Drabbles: Miscellaneous AI8 and popslash stuff
So here's the part where I admit that I couldn't write some of the prompts you all gave me. Mainly the crossover ones, which for some reason aren't gelling in my brain right now. But if it makes you feel any better, madame_d asked for Adam/JC porn in return for beta-ing 'Wizard Not Included' and I actually have an IDEA for it, so that will be forthcoming, whenever I actually sit down and write it.
But for now, enjoy these drabbles. Warnings: recreational drug use, alcohol, and my weak impression of Neil Lambert, whose awesomeness cannot be properly replicated.
01. coolwhipdiva asked for: "Kris/Adam, Slip & Slide"
Adam for serious does not want to do this. Aside from maybe going to church with Danny or fucking Joan Rivers, this is pretty much the last thing Adam wants to do. But Kris is so fucking excited about it and it's Adam's last day in Arkansas; he wants to spend it with Kris doing Kris things and pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist, and apparently what Kris wants to do is--this. Adam can't even say it. It's too disturbing.
"It's just like a Slip N Slide," Kris says, grinning up at storm-dark sky and letting the rain pound against his cheeks.
"Um," says Adam, "except for how it's totally not like a Slip N Slide, which is a fun childhood toy you put in the backyard, specifically designed for slipping and sliding down, with a nice cushy lap pool at the bottom. This is mud, Kris. A hill of mud." He looks down at his boots and nearly cries. He should've listened to Kris about the footwear, because his fabulous boots are covered in mud. It'll come off, but still. Mud.
"And a sled!" Kris says, holding up the orange disc like that's going to make Adam feel better about sliding down what is basically a mudslide in the middle of nowhere, Arkansas, in a storm. Maybe if he were high, but even then, well. If he were high, he wouldn't have left the couch, much less climbed up a muddy hill
("It's technically part of the Ozarks," Kris told him, to which Adam replied, "Can we be the men who went up the hill and came?" but Kris just rolled his eyes and called him a slut. Fair enough.)
but instead he's sober, standing at the top of a muddy path-slide-hill thing that Kris assures him was designed specifically for this purpose, and Adam is pretty sure he's lying. And if Kris is lying, this must really be important. Damnit.
"I'll go with you," Kris says. "I'll control the sled, and you'll be totally safe, I promise. I've done this like a hundred times. I've taken Katy down the path. Are you honestly gonna tell me that my hundred-pound wife has more balls than you?"
Adam raises his eyebrows. "If you want to see my balls, you just have to ask, Allen." Adam looks at his boots again, sighing. They're already covered in mud, and he listened to Kris about wearing jeans he hates, so at least there's that. "Fuck it. Fine. But if I die, you're going to make a lot of twinks and forty-year-old midwestern ladies really sad."
"I'll risk it," Kris says, and then he's pushing Adam onto the sled and settling in behind him, which is not a position Adam is used to, especially since Kris is like a midget and Adam's pretty sure Kris can't even see past him.
"I don't know about this," Adam says. He's wet and muddy and the path does not look like it was specifically constructed for this insane and ridiculous purpose. "This is such a bad idea."
Kris just grins against Adam's neck, says, "Too late to turn back now," and pushes off.
02. for wutendeskind: Adam/Kris - the night of Adam's (or Kris's) CD release party.
Adam says, "You have to come! We're doing a live remix of the second single with this really cool producer and my drag queen friend is planning this insane re-enactment of the Beyonce champagne glass thing, it's gonna be sick!" And he sounds so excited about that Kris can't say no. He's like the slutty girl from Oklahoma who keeps going back to the guy who's no good for her, because apparently, Kris is just a girl who c'aint say no.
It's pathetic. It's ridiculous. But it's Adam.
He should say no. Because his own album release is in a week and he's running ragged with promo shit. He hasn't seen Katy in three weeks and he should just stay at the hotel, get some sleep because he has to fly to New York the next morning for--he doesn't even know what for, because he can't keep track of it anymore, but someone there will tell him where to go and what to wear, and at this point he's to tired to give a shit.
He really shouldn't go. But then Adam says, "Please, Kris? You don't have to stick around, but it would mean a lot to me to have you there," and Kris c'aint say no. He's so screwed.
The party is loud and crowded and it takes Kris an hour to get down the red carpet, which he has to do because promo-promo-promo, and by the time he makes it into the club, all he wants to do is leave. Instead he finds Matt at the bar with a line of shots in front of him, looking like he's trying his best to hide from everyone in the room, but when he sees Kris, he shoves two full shot glasses in front of him and says, "Fucking finally. Someone to save me. And get drunk with me so I'm not doing that whole drinking alone thing. Isn't that the first sign of an alcoholic?"
"I don't think drinking alone at parties counts," Kris says, sniffing carefully at one of the shots. "Why does this smell like cinnamon?"
"It's goldschlager. Adam says it's the gayest, most alcoholic liquor in existence. Also, I think they're sponsoring the party."
"And you need saving because...?"
