Idol ficlet: WEED WAS BAG
Without, er, making any long statements about the recent ontd_ai drama llama, I'll just say that the community atmosphere and ongoing flashfic challenges have inspired me to write more this summer than I have in quite some time.
So for ai_kinkmeme's debut post, the prompt "Kris/Adam, SHOTGUNNING" inspired this ~900 word ficlet, which I have lovingly titled: WEED WAS BAG.
---
Adam has a very distinctive knock. At least, that's what Kris thinks. He always knows it's him, at any rate.
So that's why Kris doesn't even pause what he's doing before yelling, "Come in!"
Adam rolls in through the hotel door at that, looking decidedly droopy around the eyes underneath his smudged makeup. "I'm so tired I might die," he announces and throws himself onto the couch next to Kris.
Kris grins at Adam's poor, wilted, abused hair. Half of it is flopping in his face and the other half is still shellacked down like concrete, but unfortunately not contiguous halves, and the end result is kind of schizophrenic and ridiculous. "You know, you're allowed to go to sleep now, right?" Kris says wryly. "I know it's weird, but they do let us occasionally."
"Can't sleep." Adam shoves his face into Kris's shoulder, no doubt leaving an unmistakeable Adam Lambert Faceprint right where the laundry people will all see it. Kris pets him sympathetically. "Brain won't turn off."
Kris smiles. "Well, I guess you've come to the right place, then."
Adam pauses his disgruntled snuffling. He leans harder onto Kris and sniffs his shirt exaggeratedly. Then he pops up like he's been spring-loaded.
"KRISTOPHER ALLEN!" he yells. "You have weed and you didn't TELL ME?"
Kris nearly falls over the side of the couch, he's laughing so hard. He manages to give Adam the neatly rolled blunt in his hand without dropping it, but it's a near thing. "Wow, you are out of it."
Adam stares longingly. "Wait, noooo, I'm on vocal rest. I can't." He glares at Kris. "Why must you toy with me this way."
Kris shrugs. "It's only press tomorrow, no singing for either of us." He reaches to take it back. "But if you'd rather not--"
Adam shoves him away with one hand, holding the joint over his head. "Are you kidding me?"
Kris digs into his pocket. "Mr. Lambert, I am shocked. Shocked, I say." He holds out his lighter for Adam to take, but Adam just puts the joint in his mouth and leans forward expectantly. Kris lights it for him.
Adam's eyes flutter shut as he breathes in, holds it, then exhales toward the ceiling. He peers curiously at Kris as he passes the joint back. "What brought this on, anyway?"
Kris chuckles and takes a long, satisfying drag. "My stylist said if I don't find some way to reduce my stress levels my hair is going to start coming out in fistfuls. And since my next day off is probably going to be in 2011..."
"Awwww." Adam busses him on the top of his head. Then he steals back the marijuana. "I hear you. I feel like everyone is waiting for me to lose it and trash a hotel room or something. And believe me, some days I am sorely tempted."
Kris hums his agreement and they sit together quietly, passing the joint back and forth with desultory conversation. Kris nudges Adam with his shoulder and Adam laughs and nudges back. Kris can feel the tension coiled in his body slowly releasing and, judging from the way Adam is melting into the cushions beside him, Kris wasn't the only one who needed this.
That last thought is probably why, when Kris takes one last drag and finds they've smoked it down to the nub, he feels guilty. Not wanting to be selfish, he leans over Adam and presses a thumb against his cheek. Adam's mouth drops open as he blinks up at Kris lazily. And it seems like the best idea in the world at the moment for Kris to seal their lips together, sharing that last breath with him. He wishes he could share everything with Adam, maybe for the rest of his life. The world is just... brighter when he's around.
Slowly, Kris pulls back and finds himself staring into Adam's suddenly alert eyes from a few inches away. Kris tries to pull his thoughts together, but the haze of exhaustion and pot smoke filling his mind is not being very conducive for that. "Sorry," he says finally. His thumb is still resting against Adam's cheek. "I shouldn't have done that."
Adam eyes sharpen. "No, you shouldn't have." He locks one hand behind Kris's neck and uses the other to yank Kris fully into his lap. His gaze is really, really intense, Kris thinks. Like, laser beam intense. It's a bit intimidating.
Kris leans forward till he can bump their foreheads together. "What happens now?" he whispers.
"What do you think happens?" Adam whispers back, and Kris can tell he means it as a sincere question.
But Kris really can't think right now. His brain is full of static, like a car radio on that stretch of 40 West where there's nothing around for miles. But sitting here in Adam's lap, faces so close they're breathing the same air, he feels at peace -- and not just because of the pot. And that's something he hasn't felt in almost a year now.
