Adam had expected Kris to be kind of shy about getting naked. Maybe it's a stereotype, maybe he's even bought into the whole "aw shucks" thing that Kris pulls off so well, but whatever, he didn't expect Kris reaction to the lake to be starting to strip off his clothes. "You have a water kink I don't know about?"

Kris throws him a laughing look and toes off his sneakers, hands dropping (with Adam's avid attention) to his belt buckle. "I haven't been swimming in months, man, I used to come here all the time."

Here is some place Adam's never heard of, but since that applies to most of Arkansas, he's not really worrying about that right now. "Swimming? Like in pools? With life guards and safety systems and chlorine and nothing waiting to eat you?"

"Like swimming." Kris rolls his eyes and shucks his jeans, then his underwear and hello naked Kris, nice to see you again. "C'mon, it's fun."

"Is it even safe to swim here?" Adam eyes the lake doubtfully. It's pretty, fantastic example of the beauty of nature and so on, but swimming? "Is it deep enough? Is it too deep? Are there currents?"

Kris laughs at him and reaches up to undo Adam's necklaces. "I used to swim here since I was about four, it's safe."

"You were smaller when you were four!" Adam protests. He already knows he's going to do this. Kris wants to do it, doing it will make Kris happy, ergo Adam's going to swim in a lake full of god only knows what.

"It gets deeper further out," Kris promises. He tucks Adam's necklaces into the pocket of his jeans and starts on his cuffs. "I'll protect you from the big bad lake monster."

Adam gives Kris a dark look and crouches down, undoing his boots. "What am I gonna tell your mom and dad? And Jive? Sorry, your Idol got drowned in a lake?"

"I'm not gonna drown," Kris says firmly and nearly knocks Adam over by tugging his t-shirt over his head when he's not expecting it. "Hurry up."

He's going to get sunburned on top of everything else. It's still going to be worth it. He tugs off the rest of his clothes and has to admit it's kind of nice to feel the sun on his skin again. It is pretty private. No one else is around and if anyone does turn up, they'll be able to see in plenty of time to get covered up.

Kris makes a happy sound and heads off towards the water. Adam finishes taking off his rings, leaves everything tucked together, and follows more slowly, stopping when he's about ankle deep. "Holy shit, Kris, it's freezing!"

Kris laughs again, still heading into the water like it's not cold enough to ache all the way down to his bones. Adam grits his teeth and follows. He can do this. Kris wants it, he can do it, fuck, it's getting colder as he gets deeper, there must be some kind of ice monster living in this lake. Then he yelps, automatically reaching down to cup his cock and balls in a vain attempt to protect them from the cold of the water.

Adam's beginning to suspect Kris of being completely impervious to cold and also a sadist, from the way he grins at Adam's discomfort.

"City boy," Kris accuses and then he's gone.

Adam stares in complete and utter panic for a moment then flails deeper into the water, heading towards the last place he saw Kris, disregarding the cold or the way his genitals are trying to climb back inside his body. He'd been kidding about drowning. He'd never actually thought that Kris could drown, disappear like that, ice around his heart way colder than the water, making it hard to breathe. "Kris! Kris!"

There's movement in the water. He's not sure if it's Kris or some fish or whatever that's living in the lake but he's taking no chances, heading straight for it. Something brushes against his legs and he stops, biting back the yelp of terror that wants to escape. "Kris!"

It touches his leg again and Adam loses his balance, arms windmilling in a vain attempt to stop himself falling into the water. "Kriiiiiis!"

He lands with a loud splash, cold water everywhere, into his hair, over his nipples and armpits which are nearly as unhappy about the temperature as his balls are, over his face, and then the lake in front of him erupts with a grinning Kris.

Adam's not sure if he wants to kiss him or push him back under the water and kill him.

Adam's convinced he's high. Or dreaming. Or high. Maybe he's high and dreaming, because he'd swear that the old man with the fancy vest had dragged him into a phone booth and what he's ended up in is nothing like a phone booth. For one thing, it's huge.

