripped open, his chest bleeding. This helps replace that image in his mind. Feeling Adam's heartbeat helps.

He pushes Adam down on the bed and climbs on top of him. Adam looks surprised, his eyes wide and taken aback, and Kris mentally tells him to take his patronizing attitude and shove it. Physically though, his mouth is too busy for talking. He sucks Adam's bottom lip into his mouth and bites it, soothing it with his tongue before biting it again and again, feeling Adam's fingers tighten on his hips in response. He cups Adam's face with both hands and tilts his head for a better angle, deepening the kiss until his lips hurt from it, until his lungs are burning and he has to pull back.

Adam looks up at him with a fire in his eyes that Kris hasn't seen before. He seems more dangerous than ever, as if he might just snap and lose control. Kris knows instinctively that Adam wouldn't. Adam is all about control. But Kris also knows that if he wanted, he could push him. He could tease Adam into coming very close to the edge. He could make Adam be rougher than he means to be.

The thought makes Kris ache a little with need, but something tells him that he doesn't want to hurt Adam while trying to heal himself, not for real. He just wants to—he wants to feel alive, and he wants to feel that Adam is alive, and finally, finally, after months of Limbo, he wants to let himself have this.

He grinds his hips down against Adam's and says, "I need you to fuck me."

Adam groans and bites his already abused bottom lip. "Kris..."

"Don't. Please." Kris gives him a messy, bruising kiss. "Just—for once—do as I say."

Adam looks torn; Kris can almost see the wheels in his head turning. Adam loves the games, loves being spontaneous and crazy, but he always gives Kris what he wants when it really counts. "Kris, today really isn't the right time—"

"When would you rather do it?" Kris says, staring him down. "Tomorrow, when you really get shot?"

"Baby, nothing's going to happen to me—"

Kris laughs—a loud, humorless laugh. "What if something happens to me?"

Adam looks like there's a bitter taste in his mouth. His hands tighten on Kris' hips, his fingernails digging into Kris' skin. Kris can see him put himself in Kris' shoes. "I'm sorry," he says. "It was stupid. I wanted them to have their parties and file their reports before I told them it wasn't me. I wanted that idiot to have to explain to his boss how he made a mistake. It was petty. And I never thought they'd tell you the same day, or—I'd have called, I'd have found you sooner."

Kris wants to hold onto the anger, but Adam's chest is whole and perfect under his hands and Adam looks like he might cry for hurting him. So instead of telling Adam off, "I know," he says calmly, soothingly. He does know. Adam is never careless with Kris. He actually seems to care to the point of obsession. Kris is pretty sure that Adam has bugged his phone, and he's definitely hacking into the PD database to keep track of Kris' cases. There's no other way he'd know to be there after all the bad ones. In his own crazy stalker way, Adam Lambert is more thoughtful than everyone else in Kris' life combined.

Whether that's healthy or not, Kris doesn't feel qualified to decide, but he's leaning towards not.

"It's fine," Kris says. "I'm fine. I just—can we stop talking about it and just have sex now?"

Adam smiles—how is it that he can look so dangerous one minute and incredibly sweet the next?—and pushes Kris' wet hair away from his forehead. His touch lingers for a moment before he pulls his hand back and places it on Kris' hip over the towel. "Kristopher Allen," he says with a sigh. "I can never say no to you."

Likewise, Kris wants to say, but habit makes him hold his tongue. He's already given up so much, what would it matter to put it all on the table now? But even when he's broken open with his guts spilling out for all to see, Kris seems to instinctively hold onto some things.

Adam tugs Kris' towel loose. "Promise me you won't hate me tomorrow," he says.

"I couldn't hate you if I tried," Kris tells him. "And trust me, I have."

~

It should feel odd, being naked when Adam is fully dressed, but honestly, Kris is enjoying it. Adam's hands have his ass in a tight grip, pulling him down to grind against the bulge in Adam's jeans, and Kris rocks into it, leaning down to bury his moan in Adam's neck.

Adam smells of sweat, and make-up, and cement—God knows where he's been. But he doesn't smell like gunpowder or blood—he's not hurt, he's here—and that's what counts, so Kris licks over his fluttering pulse and settles in to give him a hickey, letting his body melt into Adam's.

Adam's response is welcome and predictable if not familiar. He rolls them over with a growl and assaults Kris' lips to give him a deep and wet and dirty kiss.

