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Kris hears Adam's arrival before he sees it. The slamming door and muttered curses tell him all he needs to know about how Adam’s day went. Kris still has nightmares about the last time Adam had a really bad day, so he runs into the kitchen and heads straight for the ice cream. If he's lucky, maybe he can curtail the oncoming storm.
Adam is your boyfriend. You are not the one he is angry with. He loves you and he will not hurt you if you get within three feet of him, Kris tells himself over and over as he ventures back into the living room. Adam is draped across the sofa with an arm covering his eyes. He looks like something out of a Victorian romance.
"Hi," Kris says softly, testing the waters and making sure his escape path is clear. If this goes to shit, Kris isn't sticking around to see the aftermath. Adam sighs loudly, slowly letting his arm fall to the floor, fingers brushing the carpet. Kris has a sudden urge to stick him in a cravat and waistcoat.
"Why, Kris? Why?" Adam moans pathetically, finally turning to meet his eyes. "I love teaching, I do. The kids have so much potential, and they listen to me when I direct them. Do you know how hard it is to find singers who actually pay attention to what they're being told?" Kris makes a noncommittal noise; right now he's a spectator, not a participant. Adam's silent for a while after that, but then he lets out another heavy sigh. Kris puts the ice cream on the coffee table and sits down next to it, settling in. He knows what Adam gearing up for a rant looks like.
"But there's always one," he says with a dark scowl. "There's always one little shit who thinks he knows better because he's been in theatre since he could talk, and he's been taking voice lessons for years, so what could a measly little choir teacher possibly teach him?" Kris bites his lip nervously, taking in Adam's expression. His eyes are narrowed, his face flushed an angry red. Kris’ eyes dart down to Adam's hand, and, yep, it's slowly trying to tear their new rug into shreds.
"Get up for a sec," Kris says, abandoning the relative safety of the coffee table and entering the war zone. Adam's brow furrows in confusion but he does it anyway, sighing happily when he lies back down, his head resting comfortably on Kris' lap. He runs his fingers through Adam's hair, smiling at the lack of product. Kris likes his hair so much better this way, soft, inky strands he can touch as much as he likes. "You know the rest of your class probably cornered that kid later and warned him to lay off their beloved teacher."
Adam makes a noise that almost sounds like a laugh. "They already did. Someone magically broke his glasses when I left the room to look for something in my office," he says with barely concealed amusement. “My money’s on Allison; girl has a mean left hook.”
Kris rolls his eyes. "Don't encourage them. Just tell me about this punk." At Adam's look, he averts his eyes, heat flooding his cheeks. "No one should talk to you like that," he grumbles, smiling slightly when Adam grabs one of his hands, squeezing tight. "I know you've been waiting all day to complain about him, so go on. How was your day, dear?" He barely muffles a snicker at the unamused look on Adam's face at the endearment.
"Absolutely dreadful, sugarplum," Adam says brightly, grinning madly at the pout on Kris' face. "I know I don't know everything there is to know about music, but I'm the one with a damn degree. I think I know what a tenor sounds like," he mutters, scowling. "He kept insisting he wasn't singing purely with chest voice. He was belting it out and drowning out everyone else," Adam says with a shudder.
"And then, we tested his range; that's where the real trouble started," he says darkly, turning his face and pressing it against Kris' stomach. "My ears were weeping, Kristopher. Weeping." Adam lets out a loud huff, his breath warm on Kris' skin, even through his shirt. "His lower register wasn't too bad. He actually has a rather pleasant baritone. But the higher we went, the worse it became. Singing louder doesn't mean you'll be able to hit the notes with more accuracy."
Kris wriggles a little, a bit uncomfortable, relieved when Adam moves to lay flat on his back, staring up at Kris with a fierce glare. "I had to explain what falsetto was at least five times. It's not that hard of a concept to grasp. You can feel the difference when you hit the note. For someone with so much experience," Adam spits out, packing as much disgust as possible into that one word, "you'd think he'd know that shouting a note doesn't qualify as using falsetto.
