fic: festival (ai8, kris/adam, 1/1)
Title: festival
Author: moirariordan
Fandom: american idol 8
Pairings/Characters: pre-slash kris allen/adam lambert
Rating: pg-13
Summary: Tonight, they don't have to pretend to be okay with anything. Tonight, they can just relax.
Largely unedited comment fic written forever ago at akavertigo's journal. Can you tell I'm cleaning out my hard drive? Also, I'm totally using this as a spot on my au_bingo card.
Kris feels the bass before he hears the music, from blocks away, rattling the pebbles on the sidewalk, cradling his feet in vibration. The air itself seems to pulsate in a rhythm that matches his own anticipation, expanding and stretching to the beat of the latest Alphabeat remix, one two three four, one two three four.
It's not often that they're allowed freedom such as this, a night off from the exhausting process of simply existing in the world, hiding or passing or running for the benefit of people who don't understand. Tonight, they don't have to pretend to be okay with anything. Tonight, they can just relax.
Well, as much as they can relax, anyway.
Kris can feel it falling away the closer he gets to the field, everything he holds in place melting into nothing, falling off his shoulders, like molted feathers. He's come alone, but he's not, threads of figures streaming through the makeshift gates, jumping the signs in the parking lot, some shifting seamlessly into fur and shadow, paws and feet and intent movement. Kris holds back, himself, it's always better if he waits.
There's a single floodlight in the middle, flashing sporadically as stray hands and tails brush its stream of light, and smaller bursts of color from different places all around, flashlights, disco balls, kitschy novelty shit that people bring just for the hell of it, lava lamps and flashing necklaces and glow sticks. Kris spots Rehka and Ilene huddled around a small campfire, whispering intimately to each other, and Cale nods at him from across the way, grinning madly with exhilaration. He can smell others, too, Walter and Bree and Allison and Nori, wandering around the edges, Te'aria and Fiona and Charles, somewhere southwest of him, all familiar and precious and wonderful. It's the first time they've all been together in a while, and he hasn't seen Te'aria or Nori in months, since before they left for their European dream vacation. Later, they'll shift together and run through the woods as the sun comes up, roll around in the grass and play hunting games until they all collapse in exhaustion. It's going to be totally bad ass.
Right now, though, he's got something else to do.
Everybody knows what happened, it's not like it was a secret. The whole world knows, or at least the part of the world that pays attention, and whatever details had first escaped notice are now common knowledge thanks to the oh-so-helpful assistance of the paparazzos that circle Adam's house, a different breed of wolf that is much more sinister than anything Kris has ever dealt with before. Kris couldn't help but watch the videos Allison sent him, shaky footage through the bars of gates and shrubs, Adam pale-faced and stiff with anger, stalking through the crowd to his front door, arms tightly wound across his chest. Headlines that make Kris sick with disgust and fury, out of control, they say, abusive, controlling, wild, animal, animal, animal.
No word from Stefan, of course. Kris would kill him if he could find him.
The music is overpowering at the very middle, from the giant amps that could rattle the seats of the Nokia Theatre and in fact, probably did at one point. Kris angles away from it, following his intuition more than his nose. Down, through the well-worn paths, weaving in and out of small packs and groups of wolves and humans and every combination in-between, and he finds Adam in the far west corner, at the very edge of the timber. He's curled up beneath a rotting stump. Of course.
"Sulking?" Kris grins, raising his voice over the music, for no good reason. Adam could hear him whispering in the middle of Times Square. While sitting in Long Island.
A low growl is the only response.
"Manly brooding. Sorry." Kris flops down, reclining with a satisfied sigh in the shrubbery. He gets a suspicious look for his trouble. "I've been trying to get ahold of you for like two weeks, you know."
Adam turns his head away pointedly. Kris tries and fails not to take it personally.
"Okay, still in the 'wallowing alone' phase. Noted."
Kris sighs heavily and settles in, leaning back against the damp grass, his knees brushing Adam's flank, radiating heat. The air smells like happiness.
"He's totally not worth it, man."
Adam lifts his great, shaggy head, and Kris knows enough to recognize the no shit, really? in his eyes.
"Well, isn't that what I'm supposed to say here?" Kris says defensively. "It's not like you're all that helpful right now, Mr. Conversation."
Adam snorts, readjusting primly, resting his chin against his folded paws. Kris kind of wants to roll over on top of him, bury his face in the thick fur, let Adam lick him all over until they smell the same. And he'd lean his head back, let Adam fit his teeth around his neck, pushing just hard enough for him to feel the pressure, and then he'd shift and Adam would chase him through the woods and Kris would pretend to be tired so Adam would catch up really quick so they could tumble around together in the underbrush.
Or something. Not like Kris has thought about it a lot, or anything.
"Everyone's worried," Kris comments, deliberately dragging his eyes back up to the night sky. Behind them, the music changes, a slower, lazier beat. He can feel the air changing, too, less restrained, more purposeful. People are starting to shift, break off into packs, moving through into the woods. Adam whines slightly next to him, the hair standing up straight on his back. Kris runs a calming hand down his side. "C'mon, Adam. I can't talk to you like this."