Matt looks at him from beneath the rim of his hat, eyes wide and bloodshot. "Have you met Adam's ex? Not the one he was seeing on the show, that one was nice and quiet and polite. I liked that one. But--the other one." Kris nods. They've met. Kind of. If walking in on some kind of freaky ex-sex involving handcuffs and strategically sprayed whipped cream counts.
"He's like, after me or something. And he's persistent. It's freaking me out! You know I love the gays, dude, but I don't love the gays." Matt emphasizes this by taking a shot, and Kris downs his because it's only polite. It takes like cinnamon, too. He takes his second shot, already feeling better. Cinnamon booze is his new favorite thing, and combined with his exhaustion and the adrenaline of the past month leading up the their record releases, Kris is starting to feel kind of crazy. This party is totally worth it if he gets to see Brad--Cheeks--whatever, convince Matt to be more bendy. Kris thinks that Matt is a lot more bendy than Matt suspects.
He says, "Like, you'll probably never be Cirque du Soleil bendy, because those guys are like, they have no bones or something! But I think you could be more flexible. Like maybe Lance Bass level of bendy."
"I am fairly certain that Lance Bass is one hundred percent gay, honey," a voice says from behind Kris, and Matt closes his eyes tight like he's hoping that Brad will go away if Matt can't see him anymore. Kris turns around to see Brad sniffing his empty shot glass and shaking his head. "Sorry about that," he says, smiling like he's not sorry about a damn thing. "I might've bribed the bartended to spike those shots."
"Um," says Kris. He wants to ask what one would spike shots with, since they're already shots and full of liquor, being shots and all, but then Adam is there, telling Brad, "Jesus fucking Christ. I can't leave you unsupervised for ten minutes before you're putting drugs in the water!"
"Technically," Kris slurs, "it's goldschlager, the gayest liquor in creation." He's feeling pretty fantastic actually, so he smiles at Brad and gives him a hug. It seems like the right thing to do, even though he's only met Brad the one time, handcuffed to Adam's bed, waving his wrist limply and saying, "I'm Cheeks, and you can feel free to stay."
"Let's get some air," Adam says, and Kris wants to protest because he's feeling so good and Matt is his friend and Brad seems like a nice guy who makes parties way better, but Adam just wraps an arm around his shoulders and leads him through the crowd, down a maze of back corridors to a door that opens onto the roof. The air is brisk and cool and it feels lovely against Kris's face. This was a good idea. He holds onto the metal railing and breathes deep, Adam's warmth at his back.
"So I guess I'm on drugs?" Kris says, laughing a little. "I'm supposed to be the good one."
Adam leans his chin on Kris's shoulder from behind, wrapping an arm around Kris's waist and squeezing a little. "It's not your fault my ex-boyfriend is a psycho. This totally doesn't count. You're still the good one."
Kris sighs and leans back against Adam, tilts his head up so he can look at the sky. No stars and everything glows with a kind of orangey haze, but it's kind of beautiful anyway, and he's happy he came. He's happy for Adam and for himself, too; it's hard and it's a lot of work, but they're both getting everything they wanted and it's totally worth it.
He says, "Is it smog that makes everything look that way? Or is it glitter?"
Adam laughs and says, "It's the magic fairy dust from a thousand drag-pixies all masturbating at the same time." He silent for a long time, so long that Kris starts to feel more normal again--not normal, but more drunk and less completely out of it--but then he says, "I'm glad you came. The party is great, but it wouldn't mean anything without you here."
"Bullshit," Kris says, but he laces their fingers together in a tight clasp, sliding his thumb over the polish-smooth surface of Adam's thumbnail. "I'm not doing this for free, you know. Now you have to come to mine. Even if I won't have a drag show or a cool remix thing or drugs in the booze."
"Oh, we could make that happen," Adam says. "There's no way you could keep me away."
03. iferion requested: "AI8 - Adam - cheerful like a cheerful thing"
Adam can't stop smiling. He's trying not to be too freaked out by how happy is, but even Allison says it's getting kind of creepy. "All the smiling. I mean, yay for being happy, but this is like you're doing the evening gown portion of the competition."
"I would rock the evening gown portion," Adam says. He's still smiling. He can't help it. He's just so fucking happy.
"Yeah, but Asia Betsy Smith would sweep the talent with her ballet solo from Swan Lake, and then where would you be?" Kris grins at him from across the booth. "I hate to tell you this, but you cannot pull off a bikini, Lambert, and I seriously doubt your ability to convincingly show Western wear."
"Shut up! I would totally--wait. What the hell is Western wear, and why do you even know those words?"
Kris coughs, flushing red now because they're both just staring at him, and Adam has even stopped smiling. Not that the happy is gone, but his mouth is too busy being surprised to keep smiling manically. "It took my mom a couple years to acknowledge that I wasn't a girl, no matter how bad she wanted one."
"Oh my god," Adam says. He's smiling again. This is the best thing he's heard all day, even better than the original happy-making thing. Because having a top ten hit song is pretty amazing, but knowing that Kris Allen was a beauty pageant boy--that's like a lifetime's worth of cheer.
"Boys can be in pageants!" Kris says. "Justin Timberlake was in pageants, it's totally legitimate!"