"If he just needed a bit of help training that part of his register and didn't realize it, I wouldn't mind. That's not the issue. The issue is that he acted like I just walked off the street and didn't know a damn thing about my own job. I'm damn good at it, Kris. I know my stuff. I know how to properly sing notes beyond my chest range without wailing like a banshee and doing some serious damage to my vocal chords," Adam says with a huff. "It was just so aggravating. I'm not an idiot. I know the difference in tone quality between someone singing in chest voice and someone using their head voice, and I know how to place people in their proper sections."
Kris has spent hours listening to Adam rage about something before; he takes a while to run out of steam. He tends to go on loop after a while, so Kris just lets the sound of his voice wash over him, the words not really registering.
Except Kris is hanging on to every word this time—even the ones Adam repeats every other sentence.
"I can tell the difference between a bass with a well-developed head voice and an actual tenor. And I know what a soprano sounds like. He had no business butting in on that. I was finally getting her to admit that maybe she should try it. She has a gorgeous dramatic soprano. That darker, rounder quality is something our soprano section could use. There's too much sunshine and rainbows in their sound. I need something a little more womanly."
Kris shifts a little more, feeling a familiar shiver travel up his spine. Is he...is he seriously getting turned on by this? He knows he could talk about music forever if given the chance, but this is a bit much. Adam giving a dissertation on proper vocal technique shouldn't be hot.
"His breath support is atrocious. It's all right in his throat. He doesn't engage his abdominals at all. My vocal chords ache in sympathy. You'd think he'd want to know how to improve. Not that he's admitted he needs to. Still. Nothing kills a voice faster than using shoddy technique."
Kris nods, feeling more than a little warm. He's sure his blush is obvious, and he's half-hard already. What the hell is wrong with him?
“You okay, baby?” Adam says, a concerned frown on his face. Kris manages a response that’s mostly coherent. Adam doesn't look convinced, but, thankfully, he lets it slide. He brings Kris' hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there. "Thanks for letting me rant, baby. I know I get repetitive, but the nerve of that kid. Like I don't know what a true falsetto sounds like. It's a lot lighter and purer in sound than whatever it is he did earlier. That kind of screaming will be the end of him," Adam says, still irritated but nowhere near as upset as he was when he first got home.
Kris wonders how inconspicuous he could make a very sudden departure. Probably not very. Being in sweats doesn't help him either. Adam's more perceptive than he lets on, and any day now, he'll notice that Kris has an erection after hearing him go on and on about vocal technique of all things.
"Kris?" Adam says carefully, suddenly very, very still.
"Yeah?" he says, watching him warily. Suddenly Adam springs up and pins Kris against the couch, palming Kris' cock through his sweats with a smug smile on his lips.
Fuck his life.
"Oh my god," Adam says, eyes bright. "Did all of that shop talk do this?" Kris turns away, hiding his face in the couch cushion. Adam keeps one hand wrapped around his wrists while the other turns Kris' face towards him. "Kris," he says gently, "tell me. Why are you hard?" he asks, emphasizing his question with a firm squeeze.
Kris shudders, arching into his touch, trying to pull enough words together to form an actual sentence. "You—when you were talking, it was... I just, I couldn't..." His face feels feverish; his blush is definitely noticeable now.
Adam laughs, soft and fond, no judgment. "You like hearing me drone on and on about vocal technique?" Kris shakes his head no half-heartedly. Adam raises a brow at him, disbelieving, looking down pointedly at the hand he currently has on Kris' dick.
"It's hot that you know stuff, okay?" he blurts out, eyes widening when realization dawns on him. "Adam, can we just—"
"Don't be embarrassed, Kris. God. That's...actually it's kind of hot that you think it's hot." He leans in closer, his lips pressed to Kris' throat, right under his ear so he can feel the words as Adam says them. "You want to hear me talk some more about proper vocal technique? I can do that. You have excellent control of your voice, by the way." Kris scoffs in reply, and Adam laughs again, affection obvious in his voice. "No, really. You have a beautiful voice, baby."
"Not as beautiful as yours," Kris can't help saying, because seriously.
