AI8 fic: Colliding with Reality, Part 5a: Sex, Lies and Videotape
Series Title: Colliding with Reality
Title: Part 5a: Sex, Lies and Videotape
Author: dark_orion
Pairing: Kradam
Rating: NC-17, hell to the yeah
Summary: Even from across the soundstage, Kris can tell that something is off. Part the fifth, in which we deal with Adam's martyr complex, relationship angst, and Sarver's right godly video.
Author's Notes: Um...hi? Anybody remember this little story? Sorry about the long delay, but about halfway through writing this part (which started about a month and a half ago at this point) real life went *RAWR*, and writing anything was the last thing on my mind. Anyway, finally got back on track and finished up this part, and I still have aspirations about a least one more. I've also gone back to do a little clean-up on previous parts, fixing grammar whatnots, those things that SpellCheck doesn't catch. So, hope you guys enjoy, and because at this point, maybe a refresher is required, the previous parts:
Previous Parts:
Colliding with Reality, Part 1
Colliding with Reality, Part 2: How Could You Be So...
Colliding with Reality, Part 3: Swimming with a Raincoat
Colliding with Reality, Part 4a: First Time Ever I...
Colliding with Reality, Part 4b: First Time Ever I...
But if you don't want to bother with the catch-up, this part can totally be understood unto itself, so kinda semi-standalone.
Colliding with Reality: Part 5a
Sex, Lies, and Videotape
by dark_orion
He dreams that he is a pebble on a beach, one of many, all exactly the same, only aware of how he’s nestled in amongst his brethren in the warm sand, of the slow passage of days, sun jewel-bright on an azure field giving way to the ivory and onyx of night. But the ivory moon is a traitorous thing, conspiring with the fickle ocean, bringing the tide high, higher, without relent, without remorse, and before he knows it, those pebbles with which he’s lain so long are washed away like so much flotsam, until one day he looks around and there are only thirteen left.
They are minerals unfamiliar to him, and they lie scattered along the beach, some closer than others, but still, they cling to each other because, of so many, they are all that are left, and for a time, they are allowed to remain as they are.
However, the lady goddess of the night is capricious and the ocean ever eager to do her bidding, and once more the waves come, carrying them all away, one by one.
He can’t help noticing, though, with each wave that washes over him, even as it steals away one of the others, its flow smoothes his rough edges, cleans the grit and dirt from even the smallest of his grooves, and shears away his imperfections, even if to do so it means forcing him to part with pieces of himself, the shards of what he once was scattered over the sand.
Eventually, only two of them remain, the one who has been by his side ever since an errant wave had tried to pull them out to sea, but by digging in to the sand and each other, they had held their ground, and now they are the last.
The other is pitch dark and mirror bright, as if chipped from a corner of the night sky, and surely the finest of them all, although his own image reflected back from the glassy hide of the other shows him to be more beautiful than he knows he really is, being such an ordinary pebble.
The waves continue to crash over them both, breaking harder and longer across the beach, and he knows, just knows, that they’re not going to be content with wearing him down; they’re going to crack him apart, and he envies how the water seems simply to roll off the other’s surface, the other’s sharp edges cutting the waves rather than vice versa.
As the waves crash around with ever increasing vigor, his fear grows until he says to the other, I’m afraid. The ocean will not rest until I am broken.
The other laughs gently. What have you to fear from being broken, as it is only after being broken that a geode’s true potential is realized.
And that is what I am?
That is what you have to believe you are.
~~~~
Only two days into their final week, and Kris is already a hairsbreadth away from telling Idol where they can shove it, grabbing Adam, and taking off for anywhere other than here that affords the slightest privacy, because his days have been never-ending cycles of media appearances, producer conferences, studio sessions, song rehearsals, meetings with the choreographers, and on and on, all of which Kris could stand except that all of this means that he never has any time alone with Adam-almost no time of any kind at all outside of joint press conferences and rehearsals that include the entirety of the Top 13, after which they are invariably hustled away in opposite directions because it somehow saves money or time or something to work them at opposite ends of the spectrum.
Kris hadn’t thought he’d especially miss the mansion-it had always felt too big, even when there were thirteen of them living there-but he does, God, he does, because he hasn’t spent enough time in the hotel into which they’ve been moved to remember his own room number, much less Adam’s, and anyway, it’s a little difficult to sneak into someone’s room for a little quality time when the hallway is always occupied by ever-watchful Idol security.
Kris can’t even count the number of times he’s heard the phrase “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” (but since it’s almost always been in reference to Katy, it’s really not something he wants to think about). It’s true, to an extent, but they always forget to include “and makes the body grow more hormone addled,” which helps to explain why he’d spent last night with a handful of tiny bottles of lotion stolen from the housekeeper’s cart, exploring his own body, sliding tentative fingers inside himself while thinking of Adam in that insanely hot Rock Week getup, singing about giving every inch of his love, escalating to the point Kris was thrusting into himself with as much vigor as possible, given the poor angle, wishing desperately that Adam was with him, that it was Adam’s fingers-or, God, his cock-inside him, calling out Adam’s name as he finally jerked himself to completion.
