Drabbles: All About Adam | American Idol RPF
Last week I asked you guys to give me prompts involving Adam, Kris, or Adam/Kris. And then I wrote some stuff! So here they are.
Drabbles: All About Eve Adam
(and sometimes Kris, and once or maybe twice, JC, but mostly Adam)
Fandom: American Idol RPF
Pairings: Adam/Kris, Adam/JC, Adam/Drake, Kris/Cocktails, Peter Sarsgaard/The Entire World
Ratings: Adult
Warnings: Some of these suck, just FYI. And some of them are good. It's a crapshoot, really. Remember, in the poker game of life, women are the rake.
1. for gemmi999:
They're somewhere in Ohio--Kris isn't really sure because pretty much all of Ohio looks like every other part of Ohio--and it's a hotel night for once, but they're in Ohio, so it's not like that means much. Kris remembers a John Denver song about Ohio and watching the grass grow, and that's pretty accurate as far as he can tell. Ohio is boring. More boring than Arkansas. Possibly the most boring place on Earth that isn't covered in ice.
Which is the only reason, Kris tells himself, that he agrees to go to a movie with Adam in the first place, because Adam's idea of a movie is usually foreign, gay, a musical, or a foreign gay musical, and it's not like Kris is against those things, because hey, he saw Once and he likes independent films and stuff, but there's only so much homoerotic French rock opera a guy can handle on one tour.
But it's Ohio, so he says, "Okay, fine, but this better be in English. I'm too tired to read."
Adam smiles slyly. "Oh, it's in English," he says, and Kris suddenly wonders if he shouldn't be very, very afraid. And then they pull up to the theatre and Kris knows he should be very afraid, because the first thing he sees when he steps out of the car is a guy in six inch heels wearing a corset and fishnets and not much else.
"Um," Kris says.
"Don't tell me they don't have Rocky Horror in Ar-Kansas!" Adam says gleefully. "Oh, this is going to be delightful."
2. for coolwhipdiva:
Adam is just lying there in the dark, enjoying the whole bed-as-opposed-to-bunk thing for the first time in three days, and most of all finally having enough room to stretch his legs out because he's pretty certain that bunks on tour buses were designed for midgets and not normal people, and that's when he hears the noise.
Normally, he wouldn't think anything of it. It's just a rustling noise, like maybe Kris is rolling over or trying to get comfortable or something in the other bed. Except that Adam has slept in the same room with Kris enough times to know that Kris doesn't roll over and he doesn't try to get comfortable, he just goes straight to sleep, the lucky bitch. So this noise is not a normal Kris noise.
It is, however, a noise Adam recognizes very easily. He grins into the dark.
"Kris."
"Mmm. What?" The noise pauses.
"Whatcha doin'?"
"Um. Sleeping?"
"Is that what we're calling it now?"
Kris doesn't respond, and Adam smiles harder. Embarrassing him is just so fucking fun.
"Because I know you grew up in hickville and all, but civilized people jerk off in the shower where roommates can't hear them."
"Civilized people might ask if I need a hand," Kris says, laughing a little.
"Why Kristopher Allen! Are you propositioning me? You know, just because I'm queer doesn't mean I'm easy."
The noise starts up again, and Kris says, "I thought being easy meant you were easy."
"Oh, well, that's a very good point." Adam throws back the blankets and jumps onto Kris's bed, landing with a bounce that makes Kris huff and laugh at the same time.
"You're on my legs, jerk! And you're heavy, by the way!"
"I'm just big boned," Adam says, grinning. He can see Kris in the dark, shadowy planes of his face and the white slice of his smile. "Now about that proposition..."
"I know I said a hand," Kris says, "but wouldn't a mouth really be more gentlemanly?"
"Don't push it, sister," Adam says, and shoves his hand down Kris's pajama pants, singing, "We get by with a little help from our friends," until Kris puts a hand over Adam's mouth and laugh and comes, and Adam thinks, this is going to be the best tour ever.
3. for strippedhalo:
Kris doesn't do clubs, mostly because they don't really have clubs in Arkansas. What they have in Arkansas are Sno Cone Shacks and Sonics and bars where the only dancing people do is line and the music is either jukebox or live, which is always greeted by the grumpy drunks with their guts hanging over the barstools yelling for 'Thunder Road' and 'Friends in Low Places' and whatever other Garth song titles they can still remember after five PBRs.
So Kris has been to lots of bars and played in lots of bars, but he doesn't do clubs and he's certainly never been to a gay club, but Adam wanted to go out with his friends before they left LA again and Kris didn't want to get left behind at the hotel with Gokey and Sarver; Allison is on a Cinderella curfew and not old enough to do anything fun anyway, and Matt invited him to be his wingman while Matt hooked up with "desperate chicks who'll bang anyone that can do a decent falsetto so they can pretend they're doing Justin Timberlake," but that was even more unappetizing than playing Bible Trivial Pursuit with Gokey and Sarver, so yeah.
And that, Kris tells himself, is the official story of how he went to his first gay club. It doesn't explain how he ends up in a dark corner with Adam's hand down his pants, Adam saying, "You sure Katy's okay with this?" though.
But before that--before that, Kris walks into the club, looks around, and realizes he's the least awesome person there. Everything kind of glitters and there are crazy lights in magenta and blue swirling around the very sparkly people who are actually dancing--not in lines, and not in any synchronized, organized sort of way, but dancing like they have to move or they'll die; and Adam pulls him over to a booth his friends have claimed just off the dance floor.
Kris has seen some of them before. He's seen Drake in paparazzi pictures and a few times in person when the show was still on, but they've never really met formally or anything. There are lots of others, people of indeterminable gender who kiss Adam right on the mouth and called Kris "Superstar" and buy him drinks that taste like candy and make him very drunk very quickly.
"So, Superstaaaah," the girl sitting next to him says, throwing her arm across Kris's shoulders. She says it just like that, too, and Kris thinks he is just drunk enough that he could maybe fall into her vowels, they're so wide. He whispers it to himself, "Superstaaah," and she grins at him, nodding toward Adam on the dance floor, leather jacket abandoned in the booth, white t-shirt sticking wetly to him with sweat in places. It should be gross, because it's sweat and sweat is usually pretty gross, but it's kind of hot. Kris is drunk though, a drunk Superstaaaah, so he's allowed to think that.
"You hit that yet?" the girl says. She jostles him a little and Kris hides his blush behind his giant cocktail glass filled with something blue and delicious.
"He has a boyfriend," Kris says.
"They're off right now," the girl says, tapping her fingers against the booth table to the beat of the song. Kris thinks he should really learn her name, but she looks a bit like Kara at her least annoying, so that's what he'll call her, he decides. It's too embarrassing to admit he can't remember.
"I'm married," Kris says. He pauses for a moment before adding, "And mainly straight."
Kara laughs. "Listen, Dollface, Lambert is like Peter Sarsgaard--everyone's gay for him."
And then she buys him about twelve more drinks that taste like bananas, or maybe it's only two, but bananas are one of Kris's favorite foods and their big drinks so it's like twelve, and explains how Adam, like Peter Sarsgaard, has this gayifying effect on people, or in her case, a de-gayifying effect because, "I'm a total carpet muncher, no dicks allowed in this dancery, but I would totally fuck him. And Peter Sarsgaard. It's an undeniable force of nature."
Which is how he ends up in the corner with Adam's hand down his pants. He's pretty sure some stuff came between Kara explaining the Sarsgaard Idiom and being publicly jerked off by Adam Lambert, but Kris can't make himself care. Because his dick is very happy with the current state of things, and his brain is pretty happy, too, but then Adam's hand stops doing the awesome thing it was doing a second ago and Adam repeats, "You sure Katy won't mind?"
Kris blinks up at him. "She has a zip code rule," he explains. "And um, fidelity is part of the industrial patra...portia...patronizing something. You know. That thing. That thing where men try to keep women down with their old-timey rules about society and stuff?"
"The patriarchal industrial complex?" Adam says, and squeezes just so until Kris whimpers a little and tries to thrust into his grip.
"Sure, that." It sounds right, anyway, from all the lectures Katy has given him over the years and which he has mostly tuned out in favor of making up new lyrics to commercial jingles in his head.
