Fic: Layers
Author: weisswalder
Title: Layers
Fandom/Pairing: Kris Allen/Adam Lambert
Rating: PG-13, for minor language, alcohol use and sensuality
Summary: Put it together. Now, take it apart.
Notes: Sequel to Schadenfreude and the fifth chapter in the Trials by Fire series. This is the turning point of the series, with a much more somber and hopeful outlook.
Disclaimer: This is a profitless work of fiction, and is in no way associated with American Idol or its contestants.
Matt pours the bottle of the fifteen year aged Laphroaig into two lowball glasses; the pungent, single malt scotch cascading over the ice. He sighs and swirls his drink as we stare out at the night sky from our seats on the front porch, a few stray stars faintly signaling for a moon that would never show.
"Sad to see you go, man. Maybe Kara could strap you to her ankle and hold someone at knifepoint until the producers agree to let you stay?" I tease, clinking my glass to his and taking a long swig. The whiskey goes down smooth and warm, with a peppery finish. It suits Matt perfectly.
"Nah, I think my luck has run out." Matt takes a sip himself, leaning back on the concrete steps with one arm to examine the entire sky. "But I'm glad I was able to stay long enough for Rat Pack Week. I was able to leave with a bang, you know? Besides..." He turns to face me, grinning widely. "I'd rather not stick around to see how badly I'd crash and burn for Rock Week."
"Oh come on, it wouldn't be so bad! You just need some flavor. Platform boots, a leather jacket, maybe some glitter in your hair..." I reach over and muss wildly with his hair, the short, dense curls fraying in every direction. He laughs heartily and nudges me against the shoulder.
"Sorry, but this ship has already sank! Maybe you can work your magic on Danny instead!" He wags his eyebrows suggestively.
"I think my advice for him is going to fall on deaf ears," I giggle. The first and only time I tried to jokingly offer him my eyeliner, Danny hilariously suggested that he preferred pens over pencils. He's about as Rock as John Tesh.
"So who are you going to duet with?" Matt rattles the ice in his glass.
I grab the bottle and top off both of our drinks, Matt raising his in good spirit before tipping it back. "Probably Allison. We have a lot in common, and she's like a little sister to me... I think we could make something work."
Matt smirks slyly, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. "That's dirty, dude! Rockers never duet with their sisters. Watch your back or she might weave a spell on you!" He waves his fingers for added effect.
"Ugh, don't go there. I'll pick something chaste, I promise." Matt regards my statement with the utmost irony, his lips stretched thinly from ear to ear. "Ok, fine! As innocent as I can possibly make it! Satisfied?"
"You've got your work cut out for you," He chuckles low in his throat. "Still... that means Kris has to sing with Danny. Way to throw him to the sharks!" Matt rolls his arms close by his side, imitating a train in motion as he pulls on an imaginary whistle, a quiet chugga-chugga choo choo! that grows in volume, ending with a dramatic flailing of his arms and a pronounced BOOOOOM!! for added effect.
The parody is lost on me. I take a long, slow draw of the alcohol, a pleasant burn developing in the pit of my stomach as I choose my words with care. "I..." But it's no longer my problem alone, so I take another sip and start again. "We just need some space. Trying to work together now would be an invitation for disaster."
A melancholy tune drifts down from the balcony on the left side of the mansion, the mid-tempo plucking of strings accompanied by a quiet tenor hum. I glance far over my shoulder, straining to recall the words to the song, the melody so familiar and strangely relevant, but my search gets lost in the shuffle as memories from three days ago pop to the surface, Katy's words ringing loud in my ears.
"Katy, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened... who I even was..."
A gentle smile. "Kris is my best friend, and I love him."
"I know you can't forgive me... he can't forgive me."
A whispered threat. "If you hurt him again? I won't be so quiet about what's happened. I will ruin you, Adam Lambert."
Two firm pats against my cheek. "You have a month. Make the most of it."
A strong hand on my shoulder snaps me out of my rumination, my unconscious harmonized droning with Kris dying out abruptly. I look back at Matt, his gaze also fixated on the source of the music.
"You really love him, don't you."
I sigh and lay back against the concrete, staring up at the black canvas of space, its existence as vast and empty as my response.
"It's ok to love him, you know." Matt pulls his legs close to his body and joins in the stargazing, his view focused out above the palms lining the driveway.
"But it's not ok to incite his anger, violate him, endanger his sanity and his marriage." I retort, shading my eyes with the back of my hand, the reality of the situation blinding even in the darkness.
"Well... no, it's not." Matt concurs, the ice in his glass jingling brightly as he drains the last of his scotch. "I'll admit, I wanted to kill you after everything that went down. I didn't understand just how deep the problem was, but..." He shifts his body to face me directly. "It's not just you, is it? Kris has changed." There's an awkward silence between us before Matt hesitantly continues. "...is he bi? Or gay?"
"No, I don't think so." I prop myself up on my elbows as I contemplate his question. "I think Kris is just... sympathetic. The competition is getting to him. He knows that I could be the next to go, so he's trying to share himself as much as he can, convince himself that it's not his fault if I leave. But then, Kris doesn't seem to even recognize himself anymore, so..." I shrug, unable to offer a more adaquate explanation.
Matt regards me with pity as he offers the bottle and I place my hand over the glass, shaking my head slowly. "Another drink might help, Adam."
"No... no, I won't run away anymore." I smile sadly, pouring the last melting chips of ice out onto the ground. "Trying to forget about him just made things worse. So..." I stand up and stretch my legs, brushing the faint layer of dust from my pants. "I'm going to take this as a lesson. Observe patiently and learn. Remember everything and store it away."
Matt ditches the formalities and takes a swig straight from the bottle. "You owe it to each other to fix things." He stares up at me, his eyes hard and direct. "No matter what."
"Maybe," I grin, interlocking my fingers high above my head and leaning from side to side. "But, I do know..." The song comes to an end, a pleasant chord echoing out across the estate. "Life would be better remembering Kris, the good and the bad, than having never met him at all."
"This is too deep for me, man." Matt grins around the lip of the bottle, then pushes the cork back in and throws a punch at the side of my leg. "When I come back, I want to know who's on top, ok?"
I huff and plant a weak kick in his ribs, Matt simultaneously giggling and wheezing as I head inside.
---
I shake him gently by the shoulder. "Kris... Kris, wake up."