Worse, though, was waking up the following morning, alone, no warm body next to him to help stave off the prefabricated, air conditioned chill of the hotel room, irritable and tired before his eyes were fully open because even after just those two nights, Kris found it difficult to sleep without Adam.
Fortunately the weekend rolls around before Kris can completely melt down because he’s a mass of tension and nervousness, with few outlets for either, because Kris was raised to be polite and well mannered at all times, and trying to break that behavior now, even to let off some steam, would create more tension than it relieved because he knows he’d feel guilty later about snapping, and thank God it’s Sunday, which means Ford shoot, which always feels more like play than work, and which also means that Adam will be there, too, and between the inevitable lighting and set changes, they might actually get a few minutes alone, have a conversation longer than “Hi”-“Bye.”
Only, when Kris arrives, Adam is already there, and even from across the soundstage, Kris can tell that something is off. There’s something…not quite right about the set of Adam’s shoulders, movements and gestures either a little too sharp and hurried or smaller and slightly delayed, like the Adam here isn’t the real thing, merely a rough approximation.
Kris approaches Adam slowly, observing carefully the other man’s conversation with today’s director, noting that Adam’s doing a good job at covering up whatever it is, because the director hasn’t noticed anything odd-doesn’t look like anyone else has, and Kris realizes that it’s unlikely anyone (at least, anyone here) will, because none of them have lived with Adam, shared space with him, studied him as closely as Kris has, so no one will notice that the pauses in Adam’s speech are coming in the wrong places, that he’s blinking way too much, that he keeps running a finger over where his ankh ring usually lies.
Then Adam notices that Kris is there, and even those tiny signs disappear, hidden quickly behind a smile that, for all its brightness, still worries Kris, because what could have happened?
The first thought that comes to mind-inescapable, because only one thing has really changed recently, at least that Kris is aware of-is that Adam has been suffering some kind of doubts about the escalation of their relationship, but before that thought has time to settle in his gut and make it twist, it’s quickly banished, even before Adam wraps him in his arms, whispering, “God, I missed you,” and holding on long enough that more than a few eyebrows are rising, because Kris can feel the love Adam has for him like a physical force, unquestionable and unalterable.
Kris’ embrace is equally tight, and he squeezes Adam just that bit harder before he taps out of the hug because Kris has been feeling touch deprived these past couple of days, so the wealth of it in this moment threatens to shove him over into a certain embarrassing outcome which he’d rather avoid-in public, at least. Kris is still almost undone regardless because even after they’ve fallen out of their embrace, Adam’s hands seem determined to anchor on Kris’ hips, which totally would have given them away to everyone in eyesight, except that Adam is Adam and he can get away with anything, although Kris has to settle for a hand on Adam’s shoulder, because unlike Adam, he can’t get away with that shit. He’s just praying that whatever obliviousness had kept the crew from noticing Adam’s upset remains intact because his hand is clenching almost desperately in the fabric of Adam’s shirt, and he’s fighting to keep his expression from turning too lovestruck.
“I’ve missed you, too, man,” Kris says, because he hasn’t come up with an endearment for Adam that doesn’t make him feel absolutely ridiculous, squeezing Adam’s shoulder to keep from pulling him closer. “A lot. I mean, I’m actually having fond thoughts about your crap all over the bathroom.”
It is admittedly a weak attempt at humor, edging more towards truth than joke, but it makes Adam smile, and that’s all Kris wanted.
Adam quirks an eyebrow. “No one can resist the siren song of the guyliner.” He gives Kris’ hip a final pat before letting go to stroke a thumb over the delicate skin under Kris’ eye. “I’ll get it on you eventually, mark my words.”
Kris snorts indelicately, and Adam shoots him a “just see if I don’t” expression before the two make their way towards wardrobe.
In the relative privacy of the changing area, where Kris can see that Adam’s strange disquiet is eased but not vanquished, he broaches the subject that’s had him curious, and not a little worried, since he first saw Adam today. He’s blunt-“So what’s going on?”-because Adam is notoriously evasive when it comes to discussing anything that impacts him personally, as if it’s alright for others to drop their problems at his doorstep, but it’s not acceptable for him to ask the same in return, probably a symptom of Adam’s strong paternal streak, but Kris is far from a child, and he needs to know, dammit, because seeing Adam like this is freaking him out.
Adam’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers fumble slightly on the button he’s securing on his shirt, the only indication that Kris has caught him by surprise. He gives Kris a weary smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Just the same shit, different day routine. Only about ten times more of it.”
There’s no way Kris is buying that it’s that simple, because he’s seen how easily Adam can throw up the chainmail over his emotions, marching unscathed through enemy territory, which Kris has always admired, seeing as how he himself always comes away with at least a flesh wound or two, so for something to have pierced that armor, it can’t be anything approaching the “the same shit.”
He lays a hand on Adam’s arm, both supportive and insistent. “Adam.”
Adam’s sigh is short and rueful, but this time the smile he gives Kris, while still as weary as the first, is reflected in the light of his eyes, fond. He lays his own hand on top of Kris’, fingers falling into the spaces between Kris’, which somehow makes that simple touch so much more intimate. “It’s not important. I’ll deal.”