"In that case, Superstaaaah," Adam says, pulling his hand free and smiling slyly when Kris frowns and tries to grab it back, "I think we should take this back to the hotel before someone notices." His fingers circle Kris's wrist and he tugs him through the crowded dance floor back to the booth, saying, "And remind me to thank your wife."
"Remind me to thank your friend Kara," Kris says, holding on tight to Adam's arm. "And Peter Sarsgaard, whoever that is."
4. for musicboxgirl:
JC's not really sure why he does it. Later, Lance will say that it's because JC is flamingly gay and trying to work through his issues via other people, like those scary moms on that show JC absolutely doesn't watch at 9pm on We about three-year-olds in beauty pageants; but that's later, and Lance isn't exactly biased, being flamingly gay himself and totally ignorant of the whole Kinsey scale, of which JC likes to thing he encompasses the entirety.
After all, he loves to motorboat, so clearly, Lance is deluded.
But for now, all JC knows is that when he sees Adam Lambert at Kitson Men one day, looking through the racks of jeans with a slight frown on his face and a saleswoman hovering behind him like the stickiest of fruit flies, JC says, "Hey, you're that cat from American Idol, right? Lambert?"
He looks up, and JC thinks, Oh. The guy isn't the best-looking person out there (JC has certainly fucked more beautiful, because, well, that's sort of what JC does with his life now that he doesn't have a real career), but his eyes are a sort of electric blue that makes JC think in Prince lyrics and guitar riffs. Lambert smiles a little shyly back, says, "I didn't win. But yeah. I'm that cat." He smiles a little wider.
"I'm JC," JC says. He pauses. "Um, Chasez." He pauses again, a little longer this time, then says, just in case, "From NSYNC?"
"I know," Lambert says, "you always had the best outfits. The naked lady pants! Those were great."
JC coughs. "Yeah, um, I still have them, but my brother kind of. He decided to play dress up one night and ruined them, it was really sad. But I still have them and uh, if you ever wanted to maybe come hang out sometime, I have, like, my own studio and we could just chill and maybe do some tunes and you could see the naked--the Botacelli pants. If you wanted."
"You'd let me into your closet?" His lip quirks up in a little half-smile, and JC can feel himself blushing or something, like he's not a formerly super famous popstar talking to a guy who hasn't even cut his first record yet.
"Well, um, you know. It's a really big closet."
"I bet it is," Lambert says, and then a guy comes up to Lambert holding a pair of truly tragic bleach-washed jeans. He kisses Lambert on the side of his mouth, looks at JC and says, "Oh my god, you're JC from NSYNC!"
"And apparently," Lambert says, cocking his head to the side a little like he's considering something, "he's inviting me into his gigantic closet."
So later, much later, like on the drive home when JC is still freaking out a little because it was just a really weird situation and he never does shit like that, he calls Lance. After hanging up on Lance twice because Lance won't stop laughing, Lance finally says, "So you just wanted to hang out with him, because he's a cool guy and you could be friends?"
"And to show him my closet," JC says defensively. It's not like he thought about actually fucking the guy. Much. And if he did, it would only be for the sake of the music, because JC's pretty sure that the sounds that came out of Lambert's mouth when he was, well, coming, would need to be recorded for posterity. And art.
"You never showed me your closet," Lance says.
"You never showed an interest in my unique fashion sense!"
JC can practically hear Lance's eyes rolling. "Next time I want to wear feathers or penis pants or dress like my gramps, I'll know who to ask," he says, and hangs up.
JC frowns at the phone, shrugging. But, he thinks, maybe he should get rid of the bowties and plaid button downs, just in case Lambert calls him up to see the closet. Just in case.
5. for prysmicdork:
"Are you high?" Chris says. "JC, you're a multi-millionaire. You don't need to have a yard sale. Also, you live on a freaking mountaintop. Who's gonna be able to find it?"
"I'll put up signs," JC says defensively. "And it's not a yard sale, don't be so plebeian, Chris. It's an estate sale. I have a professional estate sale person and everything. Plus, we put an ad in Craig's List. People will totally show up."
"So that's a yes, then," Chris says. He sighs loudly into the phone. "JC, I say this as someone who has drunkenly posted pictures of his ass on Twitter--you need to step away from the pot. It's making you retarded."
"I have insomnia, it's prescribed," JC says.
Chris is silent for a long moment. "Since when did insomnia become a disease in which you can fall asleep anytime, anywhere? I'm pretty sure that's the opposite of insomnia, C. It's a federal offense to lie to doctors just to score weed, you know."
"It's covered by my insurance," JC insists stubbornly. "Anyway, I have to go, there are people here! Someone is looking at the Roberto Cavelli outfit!"
"That's maybe more disturbing than the idea of you having a yardsale in the first place," Chris says, but JC is too busy rushing excitedly over to the guy eying the Cavelli fur ruff to respond in the withering manner that Chris's frankly ludicrous statements deserve. He flips his phone shut while Chris is still talking and approaches the guy, a slightly queeny-looking goth kid, but with much better fashion sense than any real goth would ever have.
(JC knows, because he's met Marilyn Mason, and that guy does not understand the art of wearing tight pants at all, or the fact that there can totally be such a thing as too much eyeliner.)
"Do you like it?" JC asks, nodding toward the Outfit. It's one of his very favorites, and he remembers how excited he was when Cavelli created it especially for him.
"It's, um. Interesting," the guy says, smiling a little.
"It's an original Roberto Cavelli," JC says in hushed, admiring tones. "I wore it to the VMAs one year and Lennie Kravitz even complimented me on it. I hate to part with such a beautiful ensemble, but my life coach says I need to start fresh and stop clinging to the vestiges of my former glory, so you know, all in the name of becoming a healthier and more complete person and what not."
"Um, sure," the guy says. He flips the long fan of blue-streaked black hair off his forehead. He smiles a little, looking half-embarrassed and half-pleased, like he doesn't know quite what to make of JC, but JC is used to that reaction after being alive for 33 years, so. "I was actually hoping..." the guy trails off, coughing a little. "I was wondering if you still have the 'I Heart You' shirt, actually. I mean, don't get me wrong, Cavelli is a totally important designer, but fur isn't really my thing."
JC looks him up and down, frowning a little. "You'd stretch it out," he says, a little suspiciously. "I'm not sure that would be such a good idea."
"It's not for me," the guy says quickly. "I have this friend, he's smaller than you, even, and he'd take really good care of it, I swear."
JC nods. He really is trying to follow his life coach's advice, because let's face it, his life is kind of in the crapper at the moment and he'll do anything to achieve some sort of sense of fulfillment and like everything was worth it and all that Justin New Age Bullshit, so he leads the guy over to the t-shirt rack and finds the 'I Heart You' t-shirt, fondling it just a little before handing it over.
"I wore this on my last tour with nsync," JC says a little sadly. "It has the sweat of fifty arenas embedded in its very fibers. So take care of it like you would a prized possession, or your first-born child."
The guy looks like he's about to laugh, which JC knows is the usual reaction people have to him when he talks about his Outfits, but he manages to hold it in and takes the shirt with a solemn nod.
"How much do I owe you?" the guy says.
"No charge," JC says. He's not doing it for the money, after all, plus he knows that some mean gossip blogger would make a big deal out of a multi-millionaire popstar selling his old stuff instead of giving it to charity for auction or whatever, so. It's really not about the money, though. As the Backstreet Boys sing, you can let go. JC is determined to live by their wisdom.
The guy looks surprised, but JC just waves him off. "Seriously. It's enough to know that it's going to a good home."
JC watches him leave, staring a little longingly because he really loved that shirt and its profound but simple message of love, but then he spots Courtney Love feeling up the Botticelli pants, saying, "Oooh, naked ladies!" and he has to rush off to save them. Tyler already stretched them out with his giant ass, but there's no way he's going to let a train wreck like Courtney love get her hands on them! They'd be covered in vomit within a week, and maybe it's time for JC to let go of the past, sure, but he has a moral obligation to the fashion world--no, to society itself!--not to let important pieces fall into the hands of evil.
"Hands off the naked ladies!" JC says, slapping at her hands until she backs away, looking slightly frightened. "These pants are not for you," JC explains, "but maybe I could interest you in a vintage purple Orlando Magics jersey? I can assure you that it's extremely comfortable and breathable, besides being highly vomit-resistant."