He mumbles faintly, his eyes cracking open ever so slightly. "What..." He lifts an arm out from beneath the celadon sheets and picks up the alarm clock, the bold red numbers reading 1:13. "It's one in the morning, go away..." Kris turns to face away from me, pulling the covers over his head tightly.
"I want to make a cake for Allison."
"We just did that today," His words are muffled and gravelly with sleep.
"And she got it smashed in her face," I recall, the messy events humorous but somehow unfulfilling. "She deserves better than that."
"What do I need to go for?" Kris whines, shifting onto his back, the thin cotton material settling around his body.
"In case I get mugged! I need someone with a strong right hook."
"Shut up..." Kris shuffles to the far side of the bed and uncovers his face, glowering at me. "Take Danny with you. He can sit on them."
"But if I take Danny with me to the market, we might never make it back," I grin at my joke. Kris doesn't find it nearly as amusing, his face unchanging in expression. The stillness of the night throbs in our room, the chirping of a few cicadas the only disturbance. I'm not above begging, so I rest my hand on his chest, softening my face to be as unthreatening as possible. "Please? I know shit about baking."
The response is startling. Kris' breath hitches in his throat, his complexion blooming on his cheeks. I can feel his heartrate accelerating rapidly beneath my touch, the sheets rustling faintly as his entire body shakes. Kris licks his lips but says nothing, the shaking increasing in frequency as he forgets to respire. His entire visage is painfully erotic -- and painfully frightened -- so I remove myself, standing stiffly in place.
"You can say no, Kris. If you want." He looks completely bewildered, tiny gasps punctuating the silence between us.
I turn to leave, my hand on the doorknob as Kris pushes himself up, running his palms across the tousled auburn mess on his head. "I'll go."
Relief floods through my body, and I can barely contain my excitement as I clap like a twelve year old girl. "Oh, thank you! I have no idea what I'm doing." I pluck the keyring from my nightstand and swing it in circles on one finger, waiting.
Kris makes no motion to move, his fists curled in tight balls at the hem of his covers. "I need to get dressed..." He examines the carpet in great detail, glancing back and forth between it and the oaken doors of the closet on the far side of the room.
"Ok, sure." I bounce back onto my bed, strumming my fingers against the cushiony mattress as I wait. "Take your time."
There's an uncomfortable pause as Kris dangles one foot down and then retracts it, exasperation written clearly across his face as he cradles his forehead in his hand and points at the door. "Adam, get out! Just wait for me in the hallway, alright?!"
"Umm... oh. Oh!" I'm mumbling apologies in the darkness outside the bedroom two seconds later. Taking a deep breath, I grasp the railing and look down on the living room. Everything is in place, the throw pillows resting neatly in the recliners, a folded blanket draped across the back of the sofa. It wasn't unusual to find someone passed out down there in the weeks prior, the television rambling on about a cheap set of steak knives. Or, in Kris' case, shutting himself in our room early every evening and retreating to the safety of this open space whenever I decided to retire for the night. I came down early in the morning once to find him curled up on the sofa, earplugs in place. And nothing attached to them. I would have called it childish had I not so thoroughly abused the responsibility of being his roommate and friend.
Deal with it.
Kris emerges from the bedroom in dark jeans and a cardinal red jacket, his eyes searching in the darkness. "Where are we going, anyway?" He whispers, peeking out across the railing. "There's no place that could possibly be open at this hour..."
"This is L.A., everything's open." I grin, heading toward the stairs. There's a shuffling of feet down below, and I stop in place, not wanting to be caught sneaking out. Except Kris isn't paying attention, and he bumps into me, my body teetering on the edge of the flight. I throw my hands out, bracing for the inevitable fall, and try to scream, but my windpipe is suddenly cut off when Kris pulls on the neck of my shirt from behind. I windmill my arms erraticly, the sensation a lot like what I'd imagine flying to be, and eventually my heels touch down on the floor once more.
"What are you doing?!" Kris hisses, releasing his hold on me at once. "Don't scare me like that!" He pushes past me, taking the lead.
"Sorry," I apologize, my knees wobbly as I treat each step as though it were my first. "Guess I owe you one." More than one, really.
The outside air is brisk and invigorating as I gently push the entrance door closed. Kris is heading down the driveway, hands in his pockets, when he bumps into something looming and invisible in the dark. I chuckle as I pull a key set dangling from my belt loop and push a button, two bright lights pulsing brilliantly in front of him followed by a quiet click, the interior of a black Jaguar convertible slowly illuminating.
"Shit!" He mumbles, wiping the blindness from his eyes. He places a hand on the hood and paces along the side, admiring the leather interior. "There's no way this is yours..."
"It's not," I grin, standing back to take in its pristine worksmanship myself. "I called in a favor from a friend. They'll be back later to pick it up." Kris' eyes bulge wide in their sockets as I shake the keys in front of me. "Want to drive?"
"I do..." He takes half a step forward before stopping, rubbing the sleep from his face. "But I just woke up. Maybe on the way back."
"Sure!" The door pops with ease as I climb inside, sliding the seat all the way back to accomodate my height. The engine purrs to life so effortlessly that I have to cut the ignition and restart it to make sure it's actually on. I spy Kris sliding into the back seat, his hands moving all over the interior, and I silently curse myself as I buckle the seat belt and throw the car into reverse.
Deal with it.
The drive itself is short and pleasant, cruising through the raucous downtown nightlife, the pulsing beats echoing from the many night clubs better than anything that could come in on the radio. I pull into a mostly empty parking lot and park near the front of the supermarket, its massive neon sign powered down for the off-hours. Kris follows me to the sliding doors, neither budging as we approach. I lean on them and knock against the thick glass, that quirky gimmick:
shave, and a haircut
I look back at Kris, wagging my eyebrows, but he just rolls his eyes. A tiny blond in a white apron and khakis slides a card through a scanner on the inside and the doors part. She jumps up and grabs my face with both hands, planting a friendly kiss on my lips. I can hear Kris mumble as he walks past and grabs a basket, heading off alone.
"Thanks, Sonya. I owe you one."
"Anything for you, sweetie!" She giggles, pulling me inside as the doors slide together and lock tight. She glances over her shoulder at my long-gone companion. "Who's the cutie?"
"You don't watch the show?" I demand, clutching at my chest as I fake a heart attack.