"Did you win?" Adam says. "Do you have like, a tiara and a giant trophy stashed somewhere in your mom's attic. Oh my god, do you have a sash?"
"Yes, and you can't have it. It's mine, bitch."
As soon as he stops laughing, Adam is never going to stop smiling, he thinks, because honestly, his life rocks, and in the words of the original dirrty girl, it just keeps getting better.
04. _lisalisa_ asked: "Does a conversation between Adam and Neil count?" And I decided that it did.
(Voicemail messages left on each other's phones.)
"Hey, you big gay freak, it's me. Neil. Your awesome and insanely intelligent brother. You know, the one mom loves best because he doesn't steal her booze. Just letting you know I made it to New York New York okay. Well, okay being relative, obviously, but I'm here, and I'm alive, and I even have a couch to sleep on. Call me back when you get a break from being America's sweetheart."
*
"Hey fucker, it's me, your famous and talented brother. I hear that I am also a glittery alien from planet Fierce, which I can only assume is like, planet-adjacent to um, wherever Superman is from. Not Klingon. Fuck, I can't--" muffled sound of a hand covering the speaker--"Krypton! Kris says it's Krypton. Whatever, the point is that Clark Kent is hot, and obviously so am I, being from a nearby planet or something. Yeah, okay, this is lame. I haven't slept in thirty hours. Also, in case you haven't heard, I'm gay. Call me back. Try to be sober."
*
"Adam! ADAM!! It's Neil. And, and also Jessica! And Patrick! Hey Adam, guess what?? Guess what! I totally saw a dead guy on the train today! Well he turned out not to be dead for real, but he was like in a coma or one of those seizures where they don't move and he shit himself and EVERYTHING. It was crazy! Jessica says hi, and you should do a cover of 'Fuck and Run' for your first song because it would be like, like... something. Something awesome! I mean, 'Doin' Hella Dudes' is still better, but yes! HEY ADAM! Guess what? Also, I'm drunk."
*
"Neil. Neil Neil Neilneilneil. I just wanted to call and say, you know, you're my brother. Well duh, you're my brother. But you know, I love you and stuff. You're a good brother. The best. You let me have all the talent and the good looks. Most brothers would hate me. Anoop says it's because I'm gay and that's why you don't hate me, because of. Of. Something about Darwin and pack animals and mating. Oh my god, remember when you were twelve and we stole mom's copy of Clan of the Cave Bear! And then we thought that cave chick totally invented, like, talking! And the slingshot!" High pitched giggling ensues for exactly ninety-seven seconds. Neil knows, because he timed it. "I'm so fucking high. You're my favorite brother!"
05. leobrat requested: "Something JC/Chris-ish? Maybe? Set circa 2009?"
JC wakes up because someone is sitting on him, and he can't breathe.
Not only is someone sitting on him, but it's kind of a heavy someone, so definitely not any of the ladies he's currently sleeping with on a rotating basis (he thinks it's Monday, maybe, which would be Anna's day, but he doesn't let Anna stay over because she uses up all his eighty dollar a bottle conditioner, and also this person is way heavier and smellier than Anna), and the someone is also bouncing. On JC's ribcage. It's not very comfortable.
"What the fuck," JC says, blinking at the bright light shining in through his open curtains. Chris grins down out him from his perch on JC's ribcage. "Oh, hell no," JC says, and tries to shove Chris off.
Unfortunately, Chris is heavy and JC isn't fully awake yet (that's his excuse for not even being able to nudge Chris over even slightly, and he's sticking to it), so the shoving just results in Chris looking slightly annoyed and grabbing at JC's wrists to hold them together in front of his face.
"Is that any way to treat your best and oldest friend?" Chris says. He bounces a little, just to be extra annoying, JC is sure, and JC thinks that it won't matter how he greeted him, because JC's ribs are going to cave in and he'll be dead. Maybe then he can get some rest.
"I would be nice to my best and oldest friend," JC says, glaring, "so it's a good thing he's not here."
"If you ever bothered to check your twitter," Chris says, mercifully climbing off JC and reaching down to grab something from beside the bed, "you'd have known I was coming. And that I was bringing donuts. Now what do you have to say about best and oldest friends?"
"You're definitely old," JC says. He licks his lips. "Glazed? Is there coffee?"
"Coffee is for closers, Chasez. Coffee is for people who release albums sometime this demi-decade."
"That's not a word," JC says. "Besides, that's what Starbucks is for. Now give me a damn donut."
"Only if you promise to be my best friend forever," Chris says. He holds up his phone, tilting his head to the side. "I think my twitter followers would appreciate a picture of this..."
06. brighton_girl requested: "JuC...maybe a tease of your wedding planner or some happy/sappy stuff."
The first time they met, at a New Year's Eve party at Britney's apartment in Wicker Park at which the most honored guest (and the one who got the most action at midnight) was a mannequin dressed as a dominatrix that Britney had liberated from the dumpster behind the Vintage Hollywood on Belmont, Justin and JC hated each other. They had exactly one conversation, and it hadn't gone well. JC said that was because Justin acted like an over-educated, pompous ass who was too good to speak to a lowly cake artist who'd never even been to college. Justin said it was because JC was drunk and eye-fucking some blond on the other side of the room instead of paying attention to Justin's extremely insightful comments on the upcoming presidential primaries. Britney said they were both wrong-they were just idiots with their heads up their own asses instead of each others'.