(damnit, I can't find a picture of the I ♥ You t-shirt! *sadface*)
6. for babyofthegroup:
Adam wakes up alone, which isn't different from how he's been waking up the past five months, except it's not exactly right, either, because when he went to sleep, Drake was there, and now he's gone and Adam is definitely alone. He was kind of hoping for a morning blowjob to start the day off right, but instead he gets cool sheets and not even a note, and that really kind of sucks. He should be used to it by now, but it still sucks. He's going to be a megastar. He should at least get to wake up to a nice good morning blowjob from his boyfriend.
He considers sleeping more--his first real day of rest after the hellish week of interviews and New York and singing 'Mad World' over and over again--but he gets up instead, pulling on an abandoned pair of sweat pants and wandering out into the kitchen, hoping he has coffee and knowing in an exhausted sort of way that the outlook is not so good, considering he hasn't been home in like five months.
But when he shuffles into the kitchen, Drake is there, pouring coffee into Adam's 'World's Best Drag Queen' coffee mug and adding just the right amount of soy creamer and sugar; there's a pan of eggs on one burner and a plate piled with pancakes in the shapes of stars and penises on the breakfast bar. And Drake, holding out the mug, saying, "I went to the store and picked up some things. I hope that's okay."
He's so beautiful, Adam thinks, and not just because of the coffee or the pancake penises. He's thoughtful, and Adam's had boyfriends before, but no one's ever made him pancakes before, and no one's ever bothered to remember how he likes his coffee.
Adam steps up close, slides his hands around Drake's waist and leans his forehead on Drake's shoulder, pressing a little kiss there, just because. Drake stands still, carefully balancing the coffee, and Adam says, "You're a total rockstar."
"No," Drake says, pulling away and giving Adam a little push toward the pancakes, "I'm just the rockstar's boyfriend. Now go eat your breakfast before the cocks get cold."
7. for lerah99:
It's been a few weeks since they've seen each other, and a lot more since Kris has seen the people who left the show, but they're all together now for tour prep, but mostly Kris thinks about how weird it was being back in Arkansas with his family, and how right it feels sitting next to Adam in the rehearsal room, knees touching while they look over the initial tour ideas.
"What about 'Careless Whisper' for our duet?" Adam says. "I saw Ben Folds and Rufus Wainwright do that a while back and it was amazing. You could play the piano. Oh my god, you're totally my Ben Folds!"
"I think Rufus Wainwright can actually play instruments," Kris says. He frowns a little and stares at the sheet harder, suddenly shy and not wanting to look at Adam because it's weird. It's just weird that this feels more normal to him now than hanging out with Katy or watching reruns of House with his mom while his dad reads the newspaper and grumbles about whatever local politician is doing something stupid this week. But it does. It feels right, somehow, being here. Kris doesn't know how he feels about that.
Adam's knee knocks into his a little and he says, "Still with us, spaceman?"
"It's kind of a sad song, though. I mean. I'm not sure. It's just. Sad. It's about endings and, you know. Sad."
"So it's sad, then?" Adam says, mouth twitching like he's trying not to smile. "Well, we could always do 'Father Figure' but you know, I'm not really into the leather daddy scene."
Kris laughs and Allison, watching them across the room, says, "What's a leather daddy?"
"I'll tell you when you're older, doll," Adam says. He lifts an eyebrow at Kris. "There's always 'One More Try' but that's slightly inappropriate as a duet with a straight guy, don't you think?"
"'I Want Your Sex'!" Danny says mockingly, sneering just a little.
"Honey, no one wants your sex," Adam replies, smiling sharply.
"Maybe we shouldn't do George Michael?" Kris says. But now he's thinking about what it would be like, playing the piano while Adam sings, getting lost in the world of the music and the melody, and it really is a beautiful song even if it's kind of sad and all, never gonna dance again, and things.
"Everyone should do George Michael." Adam smirks a little.
"We could do 'Faith'?" Kris says.
"Well I guess it could be nice," Adam says, "if I could touch your body. You know, not everubody's got a body like you."
Kris coughs and flushes, hides his face in his notes with a groan at Adam's laughter. "Okay okay. 'Careless Whispers'! I will be your Ben Folds. But I still think you're no Rufus Wainwright."
"Of course not, baby. I'm far too fabulous."
8. for wutendeskind:
"But I don't even like sushi!" Kris says, trailing reluctantly along behind Adam and trying to ignore the people walking by, starting to stare. Not, Kris thinks, because anyone recognizes him. No, Kris can practically hear their thoughts when they give him confused, questioning looks, all, "What's a nice farm boy like you doing in WeHo with a man wearing vinyl pants and an aqua Hawaiian shirt?" Kris wants to tell them he wishes he knew, even more than he wants to apologize for Adam's current fascination with really ugly shirts, because honestly, he doesn't even like sushi and has no desire to go to some amazingly quaint-but-hip new sushi joint that Adam is insisting on taking him to. But instead he just follows with his head down, eyes tracking Adam's boots on the sidewalk (with heels! As if Adam needs to be taller!), muttering again to himself, "But I don't even like sushi."
"They have bubble tea!" Adam says, stopping suddenly and turning to face him, so that Kris almost runs right into Adam's hideous aqua and white Hawaiian shirt-covered chest. Adam rolls his eyes, grabs Kris's wrist, and pulls him along, starting to walk again. "You like smoothies, and you like yogurt--don't tell me you don't, you little hussy, I've seen you eating it with fruit for breakfast like you're a real housewife of the OC trying to fit into your skinny jeans--so you're going to love bubble tea."
"But I still hate sushi," Kris says. He lets himself be pulled along, though, because there's no use in arguing with Adam when he gets an idea, even as lame an idea as sushi.
"I'll tell you a secret," Adam whispers, leaning in close as they stop in front of the restaurant. Kris groans out loud and tries to cover his face when four guys with cameras appear out of nowhere, yelling random questions at them, but Adam holds on tightly to his wrist and doesn't let him. "None of that, now. Smile pretty for the cameras," he orders.
"Well what's the secret?" Kris asks. He smiles weakly and waves like a total dork, trying to tug Adam into the restaurant before someone with a video camera comes along.
Adam leans in close again, breath huffing soft and hot over Kris's ear, says, "It's not about the sushi. Come on, Superstar. Enjoy it while it lasts. In six months, no one's gonna care who we are."
Adam is wrong, Kris thinks, because in six months they will still care who Adam is; everyone will be buying Adam's first album in six months and no one will remember that Kris was the one who actually won. But then he looks up at Adam, who's grinning down at him with such sheer delight that Kris has to smile back, and suddenly none of that matters. He just wants to be present, to be here in the moment and maybe--maybe Adam is right, and he needs to enjoy this while he can.
Even if his 'this' isn't exactly what Adam means. "So, bubble tea, huh? Is it like sweet tea?" Kris asks.
Adam laughs and pulls him into the restaurant, waving a cheerful goodbye at the paparazzi, and Kris is just happy to hear that sound and have this friend that he never would've met otherwise, this amazing person who maybe means even more than winning a talent contest anyway, even if he is destined to fade away back to Arkansas where no one would ever try to make him eat sushi. "It'll be a surprise."
Bubble tea, it turns out, is even grosser than sushi, but sitting across from Adam in a window booth talking about producers and who they want to work with and what they think 19E will let them get away with, the difference between live instruments and synth beats and arguing over which is better--just sitting there with his friend, talking about the thing they both love, is pretty perfect, even with paparazzi trying to take their picture through the glare of the glass window.
It's pretty perfect, and Kris is pretty happy, and he thinks Adam is definitely right. He wishes this could be his real life forever even though he knows it won't be because this won't last and moments can't last forever and all that, but he's going to enjoy it while he can.
His momma always says that material things have expiration dates, but experiences last forever, and Kris thinks she's right. He wants to remember every moment of this entire experience and never let it fade away.
He still hates sushi, though.
9. for eruminator:
Adam hates sports. He's always hated sports because seriously, who wants to run around in a circle for no reason or kick a ball around a muddy field and risk having a Totally Marsha Marsha Marsha Incident when the ball flies at your face? Not that Adam minds balls, some of them he quite enjoys, even when they're in his face, but somehow he's pretty sure that sodomy will never count as an Olympic sport.
(Even if the original Greek olympians were all totally fucking each other, which somehow history seems to forget, but Adam spent a summer in the Troy fandom reading Achilles/Paris fic, so he knows the truth. The ancient Greeks were seriously into anal. Why do you think they wore those robe thingies? Easy access.)