"Only you, you know that," she grabs a misplaced six-pack of soda as we walk together. "Still, hot find! He good in bed?"
"How would I know, he's married!" I admonish, motioning for her to shoo. "Go on! We'll holler if we need something."
I find Kris standing in the baking aisle, staring at the hundreds of boxed mixes on the shelves. "What are we making, anyway?" He picks up a box of carrot cake, glancing over the instructions on the back. I pat at the lining of my jacket as Kris shakes his head dubiously. "Please tell me you had an idea in mind."
"I do, I do. Just... where is it..." I pull a folded slip of paper out, reading the title out loud. "German chocolate cake. See?" I point at the picture in the corner, a dark tiered cake piled high with caramel icing and maraschino cherries. "Looks good, huh?"
"You've never had German chocolate cake before?" I shake my head. The corners of Kris' lips turn up in a slight smile as he returns the box and grabs one for chocolate. "You need to get out more."
"Yeah, ok," I chortle at his suggestion. I frown as he places the mix in the basket, and he looks at me confusedly. "I wanted to make it from scratch..."
"Trust me, let's not make this harder than it already is." Kris takes a few steps to the side, examining the frostings. Both of us are silent for a while as we search through the options: vanilla, chocolate, sprinkles, strawberry. There's a round container labelled 'Caramel Pecan' in the bottom corner, and Kris kneels down close to the floor to pick it up.
"Is that it?" I ponder, squinting to read the ingredients.
Kris smirks, shrugging as he puts the frosting back on the shelf. "Don't ask me!"
"Ok, then. Consider yourself warned!" I wink, cupping my hands around my mouth and inhaling deeply, bending profoundly against my spine. "DOES ANYONE HERE KNOW WHAT FROSTING THI--"
He pulls me down by the wrist sharply, lowering me to his level as he cusps a hand over my mouth, giggling. "Adam!" He purses his lips together, quelling several laughs into obedience, his eyes watering. "Just read the recipe, dummy!"
I can't breathe. The direct contact, his smooth palms against my tingling lips, is too compelling. I clamp my jaw tightly, my molars grinding, and wait for the moment to pass. But it doesn't. Kris' expression is soft and kind, his eyes searching out mine as he just smiles and inspects my face. My chest is beginning to cramp from the lack of oxygen, the depravity only heightening my senses to painful levels of awareness. Kris moves his hand slowly, running his thumb against my bottom lip. I can't contain myself any longer, and inhale massively, the touch shocking my system into action.
Perhaps shocking him, too. Kris' blinks rapidly as if awakened from a trance, a tiny squeak choked low in his throat, and falls on his ass, the groceries tumbling from the basket to the cool laminate floor. I frown, dismayed as Kris leans away from me when I offer him my hand to get us back on our feet.
Deal with it.
"It's just me, Kris," I smile tenderly, picking up the cake mix and holding it in front of my face, the thick, moist slice dancing on the red packaging. "Just me and a cake."
"Y-yeah..." He stutters, studying the situation at length before grabbing the frosting and accepting my hand, both of us working to pull the other up. "Sorry about that," he laments quietly.
We grab the cherries on the way to checkout, Kris paying for the items without discussion. Sonya opens the doors for us once again, winking slyly at Kris and slapping me on the rear as we depart. I toss the bag dismissively into the back seat and climb into the passenger side, handing the keys over to Kris, who pulls the seat all the way forward, much to my amusement. I push a button on the side console and the seat reclines back, the bright lights whizzing by as Kris plays fast and loose with the speed limit.
"I didn't mean for you to pay for that." I suggest, closing my eyes and relaxing into the leather.
Kris stops at an intersection, rubbing the back of his neck lethargically as he stares ahead at the signal. "Know a good Chinese restaurant around here?"
"Plenty."
He revs the engine playfully, slamming down on the gas the moment the light turns green, the convertible accelerating as smooth as butter. "Take me to lunch tomorrow."
I peek one eye open, evaluating his suggestion with care. Kris cracks a devilish grin and shifts into overdrive, the car screaming in full force as we continue to pick up speed.
"...absolutely."
---
Saturday evening ends in exhaustion as I excuse myself from the dining room, Allison and her mother reminiscing about home over another piece of cake. I head upstairs, ducking into Danny's room, where he sits on his bed, pouring through a scrapbook filled with old photos.
"Hey, thanks for helping us with the cake. It meant a lot to her."
Danny sniffles and rubs his arm across his eyes. The scrapbook is opened to a section filled with pictures of his wedding. "Sorry. Yeah, I think she enjoyed it." He turns the book out to face me, his finger lingering on a picture in the center of Sophia and Danny cutting their wedding cake. "It was untraditional, but German chocolate was her favorite, so..." He places it back in his lap and runs a hand over the glossy print. "I'm glad I was able to share that with her, too."
Unable to add something meaningful or poignant to the conversation, I simply nod. "Night, Danny."
The lights are dim in our room, Kris' guitar propped carefully against a loungechair in the corner, a page of hastily scrawled chords lying in the seat. His elongated shadow peeks out from beneath the half-closed bathroom door. I knock on the door as a formality before peeking my head around the corner.
Kris has the cabinets on my side of the bathroom swung wide open, a tube of indigo hair dye in his hand. He flicks the cap open and squirts a tiny amount onto his fingers, palpating it into a thin smear. He holds the container to his nose, his face contorting as he closes it hastily and replaces it on the shelf, rinsing the gel into the sink.
"Want to try it? Might look good on you," I taunt good-naturedly.
"And walk around with blue hair for the next month?" He snorts, his fingers running over the products stashed away without regard to use or brand. "I think I'll pass."
"It's temporary," I correct, marveling at his interest in my makeup. "Would wash out by tomorrow."
He doesn't take me up on my offer, instead reaching for my eyeliner. "I could never watch Katy put this stuff on," he muses, twirling it casually in his fingers. "I was always afraid she'd put an eye out."
"It's just like coloring inside the lines," I suggest, leaning back against the wall.
"Well, I was never any good at that, so..." Kris nervously chuckles, storing it away on the bottom shelf. "I don't think that would work for me, either."
"It's not the right shade for you, anyway. Too dark." He closes the cabinet and throws open the double-wide next, appraising everything in silence. He picks up a bottle of cologne, turning it leisurely in his hand.