"You're just lucky you have me to sort out your love life," Britney says now, frowning in concentration as she shapes orchid petals out of delicate sugar dough. "I mean, if it weren't for me, you'd both still be miserable and alone and for fucking sure not getting married."
"We're not for fucking sure getting married as it is," JC says, not bothering to look up from his sketch pad, "so I'll thank you to keep your self-congratulations to yourself."
Britney pauses in her careful sculpting to stare at JC's bent head. JC can feel her bambi eyes boring into the top of his skull, but he refuses to look up. It's all too painful to even think about, and not for the first time JC curses himself for falling in love with a man who has actual political views and ideals that he takes seriously and attempts to live by. It's incredibly annoying. Especially when said political views include being anti-wedding.
"What do you mean, you're not getting married?" Britney says when it becomes clear that JC isn't going to explain himself. JC shakes his head sadly.
"It's too painful to even discuss," JC says with his most dramatic, this-is-unbearable hand gesture. He looks up and frowns, pushing a long curl that has escaped its tie out of his face. His eyes narrow on the small white board in front of Britney, strewn with orchid petals. "I said sunflowers, not orchids, you idiot. Ugh, do I honestly have to do everything myself?"
"Well I was about to feel sorry for you and offer to buy you a chardonnay at the Drake because I know how much you love hotel bars, but now I'm just going to tell you to fuck yourself, loser." She pushes herself away from the table and grabs her coat out of the closet, a gorgeous pink plaid vintage wool that JC has often thought about stealing for himself, if only it would fit across his shoulders. Britney pulls the coat on and lifts her chin, sneering a little. "No wonder he doesn't want to marry you. You're such an asshole, JC," she says, and slams the door on her way out.
07. moonmelody requested: "Adam/Kris, shopping?"
"You said you wanted help with your wardrobe," Adam says while he waits impatiently by the door of Kris's hotel room, watching Kris pull his shoes on with ridiculous slowness. "We only have a few days off until Portland. Get with the program, Kristopher! Or do you want to go out on stage wearing jeans and a plaid button-down?"
"Kind of?" Kris says, finishing the laces on his shoes and standing up, staring around the room blearily trying to find his wallet and keys. "I mean, they're not coming to see me because of what I'm wearing."
Adam just rolls his eyes. Kris can be so hopeless sometimes. "Absolutely not," Adam says, grabbing Kris by the wrist and pulling him out the door. "I'm banning plaid from your wardrobe for the next three months. These people are paying their parents' hard-earned money to see you. The least you can do is look hot."
"I thought they were paying to hear me," Kris mumbles, but he follows Adam anyway, just like Adam knew he would. Catching him early, before Kris has had a chance to caffeinate and remember that he has a brain and a spine--that's the key to saving Kris from himself. And from plaid.
08. runzu requested: "Justin/Britney - Getting back to together (FO REALZ) 09"
Seeing Justin again is not a big deal for Britney. She's seen him plenty in the past two years. Okay, she's seen him twice, and one of those times was at rehearsal for the Madonna show and she didn't actually talk to him, she just watched from the audience, but Britney still counts it. Live and in person with Justin Timberlake, she thinks, and laughs a little at herself.
This isn't really how she expected her first for real encounter post-loony bin to go, though. If she really tries to think about, she guesses she kind of imagined they'd just never really talk again, because what was there to say? But Justin shows up backstage at her last show of the tour and her daddy lets him through for some reason Britney can't even imagine.
(This was, after all, the boy who broke her heart and exploited her mistakes in their private relationship to sell records. Britney gets it; it was just business, Justin wanted to be successful and make it on his own. She gets it, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt just the same.)
She's still in costume, all corseted in and sparkling with glitter and sweat. Justin looks good. He looks better than he has, like maybe he ate a couple cheeseburgers and slept for a month. Britney looks at him in the mirror, standing behind her in the doorway to the dressing room with his eyes on the floor and she thinks, he's nervous. He's actually nervous.
"What's going on, Justin?" she says, turning in her seat to look at him. Real Justin looks even more nervous than Reflection Justin.
He coughs. "Hey Brit. Um, it was. I just wanted to say, it was a good show."
Britney snorts. "I really doubt that's what you wanted to say."
Justin looks up then, startled, and his face cracks into a tiny grin. "I forgot--I forgot how you just say things."
"You forgot a lot of shit," Britney says. She's getting impatient. She wants to take a shower and put on sweats and see her babies. She wants a glass of wine and a Xanax, too, but she's not allowed.
"I just. I wanted to say hi. And maybe, maybe we could talk sometime? I could take you out for dinner or something."
Britney raises one eyebrow. "Justin, are you asking me on a date?"
"I--" He frowns and rubs the back of his neck. "I guess I am. Yeah. Are you saying yes?"