So Adam hates sports, but he kind of loves Kris, and Kris is one of those straight-laced, home by curfew, tossing a football in the backyard for fun kind of guys, and if Adam wants to get Kris, he thinks, he needs to pull a John Travolta. Sometimes it's good to butch up, especially if it'll get him Kris.
And okay, so Kris is married, which is maybe a bigger obstacle than the whole sports thing, but that's just another thing that the Greeks got right, and possibly Brigham Young, too, because men, Adam knows, are not monogamous creatures. Like Kinsey, and Adam's friend Ellen's sister who lives in a commune in Georgia where they wash with sea sponges and grow their own corn and having naked drumming circles every night, everyone should have at least one boyfriend and one girlfriend. Jealousy is for losers, and Adam is pretty sure Katy would agree. She's a cool chick. Plus, he's seen her checking out Giraud. She would totally hit that if she could, so really Adam is doing her a favor, seducing her husband, because then she has a perfect excuse to get her freak on with the G-Man.
Adam is determined. They're on tour, and Kris and Sarver have come up with a new game to play in the hotel that they call Hallway Football. Normally, Adam hides in the room he shares with Kris until it's over because--balls flying at his gorgeous face, no thank you. But he's determined, and he's pretty sure the way to Kris's heart is through his obsession with sports (if only it were his stomach. So much easier and there are so many fun things to do with chocolate mousse, just for example) so that afternoon before they leave for the venue when Kris grabs his football from his bag and says, "You sure you don't wanna come play?" Adam looks up from reading the latest Glamour and says, "You know what? I think I will."
Hallway Football is just as lame as Adam always previously supposed--it's a game invented by Sarver, so it was already obviously going to be lame--but it's kind of nice tossing the ball back and forth to Kris while Kris chatters on and on about teams and players and famous games or whatever. After a while, Kris catches the ball and holds on to it, tilting his head to the side and just looking at Adam with those big eyes that make Adam feel stupid in love and also disturbingly remind him of his brief but intense obsession with Ranma 1/2 when he was in the eighth grade. If Kris were in Ranma 1/2, Adam thinks he would probably turn into some adorable kind of puppy. Or like a baby tiger or something, any sort of ridiculously cute animal. Definitely not a girl, though. A tiny piglet, Adam could deal, but there can be no gender-swapping in this dancery.
"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Kris asks, smiling a little. He still doesn't throw the ball back.
Adam grins. "I only watch football for the tight pants and the homoerotic ass-slapping."
Kris chokes on a laugh. "If you hate it, why are you, you know. What's up with this?" He waves a finger back and forth between the two of them down the long stretch of the hallway. Adam shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets, no easy feat because he's wearing his extra skinny bleach-washed jeans today.
"I guess I just wanted to show you that I can, I dunno. I can do the stuff you like, too. It's not just about me and the shit we have in common. I can totally butch up when I need to."
"Adam." Kris frowns and closes the distance between them, football still held loosely between his palms. He drops the ball at his feet and slides a hand up Adam's neck, fingers rubbing lightly at the back of it. "You don't need to. I like you just the way you are. Come on, let's go back to the room. My nails are all chipped and you promised to fix them."
He turns away and grabs the football, and Adam just watches him for a moment before following, thinking that plan Seduce Kristopher Allen is totally working, and Kris will be a Slutty Sandy in no time at all.
Plus, Kris likes him just the way he is. Which is good, because he really does hate sports. They're just so unfabulous.
for thearchpoet
"It's time to begin your education," Adam says excitedly, waving a DVD box around in the air as he stumbles over Allison and Megan's legs on his way to the television. The back lounge of the bus is too small for so many people; there are two wide purple platform-type lounger couches taking up most of the width of the area, with only a narrow space between, where Allison and Megan are sitting against opposite loungers. Matt and Anoop have taken over one lounger and Kris is sprawled on on the other one, and Kris wonders a little irritably why everyone needs to be on his and Adam's bus when they have their own buses, but then he remembers that Danny and Sarver are on the other bus and, yeah, that's really reason enough.
Adam slides a disc into the DVD player, smiling and practically bursting out of his extra-tight tank top. Anoop says, "Hey, we were watching that, jerk!" but Adam just rolls his eyes and grabs the remote, crawling onto the lounger next to Kris and lying down on his stomach like a kid in a 1950s sitcom on the rug in front of the television, chin propped up in one hand and legs kicking a little as he presses play.
"You were watching that Trading Spaces marathon, really?" he says as the dvd whirls to life. "I'll tell you what happens so you're not missing something life-threateningly important. Hilde glues something hideous to their walls and Frank tries to one up her by reupholstering all their furniture in purple and black tiger stripes, everyone pretends to like it but they're all secretly sobbing on the inside, and then Ty stops being hot and gets his own show exploiting poor-but-deserving Orphan Annie types for piles of cash."
"Hilde wasn't even on this episode," Megan tries to argue, but then the DVD starts, and no one can say anything because, well. Kris is pretty sure that Adam wouldn't purposely expose Allison to gay porn. Like, 83% sure of that. But what's on the screen kind of really resembles it. Not that Kris has seen a lot of gay porn, because he's pretty sure that gay porn isn't even legal in Arkansas, but once he had to use Katy's laptop to write a paper for his English 101 class and he found some clips that were pretty gay, but before he could get to the really gay parts, Katy looked over his shoulder and said, "Oh, that one's pretty good, if you don't mind fifteen minutes of blowjob. Sometimes I wish they'd just get to the fucking already." After that, Kris decided to finish his paper at the library and block the entire incident from his brain, because it was a little disturbing and a little hot, and now he wishes he could forget just how hot, because he's in a very small area with Adam pressed up along one side of him, and there are guys getting it on on the television.
Awkward as a descriptor doesn't really do the situation justice.
"Um," Kris says. "I think this is maybe not, uh. Allison. And. Young, and. Um."
Allison laughs. "Dude, I've totally seen this before. Who hasn't seen Queer As Folk? Brian Kinney is like my number one celebrity boyfriend. Except for the gay part."
Matt says, "Lambert, are you making us watch gay porn?" but he doesn't get up, and he doesn't stop watching, either.
Adam laughs. "Well, there is a rimming scene later, but it's not exactly realistic. The British version is way hotter."
"What's rimming?" Kris says. The dark-haired guy, Brian or whatever his name is, is picking up some twinky blond kid, and it's kind of hard to not look, because the Brian guy is just. There's something about him, like a look on his face that says if you don't want him then you must hate yourself because he's just that good.
He kind of reminds Kris of Adam, which makes him squirm a little until Adam nudges him in the thigh with his elbow and says, "Settle down now, Allen. This is the beginning of your education! And clearly, you need one. What's rimming! That's too precious."
By the time Kris finds out what rimming is (and wow, he did not think they could show something like that on TV, not even on Showtime!) Allison is asleep on the other lounger and the rest of them have abandoned Kris to his fate of being Educated in the Gay with lame excuses of having to wash their hair or call their moms. Adam sits up and settles with his back to the wall next to Kris, sighing dreamily and saying, "Isn't he just perfectly gorgeous?"
Kris coughs. "He's kind of an asshole though," he says, and Adam leans his head on Kris's shoulder. It's completely platonic, Kris knows this. And it doesn't feel weird because Kris is like incapable of feeling anything but comfortable and good when he's with Adam, especially when they're basically alone, but watching a kid lose his gay virginity on TV while Adam snuggles up to him, it's a little weird. Or maybe weird because it's not that weird.
"He's an asshole," Adam agrees. "But he kind of earned his assholishness? Because he's just so... Brian Kinney. He's like this undeniable force of nature. He's like a gay superhero or something."
Kris shrugs. "I still think he's kind of a jerk."
Adam lifts his head from Kris's shoulder and smiles. "Oh, honey," he says, and gives Kris a quick kiss on the cheek. "You're a sweetheart. Next time we'll watch Velvet Goldmine. Not as good for educational purposes, but there's an extended performance scene feature Ewan McGregor's cock."
"I can't wait," Kris says dryly, but Adam just pats him gently on the chest and says, "I know, right?" like he's got everything all figured out.
Maybe he does. But Kris is still learning. Obviously, he's still learning, especially about things like rimming and the importance of using the right kind of lube and other Gay Things Adam Thinks He Should Know.