"Are you looking for something in particular?" The lengthy analysis has me concerned.
"Not really," Kris replies, sniffing at the cap and crinkling his nose. "I don't like this one so much." He buries it far beyond sight, behind the other bottles.
"I like yours," I counter honestly, recalling the faint aroma of citrus mixed with wood and ocean breezes. The memory relaxes my mood, and I settle by his side, gazing at his face. "What's going on, Kris?"
He sighs and closes the cabinet, staring down at the porcelain sink. "I thought I would find answers here, but..." Kris picks listlessly at a black fleck in the basin, lost in thought. "I don't really know you at all, do I?"
I blink at our reflections in the mirror, dumbfounded by his revelation. "Of course you know who I am. I've told you plenty about my life, haven't I?" And I had, so many late nights discussing anything and everything in detail. With him, it was so easy to speak openly about my life, so refreshing to find someone who was willing sit back and listen to it all without criticism or disgust. Kris had divulged just as much, his stories more deep and profound than I imagined a boy from the south could have. His honest and unopinionated nature was so endearing that at times I often wondered if Kris was real at all, and not some hallucinatory being conjured forth by my desire for a more accepting world.
So, what did Kris desire, having to question my own existence in turn?
"You told me what you thought I should hear," He quips, giving up on the stain at last. "But who are you, really? None of this--" He spreads his arms wide, indicating my collection of products. "--defines Adam Lambert for me. There's a barrier here that I can't break through."
"Can't? Or won't?" Kris' evasive correlation pulls a nerve in the very fiber of my being. Over the years, I'd learned how to deal with people who treated me like a puzzle that needed solving, but hearing it from him forces me to confront the breakdown of our friendship and how we're starting over from scratch.
He doesn't reply.
Deal with it.
I reach over his shoulder and open the last cabinet, pulling out a tall bottle of face cleanser and a wad of cotton pads. I shove them into Kris' open hands; he gawks at me, bewildered. "What--"
"You want to unmask me? Feel free." I take a seat on the toilet, sitting upright and staring straight ahead at the green towel hanging from the rack. Kris hesitates for a moment, weighing his options with care, and then twists the cap off the cleanser, applying it liberally to a pad. He stands in front of me, scrutinizing every angle of my face for an appropriate starting point. He settles on my forehead, dabbing lightly against my skin.
And dabbing and dabbing. "Shit," he complains, tossing the stained cotton onto the counter and preparing another. "You've got this pasted on thick."
"You're gonna have to use a lot more pressure if you don't want to be here all night."
Dabbing lightly.
"Close your eyes." I obey, feeling the weight and oil clearing from my lids as Kris smoothly glides over them. He lingers on my eyelashes, brushing them delicately with a finger before moving on to my cheek. The process is slow and deliberate, the effort spent concealing my freckled, ruddy complexion resulting in a mounting pile of used pads. Kris switches to the other side, his eyes scanning minutely over every inch of my face.
"Tell me what you're thinking," I plead, the silent investigation gnawing at my sanity.
"I'm wondering..." Kris grabs the mound of cotton and steps on the pedal of the trash can, the polished metal lid smacking against the wall as he discards them. He grabs another stack from the cabinet and starts over. "...why you cover your freckles."
"Because freckles are cute, not sexy," I assert confidently. I hold my breath as Kris wipes the concealer from my nose and upper lip, taking great caution in avoiding contact with my mouth. He notices my stiffness and moves away for a moment, soaking another pad with the cleanser.
"And you?"
"I think..." I smile, assaying his strong jawline and the golden specks in his brown eyes. "...you could use some freckles."
Kris pauses for a moment, the cleanser soaking through the cotton and dribbling onto the floor. "'Freckles are cute, not sexy'," he acknowledges with a fierce nod, returning to hover in front of me and grabbing my chin, stroking at the left side of my jaw. A dull, throbbing pain shoots through my teeth and into my sinuses as I wince and pull back. Kris' hands hover in space, his expression apologetic and alarmed. "Sorry," he mumbles weakly, leaning in closer and swabbing at the yellow-grey bruise, trapping me against the tank.
"It's ok, just..." I hiss quietly through the discomfort. "Next time, could you punch me in the stomach? Easier to hide."
"There won't be a next time." Kris growls, cupping his hand on the side of my face aggressively and lifting up to expose my neck. He glides up the length of the sensitive skin toward my chin, his touch slow and teasing. My throat tightens from being handled so intrusively, and a shaky gulp comes up from my lungs as I try to concentrate. Try.
"Does that tickle?"
"N-no... it's..." I swallow a giant gulp of air and attempt to steady myself. It doesn't work. "...sorry. I can't help it." Kris relents in the attack on my neck, his work finished as he cleans the remaining mess. He cups his hands to the side of my face, his thumbs running smooth across my cheekbones, my eyelashes, massaging the wrinkles in my forehead.
"Did you find what you were looking for? Put the pieces together? Solve the puzzle?" I inquire, kneading my hands together to keep them occupied from the desire to touch him back. Kris' face dims slightly, and he shakes his head slowly, hands no longer moving.
Deal with it.
"That's alright. Some things just aren't meant to be understood, you know?"
He shakes his head more firmly now, peering into my eyes. "That's not it. I got the information I needed. But, Adam..." Kris beams brightly, the first real glimpse of joy to cross his face in a week.
"You're no puzzle. That would mean you were broken to begin with."
And those words remind me of what made me fall for him. He's coming back. I reach out and touch his chest, his heart beating calm and steady beneath the soft fabric of his long-sleeved black shirt, hoping my physical reply is appropriate when my voice fails me.
"Hold still..." Kris embraces my hand to his body with both of his and leans in gradually, his gaze never breaking from my own. My insides lurch, begging me to escape, but I promised myself I wouldn't run any longer. Kris' mouth is inches from my own, breathing me in slowly before closing the distance and pushing his lips to my jaw. The wild energy crawling on my skin accumulates in every extremity, pain and pleasure and confusion and desire exploding outward like a fireworks' display. His teeth graze delicately across my skin, and I can see the colors and patterns dancing in my vision as I hold on to the memory, frame it, and preserve it forever.
Kris chuckles dryly and pats at my face once. "Thank you. For indulging me." He leaves and I can faintly hear the strumming of notes, that same homely tune from days past.