Adam beams at him, still so surprised when Kris compliments him. "I'm theatricality and vocal acrobatics, Kris. You're something else," he says softly, sliding his hand past Kris' waistband and finding bare skin. "You're a slow burning flame, warm and inviting. I love hearing you sing, especially when your voice gets low and rough. It's the way you sound after I've fucked your mouth, your lips puffy and red, and that ache in your throat I know you secretly love."
"Adam," Kris breathes, whimpering when Adam wraps a hand around his cock, light, teasing touches that elicit more noises Kris tries to bite back but can't.
"That's nothing compared to how you sound when you slip into your higher register." Adam gives him a wicked grin, licking at Kris' barely parted lips and devouring the soft but audible pants escaping them. "I love your voice, Kris, that rich, sweet sound; it's like velvet. But your falsetto." Adam's grip tightens unexpectedly, real, glorious pressure that makes Kris groan and wriggle in Adam's hold.
"Want. Touch," he begs, straining towards Adam. He lets go of Kris' wrists and he immediately wraps himself around Adam, pulling him down for a kiss that leaves Kris pliant and melting against the sofa. Adam presses a few more sweet kisses to Kris' lips before moving down to his neck and latching on to the soft skin over a mark he left there a week ago that's only just now starting to fade. A particularly sharp bite makes Kris let out an embarrassingly high-pitched moan.
Adam pulls away, a self-satisfied look on his face. "Yeah, like that," he says, voice rough and throaty in a way it rarely is. "You don't use it that often, but when you do, it's just delicious." Adam's hand is slowly driving Kris to the edge, but the pace isn't enough to push him over. Adam knows how to play Kris' body just as well as he knows how to hit the notes Kris swears don't exist until Adam sings them. "It's sweet and lilting, so unexpected. The part of your range you usually use is more earthy, but you sound practically angelic when you slide into your head voice."
Adam's hand starts moving faster, and Kris' breath catches in his throat. He's so close, but he needs...he needs... "More, Adam," he gasps. "Keep talking."
Adam's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Kris is never going to get tired of surprising him. Adam presses a kiss to Kris' jaw. "I said that your lower register reminds me of what you sound like, what you look like, after you've sucked me off. Can you guess what this," a twist of his hand that elicits a sharp gasp, "reminds me of?" K ris shakes his head, but Adam can tell he knows the answer.
"When I'm inside you," Adam says, voice dipping lower than it normally does, hot and sultry, "you make those same sounds. When I fuck you, when I push my fingers into your greedy little ass so you can take my cock, you sound just. like. this."
Kris comes with another high-pitched sound, his nails digging into Adam's shoulders, arching up as much as possible so he can feel Adam, over him and around him, like if he holds on tight enough and pushes close enough he can slide inside and have Adam always.
Slowly his vision clears and his breathing slows down to its normal tempo. Kris feels like floating, so content that ever moving from this spot seems impossible. Adam is petting his hair, tender little kisses pressed to his jawline and along the line of his throat. Kris reluctantly sits up, Adam moving with him, and pushes him back down so he can sprawl out on top of him.
"Wait," Kris mumbles, already half-asleep, "you didn't—"
Adam laughs a bit sheepishly. "I did," he says, taking Kris' hand and pressing it to the crotch of Adam's now damp jeans. "Fuck, baby. You were just so..." Adam trails off, something like wonder in his voice.
"Should go clean up," Kris says, nuzzling into his spot on Adam's shoulder, breathing him in and sighing happily.
"Probably," Adam says agreeably.
“Your ice cream’s probably soup by now.”
“Definitely,” Adam says, sounding so relaxed Kris would swear he’s stoned.
"Can we least move to the bed?" Kris mutters sleepily, too sated to follow through and actually get up. He gives in and closes his eyes, sighing happily.
"Later," Adam says, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Kris and closing his own eyes. "Then I can tell you some more about my day," he says teasingly. The promise lurking underneath the light words makes Kris shiver.
"Can't wait," he manages to say before succumbing to sleep, Adam's laughter the last thing he hears.