After all, knowing is half the battle.
Drabbles: All About Eve Adam
(and sometimes Kris, and once or maybe twice, JC, but mostly Adam)
Fandom: American Idol RPF
Pairings: Adam/Kris, Adam/JC, Adam/Drake, Kris/Cocktails, Peter Sarsgaard/The Entire World
Ratings: Adult
Warnings: Some of these suck, just FYI. And some of them are good. It's a crapshoot, really. Remember, in the poker game of life, women are the rake.
1. for gemmi999:
They're somewhere in Ohio--Kris isn't really sure because pretty much all of Ohio looks like every other part of Ohio--and it's a hotel night for once, but they're in Ohio, so it's not like that means much. Kris remembers a John Denver song about Ohio and watching the grass grow, and that's pretty accurate as far as he can tell. Ohio is boring. More boring than Arkansas. Possibly the most boring place on Earth that isn't covered in ice.
Which is the only reason, Kris tells himself, that he agrees to go to a movie with Adam in the first place, because Adam's idea of a movie is usually foreign, gay, a musical, or a foreign gay musical, and it's not like Kris is against those things, because hey, he saw Once and he likes independent films and stuff, but there's only so much homoerotic French rock opera a guy can handle on one tour.
But it's Ohio, so he says, "Okay, fine, but this better be in English. I'm too tired to read."
Adam smiles slyly. "Oh, it's in English," he says, and Kris suddenly wonders if he shouldn't be very, very afraid. And then they pull up to the theatre and Kris knows he should be very afraid, because the first thing he sees when he steps out of the car is a guy in six inch heels wearing a corset and fishnets and not much else.
"Um," Kris says.
"Don't tell me they don't have Rocky Horror in Ar-Kansas!" Adam says gleefully. "Oh, this is going to be delightful."
2. for coolwhipdiva:
Adam is just lying there in the dark, enjoying the whole bed-as-opposed-to-bunk thing for the first time in three days, and most of all finally having enough room to stretch his legs out because he's pretty certain that bunks on tour buses were designed for midgets and not normal people, and that's when he hears the noise.
Normally, he wouldn't think anything of it. It's just a rustling noise, like maybe Kris is rolling over or trying to get comfortable or something in the other bed. Except that Adam has slept in the same room with Kris enough times to know that Kris doesn't roll over and he doesn't try to get comfortable, he just goes straight to sleep, the lucky bitch. So this noise is not a normal Kris noise.
It is, however, a noise Adam recognizes very easily. He grins into the dark.
"Kris."
"Mmm. What?" The noise pauses.
"Whatcha doin'?"
"Um. Sleeping?"
"Is that what we're calling it now?"
Kris doesn't respond, and Adam smiles harder. Embarrassing him is just so fucking fun.
"Because I know you grew up in hickville and all, but civilized people jerk off in the shower where roommates can't hear them."
"Civilized people might ask if I need a hand," Kris says, laughing a little.
"Why Kristopher Allen! Are you propositioning me? You know, just because I'm queer doesn't mean I'm easy."
The noise starts up again, and Kris says, "I thought being easy meant you were easy."
"Oh, well, that's a very good point." Adam throws back the blankets and jumps onto Kris's bed, landing with a bounce that makes Kris huff and laugh at the same time.
"You're on my legs, jerk! And you're heavy, by the way!"
"I'm just big boned," Adam says, grinning. He can see Kris in the dark, shadowy planes of his face and the white slice of his smile. "Now about that proposition..."
"I know I said a hand," Kris says, "but wouldn't a mouth really be more gentlemanly?"
"Don't push it, sister," Adam says, and shoves his hand down Kris's pajama pants, singing, "We get by with a little help from our friends," until Kris puts a hand over Adam's mouth and laugh and comes, and Adam thinks, this is going to be the best tour ever.
3. for strippedhalo:
Kris doesn't do clubs, mostly because they don't really have clubs in Arkansas. What they have in Arkansas are Sno Cone Shacks and Sonics and bars where the only dancing people do is line and the music is either jukebox or live, which is always greeted by the grumpy drunks with their guts hanging over the barstools yelling for 'Thunder Road' and 'Friends in Low Places' and whatever other Garth song titles they can still remember after five PBRs.
So Kris has been to lots of bars and played in lots of bars, but he doesn't do clubs and he's certainly never been to a gay club, but Adam wanted to go out with his friends before they left LA again and Kris didn't want to get left behind at the hotel with Gokey and Sarver; Allison is on a Cinderella curfew and not old enough to do anything fun anyway, and Matt invited him to be his wingman while Matt hooked up with "desperate chicks who'll bang anyone that can do a decent falsetto so they can pretend they're doing Justin Timberlake," but that was even more unappetizing than playing Bible Trivial Pursuit with Gokey and Sarver, so yeah.
And that, Kris tells himself, is the official story of how he went to his first gay club. It doesn't explain how he ends up in a dark corner with Adam's hand down his pants, Adam saying, "You sure Katy's okay with this?" though.
But before that--before that, Kris walks into the club, looks around, and realizes he's the least awesome person there. Everything kind of glitters and there are crazy lights in magenta and blue swirling around the very sparkly people who are actually dancing--not in lines, and not in any synchronized, organized sort of way, but dancing like they have to move or they'll die; and Adam pulls him over to a booth his friends have claimed just off the dance floor.
Kris has seen some of them before. He's seen Drake in paparazzi pictures and a few times in person when the show was still on, but they've never really met formally or anything. There are lots of others, people of indeterminable gender who kiss Adam right on the mouth and called Kris "Superstar" and buy him drinks that taste like candy and make him very drunk very quickly.
"So, Superstaaaah," the girl sitting next to him says, throwing her arm across Kris's shoulders. She says it just like that, too, and Kris thinks he is just drunk enough that he could maybe fall into her vowels, they're so wide. He whispers it to himself, "Superstaaah," and she grins at him, nodding toward Adam on the dance floor, leather jacket abandoned in the booth, white t-shirt sticking wetly to him with sweat in places. It should be gross, because it's sweat and sweat is usually pretty gross, but it's kind of hot. Kris is drunk though, a drunk Superstaaaah, so he's allowed to think that.
"You hit that yet?" the girl says. She jostles him a little and Kris hides his blush behind his giant cocktail glass filled with something blue and delicious.
"He has a boyfriend," Kris says.
"They're off right now," the girl says, tapping her fingers against the booth table to the beat of the song. Kris thinks he should really learn her name, but she looks a bit like Kara at her least annoying, so that's what he'll call her, he decides. It's too embarrassing to admit he can't remember.
"I'm married," Kris says. He pauses for a moment before adding, "And mainly straight."
Kara laughs. "Listen, Dollface, Lambert is like Peter Sarsgaard--everyone's gay for him."
And then she buys him about twelve more drinks that taste like bananas, or maybe it's only two, but bananas are one of Kris's favorite foods and their big drinks so it's like twelve, and explains how Adam, like Peter Sarsgaard, has this gayifying effect on people, or in her case, a de-gayifying effect because, "I'm a total carpet muncher, no dicks allowed in this dancery, but I would totally fuck him. And Peter Sarsgaard. It's an undeniable force of nature."
Which is how he ends up in the corner with Adam's hand down his pants. He's pretty sure some stuff came between Kara explaining the Sarsgaard Idiom and being publicly jerked off by Adam Lambert, but Kris can't make himself care. Because his dick is very happy with the current state of things, and his brain is pretty happy, too, but then Adam's hand stops doing the awesome thing it was doing a second ago and Adam repeats, "You sure Katy won't mind?"
Kris blinks up at him. "She has a zip code rule," he explains. "And um, fidelity is part of the industrial patra...portia...patronizing something. You know. That thing. That thing where men try to keep women down with their old-timey rules about society and stuff?"
"The patriarchal industrial complex?" Adam says, and squeezes just so until Kris whimpers a little and tries to thrust into his grip.
"Sure, that." It sounds right, anyway, from all the lectures Katy has given him over the years and which he has mostly tuned out in favor of making up new lyrics to commercial jingles in his head.
"In that case, Superstaaaah," Adam says, pulling his hand free and smiling slyly when Kris frowns and tries to grab it back, "I think we should take this back to the hotel before someone notices." His fingers circle Kris's wrist and he tugs him through the crowded dance floor back to the booth, saying, "And remind me to thank your wife."