Kris knows he's stubborn. He's always been that way. That bullheadedness is what makes him a good cop. In personal relationships though, he's never been very assertive, which, looking back, hasn't worked all that well for him. He thought for the longest time that he was subconsciously sabotaging his own love life—because what else could it be when he kept letting the other person make all the decisions and then dumping them when they weren't the ones Kris would have made? Impossible expectations, he figured, and instead of trying to fix himself, he chose to focus on what he was good at, which was police work.

As he lets Adam position his arms and legs to his liking, Kris admits to himself that with Adam, it's been different from the get-go. It's been a battle of wills that Adam masterfully manipulated so he could push and pull, make all the calls, and then give Kris what he wants in completely roundabout ways. Adam took control from the moment they met, and even when Kris couldn't—wouldn't—acknowledge it, Adam did everything the way Kris would have wanted—if he'd known to want them at all.

Adam is not psychic, he can't possibly know what's going through Kris' mind, but he somehow knows how to read Kris. If Kris was a hopeless romantic like Adam, he'd call them meant to be—soul mates, the one, whatever ridiculous name people give that one mythical ideal person for everyone. But Kris isn't, so all he sees is that he's impossibly lucky and unlucky at the same time. He's got someone who gets him like no one else ever has, who is, in fact, one step ahead of even Kris in knowing what Kris wants at times. But also: that person is a wanted criminal Kris probably should have arrested long ago.

Adam pulls back to breathe and beams down at Kris, his hair—much longer than it used to be—falling around his face, making him look young and careless. Kris wants to be young and careless with him. He wants Adam in his bed, and he wants to hold Adam's hand and take him to movies. He wants to share his mom's pie with him. He wants to let Adam decide what to order for dinner and where to have sex that night.

Kris doesn't tell Adam any of this, because it's too much and this isn't the time and Kris doesn't talk about stuff like that anyway. But he runs his fingers through Adam's hair and wraps his legs around him to pull him down, as close as they can get; and when Adam reaches for the bedside table with shaky hands, Kris grabs the headboard and lets him fumble with Kris' gun and his handcuffs before finding the lube and condoms in the back; and when Adam pushes a finger inside him, Kris arches up and says, "Yes."

~

Adam's shirt is missing half its buttons, and it's soaked with sweat, sticking to Adam's chest and back. A part of Kris wants to tell him to stop so he can undress properly and Kris can touch him everywhere, but he's feeling this completely irrational urgency, like if he doesn't get Adam inside him right now, Adam will be taken away. It makes no sense, he knows that, but he's all out of rational thought for the day. He decides that he can touch Adam later, once they've fucked and made sure that they're both alive.

Adam holds himself up with one hand as the other presses his cock into Kris. Sweat drips from his forehead to Kris' neck and his arm shakes almost imperceptibly. "Tell me if I hurt you," he says, half-pleading.

Kris doesn't tell him that he wants it to hurt. He just nods his head.

It burns a little at first and Kris rides that wave, pushing up to meet Adam's hips until it smoothes out and Adam melts into him, holding him close and kissing his face, his neck, moving his hips in and out in short thrusts that make Kris see stars every time. Kris holds onto him with one hand on his neck, the other down the back of his pants, keeping him right where he wants him, locked in the torturous rhythm.

Adam is loud. His words get indistinct after a while, but he keeps moaning and groaning and begging into Kris' mouth and his neck. There's nothing left for Kris to give him; Kris doesn't understand what more Adam could possibly want, but he holds Adam closer anyway, digging his fingers in until he's sure he's leaving bruises behind. Adam just groans and asks for more.

Kris comes first, with Adam's hand around his cock, a hint of a fingernail finishing him off. He feels Adam pump in a few more times before his hips stutter and he follows Kris with a long, breathy moan. Kris' bones have completely liquefied, and Adam is a dead weight on top of him, but surprisingly enough, Kris likes the feel of that. Adam's heart thumps against Kris' chest and his panting breaths hit Kris' neck, and when he moves to get up, Kris holds him close and says, "Stay."

Adam kisses his neck and does as he's told.

~

It wears off, of course, the rush of the orgasm and the high, and Kris has to let Adam go so he can get rid of the condom and clean up. Kris wipes his own stomach with the corner of the sheet. He doesn't trust his legs to carry him just yet, so they lie side-by-side, sweat cooling on their skin, neither of them sure what to say and where to go from here.

"I'm thinking about going home for a while," Kris says, whisper-soft.

Adam stops breathing. "Arkansas?" he asks.

Kris has never told him that, but he would have been disappointed if Adam didn't know anyway.

"Yeah," Kris says. "I need some time off. Away."