But I'll be damned if I can remember the words now.
Title: Layers
Fandom/Pairing: Kris Allen/Adam Lambert
Rating: PG-13, for minor language, alcohol use and sensuality
Summary: Put it together. Now, take it apart.
Notes: Sequel to Schadenfreude and the fifth chapter in the Trials by Fire series. This is the turning point of the series, with a much more somber and hopeful outlook.
Disclaimer: This is a profitless work of fiction, and is in no way associated with American Idol or its contestants.
Matt pours the bottle of the fifteen year aged Laphroaig into two lowball glasses; the pungent, single malt scotch cascading over the ice. He sighs and swirls his drink as we stare out at the night sky from our seats on the front porch, a few stray stars faintly signaling for a moon that would never show.
"Sad to see you go, man. Maybe Kara could strap you to her ankle and hold someone at knifepoint until the producers agree to let you stay?" I tease, clinking my glass to his and taking a long swig. The whiskey goes down smooth and warm, with a peppery finish. It suits Matt perfectly.
"Nah, I think my luck has run out." Matt takes a sip himself, leaning back on the concrete steps with one arm to examine the entire sky. "But I'm glad I was able to stay long enough for Rat Pack Week. I was able to leave with a bang, you know? Besides..." He turns to face me, grinning widely. "I'd rather not stick around to see how badly I'd crash and burn for Rock Week."
"Oh come on, it wouldn't be so bad! You just need some flavor. Platform boots, a leather jacket, maybe some glitter in your hair..." I reach over and muss wildly with his hair, the short, dense curls fraying in every direction. He laughs heartily and nudges me against the shoulder.
"Sorry, but this ship has already sank! Maybe you can work your magic on Danny instead!" He wags his eyebrows suggestively.
"I think my advice for him is going to fall on deaf ears," I giggle. The first and only time I tried to jokingly offer him my eyeliner, Danny hilariously suggested that he preferred pens over pencils. He's about as Rock as John Tesh.
"So who are you going to duet with?" Matt rattles the ice in his glass.
I grab the bottle and top off both of our drinks, Matt raising his in good spirit before tipping it back. "Probably Allison. We have a lot in common, and she's like a little sister to me... I think we could make something work."
Matt smirks slyly, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. "That's dirty, dude! Rockers never duet with their sisters. Watch your back or she might weave a spell on you!" He waves his fingers for added effect.
"Ugh, don't go there. I'll pick something chaste, I promise." Matt regards my statement with the utmost irony, his lips stretched thinly from ear to ear. "Ok, fine! As innocent as I can possibly make it! Satisfied?"
"You've got your work cut out for you," He chuckles low in his throat. "Still... that means Kris has to sing with Danny. Way to throw him to the sharks!" Matt rolls his arms close by his side, imitating a train in motion as he pulls on an imaginary whistle, a quiet chugga-chugga choo choo! that grows in volume, ending with a dramatic flailing of his arms and a pronounced BOOOOOM!! for added effect.
The parody is lost on me. I take a long, slow draw of the alcohol, a pleasant burn developing in the pit of my stomach as I choose my words with care. "I..." But it's no longer my problem alone, so I take another sip and start again. "We just need some space. Trying to work together now would be an invitation for disaster."
A melancholy tune drifts down from the balcony on the left side of the mansion, the mid-tempo plucking of strings accompanied by a quiet tenor hum. I glance far over my shoulder, straining to recall the words to the song, the melody so familiar and strangely relevant, but my search gets lost in the shuffle as memories from three days ago pop to the surface, Katy's words ringing loud in my ears.
"Katy, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened... who I even was..."
A gentle smile. "Kris is my best friend, and I love him."
"I know you can't forgive me... he can't forgive me."
A whispered threat. "If you hurt him again? I won't be so quiet about what's happened. I will ruin you, Adam Lambert."
Two firm pats against my cheek. "You have a month. Make the most of it."
A strong hand on my shoulder snaps me out of my rumination, my unconscious harmonized droning with Kris dying out abruptly. I look back at Matt, his gaze also fixated on the source of the music.
"You really love him, don't you."
I sigh and lay back against the concrete, staring up at the black canvas of space, its existence as vast and empty as my response.
"It's ok to love him, you know." Matt pulls his legs close to his body and joins in the stargazing, his view focused out above the palms lining the driveway.
"But it's not ok to incite his anger, violate him, endanger his sanity and his marriage." I retort, shading my eyes with the back of my hand, the reality of the situation blinding even in the darkness.
"Well... no, it's not." Matt concurs, the ice in his glass jingling brightly as he drains the last of his scotch. "I'll admit, I wanted to kill you after everything that went down. I didn't understand just how deep the problem was, but..." He shifts his body to face me directly. "It's not just you, is it? Kris has changed." There's an awkward silence between us before Matt hesitantly continues. "...is he bi? Or gay?"
"No, I don't think so." I prop myself up on my elbows as I contemplate his question. "I think Kris is just... sympathetic. The competition is getting to him. He knows that I could be the next to go, so he's trying to share himself as much as he can, convince himself that it's not his fault if I leave. But then, Kris doesn't seem to even recognize himself anymore, so..." I shrug, unable to offer a more adaquate explanation.
Matt regards me with pity as he offers the bottle and I place my hand over the glass, shaking my head slowly. "Another drink might help, Adam."
"No... no, I won't run away anymore." I smile sadly, pouring the last melting chips of ice out onto the ground. "Trying to forget about him just made things worse. So..." I stand up and stretch my legs, brushing the faint layer of dust from my pants. "I'm going to take this as a lesson. Observe patiently and learn. Remember everything and store it away."
Matt ditches the formalities and takes a swig straight from the bottle. "You owe it to each other to fix things." He stares up at me, his eyes hard and direct. "No matter what."
"Maybe," I grin, interlocking my fingers high above my head and leaning from side to side. "But, I do know..." The song comes to an end, a pleasant chord echoing out across the estate. "Life would be better remembering Kris, the good and the bad, than having never met him at all."
"This is too deep for me, man." Matt grins around the lip of the bottle, then pushes the cork back in and throws a punch at the side of my leg. "When I come back, I want to know who's on top, ok?"
I huff and plant a weak kick in his ribs, Matt simultaneously giggling and wheezing as I head inside.
---
I shake him gently by the shoulder. "Kris... Kris, wake up."