"Remind me to thank your friend Kara," Kris says, holding on tight to Adam's arm. "And Peter Sarsgaard, whoever that is."
4. for musicboxgirl:
JC's not really sure why he does it. Later, Lance will say that it's because JC is flamingly gay and trying to work through his issues via other people, like those scary moms on that show JC absolutely doesn't watch at 9pm on We about three-year-olds in beauty pageants; but that's later, and Lance isn't exactly biased, being flamingly gay himself and totally ignorant of the whole Kinsey scale, of which JC likes to thing he encompasses the entirety.
After all, he loves to motorboat, so clearly, Lance is deluded.
But for now, all JC knows is that when he sees Adam Lambert at Kitson Men one day, looking through the racks of jeans with a slight frown on his face and a saleswoman hovering behind him like the stickiest of fruit flies, JC says, "Hey, you're that cat from American Idol, right? Lambert?"
He looks up, and JC thinks, Oh. The guy isn't the best-looking person out there (JC has certainly fucked more beautiful, because, well, that's sort of what JC does with his life now that he doesn't have a real career), but his eyes are a sort of electric blue that makes JC think in Prince lyrics and guitar riffs. Lambert smiles a little shyly back, says, "I didn't win. But yeah. I'm that cat." He smiles a little wider.
"I'm JC," JC says. He pauses. "Um, Chasez." He pauses again, a little longer this time, then says, just in case, "From NSYNC?"
"I know," Lambert says, "you always had the best outfits. The naked lady pants! Those were great."
JC coughs. "Yeah, um, I still have them, but my brother kind of. He decided to play dress up one night and ruined them, it was really sad. But I still have them and uh, if you ever wanted to maybe come hang out sometime, I have, like, my own studio and we could just chill and maybe do some tunes and you could see the naked--the Botacelli pants. If you wanted."
"You'd let me into your closet?" His lip quirks up in a little half-smile, and JC can feel himself blushing or something, like he's not a formerly super famous popstar talking to a guy who hasn't even cut his first record yet.
"Well, um, you know. It's a really big closet."
"I bet it is," Lambert says, and then a guy comes up to Lambert holding a pair of truly tragic bleach-washed jeans. He kisses Lambert on the side of his mouth, looks at JC and says, "Oh my god, you're JC from NSYNC!"
"And apparently," Lambert says, cocking his head to the side a little like he's considering something, "he's inviting me into his gigantic closet."
So later, much later, like on the drive home when JC is still freaking out a little because it was just a really weird situation and he never does shit like that, he calls Lance. After hanging up on Lance twice because Lance won't stop laughing, Lance finally says, "So you just wanted to hang out with him, because he's a cool guy and you could be friends?"
"And to show him my closet," JC says defensively. It's not like he thought about actually fucking the guy. Much. And if he did, it would only be for the sake of the music, because JC's pretty sure that the sounds that came out of Lambert's mouth when he was, well, coming, would need to be recorded for posterity. And art.
"You never showed me your closet," Lance says.
"You never showed an interest in my unique fashion sense!"
JC can practically hear Lance's eyes rolling. "Next time I want to wear feathers or penis pants or dress like my gramps, I'll know who to ask," he says, and hangs up.
JC frowns at the phone, shrugging. But, he thinks, maybe he should get rid of the bowties and plaid button downs, just in case Lambert calls him up to see the closet. Just in case.
5. for prysmicdork:
"Are you high?" Chris says. "JC, you're a multi-millionaire. You don't need to have a yard sale. Also, you live on a freaking mountaintop. Who's gonna be able to find it?"
"I'll put up signs," JC says defensively. "And it's not a yard sale, don't be so plebeian, Chris. It's an estate sale. I have a professional estate sale person and everything. Plus, we put an ad in Craig's List. People will totally show up."
"So that's a yes, then," Chris says. He sighs loudly into the phone. "JC, I say this as someone who has drunkenly posted pictures of his ass on Twitter--you need to step away from the pot. It's making you retarded."
"I have insomnia, it's prescribed," JC says.
Chris is silent for a long moment. "Since when did insomnia become a disease in which you can fall asleep anytime, anywhere? I'm pretty sure that's the opposite of insomnia, C. It's a federal offense to lie to doctors just to score weed, you know."
"It's covered by my insurance," JC insists stubbornly. "Anyway, I have to go, there are people here! Someone is looking at the Roberto Cavelli outfit!"
"That's maybe more disturbing than the idea of you having a yardsale in the first place," Chris says, but JC is too busy rushing excitedly over to the guy eying the Cavelli fur ruff to respond in the withering manner that Chris's frankly ludicrous statements deserve. He flips his phone shut while Chris is still talking and approaches the guy, a slightly queeny-looking goth kid, but with much better fashion sense than any real goth would ever have.
(JC knows, because he's met Marilyn Mason, and that guy does not understand the art of wearing tight pants at all, or the fact that there can totally be such a thing as too much eyeliner.)
"Do you like it?" JC asks, nodding toward the Outfit. It's one of his very favorites, and he remembers how excited he was when Cavelli created it especially for him.
"It's, um. Interesting," the guy says, smiling a little.
"It's an original Roberto Cavelli," JC says in hushed, admiring tones. "I wore it to the VMAs one year and Lennie Kravitz even complimented me on it. I hate to part with such a beautiful ensemble, but my life coach says I need to start fresh and stop clinging to the vestiges of my former glory, so you know, all in the name of becoming a healthier and more complete person and what not."
"Um, sure," the guy says. He flips the long fan of blue-streaked black hair off his forehead. He smiles a little, looking half-embarrassed and half-pleased, like he doesn't know quite what to make of JC, but JC is used to that reaction after being alive for 33 years, so. "I was actually hoping..." the guy trails off, coughing a little. "I was wondering if you still have the 'I Heart You' shirt, actually. I mean, don't get me wrong, Cavelli is a totally important designer, but fur isn't really my thing."
JC looks him up and down, frowning a little. "You'd stretch it out," he says, a little suspiciously. "I'm not sure that would be such a good idea."
"It's not for me," the guy says quickly. "I have this friend, he's smaller than you, even, and he'd take really good care of it, I swear."
JC nods. He really is trying to follow his life coach's advice, because let's face it, his life is kind of in the crapper at the moment and he'll do anything to achieve some sort of sense of fulfillment and like everything was worth it and all that Justin New Age Bullshit, so he leads the guy over to the t-shirt rack and finds the 'I Heart You' t-shirt, fondling it just a little before handing it over.
"I wore this on my last tour with nsync," JC says a little sadly. "It has the sweat of fifty arenas embedded in its very fibers. So take care of it like you would a prized possession, or your first-born child."
The guy looks like he's about to laugh, which JC knows is the usual reaction people have to him when he talks about his Outfits, but he manages to hold it in and takes the shirt with a solemn nod.
"How much do I owe you?" the guy says.
"No charge," JC says. He's not doing it for the money, after all, plus he knows that some mean gossip blogger would make a big deal out of a multi-millionaire popstar selling his old stuff instead of giving it to charity for auction or whatever, so. It's really not about the money, though. As the Backstreet Boys sing, you can let go. JC is determined to live by their wisdom.
The guy looks surprised, but JC just waves him off. "Seriously. It's enough to know that it's going to a good home."
JC watches him leave, staring a little longingly because he really loved that shirt and its profound but simple message of love, but then he spots Courtney Love feeling up the Botticelli pants, saying, "Oooh, naked ladies!" and he has to rush off to save them. Tyler already stretched them out with his giant ass, but there's no way he's going to let a train wreck like Courtney love get her hands on them! They'd be covered in vomit within a week, and maybe it's time for JC to let go of the past, sure, but he has a moral obligation to the fashion world--no, to society itself!--not to let important pieces fall into the hands of evil.
"Hands off the naked ladies!" JC says, slapping at her hands until she backs away, looking slightly frightened. "These pants are not for you," JC explains, "but maybe I could interest you in a vintage purple Orlando Magics jersey? I can assure you that it's extremely comfortable and breathable, besides being highly vomit-resistant."
