Where Things Are Hollow (Idol RPF, PG-13, Kris/Adam gen)
Disclaimer: I mean, I own an mp3 of For Your Entertainment? but not Kris or Adam, clearly. If you got here by Googling yourself or someone you know, you know where to find the back button. Title from David Bowie's "Fame."
Summary:You can't gain everything without losing something. And even rockstars need a Ben and Jerry's break from flying dildos sometimes. Kradam friendship, can be inferred more than that.
AN: Written for jerakeen for ONTD_AI's charity fic auction. Like, a thousand years later. She asked for "one of the guys consoling the other over a loss," which I guess I kind of loosely did?
It all keeps building at this steady, exponential mindfuck of a pace.
He had expected the pressure from an entire season of building up expectations, the press in his face and armed with the power of Google, the rabid feeling of possession that’s practically synonymous with American Idol voter. He just never expected it to be this much.
And it’s all great, really, it’s bigger than he is and this album is going to fuck the top-40 in the ass because of it, but it’s also the reason why he’s curled up on the couch in the back of this mother-fucking glorified RV, feeling ridiculously pathetic in the too-worn sweatpants he’s owned since high school, trying to avoid Kris’ eyes. He doesn’t want comfort, he wants to be depressed and wallow.
Kris knows that, though. Somehow. Kris is frustratingly in tune with what Adam wants about 95 percent of the time, and it alternately infuriates the shit out of him and makes him want to cry. He’s just not used to it, he supposes. At this point, he doesn’t question that Kris somehow knows that Adam wants to be depressed, not alone. It’s taking the edge off, anyway.
“It just feels like I’m losing something, you know?” Kris doesn’t say anything, because of course he knows Adam wasn’t really asking him. “It’s so fucking stupid. I wanted this. I want it. I’m getting more than I ever thought I could out of this, and I really want it. I wouldn’t change anything. It’s just. I don’t know. Sometimes. I don’t know.”
He stops because he’s not sure what he’s saying, but the way Kris is biting his lip says that maybe he does. It kind of amazes Adam when they work that way.
“You had this whole other life before and you’re losing that without really getting to say goodbye.” Adam’s head snaps up because yes. Yes. He sits up, wrapping an arm around Kris until he’s tucked right where he fits.
“It’s fucking nuts,” he murmurs against Kris’ hair. “And I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to break and I want to, but I can’t because then I’m a fucking diva.”
“Fuck them. You’re Adam Lambert. You can do what you want.” He stares at Kris for a second before letting out a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
“Even if I want to cry into a pint of mint chocolate chip?” Kris nods solemnly. Adam laughs, leaning down a bit to kiss the top of Kris’ head. “I love you, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m the best. I accept payment in Twizzlers.”
Summary:You can't gain everything without losing something. And even rockstars need a Ben and Jerry's break from flying dildos sometimes. Kradam friendship, can be inferred more than that.
AN: Written for jerakeen for ONTD_AI's charity fic auction. Like, a thousand years later. She asked for "one of the guys consoling the other over a loss," which I guess I kind of loosely did?
It all keeps building at this steady, exponential mindfuck of a pace.
He had expected the pressure from an entire season of building up expectations, the press in his face and armed with the power of Google, the rabid feeling of possession that’s practically synonymous with American Idol voter. He just never expected it to be this much.
And it’s all great, really, it’s bigger than he is and this album is going to fuck the top-40 in the ass because of it, but it’s also the reason why he’s curled up on the couch in the back of this mother-fucking glorified RV, feeling ridiculously pathetic in the too-worn sweatpants he’s owned since high school, trying to avoid Kris’ eyes. He doesn’t want comfort, he wants to be depressed and wallow.
Kris knows that, though. Somehow. Kris is frustratingly in tune with what Adam wants about 95 percent of the time, and it alternately infuriates the shit out of him and makes him want to cry. He’s just not used to it, he supposes. At this point, he doesn’t question that Kris somehow knows that Adam wants to be depressed, not alone. It’s taking the edge off, anyway.
“It just feels like I’m losing something, you know?” Kris doesn’t say anything, because of course he knows Adam wasn’t really asking him. “It’s so fucking stupid. I wanted this. I want it. I’m getting more than I ever thought I could out of this, and I really want it. I wouldn’t change anything. It’s just. I don’t know. Sometimes. I don’t know.”
He stops because he’s not sure what he’s saying, but the way Kris is biting his lip says that maybe he does. It kind of amazes Adam when they work that way.
“You had this whole other life before and you’re losing that without really getting to say goodbye.” Adam’s head snaps up because yes. Yes. He sits up, wrapping an arm around Kris until he’s tucked right where he fits.
“It’s fucking nuts,” he murmurs against Kris’ hair. “And I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to break and I want to, but I can’t because then I’m a fucking diva.”
“Fuck them. You’re Adam Lambert. You can do what you want.” He stares at Kris for a second before letting out a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
“Even if I want to cry into a pint of mint chocolate chip?” Kris nods solemnly. Adam laughs, leaning down a bit to kiss the top of Kris’ head. “I love you, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m the best. I accept payment in Twizzlers.”