He mumbles faintly, his eyes cracking open ever so slightly. "What..." He lifts an arm out from beneath the celadon sheets and picks up the alarm clock, the bold red numbers reading 1:13. "It's one in the morning, go away..." Kris turns to face away from me, pulling the covers over his head tightly.
"I want to make a cake for Allison."
"We just did that today," His words are muffled and gravelly with sleep.
"And she got it smashed in her face," I recall, the messy events humorous but somehow unfulfilling. "She deserves better than that."
"What do I need to go for?" Kris whines, shifting onto his back, the thin cotton material settling around his body.
"In case I get mugged! I need someone with a strong right hook."
"Shut up..." Kris shuffles to the far side of the bed and uncovers his face, glowering at me. "Take Danny with you. He can sit on them."
"But if I take Danny with me to the market, we might never make it back," I grin at my joke. Kris doesn't find it nearly as amusing, his face unchanging in expression. The stillness of the night throbs in our room, the chirping of a few cicadas the only disturbance. I'm not above begging, so I rest my hand on his chest, softening my face to be as unthreatening as possible. "Please? I know shit about baking."
The response is startling. Kris' breath hitches in his throat, his complexion blooming on his cheeks. I can feel his heartrate accelerating rapidly beneath my touch, the sheets rustling faintly as his entire body shakes. Kris licks his lips but says nothing, the shaking increasing in frequency as he forgets to respire. His entire visage is painfully erotic -- and painfully frightened -- so I remove myself, standing stiffly in place.
"You can say no, Kris. If you want." He looks completely bewildered, tiny gasps punctuating the silence between us.
I turn to leave, my hand on the doorknob as Kris pushes himself up, running his palms across the tousled auburn mess on his head. "I'll go."
Relief floods through my body, and I can barely contain my excitement as I clap like a twelve year old girl. "Oh, thank you! I have no idea what I'm doing." I pluck the keyring from my nightstand and swing it in circles on one finger, waiting.
Kris makes no motion to move, his fists curled in tight balls at the hem of his covers. "I need to get dressed..." He examines the carpet in great detail, glancing back and forth between it and the oaken doors of the closet on the far side of the room.
"Ok, sure." I bounce back onto my bed, strumming my fingers against the cushiony mattress as I wait. "Take your time."
There's an uncomfortable pause as Kris dangles one foot down and then retracts it, exasperation written clearly across his face as he cradles his forehead in his hand and points at the door. "Adam, get out! Just wait for me in the hallway, alright?!"
"Umm... oh. Oh!" I'm mumbling apologies in the darkness outside the bedroom two seconds later. Taking a deep breath, I grasp the railing and look down on the living room. Everything is in place, the throw pillows resting neatly in the recliners, a folded blanket draped across the back of the sofa. It wasn't unusual to find someone passed out down there in the weeks prior, the television rambling on about a cheap set of steak knives. Or, in Kris' case, shutting himself in our room early every evening and retreating to the safety of this open space whenever I decided to retire for the night. I came down early in the morning once to find him curled up on the sofa, earplugs in place. And nothing attached to them. I would have called it childish had I not so thoroughly abused the responsibility of being his roommate and friend.
Deal with it.
Kris emerges from the bedroom in dark jeans and a cardinal red jacket, his eyes searching in the darkness. "Where are we going, anyway?" He whispers, peeking out across the railing. "There's no place that could possibly be open at this hour..."
"This is L.A., everything's open." I grin, heading toward the stairs. There's a shuffling of feet down below, and I stop in place, not wanting to be caught sneaking out. Except Kris isn't paying attention, and he bumps into me, my body teetering on the edge of the flight. I throw my hands out, bracing for the inevitable fall, and try to scream, but my windpipe is suddenly cut off when Kris pulls on the neck of my shirt from behind. I windmill my arms erraticly, the sensation a lot like what I'd imagine flying to be, and eventually my heels touch down on the floor once more.
"What are you doing?!" Kris hisses, releasing his hold on me at once. "Don't scare me like that!" He pushes past me, taking the lead.
"Sorry," I apologize, my knees wobbly as I treat each step as though it were my first. "Guess I owe you one." More than one, really.
The outside air is brisk and invigorating as I gently push the entrance door closed. Kris is heading down the driveway, hands in his pockets, when he bumps into something looming and invisible in the dark. I chuckle as I pull a key set dangling from my belt loop and push a button, two bright lights pulsing brilliantly in front of him followed by a quiet click, the interior of a black Jaguar convertible slowly illuminating.
"Shit!" He mumbles, wiping the blindness from his eyes. He places a hand on the hood and paces along the side, admiring the leather interior. "There's no way this is yours..."
"It's not," I grin, standing back to take in its pristine worksmanship myself. "I called in a favor from a friend. They'll be back later to pick it up." Kris' eyes bulge wide in their sockets as I shake the keys in front of me. "Want to drive?"
"I do..." He takes half a step forward before stopping, rubbing the sleep from his face. "But I just woke up. Maybe on the way back."
"Sure!" The door pops with ease as I climb inside, sliding the seat all the way back to accomodate my height. The engine purrs to life so effortlessly that I have to cut the ignition and restart it to make sure it's actually on. I spy Kris sliding into the back seat, his hands moving all over the interior, and I silently curse myself as I buckle the seat belt and throw the car into reverse.
Deal with it.
The drive itself is short and pleasant, cruising through the raucous downtown nightlife, the pulsing beats echoing from the many night clubs better than anything that could come in on the radio. I pull into a mostly empty parking lot and park near the front of the supermarket, its massive neon sign powered down for the off-hours. Kris follows me to the sliding doors, neither budging as we approach. I lean on them and knock against the thick glass, that quirky gimmick:
shave, and a haircut
I look back at Kris, wagging my eyebrows, but he just rolls his eyes. A tiny blond in a white apron and khakis slides a card through a scanner on the inside and the doors part. She jumps up and grabs my face with both hands, planting a friendly kiss on my lips. I can hear Kris mumble as he walks past and grabs a basket, heading off alone.
"Thanks, Sonya. I owe you one."
"Anything for you, sweetie!" She giggles, pulling me inside as the doors slide together and lock tight. She glances over her shoulder at my long-gone companion. "Who's the cutie?"
"You don't watch the show?" I demand, clutching at my chest as I fake a heart attack.