Also he really has never been on his knees in a phone booth, contrary to what Perez might say.

"Just over there, dear boy, that's right," the old guy trills. "In the corner, nice and neat."

Like he's got any choice. His hands are tied behind his back, and they're fastened to his ankles, which means he doesn't really have much choice except kneeling where he's been put. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, just taking over the world." The nut job gives him a disturbingly twinkly smile. "And I do like a little music while traveling."

"It's a what?" Adam flattens himself against the wall next to the tiny Asian woman, and tries not to look around the corner again. He can smell the thing, anyway. It's sort of like the bus after a week on the road when Tommy's been eating nothing but burritos.

"A weevil," the woman says crisply, if breathlessly, rummaging in her purse.

He risks a glance anyway, recoiling. "They're native?"

She looks up at him like he's a complete moron. "They're really not." She holds up an aerosol that looks a lot like pepper spray. Maybe mace. "This should take care of it, though."

"You're gonna style it's hair?" Adam asks incredulously. If the thing even has any hair, seriously, he should just have gone straight back to the buses after set-up.

Evidently he's not gaining any points in the woman's eyes. "It's anti-weevil spray."

"Of course it is." Right. She's insane. On the other hand, if the thing's a hallucination, it's a shared one, and a smelly one. "So you're just gonna... spray it and it runs away?"

"Try not to be so stupid." She zips her purse again and slings it across her back. "You're going to distract it, I'm going to spray it, and it's going to pass out."

Of course. Why didn't he think of that? "Distract it how?"

"You could try talking to it," she says waspishly. "Now, before it goes away."

"I want it to go away!" Adam protests and freezes. Apparently the thing's got really good hearing. "Okay, right, going to... distract."

Except just distracting it doesn't seem enough. Not when he's this big six foot plus guy and she's all tiny in all sorts of ways and she's only armed with pepper spray. He takes a deep breath, regrets it when his lungs fill with the stench of weevil, and strolls out around the corner, as casually as he can.

The weevil looks at him, nostrils flaring (if those are even nostrils), lip curling to show some really bad dentistry, even by the standards Adam's already seen in Wales, and growls.

Adam stands his ground. "So, uh... where's good to eat around here?"

The weevil takes a pace towards him, and it's all Adam can do not to take a step back. "I mean, I'm new in town, you look like you know your way around..."

He can hear stealthy footsteps behind him, and if he can hear them, the weevil probably can too. He keeps talking, desperately trying to cover the sound. "And I could really do with a few pointers..."

The weevil stops still, looking at him, and growls again, deeper, louder. Aw, shit. Adam abandons diplomacy, lets out what he hopes is a blood-curdling, definitely high-pitched yell, and runs towards it.

"Get down!" the woman calls from behind him, but it's too late for Adam to stop. he does lower his head, though, hitting the apparently startled weevil hard in the thorax and bearing it back a couple of paces before something hisses over his head and the weevil drops.

So does Adam, rather shocked, dropping to his knees on the ground next to the laid out weevil. "I'm Adam," he tells the woman breathlessly and offers his hand.

She looks at him for a moment, then gives him a small smile and her hand. "Tosh," she says, shaking his hand. "Let me buy you a drink."

The apartment's bigger than Adam expected, if he expected anything much at all, but he's not paying that much attention to the apartment. He's more giddy and paying attention to the really hot guy pressed up against him, kissing him with enthusiasm. Adam skims his hands down Alex's back, over his t-shirt, stopping when Alex pulls away to grin up at him, eyes dark and bright. "Mi casa es su casa and all that, right?"

"Right," Adam agrees, distracted because Alex is stripping off his own t-shirt and Alex is all tanned and slender and smooth and Adam's cock is pressing against his jeans in clear appreciation of that. He steps forwards, following instinct, and runs his hands over Alex's chest, fingers slightly curled so he can press fingertips against skin.