Britney smiles a little. "You'll have to ask Daddy. I have rules now, Justin. It's a brave new world."
"But what do you want?" Justin says.
Britney tilts her head to the side. "I'll have to think about that and get back to you."
But for now, enjoy these drabbles. Warnings: recreational drug use, alcohol, and my weak impression of Neil Lambert, whose awesomeness cannot be properly replicated.
01. coolwhipdiva asked for: "Kris/Adam, Slip & Slide"
Adam for serious does not want to do this. Aside from maybe going to church with Danny or fucking Joan Rivers, this is pretty much the last thing Adam wants to do. But Kris is so fucking excited about it and it's Adam's last day in Arkansas; he wants to spend it with Kris doing Kris things and pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist, and apparently what Kris wants to do is--this. Adam can't even say it. It's too disturbing.
"It's just like a Slip N Slide," Kris says, grinning up at storm-dark sky and letting the rain pound against his cheeks.
"Um," says Adam, "except for how it's totally not like a Slip N Slide, which is a fun childhood toy you put in the backyard, specifically designed for slipping and sliding down, with a nice cushy lap pool at the bottom. This is mud, Kris. A hill of mud." He looks down at his boots and nearly cries. He should've listened to Kris about the footwear, because his fabulous boots are covered in mud. It'll come off, but still. Mud.
"And a sled!" Kris says, holding up the orange disc like that's going to make Adam feel better about sliding down what is basically a mudslide in the middle of nowhere, Arkansas, in a storm. Maybe if he were high, but even then, well. If he were high, he wouldn't have left the couch, much less climbed up a muddy hill
("It's technically part of the Ozarks," Kris told him, to which Adam replied, "Can we be the men who went up the hill and came?" but Kris just rolled his eyes and called him a slut. Fair enough.)
but instead he's sober, standing at the top of a muddy path-slide-hill thing that Kris assures him was designed specifically for this purpose, and Adam is pretty sure he's lying. And if Kris is lying, this must really be important. Damnit.
"I'll go with you," Kris says. "I'll control the sled, and you'll be totally safe, I promise. I've done this like a hundred times. I've taken Katy down the path. Are you honestly gonna tell me that my hundred-pound wife has more balls than you?"
Adam raises his eyebrows. "If you want to see my balls, you just have to ask, Allen." Adam looks at his boots again, sighing. They're already covered in mud, and he listened to Kris about wearing jeans he hates, so at least there's that. "Fuck it. Fine. But if I die, you're going to make a lot of twinks and forty-year-old midwestern ladies really sad."
"I'll risk it," Kris says, and then he's pushing Adam onto the sled and settling in behind him, which is not a position Adam is used to, especially since Kris is like a midget and Adam's pretty sure Kris can't even see past him.
"I don't know about this," Adam says. He's wet and muddy and the path does not look like it was specifically constructed for this insane and ridiculous purpose. "This is such a bad idea."
Kris just grins against Adam's neck, says, "Too late to turn back now," and pushes off.
02. for wutendeskind: Adam/Kris - the night of Adam's (or Kris's) CD release party.
Adam says, "You have to come! We're doing a live remix of the second single with this really cool producer and my drag queen friend is planning this insane re-enactment of the Beyonce champagne glass thing, it's gonna be sick!" And he sounds so excited about that Kris can't say no. He's like the slutty girl from Oklahoma who keeps going back to the guy who's no good for her, because apparently, Kris is just a girl who c'aint say no.
It's pathetic. It's ridiculous. But it's Adam.
He should say no. Because his own album release is in a week and he's running ragged with promo shit. He hasn't seen Katy in three weeks and he should just stay at the hotel, get some sleep because he has to fly to New York the next morning for--he doesn't even know what for, because he can't keep track of it anymore, but someone there will tell him where to go and what to wear, and at this point he's to tired to give a shit.
He really shouldn't go. But then Adam says, "Please, Kris? You don't have to stick around, but it would mean a lot to me to have you there," and Kris c'aint say no. He's so screwed.
The party is loud and crowded and it takes Kris an hour to get down the red carpet, which he has to do because promo-promo-promo, and by the time he makes it into the club, all he wants to do is leave. Instead he finds Matt at the bar with a line of shots in front of him, looking like he's trying his best to hide from everyone in the room, but when he sees Kris, he shoves two full shot glasses in front of him and says, "Fucking finally. Someone to save me. And get drunk with me so I'm not doing that whole drinking alone thing. Isn't that the first sign of an alcoholic?"
"I don't think drinking alone at parties counts," Kris says, sniffing carefully at one of the shots. "Why does this smell like cinnamon?"
"It's goldschlager. Adam says it's the gayest, most alcoholic liquor in existence. Also, I think they're sponsoring the party."
"And you need saving because...?"
Matt looks at him from beneath the rim of his hat, eyes wide and bloodshot. "Have you met Adam's ex? Not the one he was seeing on the show, that one was nice and quiet and polite. I liked that one. But--the other one." Kris nods. They've met. Kind of. If walking in on some kind of freaky ex-sex involving handcuffs and strategically sprayed whipped cream counts.