"Only you, you know that," she grabs a misplaced six-pack of soda as we walk together. "Still, hot find! He good in bed?"
"How would I know, he's married!" I admonish, motioning for her to shoo. "Go on! We'll holler if we need something."
I find Kris standing in the baking aisle, staring at the hundreds of boxed mixes on the shelves. "What are we making, anyway?" He picks up a box of carrot cake, glancing over the instructions on the back. I pat at the lining of my jacket as Kris shakes his head dubiously. "Please tell me you had an idea in mind."
"I do, I do. Just... where is it..." I pull a folded slip of paper out, reading the title out loud. "German chocolate cake. See?" I point at the picture in the corner, a dark tiered cake piled high with caramel icing and maraschino cherries. "Looks good, huh?"
"You've never had German chocolate cake before?" I shake my head. The corners of Kris' lips turn up in a slight smile as he returns the box and grabs one for chocolate. "You need to get out more."
"Yeah, ok," I chortle at his suggestion. I frown as he places the mix in the basket, and he looks at me confusedly. "I wanted to make it from scratch..."
"Trust me, let's not make this harder than it already is." Kris takes a few steps to the side, examining the frostings. Both of us are silent for a while as we search through the options: vanilla, chocolate, sprinkles, strawberry. There's a round container labelled 'Caramel Pecan' in the bottom corner, and Kris kneels down close to the floor to pick it up.
"Is that it?" I ponder, squinting to read the ingredients.
Kris smirks, shrugging as he puts the frosting back on the shelf. "Don't ask me!"
"Ok, then. Consider yourself warned!" I wink, cupping my hands around my mouth and inhaling deeply, bending profoundly against my spine. "DOES ANYONE HERE KNOW WHAT FROSTING THI--"
He pulls me down by the wrist sharply, lowering me to his level as he cusps a hand over my mouth, giggling. "Adam!" He purses his lips together, quelling several laughs into obedience, his eyes watering. "Just read the recipe, dummy!"
I can't breathe. The direct contact, his smooth palms against my tingling lips, is too compelling. I clamp my jaw tightly, my molars grinding, and wait for the moment to pass. But it doesn't. Kris' expression is soft and kind, his eyes searching out mine as he just smiles and inspects my face. My chest is beginning to cramp from the lack of oxygen, the depravity only heightening my senses to painful levels of awareness. Kris moves his hand slowly, running his thumb against my bottom lip. I can't contain myself any longer, and inhale massively, the touch shocking my system into action.
Perhaps shocking him, too. Kris' blinks rapidly as if awakened from a trance, a tiny squeak choked low in his throat, and falls on his ass, the groceries tumbling from the basket to the cool laminate floor. I frown, dismayed as Kris leans away from me when I offer him my hand to get us back on our feet.
Deal with it.
"It's just me, Kris," I smile tenderly, picking up the cake mix and holding it in front of my face, the thick, moist slice dancing on the red packaging. "Just me and a cake."
"Y-yeah..." He stutters, studying the situation at length before grabbing the frosting and accepting my hand, both of us working to pull the other up. "Sorry about that," he laments quietly.
We grab the cherries on the way to checkout, Kris paying for the items without discussion. Sonya opens the doors for us once again, winking slyly at Kris and slapping me on the rear as we depart. I toss the bag dismissively into the back seat and climb into the passenger side, handing the keys over to Kris, who pulls the seat all the way forward, much to my amusement. I push a button on the side console and the seat reclines back, the bright lights whizzing by as Kris plays fast and loose with the speed limit.
"I didn't mean for you to pay for that." I suggest, closing my eyes and relaxing into the leather.
Kris stops at an intersection, rubbing the back of his neck lethargically as he stares ahead at the signal. "Know a good Chinese restaurant around here?"
"Plenty."
He revs the engine playfully, slamming down on the gas the moment the light turns green, the convertible accelerating as smooth as butter. "Take me to lunch tomorrow."
I peek one eye open, evaluating his suggestion with care. Kris cracks a devilish grin and shifts into overdrive, the car screaming in full force as we continue to pick up speed.
"...absolutely."
---
Saturday evening ends in exhaustion as I excuse myself from the dining room, Allison and her mother reminiscing about home over another piece of cake. I head upstairs, ducking into Danny's room, where he sits on his bed, pouring through a scrapbook filled with old photos.
"Hey, thanks for helping us with the cake. It meant a lot to her."
Danny sniffles and rubs his arm across his eyes. The scrapbook is opened to a section filled with pictures of his wedding. "Sorry. Yeah, I think she enjoyed it." He turns the book out to face me, his finger lingering on a picture in the center of Sophia and Danny cutting their wedding cake. "It was untraditional, but German chocolate was her favorite, so..." He places it back in his lap and runs a hand over the glossy print. "I'm glad I was able to share that with her, too."
Unable to add something meaningful or poignant to the conversation, I simply nod. "Night, Danny."
The lights are dim in our room, Kris' guitar propped carefully against a loungechair in the corner, a page of hastily scrawled chords lying in the seat. His elongated shadow peeks out from beneath the half-closed bathroom door. I knock on the door as a formality before peeking my head around the corner.
Kris has the cabinets on my side of the bathroom swung wide open, a tube of indigo hair dye in his hand. He flicks the cap open and squirts a tiny amount onto his fingers, palpating it into a thin smear. He holds the container to his nose, his face contorting as he closes it hastily and replaces it on the shelf, rinsing the gel into the sink.
"Want to try it? Might look good on you," I taunt good-naturedly.
"And walk around with blue hair for the next month?" He snorts, his fingers running over the products stashed away without regard to use or brand. "I think I'll pass."
"It's temporary," I correct, marveling at his interest in my makeup. "Would wash out by tomorrow."
He doesn't take me up on my offer, instead reaching for my eyeliner. "I could never watch Katy put this stuff on," he muses, twirling it casually in his fingers. "I was always afraid she'd put an eye out."
"It's just like coloring inside the lines," I suggest, leaning back against the wall.
"Well, I was never any good at that, so..." Kris nervously chuckles, storing it away on the bottom shelf. "I don't think that would work for me, either."
"It's not the right shade for you, anyway. Too dark." He closes the cabinet and throws open the double-wide next, appraising everything in silence. He picks up a bottle of cologne, turning it leisurely in his hand.