Alex grins and covers Adam's hands with his own, guiding them downwards. "First time?"

The question cuts through the haze of holy shit this is really happening with a cold blade of fuck is it really that obvious, but if Alex can ask, Adam can answer, and he's not gonna lie. "Yeah," he admits. "Is that a problem for you?"

"Oh, really not," Alex assures him, pressing Adam's left hand down a bit further so his palm's right over the bulge of Alex's cock and the physical evidence that it's really not a problem for Alex in any way at all.

Adam's fingers twitch once as he hesitates, and then he curls his fingers further, cupping around Alex's cock through his pants. Alex makes a throaty noise of appreciation, keeping his hand over Adam's. "First time coming back to a guy's place, or first time for everything?"

He's promised himself honesty, but it's harder than he thinks to actually say it. "I've kissed guys."

"Mmm, I know, honey." Alex smirks up at him and Adam has another moment of startled realization that he's actually taller than Alex. "And you're really good at it. Ever given a hand job?"

"No," he admits and tentatively strokes his hand over Alex's cock, encouraged by the way Alex's hand follows his. "Is that what you want?"

Alex lets go of Adam's right hand, and pops the button of his own fly. "No, baby. Ever given a blow job?"

He's beginning to feel really self-conscious about his inexperience. "No," he says, more quietly.

"Ever had a blow job?" Alex slides his free hand under Adam's t-shirt, resting familiarly against his side.

"No," Adam says again. His voice is lighter, a little more breathy, and heat spreads from where Alex's hand touches his skin as well as where his own hand is rubbing slowly over Alex's cock. "Is that..."

Alex shakes his head and lets go of Adam's hand completely to push his t-shirt up. "That's just gonna take the edge off," he says softly. "Before you fuck me."

Adam nearly comes in his pants untouched.

"Oh, my God." Adam stares at the screen again, grin widening. "Oh my God, holy shit."

"I guess that's a variation," Tommy remarks, leaning over his shoulder to look at the screen "What's going on?"

"Oh my God," Adam says again, spins his chair around and bounces up. "Holy shit, oh my God."

It can't be true. It can't be, it's got to be some kind of trick or a dream or something not real, except it's there on his screen. In his email. His official email, the one Lane makes him use for contractual and business stuff. The one she can access so he's not allowed to use it to email Brad any more or, more to the point, get emails from Brad.

"Holy shit what?" Tommy drops down into Adam's chair to read the email.

Adam waits, grinning, and bouncing slightly on the balls of his (bare) feet. There's a moment, just long enough for Tommy to read it and then...

"Holy fucking shit, man." Tommy drops his head back and stares at Adam. "Seriously?"

"Totally seriously," Adam confirms. He's never going to stop grinning, ever again. In his life. "David fucking Bowie said yes!"

Adam loves cock, okay? He loves cock and he loves pretty boys and he's loved Brad pretty much as long as he can remember. Loving Tommy Joe's still shining with newness and okay, so he'd heard of threesomes before but he'd never actually had one that lasted longer than a one night fun thing until he worked out that Tommy wasn't fucking off just because the tour had ended and Brad wasn't fucking off, oh, ever, so somehow they had to find a solution.

This, he figures, is the best solution ever.

He kind of wishes he had two mouths so he could suck them both off at the same time because if they're pretty, shit, their cocks are even prettier. Brad's all kind of graceful, slender and curved, flushing a dark olive when he's hard (which is pretty much most of the time Adam gets to see his cock, really). In comparison, Tommy's paler, pinker, and thicker, gorgeously straight. Tommy fills his mouth more but Brad's easier to deep-throat and he fucking loves them both and with them both sprawled out naked for him, he really doesn't know where to start first.

(There's also the thing where if he's sucking them off he doesn't get to see their faces, but this time the web-cam's going to take care of that so they can all watch it back together later.)