"He's like, after me or something. And he's persistent. It's freaking me out! You know I love the gays, dude, but I don't love the gays." Matt emphasizes this by taking a shot, and Kris downs his because it's only polite. It takes like cinnamon, too. He takes his second shot, already feeling better. Cinnamon booze is his new favorite thing, and combined with his exhaustion and the adrenaline of the past month leading up the their record releases, Kris is starting to feel kind of crazy. This party is totally worth it if he gets to see Brad--Cheeks--whatever, convince Matt to be more bendy. Kris thinks that Matt is a lot more bendy than Matt suspects.
He says, "Like, you'll probably never be Cirque du Soleil bendy, because those guys are like, they have no bones or something! But I think you could be more flexible. Like maybe Lance Bass level of bendy."
"I am fairly certain that Lance Bass is one hundred percent gay, honey," a voice says from behind Kris, and Matt closes his eyes tight like he's hoping that Brad will go away if Matt can't see him anymore. Kris turns around to see Brad sniffing his empty shot glass and shaking his head. "Sorry about that," he says, smiling like he's not sorry about a damn thing. "I might've bribed the bartended to spike those shots."
"Um," says Kris. He wants to ask what one would spike shots with, since they're already shots and full of liquor, being shots and all, but then Adam is there, telling Brad, "Jesus fucking Christ. I can't leave you unsupervised for ten minutes before you're putting drugs in the water!"
"Technically," Kris slurs, "it's goldschlager, the gayest liquor in creation." He's feeling pretty fantastic actually, so he smiles at Brad and gives him a hug. It seems like the right thing to do, even though he's only met Brad the one time, handcuffed to Adam's bed, waving his wrist limply and saying, "I'm Cheeks, and you can feel free to stay."
"Let's get some air," Adam says, and Kris wants to protest because he's feeling so good and Matt is his friend and Brad seems like a nice guy who makes parties way better, but Adam just wraps an arm around his shoulders and leads him through the crowd, down a maze of back corridors to a door that opens onto the roof. The air is brisk and cool and it feels lovely against Kris's face. This was a good idea. He holds onto the metal railing and breathes deep, Adam's warmth at his back.
"So I guess I'm on drugs?" Kris says, laughing a little. "I'm supposed to be the good one."
Adam leans his chin on Kris's shoulder from behind, wrapping an arm around Kris's waist and squeezing a little. "It's not your fault my ex-boyfriend is a psycho. This totally doesn't count. You're still the good one."
Kris sighs and leans back against Adam, tilts his head up so he can look at the sky. No stars and everything glows with a kind of orangey haze, but it's kind of beautiful anyway, and he's happy he came. He's happy for Adam and for himself, too; it's hard and it's a lot of work, but they're both getting everything they wanted and it's totally worth it.
He says, "Is it smog that makes everything look that way? Or is it glitter?"
Adam laughs and says, "It's the magic fairy dust from a thousand drag-pixies all masturbating at the same time." He silent for a long time, so long that Kris starts to feel more normal again--not normal, but more drunk and less completely out of it--but then he says, "I'm glad you came. The party is great, but it wouldn't mean anything without you here."
"Bullshit," Kris says, but he laces their fingers together in a tight clasp, sliding his thumb over the polish-smooth surface of Adam's thumbnail. "I'm not doing this for free, you know. Now you have to come to mine. Even if I won't have a drag show or a cool remix thing or drugs in the booze."
"Oh, we could make that happen," Adam says. "There's no way you could keep me away."
03. iferion requested: "AI8 - Adam - cheerful like a cheerful thing"
Adam can't stop smiling. He's trying not to be too freaked out by how happy is, but even Allison says it's getting kind of creepy. "All the smiling. I mean, yay for being happy, but this is like you're doing the evening gown portion of the competition."
"I would rock the evening gown portion," Adam says. He's still smiling. He can't help it. He's just so fucking happy.
"Yeah, but Asia Betsy Smith would sweep the talent with her ballet solo from Swan Lake, and then where would you be?" Kris grins at him from across the booth. "I hate to tell you this, but you cannot pull off a bikini, Lambert, and I seriously doubt your ability to convincingly show Western wear."
"Shut up! I would totally--wait. What the hell is Western wear, and why do you even know those words?"
Kris coughs, flushing red now because they're both just staring at him, and Adam has even stopped smiling. Not that the happy is gone, but his mouth is too busy being surprised to keep smiling manically. "It took my mom a couple years to acknowledge that I wasn't a girl, no matter how bad she wanted one."
"Oh my god," Adam says. He's smiling again. This is the best thing he's heard all day, even better than the original happy-making thing. Because having a top ten hit song is pretty amazing, but knowing that Kris Allen was a beauty pageant boy--that's like a lifetime's worth of cheer.
"Boys can be in pageants!" Kris says. "Justin Timberlake was in pageants, it's totally legitimate!"
"Did you win?" Adam says. "Do you have like, a tiara and a giant trophy stashed somewhere in your mom's attic. Oh my god, do you have a sash?"
"Yes, and you can't have it. It's mine, bitch."
