Kris wings photoshoot for krismc09, from the latest ontd_ai Kradam party:
Kris is grinning like an enormous dork, tottering around the dressing room on the huge platforms with the little black wings bobbing behind him, and meanwhile all Adam can think is how much he wants to touch, wants to sink his hands into feathers and hair and slide them over skin and make Kris feel it too, and then Kris says, "Ow!" and it turns out that the whole envision-the-reality-you-want thing Adam has had going since Burning Man is a little more literal than he'd realized, and now Kris actually has a pair of adorable little black-feathered wings.
"Thanks a lot," Kris says, fluttering the wings in the mirror, trying to peer over his own bare shoulder to see. The wings blend into his back, attaching at the shoulders.
"I didn't know!" Adam says, edging a little closer. His hands are aching to touch. "How could I know? They're -- " He wants to say you, but the whole point of this photoshoot is that they aren't, even if there's something just as ridiculously improbable and delicious about the little black wings as there is about all the rest of Kris. "They're cute," he settles for saying.
"I can't even fly with them," Kris says. "You couldn't give me real wings? That would be cool, man."
Adam creeps just that last bit closer, and risks putting a hand on Kris's back, just beside the left wing. He brushes his thumb along the ridge where it rises away from the body. Kris drags in a loud, startled breath, and falls silent. The wings rise and fall a little, but they don't flinch away.
"Maybe they'll grow," Adam says softly, and buries his face in feathers.
Sam and Dean trapped on American Idol for veronamay, from the awesome, awesome, awesome Changing Channels commentfic meme:
"So what are you doing this week?" the tall black-haired guy asks, leaning in to the mirror to check his eyeliner.
Dean blinks, still a little whiplashed from the last moments of singing the fourth round of "C is for Crunchy Carrot" and says, "Uhhh."
Sam makes the save, so maybe he knows what this is, although he's looking confused and wary. "We haven't picked yet, what about you?"
"You didn't hear me yelling about it last night? They cleared the Zep!" the guy says.
"The Zep?" Dean says.
The guy throws him an eyebrow-popped look and throws his head back and yowls out a perfect Robert Plant wail of "Wooooo-maaaaaan!" that practically makes the walls shake.
"Awesome," Dean says, a little starry-eyed, and jumps as Sam elbows him. "What?"
"So what are you going to sing?" Sam says through gritted teeth, and Dean stares at him.
"I have to sing?" Dean says.
"This is American Idol," the rock god says.
"Wait," Dean says to Sam, "how can we be on American Idol? Isn't that -- real?"
Sam shrugs helplessly.
"Baby, this is about as real as Fruit Loops," the rock god says. "Don't worry. Danny's doing Dream On, so really, it's all up from there."
"Oh, you're kidding me," Sam says, and slams the door to Kris and Adam's room as fast as he opened it, because he really didn't need to see that. "Goddammit, Dean!" he yells through the door.
Dean yells something back, but it comes out muffled.
Sam turns around, pissed; he isn't sure whether they have to get voted on or off to make it through this one, but he's really damn sure this isn't going to help either way. "I don't think we're getting your guitar right now."
Kris is still staring at the door. He looks slammed, like he can't decide between jealousy and just plain misery. Later, in the kitchen downstairs, Sam jabs Dean with an elbow. "You're a dick," he says, with feeling.
"Shut up, you heard him rehearse," Dean says, around a mouthful of chocolate cake, custom-baked. "Jesus, Sammy, this is good. I like this one. Maybe we can stay a while."
"Only until after you sing tomorrow," Sam says meanly, except the next day Dean opens his mouth and belts out Living On A Prayer like a champ, or at least like someone who can get more than two notes on key in a row, and their duet of Back In Black gets a nod from Simon, and Danny butchers his song so badly there's no chance he's not going home.
"So we get another week, huh," Dean says, leering hopefully at Adam in his Elvis leather, and saunters over towards him. Sam glares after him. Kris is at the other end of the dressing room, crumpled and sad and pretending he's not watching.
"Sorry," Sam says to him, and Kris starts and looks guilty. "No, uh, it's," Kris says hurriedly, and gets busy packing up his guitar. But in the limo on the way home, Sam overhears him saying to Adam, low, "I didn't think he was your type."
He's trying for a joking tone. It crashes and burns. Adam looks over at him and the smile that curves his lips couldn't be more satisfied. "He's not," Adam murmurs, leaning in close. His fingers curl around the side of Kris's neck, and Kris shivers visibly. "His mouth is beautiful, though, don't you think?"
Adam flicks a sly, gleeful-wicked look over Kris's head right at Sam while he says it. Sam stares at him, and makes the mistake of looking over at Dean, sitting on the other side next to the minibar and putting a beer bottle to his mouth.
Sam hates the trickster so fucking much.
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