Kris kisses him again. And Adam kisses back.
So for ai_kinkmeme's debut post, the prompt "Kris/Adam, SHOTGUNNING" inspired this ~900 word ficlet, which I have lovingly titled: WEED WAS BAG.
---
Adam has a very distinctive knock. At least, that's what Kris thinks. He always knows it's him, at any rate.
So that's why Kris doesn't even pause what he's doing before yelling, "Come in!"
Adam rolls in through the hotel door at that, looking decidedly droopy around the eyes underneath his smudged makeup. "I'm so tired I might die," he announces and throws himself onto the couch next to Kris.
Kris grins at Adam's poor, wilted, abused hair. Half of it is flopping in his face and the other half is still shellacked down like concrete, but unfortunately not contiguous halves, and the end result is kind of schizophrenic and ridiculous. "You know, you're allowed to go to sleep now, right?" Kris says wryly. "I know it's weird, but they do let us occasionally."
"Can't sleep." Adam shoves his face into Kris's shoulder, no doubt leaving an unmistakeable Adam Lambert Faceprint right where the laundry people will all see it. Kris pets him sympathetically. "Brain won't turn off."
Kris smiles. "Well, I guess you've come to the right place, then."
Adam pauses his disgruntled snuffling. He leans harder onto Kris and sniffs his shirt exaggeratedly. Then he pops up like he's been spring-loaded.
"KRISTOPHER ALLEN!" he yells. "You have weed and you didn't TELL ME?"
Kris nearly falls over the side of the couch, he's laughing so hard. He manages to give Adam the neatly rolled blunt in his hand without dropping it, but it's a near thing. "Wow, you are out of it."
Adam stares longingly. "Wait, noooo, I'm on vocal rest. I can't." He glares at Kris. "Why must you toy with me this way."
Kris shrugs. "It's only press tomorrow, no singing for either of us." He reaches to take it back. "But if you'd rather not--"
Adam shoves him away with one hand, holding the joint over his head. "Are you kidding me?"
Kris digs into his pocket. "Mr. Lambert, I am shocked. Shocked, I say." He holds out his lighter for Adam to take, but Adam just puts the joint in his mouth and leans forward expectantly. Kris lights it for him.
Adam's eyes flutter shut as he breathes in, holds it, then exhales toward the ceiling. He peers curiously at Kris as he passes the joint back. "What brought this on, anyway?"
Kris chuckles and takes a long, satisfying drag. "My stylist said if I don't find some way to reduce my stress levels my hair is going to start coming out in fistfuls. And since my next day off is probably going to be in 2011..."
"Awwww." Adam busses him on the top of his head. Then he steals back the marijuana. "I hear you. I feel like everyone is waiting for me to lose it and trash a hotel room or something. And believe me, some days I am sorely tempted."
Kris hums his agreement and they sit together quietly, passing the joint back and forth with desultory conversation. Kris nudges Adam with his shoulder and Adam laughs and nudges back. Kris can feel the tension coiled in his body slowly releasing and, judging from the way Adam is melting into the cushions beside him, Kris wasn't the only one who needed this.
That last thought is probably why, when Kris takes one last drag and finds they've smoked it down to the nub, he feels guilty. Not wanting to be selfish, he leans over Adam and presses a thumb against his cheek. Adam's mouth drops open as he blinks up at Kris lazily. And it seems like the best idea in the world at the moment for Kris to seal their lips together, sharing that last breath with him. He wishes he could share everything with Adam, maybe for the rest of his life. The world is just... brighter when he's around.
Slowly, Kris pulls back and finds himself staring into Adam's suddenly alert eyes from a few inches away. Kris tries to pull his thoughts together, but the haze of exhaustion and pot smoke filling his mind is not being very conducive for that. "Sorry," he says finally. His thumb is still resting against Adam's cheek. "I shouldn't have done that."
Adam eyes sharpen. "No, you shouldn't have." He locks one hand behind Kris's neck and uses the other to yank Kris fully into his lap. His gaze is really, really intense, Kris thinks. Like, laser beam intense. It's a bit intimidating.
Kris leans forward till he can bump their foreheads together. "What happens now?" he whispers.
"What do you think happens?" Adam whispers back, and Kris can tell he means it as a sincere question.
But Kris really can't think right now. His brain is full of static, like a car radio on that stretch of 40 West where there's nothing around for miles. But sitting here in Adam's lap, faces so close they're breathing the same air, he feels at peace -- and not just because of the pot. And that's something he hasn't felt in almost a year now.
Kris kisses him again. And Adam kisses back.