As soon as he stops laughing, Adam is never going to stop smiling, he thinks, because honestly, his life rocks, and in the words of the original dirrty girl, it just keeps getting better.
04. _lisalisa_ asked: "Does a conversation between Adam and Neil count?" And I decided that it did.
(Voicemail messages left on each other's phones.)
"Hey, you big gay freak, it's me. Neil. Your awesome and insanely intelligent brother. You know, the one mom loves best because he doesn't steal her booze. Just letting you know I made it to New York New York okay. Well, okay being relative, obviously, but I'm here, and I'm alive, and I even have a couch to sleep on. Call me back when you get a break from being America's sweetheart."
*
"Hey fucker, it's me, your famous and talented brother. I hear that I am also a glittery alien from planet Fierce, which I can only assume is like, planet-adjacent to um, wherever Superman is from. Not Klingon. Fuck, I can't--" muffled sound of a hand covering the speaker--"Krypton! Kris says it's Krypton. Whatever, the point is that Clark Kent is hot, and obviously so am I, being from a nearby planet or something. Yeah, okay, this is lame. I haven't slept in thirty hours. Also, in case you haven't heard, I'm gay. Call me back. Try to be sober."
*
"Adam! ADAM!! It's Neil. And, and also Jessica! And Patrick! Hey Adam, guess what?? Guess what! I totally saw a dead guy on the train today! Well he turned out not to be dead for real, but he was like in a coma or one of those seizures where they don't move and he shit himself and EVERYTHING. It was crazy! Jessica says hi, and you should do a cover of 'Fuck and Run' for your first song because it would be like, like... something. Something awesome! I mean, 'Doin' Hella Dudes' is still better, but yes! HEY ADAM! Guess what? Also, I'm drunk."
*
"Neil. Neil Neil Neilneilneil. I just wanted to call and say, you know, you're my brother. Well duh, you're my brother. But you know, I love you and stuff. You're a good brother. The best. You let me have all the talent and the good looks. Most brothers would hate me. Anoop says it's because I'm gay and that's why you don't hate me, because of. Of. Something about Darwin and pack animals and mating. Oh my god, remember when you were twelve and we stole mom's copy of Clan of the Cave Bear! And then we thought that cave chick totally invented, like, talking! And the slingshot!" High pitched giggling ensues for exactly ninety-seven seconds. Neil knows, because he timed it. "I'm so fucking high. You're my favorite brother!"
05. leobrat requested: "Something JC/Chris-ish? Maybe? Set circa 2009?"
JC wakes up because someone is sitting on him, and he can't breathe.
Not only is someone sitting on him, but it's kind of a heavy someone, so definitely not any of the ladies he's currently sleeping with on a rotating basis (he thinks it's Monday, maybe, which would be Anna's day, but he doesn't let Anna stay over because she uses up all his eighty dollar a bottle conditioner, and also this person is way heavier and smellier than Anna), and the someone is also bouncing. On JC's ribcage. It's not very comfortable.
"What the fuck," JC says, blinking at the bright light shining in through his open curtains. Chris grins down out him from his perch on JC's ribcage. "Oh, hell no," JC says, and tries to shove Chris off.
Unfortunately, Chris is heavy and JC isn't fully awake yet (that's his excuse for not even being able to nudge Chris over even slightly, and he's sticking to it), so the shoving just results in Chris looking slightly annoyed and grabbing at JC's wrists to hold them together in front of his face.
"Is that any way to treat your best and oldest friend?" Chris says. He bounces a little, just to be extra annoying, JC is sure, and JC thinks that it won't matter how he greeted him, because JC's ribs are going to cave in and he'll be dead. Maybe then he can get some rest.
"I would be nice to my best and oldest friend," JC says, glaring, "so it's a good thing he's not here."
"If you ever bothered to check your twitter," Chris says, mercifully climbing off JC and reaching down to grab something from beside the bed, "you'd have known I was coming. And that I was bringing donuts. Now what do you have to say about best and oldest friends?"
"You're definitely old," JC says. He licks his lips. "Glazed? Is there coffee?"
"Coffee is for closers, Chasez. Coffee is for people who release albums sometime this demi-decade."
"That's not a word," JC says. "Besides, that's what Starbucks is for. Now give me a damn donut."
"Only if you promise to be my best friend forever," Chris says. He holds up his phone, tilting his head to the side. "I think my twitter followers would appreciate a picture of this..."
06. brighton_girl requested: "JuC...maybe a tease of your wedding planner or some happy/sappy stuff."
The first time they met, at a New Year's Eve party at Britney's apartment in Wicker Park at which the most honored guest (and the one who got the most action at midnight) was a mannequin dressed as a dominatrix that Britney had liberated from the dumpster behind the Vintage Hollywood on Belmont, Justin and JC hated each other. They had exactly one conversation, and it hadn't gone well. JC said that was because Justin acted like an over-educated, pompous ass who was too good to speak to a lowly cake artist who'd never even been to college. Justin said it was because JC was drunk and eye-fucking some blond on the other side of the room instead of paying attention to Justin's extremely insightful comments on the upcoming presidential primaries. Britney said they were both wrong-they were just idiots with their heads up their own asses instead of each others'.