"Are you looking for something in particular?" The lengthy analysis has me concerned.
"Not really," Kris replies, sniffing at the cap and crinkling his nose. "I don't like this one so much." He buries it far beyond sight, behind the other bottles.
"I like yours," I counter honestly, recalling the faint aroma of citrus mixed with wood and ocean breezes. The memory relaxes my mood, and I settle by his side, gazing at his face. "What's going on, Kris?"
He sighs and closes the cabinet, staring down at the porcelain sink. "I thought I would find answers here, but..." Kris picks listlessly at a black fleck in the basin, lost in thought. "I don't really know you at all, do I?"
I blink at our reflections in the mirror, dumbfounded by his revelation. "Of course you know who I am. I've told you plenty about my life, haven't I?" And I had, so many late nights discussing anything and everything in detail. With him, it was so easy to speak openly about my life, so refreshing to find someone who was willing sit back and listen to it all without criticism or disgust. Kris had divulged just as much, his stories more deep and profound than I imagined a boy from the south could have. His honest and unopinionated nature was so endearing that at times I often wondered if Kris was real at all, and not some hallucinatory being conjured forth by my desire for a more accepting world.
So, what did Kris desire, having to question my own existence in turn?
"You told me what you thought I should hear," He quips, giving up on the stain at last. "But who are you, really? None of this--" He spreads his arms wide, indicating my collection of products. "--defines Adam Lambert for me. There's a barrier here that I can't break through."
"Can't? Or won't?" Kris' evasive correlation pulls a nerve in the very fiber of my being. Over the years, I'd learned how to deal with people who treated me like a puzzle that needed solving, but hearing it from him forces me to confront the breakdown of our friendship and how we're starting over from scratch.
He doesn't reply.
Deal with it.
I reach over his shoulder and open the last cabinet, pulling out a tall bottle of face cleanser and a wad of cotton pads. I shove them into Kris' open hands; he gawks at me, bewildered. "What--"
"You want to unmask me? Feel free." I take a seat on the toilet, sitting upright and staring straight ahead at the green towel hanging from the rack. Kris hesitates for a moment, weighing his options with care, and then twists the cap off the cleanser, applying it liberally to a pad. He stands in front of me, scrutinizing every angle of my face for an appropriate starting point. He settles on my forehead, dabbing lightly against my skin.
And dabbing and dabbing. "Shit," he complains, tossing the stained cotton onto the counter and preparing another. "You've got this pasted on thick."
"You're gonna have to use a lot more pressure if you don't want to be here all night."
Dabbing lightly.
"Close your eyes." I obey, feeling the weight and oil clearing from my lids as Kris smoothly glides over them. He lingers on my eyelashes, brushing them delicately with a finger before moving on to my cheek. The process is slow and deliberate, the effort spent concealing my freckled, ruddy complexion resulting in a mounting pile of used pads. Kris switches to the other side, his eyes scanning minutely over every inch of my face.
"Tell me what you're thinking," I plead, the silent investigation gnawing at my sanity.
"I'm wondering..." Kris grabs the mound of cotton and steps on the pedal of the trash can, the polished metal lid smacking against the wall as he discards them. He grabs another stack from the cabinet and starts over. "...why you cover your freckles."
"Because freckles are cute, not sexy," I assert confidently. I hold my breath as Kris wipes the concealer from my nose and upper lip, taking great caution in avoiding contact with my mouth. He notices my stiffness and moves away for a moment, soaking another pad with the cleanser.
"And you?"
"I think..." I smile, assaying his strong jawline and the golden specks in his brown eyes. "...you could use some freckles."
Kris pauses for a moment, the cleanser soaking through the cotton and dribbling onto the floor. "'Freckles are cute, not sexy'," he acknowledges with a fierce nod, returning to hover in front of me and grabbing my chin, stroking at the left side of my jaw. A dull, throbbing pain shoots through my teeth and into my sinuses as I wince and pull back. Kris' hands hover in space, his expression apologetic and alarmed. "Sorry," he mumbles weakly, leaning in closer and swabbing at the yellow-grey bruise, trapping me against the tank.
"It's ok, just..." I hiss quietly through the discomfort. "Next time, could you punch me in the stomach? Easier to hide."
"There won't be a next time." Kris growls, cupping his hand on the side of my face aggressively and lifting up to expose my neck. He glides up the length of the sensitive skin toward my chin, his touch slow and teasing. My throat tightens from being handled so intrusively, and a shaky gulp comes up from my lungs as I try to concentrate. Try.
"Does that tickle?"
"N-no... it's..." I swallow a giant gulp of air and attempt to steady myself. It doesn't work. "...sorry. I can't help it." Kris relents in the attack on my neck, his work finished as he cleans the remaining mess. He cups his hands to the side of my face, his thumbs running smooth across my cheekbones, my eyelashes, massaging the wrinkles in my forehead.
"Did you find what you were looking for? Put the pieces together? Solve the puzzle?" I inquire, kneading my hands together to keep them occupied from the desire to touch him back. Kris' face dims slightly, and he shakes his head slowly, hands no longer moving.
Deal with it.
"That's alright. Some things just aren't meant to be understood, you know?"
He shakes his head more firmly now, peering into my eyes. "That's not it. I got the information I needed. But, Adam..." Kris beams brightly, the first real glimpse of joy to cross his face in a week.
"You're no puzzle. That would mean you were broken to begin with."
And those words remind me of what made me fall for him. He's coming back. I reach out and touch his chest, his heart beating calm and steady beneath the soft fabric of his long-sleeved black shirt, hoping my physical reply is appropriate when my voice fails me.
"Hold still..." Kris embraces my hand to his body with both of his and leans in gradually, his gaze never breaking from my own. My insides lurch, begging me to escape, but I promised myself I wouldn't run any longer. Kris' mouth is inches from my own, breathing me in slowly before closing the distance and pushing his lips to my jaw. The wild energy crawling on my skin accumulates in every extremity, pain and pleasure and confusion and desire exploding outward like a fireworks' display. His teeth graze delicately across my skin, and I can see the colors and patterns dancing in my vision as I hold on to the memory, frame it, and preserve it forever.
Kris chuckles dryly and pats at my face once. "Thank you. For indulging me." He leaves and I can faintly hear the strumming of notes, that same homely tune from days past.
But I'll be damned if I can remember the words now.