samanthahirr (samanthahirr) wrote,
samanthahirr
samanthahirr

Fic: Trading Spaces

Title: Trading Spaces
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Fandom: American Idol
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1,300 words
Disclaimer: No infringement on the rights of real people intended. Not profiting in any way.
Notes: Written for Round 5 of the Kradam Madness monthly challenge community. This fits the November 2010 theme "Space."

Summary: Kris and Adam redesign rooms in each others' homes for an episode of Celebrity Trading Spaces.



"Looks like he's speechless!" Ty Pennington smirked at the cameras.

That was an understatement. Kris was beyond speechless.

"He loves it," Adam shouted confidently from offset—or Kris's front hallway.

"Dude, let go," Ty hissed through his smile, prying Kris's fingers off his wrist so he could gesture to the remodeled living room. "And no bachelor pad would be complete without a Sony hi-def flat screen and full Bose home theatre surround sound! Adam threw in the multi-room setup, extra," he said cheerfully, pressing a remote control to reveal the huge TV and stereo recessed behind a sliding wall panel.

That system had easily cost $8000; Kris'd been pricing them since Katy moved out two months ago, but it was the kind of expense he could never justify spending on himself. Unlike the state-of-the-art recording suite he'd just installed in Adam's basement with the help of the Trading Spaces crew. He hadn't blinked twice at spending the money on his best friend.

Adam's redesign of Kris's space, however, had him blinking all over the place. He could feel his face heating up and his throat tightening as he looked at everything his friend had done for him.

Kris made himself shake off the initial shock to take in the finer details: the shimmery purple-and-gold curtains blocking out all the natural light; the plush, zebra-print rug; the sticks of lit incense smoking on every available surface; the linear-burner gas fireplace that had replaced the wall previously separating the living room and dining room—and had most definitely violated the terms of his lease.

Kris choked down his rage and forced his lips up into a smile. "It's really something," he said.

"And it was all last-minute," Ty gushed with fake enthusiasm. "We started doing a Southern Living vibe, and out of nowhere Adam completely changed his mind. We had to bring in extra guys to get it done overnight!"

Kris nodded like he was listening, all the while staring at the shiny metal pole in the corner of his room. Was that really a…. No, never mind, it was obviously a stripper pole. In his living room. Where he hung out with his family and friends and met with his management team.

The over-tanned host was looking at him expectantly, and the cameras were still rolling. "Wow," he said.

"Great!" Ty shouted, turning to the cameras again. "Another great couple of transformations, for a couple of great stars. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted! I'm gonna get some rest before I tackle our next set of guests…and you're not gonna wanna miss them. See you next time on Trading Spaces: Celebrity Edition!"

He held his goofy, plastic smile for another few seconds before the light rig switched off, the cameras drooped to aim at the floor, and the five crew members in the room gave hearty sighs of relief.

"Thanks for being a good sport," Ty said, squeezing Kris's arm. "I'm really sorry about this. A production assistant's gonna come by tomorrow with the receipts and warranties, and the contractors' paperwork for you to sign off on."

Adam snuck through the doorway, his hands dug deep in his front pockets and a shit-eating grin on his face. The host glared at Adam and added, "That rug isn't StainMaster, so watch the blood spray," before he walked out.

"Hey," Adam said as the last of the sound guys fled the scene of imminent violence. "Whataya think?"

Kris released his breath in a rush and took a long moment before answering, "I think I need a new best friend."

"Ouch." Adam didn't look surprised. Or hurt.

"I can't even imagine what you were thinking," Kris said, his anger already receded to bitter resignation. "This wasn't what we agreed on. This is…this is insane."

"Insanely fabulous," Adam agreed.

"I don't get it. What happened to Southern Living? I told you to use that magazine."

Adam snorted. "Yeah, and I was, until one of the crew let slip about the recording studio."

Kris huffed and flopped down on one of the overstuffed, black leather couches. It was ridiculously comfortable in a luxurious, over-the-top way, but he wasn't about to admit that to Adam. "That was supposed to be a surprise."

"Obviously. Because you were supposed to be making me a temperature-controlled wine cellar."

"That's no excuse," Kris said defensively, remembering his guilty excitement when he'd first thought up the studio design. "How do you go from surprise-awesome-recording-studio to destroying-my-condo-with-glam?"

Adam threw out his arms, doing a turn in the middle of the room. "Come on, this is gorgeous. This is exactly the room I always wanted."

"Then do it in your house, not mine. You're not the one who has to live here."

"Bull shit," Adam grinned. "Fair's fair, Kristopher. You install the studio of your dreams—your dreams—in my home, I get the living room of my dreams in yours."

Kris opened his mouth to protest but Adam wasn't listening.

"You know I don't need my own recording studio," Adam said, flipping a switch on the wall. The propane jets sparked blue and then orange, firelight flickering up the glass walls with a faint hiss. "You built it so you'd have a reason to spend more time at my place. You can't get enough of me."

"I thought you'd like—"

"Sweetie, please." Adam turned a dial, and the pair of four-tiered, crystal-and-onyx chandeliers dimmed to a faint glow. "I know exactly what you were thinking."

"I thought," Kris tried again, "I mean, it's a great investment! What if you wanna use it someday…."

Adam scooped up another remote from the glossy black coffee table and switched on the stereo. A deep bass beat started thudding through the darkened room, tingling up Kris's spine where it pressed against the leather. His gut tightened in response, and his dick twitched approvingly.

"Wait," Kris said, belatedly noticing the mood Adam had created in the room.

"Can you feel the subwoofers?" Adam sank down onto the couch next to him, a hand braced on the cushion above Kris's head. "Oh yeah, that's nice," he purred.

"Adam, wait—"

"If you need another excuse to be around me," Adam cut him off, "I'll give you the perfect one." He swung a leg over Kris's thighs and leaned in, nosing along the side of his neck.

Kris's body melted into the cushions, his neck arching back as his cock jerked in his jeans, his brain spinning. He hadn't known, hadn't thought he wanted…. "Jesus—"

"I know, baby," Adam said against his skin. "C'mere," and he tipped Kris's face over and kissed him with soft lips.

Kris gasped, hand rising instinctively to Adam's hip. Adam smiled against his mouth and kissed him again, opening Kris up with his tongue, teasing a groan out of him with his taste. Adam's long fingers were hot on Kris's cheek, the leather under them heating up to skin temperature and molding to their bodies, the candlelight—firelight, he corrected himself, lease-violating firelight—the music, the musky incense…every one of his senses had been taken over by Adam.

Kris whimpered and tried to turn his body to get even closer, but Adam had him securely pinned.

"Admit it," Adam whispered, hand sliding under Kris's t-shirt to thumb one of his nipples. "You love this room."

Oh god, he did. This was the best room ever. But with his last shred of indignation, Kris got a handful of Adam's hair and dragged him in for a deeper kiss before mumbling his final protest into Adam's mouth.

Adam pulled back, laughing. "Did you say 'stripper pole'?"

Kris's face flamed red, but he nodded stubbornly.

"Mmm, don't knock it 'til you've seen me try it," Adam suggested. And then he shifted up to straddle Kris and rolled his hips in a way that made Kris very interested in a demonstration.

Tags: american idol / glam rock rpf, fiction
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