"You're just lucky you have me to sort out your love life," Britney says now, frowning in concentration as she shapes orchid petals out of delicate sugar dough. "I mean, if it weren't for me, you'd both still be miserable and alone and for fucking sure not getting married."
"We're not for fucking sure getting married as it is," JC says, not bothering to look up from his sketch pad, "so I'll thank you to keep your self-congratulations to yourself."
Britney pauses in her careful sculpting to stare at JC's bent head. JC can feel her bambi eyes boring into the top of his skull, but he refuses to look up. It's all too painful to even think about, and not for the first time JC curses himself for falling in love with a man who has actual political views and ideals that he takes seriously and attempts to live by. It's incredibly annoying. Especially when said political views include being anti-wedding.
"What do you mean, you're not getting married?" Britney says when it becomes clear that JC isn't going to explain himself. JC shakes his head sadly.
"It's too painful to even discuss," JC says with his most dramatic, this-is-unbearable hand gesture. He looks up and frowns, pushing a long curl that has escaped its tie out of his face. His eyes narrow on the small white board in front of Britney, strewn with orchid petals. "I said sunflowers, not orchids, you idiot. Ugh, do I honestly have to do everything myself?"
"Well I was about to feel sorry for you and offer to buy you a chardonnay at the Drake because I know how much you love hotel bars, but now I'm just going to tell you to fuck yourself, loser." She pushes herself away from the table and grabs her coat out of the closet, a gorgeous pink plaid vintage wool that JC has often thought about stealing for himself, if only it would fit across his shoulders. Britney pulls the coat on and lifts her chin, sneering a little. "No wonder he doesn't want to marry you. You're such an asshole, JC," she says, and slams the door on her way out.
07. moonmelody requested: "Adam/Kris, shopping?"
"You said you wanted help with your wardrobe," Adam says while he waits impatiently by the door of Kris's hotel room, watching Kris pull his shoes on with ridiculous slowness. "We only have a few days off until Portland. Get with the program, Kristopher! Or do you want to go out on stage wearing jeans and a plaid button-down?"
"Kind of?" Kris says, finishing the laces on his shoes and standing up, staring around the room blearily trying to find his wallet and keys. "I mean, they're not coming to see me because of what I'm wearing."
Adam just rolls his eyes. Kris can be so hopeless sometimes. "Absolutely not," Adam says, grabbing Kris by the wrist and pulling him out the door. "I'm banning plaid from your wardrobe for the next three months. These people are paying their parents' hard-earned money to see you. The least you can do is look hot."
"I thought they were paying to hear me," Kris mumbles, but he follows Adam anyway, just like Adam knew he would. Catching him early, before Kris has had a chance to caffeinate and remember that he has a brain and a spine--that's the key to saving Kris from himself. And from plaid.
08. runzu requested: "Justin/Britney - Getting back to together (FO REALZ) 09"
Seeing Justin again is not a big deal for Britney. She's seen him plenty in the past two years. Okay, she's seen him twice, and one of those times was at rehearsal for the Madonna show and she didn't actually talk to him, she just watched from the audience, but Britney still counts it. Live and in person with Justin Timberlake, she thinks, and laughs a little at herself.
This isn't really how she expected her first for real encounter post-loony bin to go, though. If she really tries to think about, she guesses she kind of imagined they'd just never really talk again, because what was there to say? But Justin shows up backstage at her last show of the tour and her daddy lets him through for some reason Britney can't even imagine.
(This was, after all, the boy who broke her heart and exploited her mistakes in their private relationship to sell records. Britney gets it; it was just business, Justin wanted to be successful and make it on his own. She gets it, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt just the same.)
She's still in costume, all corseted in and sparkling with glitter and sweat. Justin looks good. He looks better than he has, like maybe he ate a couple cheeseburgers and slept for a month. Britney looks at him in the mirror, standing behind her in the doorway to the dressing room with his eyes on the floor and she thinks, he's nervous. He's actually nervous.
"What's going on, Justin?" she says, turning in her seat to look at him. Real Justin looks even more nervous than Reflection Justin.
He coughs. "Hey Brit. Um, it was. I just wanted to say, it was a good show."
Britney snorts. "I really doubt that's what you wanted to say."
Justin looks up then, startled, and his face cracks into a tiny grin. "I forgot--I forgot how you just say things."
"You forgot a lot of shit," Britney says. She's getting impatient. She wants to take a shower and put on sweats and see her babies. She wants a glass of wine and a Xanax, too, but she's not allowed.
"I just. I wanted to say hi. And maybe, maybe we could talk sometime? I could take you out for dinner or something."
Britney raises one eyebrow. "Justin, are you asking me on a date?"
"I--" He frowns and rubs the back of his neck. "I guess I am. Yeah. Are you saying yes?"
Britney smiles a little. "You'll have to ask Daddy. I have rules now, Justin. It's a brave new world."
"But what do you want?" Justin says.
Britney tilts her head to the side. "I'll have to think about that and get back to you."