Thin fingers slide into his hair and tug sharply - Brad, for sure - but it's Tommy's voice that comes through, drowsy and slow, thick with desire. "Are you gonna just, like, fucking look at us all fucking night?"

He bites Tommy's thigh in response, not too hard, just enough to get a ragged curse from Tommy, a delighted giggle from Brad, and leave a swiftly fading mark on pale skin, then licks over it. Decision made. "Good things come to those who wait," he chides primly, like he's not got a hand on each of them. Like he's not naked on the bed, crouched over two of the prettiest boys ever to walk the earth, playing some fucked up mental game of eeny meeny miny mo.

He slides his hands up and curls his left hand around Brad's cock, his right around Tommy's, and grins up at them. Impatient bitches have started without him, and they're kissing, Tommy's hand on Brad's face partly blocking his view but nowhere near enough to stop him knowing what's going on. It's fucking hot, and it's his. They're his.

(And he can get a better view of the kiss from the web-cam after.)

It starts with a headache. At least, it probably does, because no one ever takes notice of a headache, right? Just a headache. Adam swallows a couple of Advil, then a couple more at bedtime, and falls into bed expecting it to be gone by morning.

It's not. Morning's worse, pain so sharp he doesn't want to open his eyes, never mind the drapes. Thank fuck he's in a hotel, because the noise of the A/C is painful enough, and so is every movement of his head. The bus would be unbearable, too much noise and movement and not enough air, shit, there's nowhere near enough air.

He's still in bed when Tommy pushes the door open, spilling light into the room, and that's enough to get him to move. A whimper that reverberates through his head, and he pulls a pillow over his eyes, blocking the light out, and he thinks he's got away with it for a few blessed seconds until the mattress dips and the pillow's ruthlessly pulled away.

"Fuck off." He curls up, arms folding over his face in place of the pillow, shivering as the ache of movement settles through his muscles.

"Like that's fucking likely." Tommy's hand sweeps over his hair, gentle but still enough to set off a fresh burst of pain. "What'd you take last night?"

His brain's sluggish enough that it takes a while to get what Tommy's asking, and when he does get it, he groans. He regrets the groan the moment it's out because that fucking hurts, too. "Advil?"

"That's it?" There's silence for a moment. Adam sinks into it in utter relief, until the mattress moves again. "I'm getting Lane."

~~~

Adam doesn't remember Lane coming in. He doesn't remember much. There are vague impressions of movement that he resents intensely, hands stopping him from curling up, the weight of blankets. Movement and motors and bright lights, interspersed with blessed blankness. It's better when it's blank. When it's blank, nothing hurts. When it's not blank, there's a sharp smell and a confusion of voices, nothing he can identify. Not even how much time passes. Hours, maybe days. It doesn't matter.

Not until he does recognize a voice.

It's not a voice he expects to hear. Kris is busy, Kris is the other side of the country, Kris is touring and promoting his new album. Kris can't be here. Wherever he is.

That's definitely Kris's voice, though, dry and rough, cracked, like he's been singing too much, talking too much, not resting and not drinking enough. He wants to reach out, to touch Kris, to do something to let him know that he's there, something to ease the distress in his voice, but the pain's blanketed in something thick, heavy and dark, and he can't move.

~~~

Next time the pain breaks, it's clearer. Adam draws a deep breath, testing, and another when it doesn't hurt. At least, it doesn't hurt as much as he expects. He's finally warm, but his hand's warmer, and he risks opening his eyes, slitting them cautiously against expectation of light and agony. It aches, and the flinch is still there, but he can almost focus, a beloved familiar shape blurred by the side of his bed, an unfamiliar room beyond.

Kris.

He's slumped over the bed, his shoulder a graceless curve of shadow, hair a wild tangle of spikes, but none of that matters. What matters is that the warmth Adam can feel is Kris holding his hand.

He smiles, lets his eyes close, finally relaxes and sinks back into the darkness.