Not away from Adam particularly, but there's no way to say that without saying it, so Kris just hopes Adam understands.

Adam doesn't say anything in response. Kris knows him well enough to tell when he's plotting something—which is slightly worrying, but not necessarily a bad thing. Kris lets him take his time. He doesn't want to sabotage this, not after everything he's been through to even accept the idea of it.

"I can stay dead," Adam says finally. "I can retire. For a bit."

Kris replays the words a couple of times in his mind to make sure and then turns around to face Adam. "Retire? For a bit?"

Adam seems a little nervous, but also excited. "Why not?" He shrugs. "I'm rich. I can afford it."

Kris winces. "Don't tell me about the money, please."

"Well, you have to know about these things now," Adam says gleefully. "It's practically half yours."

Kris gapes. "We had sex. We didn't get married. We're not getting joint Swiss bank accounts."

Adam raises an eyebrow. "We haven't been waiting all this time for just sex."

Kris closes his eyes. What's he getting himself into?

"Hey," Adam says and waits for Kris to open his eyes. "I'm in love with you."

Kris thinks about all the times Adam saved him, all the times he gave Kris just what he wanted, what he needed. He thinks about Adam being dead, and then about feeling Adam's heartbeat against his chest, and he says, "Yeah. Yeah, I know that."

Adam hears what Kris is really saying and gives him a blinding smile.

6 Months Later

Kris climbs up the shaky steps of his old tree house with a plate balanced on one hand and finds Adam exactly where he left him half an hour ago: lounging against the old cushions Kris' mom donated, reading a twenty-year-old comic.

Kris hands him the plate and plops down next to him, half on the cushion, half on Adam himself.

"I'm putting on weight," Adam says, eyeing the pie.

Kris hums in agreement. That's what Adam always says, and then he asks for another slice.

"So, um," Adam says, looking intently down at his pie. "Did you call them?"

Kris nods. He knows what Adam's talking about. "Yeah. I have to do the paperwork, and go back to turn in my badge, but yeah, it's done."

Adam nods, still avoiding Kris' eyes. They've talked about this, and Adam left the decision completely up to Kris. Kris doesn't understand why he's being awkward about it now.

Adam produces an envelope from under the cushion and hands it to him. "This is for you."

Kris' questioning look goes unacknowledged. Whatever this is, Adam must be very nervous about it.

The envelope is not sealed, and inside it, Kris finds a lot of documents he can't make sense of. IRS? Why is Adam dealing with the IRS? But then among the tiny print and all the lawyer-talk he spots his own name, followed by the words private foundation, and then the amount—how many zeroes are there...? Are people even allowed to make anonymous donations of—of—that much money?

"Is this—did you—?"

Adam looks almost sheepish as he shrugs. "It seemed like the thing to do."

"It seemed... Adam." Kris puts a hand on Adam's arm to make him look up. "You don't have to do that. I don't care what you do with it."

"Will you ever want to spend it with me?"

The answer is no, they both know that, so Kris doesn't bother replying.

"Well, I'm okay with living in this tree house if that's where you want to be," Adam says, matter-of-fact. "I don't need that money." He takes a bite from his pie thoughtfully. "Besides, you can't hang around your parents' house forever. You need something to do, and you like helping people, so it works."

Kris looks down at the papers again, words blurring into a one gray blob. "Is this... everything?"

Adam shakes his head. "I kept some money for emergencies. Just in case. But that's most of it."

"But what if—"

"Kris." Adam takes the papers from his hands and places them down on the floor. Then he takes Kris' hands in his and gives him a soft, familiar kiss. "I'm not giving up anything I'm not ready to. Trust me."

"I just... you don't need to do this."

Adam gives him a look—a satisfied, self-assured look. His nervousness is all gone now. "It's the right thing to do," he says.

Kris can't object to that. But still... this is kind of huge. "Wow. Adam..."

Adam smiles and brings Kris' hand up to his lips to nip at his knuckles. "It's cool. I'll be a millionaire again in no time, you'll see."

"Really?" Kris says, pulling his hand back and biting Adam's knuckles in retaliation. "How exactly is that going to happen?"

Adam presses his fingers between Kris' teeth and into his mouth. There's just no winning with him.

"I decided what I want to do next." He pauses for dramatic effect and then announces, "I'm going to be a rock star."

Kris cracks up. He really should have guessed that. "Of course," he says. "Of course, you'll be a rock star."

Adam leans back down against the cushions contentedly, grins up at Kris, and feeds him some of his pie.

{ and they live happily ever after }

May 28th, 2011