Adam shuffles closer, nudging at Kris's hand with his muzzle. Kris scratches behind his ears obligingly.
"Fine," he says in resignation. "Be stubborn. I'm just trying to help."
Adam looks up at him, eyes narrowed.
"What?" Kris says. "You want me to leave you alone?"
Adam licks his arm once, pushing insistently at his hand. Kris starts scratching again, rolling his eyes.
"I don't know why you're paying attention to those jerks anyway," he mutters. Adam whines noncommittally. "You know as well as I do that they'll move on soon. And the label's suing that mouthy boyfriend of yours for every penny he's got, so you don't have to worry about him, either."
Adam snarls softly, shaking his head, rolling over onto his side and pushing his forehead into the side of Kris's thigh. Kris moves to his stomach, brushing his palm against muscle and fur.
"Ex-boyfriend, then. Sorry."
Adam twists happily under Kris's scratches, tail thumping, contorted ridiculously on the ground. Kris grins ruefully.
"You're such a goofball," he says fondly. Adam barks once, twice. The sound sends shivers down Kris's spine. "I have to shift soon. I can't wait much longer."
Adam nips at his fingers in response, what are you waiting for?
Kris shakes his head. It's a good fucking question.
Shifting, contrary to popular belief, isn't painful or even difficult, more like the flip of a light switch than any contorted, hellish process that CGI has ever created. The best description Kris has ever come up with is taking off a sweater in a warm room, but reporters and talk show hosts never seem all that impressed by it.
Adam barks in excitement, tail wagging, and Kris barely gets his bearings before he's tackled to the ground, playful growling in his ears and scenting Adam Adam Adam Adam everywhere. His heart races, the music providing a steady track to follow, every nerve in his body signaling on, here alive alive, teeth sky grass Adam awake yes.
Play, play, Adam says, with the nudge of his head, the flick of his tail. Run, now now.
Dork, Kris's snort replies. Adam barks and jumps joyfully, taking off into the trees, a streak of blue-black. Kris can sense him, a throbbing, exuberant presence, overpowering the lazy happy excited impatient hungry kind love of his pack, simmering faithfully at the edge of his consciousness. Kris takes a deep breath, wondering for the millionth time how Adam doesn't see, doesn't understand, can't maybe, sense the difference between them and everyone else, the bone-deep knowledge that Kris can't escape no matter how hard he tries.
Play play play play, barks Adam, somewhere in the woods, and Kris takes off after him, pushing the thought away. It doesn't matter right now, anyway.
Author: moirariordan
Fandom: american idol 8
Pairings/Characters: pre-slash kris allen/adam lambert
Rating: pg-13
Summary: Tonight, they don't have to pretend to be okay with anything. Tonight, they can just relax.
Largely unedited comment fic written forever ago at akavertigo's journal. Can you tell I'm cleaning out my hard drive? Also, I'm totally using this as a spot on my au_bingo card.
Kris feels the bass before he hears the music, from blocks away, rattling the pebbles on the sidewalk, cradling his feet in vibration. The air itself seems to pulsate in a rhythm that matches his own anticipation, expanding and stretching to the beat of the latest Alphabeat remix, one two three four, one two three four.
It's not often that they're allowed freedom such as this, a night off from the exhausting process of simply existing in the world, hiding or passing or running for the benefit of people who don't understand. Tonight, they don't have to pretend to be okay with anything. Tonight, they can just relax.
Well, as much as they can relax, anyway.
Kris can feel it falling away the closer he gets to the field, everything he holds in place melting into nothing, falling off his shoulders, like molted feathers. He's come alone, but he's not, threads of figures streaming through the makeshift gates, jumping the signs in the parking lot, some shifting seamlessly into fur and shadow, paws and feet and intent movement. Kris holds back, himself, it's always better if he waits.
There's a single floodlight in the middle, flashing sporadically as stray hands and tails brush its stream of light, and smaller bursts of color from different places all around, flashlights, disco balls, kitschy novelty shit that people bring just for the hell of it, lava lamps and flashing necklaces and glow sticks. Kris spots Rehka and Ilene huddled around a small campfire, whispering intimately to each other, and Cale nods at him from across the way, grinning madly with exhilaration. He can smell others, too, Walter and Bree and Allison and Nori, wandering around the edges, Te'aria and Fiona and Charles, somewhere southwest of him, all familiar and precious and wonderful. It's the first time they've all been together in a while, and he hasn't seen Te'aria or Nori in months, since before they left for their European dream vacation. Later, they'll shift together and run through the woods as the sun comes up, roll around in the grass and play hunting games until they all collapse in exhaustion. It's going to be totally bad ass.
Right now, though, he's got something else to do.