(damnit, I can't find a picture of the I ♥ You t-shirt! *sadface*)
6. for babyofthegroup:
Adam wakes up alone, which isn't different from how he's been waking up the past five months, except it's not exactly right, either, because when he went to sleep, Drake was there, and now he's gone and Adam is definitely alone. He was kind of hoping for a morning blowjob to start the day off right, but instead he gets cool sheets and not even a note, and that really kind of sucks. He should be used to it by now, but it still sucks. He's going to be a megastar. He should at least get to wake up to a nice good morning blowjob from his boyfriend.
He considers sleeping more--his first real day of rest after the hellish week of interviews and New York and singing 'Mad World' over and over again--but he gets up instead, pulling on an abandoned pair of sweat pants and wandering out into the kitchen, hoping he has coffee and knowing in an exhausted sort of way that the outlook is not so good, considering he hasn't been home in like five months.
But when he shuffles into the kitchen, Drake is there, pouring coffee into Adam's 'World's Best Drag Queen' coffee mug and adding just the right amount of soy creamer and sugar; there's a pan of eggs on one burner and a plate piled with pancakes in the shapes of stars and penises on the breakfast bar. And Drake, holding out the mug, saying, "I went to the store and picked up some things. I hope that's okay."
He's so beautiful, Adam thinks, and not just because of the coffee or the pancake penises. He's thoughtful, and Adam's had boyfriends before, but no one's ever made him pancakes before, and no one's ever bothered to remember how he likes his coffee.
Adam steps up close, slides his hands around Drake's waist and leans his forehead on Drake's shoulder, pressing a little kiss there, just because. Drake stands still, carefully balancing the coffee, and Adam says, "You're a total rockstar."
"No," Drake says, pulling away and giving Adam a little push toward the pancakes, "I'm just the rockstar's boyfriend. Now go eat your breakfast before the cocks get cold."
7. for lerah99:
It's been a few weeks since they've seen each other, and a lot more since Kris has seen the people who left the show, but they're all together now for tour prep, but mostly Kris thinks about how weird it was being back in Arkansas with his family, and how right it feels sitting next to Adam in the rehearsal room, knees touching while they look over the initial tour ideas.
"What about 'Careless Whisper' for our duet?" Adam says. "I saw Ben Folds and Rufus Wainwright do that a while back and it was amazing. You could play the piano. Oh my god, you're totally my Ben Folds!"
"I think Rufus Wainwright can actually play instruments," Kris says. He frowns a little and stares at the sheet harder, suddenly shy and not wanting to look at Adam because it's weird. It's just weird that this feels more normal to him now than hanging out with Katy or watching reruns of House with his mom while his dad reads the newspaper and grumbles about whatever local politician is doing something stupid this week. But it does. It feels right, somehow, being here. Kris doesn't know how he feels about that.
Adam's knee knocks into his a little and he says, "Still with us, spaceman?"
"It's kind of a sad song, though. I mean. I'm not sure. It's just. Sad. It's about endings and, you know. Sad."
"So it's sad, then?" Adam says, mouth twitching like he's trying not to smile. "Well, we could always do 'Father Figure' but you know, I'm not really into the leather daddy scene."
Kris laughs and Allison, watching them across the room, says, "What's a leather daddy?"
"I'll tell you when you're older, doll," Adam says. He lifts an eyebrow at Kris. "There's always 'One More Try' but that's slightly inappropriate as a duet with a straight guy, don't you think?"
"'I Want Your Sex'!" Danny says mockingly, sneering just a little.
"Honey, no one wants your sex," Adam replies, smiling sharply.
"Maybe we shouldn't do George Michael?" Kris says. But now he's thinking about what it would be like, playing the piano while Adam sings, getting lost in the world of the music and the melody, and it really is a beautiful song even if it's kind of sad and all, never gonna dance again, and things.
"Everyone should do George Michael." Adam smirks a little.
"We could do 'Faith'?" Kris says.
"Well I guess it could be nice," Adam says, "if I could touch your body. You know, not everubody's got a body like you."
Kris coughs and flushes, hides his face in his notes with a groan at Adam's laughter. "Okay okay. 'Careless Whispers'! I will be your Ben Folds. But I still think you're no Rufus Wainwright."
"Of course not, baby. I'm far too fabulous."
8. for wutendeskind:
"But I don't even like sushi!" Kris says, trailing reluctantly along behind Adam and trying to ignore the people walking by, starting to stare. Not, Kris thinks, because anyone recognizes him. No, Kris can practically hear their thoughts when they give him confused, questioning looks, all, "What's a nice farm boy like you doing in WeHo with a man wearing vinyl pants and an aqua Hawaiian shirt?" Kris wants to tell them he wishes he knew, even more than he wants to apologize for Adam's current fascination with really ugly shirts, because honestly, he doesn't even like sushi and has no desire to go to some amazingly quaint-but-hip new sushi joint that Adam is insisting on taking him to. But instead he just follows with his head down, eyes tracking Adam's boots on the sidewalk (with heels! As if Adam needs to be taller!), muttering again to himself, "But I don't even like sushi."
"They have bubble tea!" Adam says, stopping suddenly and turning to face him, so that Kris almost runs right into Adam's hideous aqua and white Hawaiian shirt-covered chest. Adam rolls his eyes, grabs Kris's wrist, and pulls him along, starting to walk again. "You like smoothies, and you like yogurt--don't tell me you don't, you little hussy, I've seen you eating it with fruit for breakfast like you're a real housewife of the OC trying to fit into your skinny jeans--so you're going to love bubble tea."
"But I still hate sushi," Kris says. He lets himself be pulled along, though, because there's no use in arguing with Adam when he gets an idea, even as lame an idea as sushi.
"I'll tell you a secret," Adam whispers, leaning in close as they stop in front of the restaurant. Kris groans out loud and tries to cover his face when four guys with cameras appear out of nowhere, yelling random questions at them, but Adam holds on tightly to his wrist and doesn't let him. "None of that, now. Smile pretty for the cameras," he orders.
"Well what's the secret?" Kris asks. He smiles weakly and waves like a total dork, trying to tug Adam into the restaurant before someone with a video camera comes along.
Adam leans in close again, breath huffing soft and hot over Kris's ear, says, "It's not about the sushi. Come on, Superstar. Enjoy it while it lasts. In six months, no one's gonna care who we are."
Adam is wrong, Kris thinks, because in six months they will still care who Adam is; everyone will be buying Adam's first album in six months and no one will remember that Kris was the one who actually won. But then he looks up at Adam, who's grinning down at him with such sheer delight that Kris has to smile back, and suddenly none of that matters. He just wants to be present, to be here in the moment and maybe--maybe Adam is right, and he needs to enjoy this while he can.
Even if his 'this' isn't exactly what Adam means. "So, bubble tea, huh? Is it like sweet tea?" Kris asks.
Adam laughs and pulls him into the restaurant, waving a cheerful goodbye at the paparazzi, and Kris is just happy to hear that sound and have this friend that he never would've met otherwise, this amazing person who maybe means even more than winning a talent contest anyway, even if he is destined to fade away back to Arkansas where no one would ever try to make him eat sushi. "It'll be a surprise."
Bubble tea, it turns out, is even grosser than sushi, but sitting across from Adam in a window booth talking about producers and who they want to work with and what they think 19E will let them get away with, the difference between live instruments and synth beats and arguing over which is better--just sitting there with his friend, talking about the thing they both love, is pretty perfect, even with paparazzi trying to take their picture through the glare of the glass window.
It's pretty perfect, and Kris is pretty happy, and he thinks Adam is definitely right. He wishes this could be his real life forever even though he knows it won't be because this won't last and moments can't last forever and all that, but he's going to enjoy it while he can.
His momma always says that material things have expiration dates, but experiences last forever, and Kris thinks she's right. He wants to remember every moment of this entire experience and never let it fade away.
He still hates sushi, though.
9. for eruminator:
Adam hates sports. He's always hated sports because seriously, who wants to run around in a circle for no reason or kick a ball around a muddy field and risk having a Totally Marsha Marsha Marsha Incident when the ball flies at your face? Not that Adam minds balls, some of them he quite enjoys, even when they're in his face, but somehow he's pretty sure that sodomy will never count as an Olympic sport.
(Even if the original Greek olympians were all totally fucking each other, which somehow history seems to forget, but Adam spent a summer in the Troy fandom reading Achilles/Paris fic, so he knows the truth. The ancient Greeks were seriously into anal. Why do you think they wore those robe thingies? Easy access.)