Everybody knows what happened, it's not like it was a secret. The whole world knows, or at least the part of the world that pays attention, and whatever details had first escaped notice are now common knowledge thanks to the oh-so-helpful assistance of the paparazzos that circle Adam's house, a different breed of wolf that is much more sinister than anything Kris has ever dealt with before. Kris couldn't help but watch the videos Allison sent him, shaky footage through the bars of gates and shrubs, Adam pale-faced and stiff with anger, stalking through the crowd to his front door, arms tightly wound across his chest. Headlines that make Kris sick with disgust and fury, out of control, they say, abusive, controlling, wild, animal, animal, animal.
No word from Stefan, of course. Kris would kill him if he could find him.
The music is overpowering at the very middle, from the giant amps that could rattle the seats of the Nokia Theatre and in fact, probably did at one point. Kris angles away from it, following his intuition more than his nose. Down, through the well-worn paths, weaving in and out of small packs and groups of wolves and humans and every combination in-between, and he finds Adam in the far west corner, at the very edge of the timber. He's curled up beneath a rotting stump. Of course.
"Sulking?" Kris grins, raising his voice over the music, for no good reason. Adam could hear him whispering in the middle of Times Square. While sitting in Long Island.
A low growl is the only response.
"Manly brooding. Sorry." Kris flops down, reclining with a satisfied sigh in the shrubbery. He gets a suspicious look for his trouble. "I've been trying to get ahold of you for like two weeks, you know."
Adam turns his head away pointedly. Kris tries and fails not to take it personally.
"Okay, still in the 'wallowing alone' phase. Noted."
Kris sighs heavily and settles in, leaning back against the damp grass, his knees brushing Adam's flank, radiating heat. The air smells like happiness.
"He's totally not worth it, man."
Adam lifts his great, shaggy head, and Kris knows enough to recognize the no shit, really? in his eyes.
"Well, isn't that what I'm supposed to say here?" Kris says defensively. "It's not like you're all that helpful right now, Mr. Conversation."
Adam snorts, readjusting primly, resting his chin against his folded paws. Kris kind of wants to roll over on top of him, bury his face in the thick fur, let Adam lick him all over until they smell the same. And he'd lean his head back, let Adam fit his teeth around his neck, pushing just hard enough for him to feel the pressure, and then he'd shift and Adam would chase him through the woods and Kris would pretend to be tired so Adam would catch up really quick so they could tumble around together in the underbrush.
Or something. Not like Kris has thought about it a lot, or anything.
"Everyone's worried," Kris comments, deliberately dragging his eyes back up to the night sky. Behind them, the music changes, a slower, lazier beat. He can feel the air changing, too, less restrained, more purposeful. People are starting to shift, break off into packs, moving through into the woods. Adam whines slightly next to him, the hair standing up straight on his back. Kris runs a calming hand down his side. "C'mon, Adam. I can't talk to you like this."
Adam shuffles closer, nudging at Kris's hand with his muzzle. Kris scratches behind his ears obligingly.
"Fine," he says in resignation. "Be stubborn. I'm just trying to help."
Adam looks up at him, eyes narrowed.
"What?" Kris says. "You want me to leave you alone?"
Adam licks his arm once, pushing insistently at his hand. Kris starts scratching again, rolling his eyes.
"I don't know why you're paying attention to those jerks anyway," he mutters. Adam whines noncommittally. "You know as well as I do that they'll move on soon. And the label's suing that mouthy boyfriend of yours for every penny he's got, so you don't have to worry about him, either."
Adam snarls softly, shaking his head, rolling over onto his side and pushing his forehead into the side of Kris's thigh. Kris moves to his stomach, brushing his palm against muscle and fur.
"Ex-boyfriend, then. Sorry."
Adam twists happily under Kris's scratches, tail thumping, contorted ridiculously on the ground. Kris grins ruefully.
"You're such a goofball," he says fondly. Adam barks once, twice. The sound sends shivers down Kris's spine. "I have to shift soon. I can't wait much longer."
Adam nips at his fingers in response, what are you waiting for?
Kris shakes his head. It's a good fucking question.
Shifting, contrary to popular belief, isn't painful or even difficult, more like the flip of a light switch than any contorted, hellish process that CGI has ever created. The best description Kris has ever come up with is taking off a sweater in a warm room, but reporters and talk show hosts never seem all that impressed by it.
Adam barks in excitement, tail wagging, and Kris barely gets his bearings before he's tackled to the ground, playful growling in his ears and scenting Adam Adam Adam Adam everywhere. His heart races, the music providing a steady track to follow, every nerve in his body signaling on, here alive alive, teeth sky grass Adam awake yes.
Play, play, Adam says, with the nudge of his head, the flick of his tail. Run, now now.
Dork, Kris's snort replies. Adam barks and jumps joyfully, taking off into the trees, a streak of blue-black. Kris can sense him, a throbbing, exuberant presence, overpowering the lazy happy excited impatient hungry kind love of his pack, simmering faithfully at the edge of his consciousness. Kris takes a deep breath, wondering for the millionth time how Adam doesn't see, doesn't understand, can't maybe, sense the difference between them and everyone else, the bone-deep knowledge that Kris can't escape no matter how hard he tries.
Play play play play, barks Adam, somewhere in the woods, and Kris takes off after him, pushing the thought away. It doesn't matter right now, anyway.