So Adam hates sports, but he kind of loves Kris, and Kris is one of those straight-laced, home by curfew, tossing a football in the backyard for fun kind of guys, and if Adam wants to get Kris, he thinks, he needs to pull a John Travolta. Sometimes it's good to butch up, especially if it'll get him Kris.
And okay, so Kris is married, which is maybe a bigger obstacle than the whole sports thing, but that's just another thing that the Greeks got right, and possibly Brigham Young, too, because men, Adam knows, are not monogamous creatures. Like Kinsey, and Adam's friend Ellen's sister who lives in a commune in Georgia where they wash with sea sponges and grow their own corn and having naked drumming circles every night, everyone should have at least one boyfriend and one girlfriend. Jealousy is for losers, and Adam is pretty sure Katy would agree. She's a cool chick. Plus, he's seen her checking out Giraud. She would totally hit that if she could, so really Adam is doing her a favor, seducing her husband, because then she has a perfect excuse to get her freak on with the G-Man.
Adam is determined. They're on tour, and Kris and Sarver have come up with a new game to play in the hotel that they call Hallway Football. Normally, Adam hides in the room he shares with Kris until it's over because--balls flying at his gorgeous face, no thank you. But he's determined, and he's pretty sure the way to Kris's heart is through his obsession with sports (if only it were his stomach. So much easier and there are so many fun things to do with chocolate mousse, just for example) so that afternoon before they leave for the venue when Kris grabs his football from his bag and says, "You sure you don't wanna come play?" Adam looks up from reading the latest Glamour and says, "You know what? I think I will."
Hallway Football is just as lame as Adam always previously supposed--it's a game invented by Sarver, so it was already obviously going to be lame--but it's kind of nice tossing the ball back and forth to Kris while Kris chatters on and on about teams and players and famous games or whatever. After a while, Kris catches the ball and holds on to it, tilting his head to the side and just looking at Adam with those big eyes that make Adam feel stupid in love and also disturbingly remind him of his brief but intense obsession with Ranma 1/2 when he was in the eighth grade. If Kris were in Ranma 1/2, Adam thinks he would probably turn into some adorable kind of puppy. Or like a baby tiger or something, any sort of ridiculously cute animal. Definitely not a girl, though. A tiny piglet, Adam could deal, but there can be no gender-swapping in this dancery.
"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Kris asks, smiling a little. He still doesn't throw the ball back.
Adam grins. "I only watch football for the tight pants and the homoerotic ass-slapping."
Kris chokes on a laugh. "If you hate it, why are you, you know. What's up with this?" He waves a finger back and forth between the two of them down the long stretch of the hallway. Adam shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets, no easy feat because he's wearing his extra skinny bleach-washed jeans today.
"I guess I just wanted to show you that I can, I dunno. I can do the stuff you like, too. It's not just about me and the shit we have in common. I can totally butch up when I need to."
"Adam." Kris frowns and closes the distance between them, football still held loosely between his palms. He drops the ball at his feet and slides a hand up Adam's neck, fingers rubbing lightly at the back of it. "You don't need to. I like you just the way you are. Come on, let's go back to the room. My nails are all chipped and you promised to fix them."
He turns away and grabs the football, and Adam just watches him for a moment before following, thinking that plan Seduce Kristopher Allen is totally working, and Kris will be a Slutty Sandy in no time at all.
Plus, Kris likes him just the way he is. Which is good, because he really does hate sports. They're just so unfabulous.
for thearchpoet
"It's time to begin your education," Adam says excitedly, waving a DVD box around in the air as he stumbles over Allison and Megan's legs on his way to the television. The back lounge of the bus is too small for so many people; there are two wide purple platform-type lounger couches taking up most of the width of the area, with only a narrow space between, where Allison and Megan are sitting against opposite loungers. Matt and Anoop have taken over one lounger and Kris is sprawled on on the other one, and Kris wonders a little irritably why everyone needs to be on his and Adam's bus when they have their own buses, but then he remembers that Danny and Sarver are on the other bus and, yeah, that's really reason enough.
Adam slides a disc into the DVD player, smiling and practically bursting out of his extra-tight tank top. Anoop says, "Hey, we were watching that, jerk!" but Adam just rolls his eyes and grabs the remote, crawling onto the lounger next to Kris and lying down on his stomach like a kid in a 1950s sitcom on the rug in front of the television, chin propped up in one hand and legs kicking a little as he presses play.
"You were watching that Trading Spaces marathon, really?" he says as the dvd whirls to life. "I'll tell you what happens so you're not missing something life-threateningly important. Hilde glues something hideous to their walls and Frank tries to one up her by reupholstering all their furniture in purple and black tiger stripes, everyone pretends to like it but they're all secretly sobbing on the inside, and then Ty stops being hot and gets his own show exploiting poor-but-deserving Orphan Annie types for piles of cash."
"Hilde wasn't even on this episode," Megan tries to argue, but then the DVD starts, and no one can say anything because, well. Kris is pretty sure that Adam wouldn't purposely expose Allison to gay porn. Like, 83% sure of that. But what's on the screen kind of really resembles it. Not that Kris has seen a lot of gay porn, because he's pretty sure that gay porn isn't even legal in Arkansas, but once he had to use Katy's laptop to write a paper for his English 101 class and he found some clips that were pretty gay, but before he could get to the really gay parts, Katy looked over his shoulder and said, "Oh, that one's pretty good, if you don't mind fifteen minutes of blowjob. Sometimes I wish they'd just get to the fucking already." After that, Kris decided to finish his paper at the library and block the entire incident from his brain, because it was a little disturbing and a little hot, and now he wishes he could forget just how hot, because he's in a very small area with Adam pressed up along one side of him, and there are guys getting it on on the television.
Awkward as a descriptor doesn't really do the situation justice.
"Um," Kris says. "I think this is maybe not, uh. Allison. And. Young, and. Um."
Allison laughs. "Dude, I've totally seen this before. Who hasn't seen Queer As Folk? Brian Kinney is like my number one celebrity boyfriend. Except for the gay part."
Matt says, "Lambert, are you making us watch gay porn?" but he doesn't get up, and he doesn't stop watching, either.
Adam laughs. "Well, there is a rimming scene later, but it's not exactly realistic. The British version is way hotter."
"What's rimming?" Kris says. The dark-haired guy, Brian or whatever his name is, is picking up some twinky blond kid, and it's kind of hard to not look, because the Brian guy is just. There's something about him, like a look on his face that says if you don't want him then you must hate yourself because he's just that good.
He kind of reminds Kris of Adam, which makes him squirm a little until Adam nudges him in the thigh with his elbow and says, "Settle down now, Allen. This is the beginning of your education! And clearly, you need one. What's rimming! That's too precious."
By the time Kris finds out what rimming is (and wow, he did not think they could show something like that on TV, not even on Showtime!) Allison is asleep on the other lounger and the rest of them have abandoned Kris to his fate of being Educated in the Gay with lame excuses of having to wash their hair or call their moms. Adam sits up and settles with his back to the wall next to Kris, sighing dreamily and saying, "Isn't he just perfectly gorgeous?"
Kris coughs. "He's kind of an asshole though," he says, and Adam leans his head on Kris's shoulder. It's completely platonic, Kris knows this. And it doesn't feel weird because Kris is like incapable of feeling anything but comfortable and good when he's with Adam, especially when they're basically alone, but watching a kid lose his gay virginity on TV while Adam snuggles up to him, it's a little weird. Or maybe weird because it's not that weird.
"He's an asshole," Adam agrees. "But he kind of earned his assholishness? Because he's just so... Brian Kinney. He's like this undeniable force of nature. He's like a gay superhero or something."
Kris shrugs. "I still think he's kind of a jerk."
Adam lifts his head from Kris's shoulder and smiles. "Oh, honey," he says, and gives Kris a quick kiss on the cheek. "You're a sweetheart. Next time we'll watch Velvet Goldmine. Not as good for educational purposes, but there's an extended performance scene feature Ewan McGregor's cock."
"I can't wait," Kris says dryly, but Adam just pats him gently on the chest and says, "I know, right?" like he's got everything all figured out.
Maybe he does. But Kris is still learning. Obviously, he's still learning, especially about things like rimming and the importance of using the right kind of lube and other Gay Things Adam Thinks He Should Know.
After all, knowing is half the battle.