Kris opens his mouth to explain the myriad reasons why Adam shouldn’t simply have to “deal” with whatever this “nothing” is, but Adam heads him off at the pass by kissing him, lingering and passionate and oddly grateful, distracting Kris almost completely, which is totally cheating, and Kris intends to tell Adam so, as soon as he can bring himself to give up Adam’s mouth.
Before Kris can summon the necessary willpower to end the kiss-because, oh, God, tongue, and that is just fighting dirty-a sudden knock at the door startles them apart. Kris recognizes the voice of the director’s assistant, letting them know that they’re wanted on set.
Adam leans in for a last soft kiss, and then with a wink and a squeeze to Kris’ hand, he’s gone before Kris remembers that there is something he wanted to say.
The rest of the day goes by quickly. The shoot is mostly incredibly dull-it’s just the two of them singing in front of a green screen while the director gets a couple of different angles, so simplistic that they’re wrapped after only a couple hours’ work, Adam and Kris whisked away to their next obligations before Kris has a chance to press Adam further on the “nothing,” because even though they’d had a couple of moments to themselves on set, during the few lighting adjustments and camera changes, Adam had been his normal public self-even those few tells Kris had noticed earlier were gone-obviously determined to make nothing of “nothing,” so Kris is left with little choice other than to play his trump card.
When Kris finally gets back to the hotel, early for once because his rehearsal with Keith Urban that was scheduled for this evening has been pushed back, he heads straight for the phone by the bed and calls Adam’s mother.
After initial pleasantries are exchanged, Leila asking after Kris’ family-and Kris is so grateful to be able to be telling the truth when he says that Katy’s “doing just fine”-Kris making sure that Leila had received the photos he’d emailed her (since Adam doesn’t have much use for taking pictures, Leila had recruited Kris to help supply her with visual references for the backstage anecdotes that Adam loves to tell her about), Kris quickly gets to the main reason for his call.
“Leila,” because she’s admonished him enough to call her by her first name that it’s finally sunk in, “has Adam mentioned if anything, uh…out of the ordinary happened recently?”
Leila’s confusion carries clearly over the phone line. “Out of the ordinary?” She laughs a little. “Honey, I’d say that every day for you boys right now is ‘out of the ordinary.’ Can you narrow that down for me?”
Kris’ huff of laughter is a little self-conscious, because if only she knew. The moment of humor is short-lived, though, as Kris recalls today’s shoot. “Just that…we did the raws for the Ford commercial today, and there were times on set when Adam seemed…kind of…not quite right, like maybe he was…upset about something?”
The frustration in Leila’s sigh is almost tangible. For a moment Kris thinks that frustration is because of him, and he’s about to apologize for prying when she says, “He didn’t tell you?”
Now it’s Kris’ turn to be confused. “Tell me what?” and he’s surprised when he hears hurt in his voice as he asks the question, but he can’t help it. Because it does hurt, finding out that there is indeed something to the “nothing” and that Adam didn’t feel like he could share that with Kris, like Adam doesn’t trust him with that part of himself.
Apparently Leila hears that wounded undercurrent in the question, too, because she says, all sympathy and reassurance, “Oh, Kris, don’t take it personally. He didn’t actually tell me either. I swear, someday I’ll find a way to break him of that damn martyr complex he’s got. His father is the same way, never wants to talk about anything that’s bothering him because heaven forbid he should be a burden to anyone…”
Leila trails off, obviously stewing, before Kris hears a noise over the line that he thinks is Leila shaking her head. “Sorry about that. Lost the plot for a second. Anyway, my guess is the video link Neil emailed to him is the likeliest culprit. The video was originally up on Mike Sarver’s MySpace page, but it was uploaded to YouTube this morning. It’s just so… You know what? It’ll be easier if I just send you the link to the video, because just thinking about it, I get so angry I can’t see straight. I’m so glad that Neil forwarded me the email, because otherwise I never would have known that I need to come up there and bust some heads. Certainly, Adam never would have mentioned it. Do you have your laptop handy?”
Kris is caught between amusement at Leila’s motherly indignation and brewing anger, because what the hell had Sarver done? It’s an uncomfortable sensation, the tug of war of two opposing emotions, and it makes Kris’ voice sound strange to his own ears as he responds, “Yeah, I’ve got it. Just let me boot up.”
Leila forwards the email to him, and they say their goodbyes as Kris’ machine comes to life, whirring away on his bed, Leila having quickly segued from anger to concern, asking that Kris “take care of Adam for me-if he’ll let you,” before she hangs up.
Kris replaces the phone in its cradle, mentally urging his computer to hurry as he impatiently waits for the start-up procedures to conclude. Finally Windows decides to cooperate, and Kris clicks on the browser, quickly pulling up his email. There at the top is Leila’s, the subject line reading “FWD: Fwd: You’ve got a dick in your midst, and not the kind you like,” and Kris recognizes Neil’s unique humor immediately. He opens the email, reading the short message, “Just thought you should know about this. Watch your back, bro, and let me know if you want me to kick them in the balls,” mind stuttering slightly because there’s a “them” now? before clicking on the hyperlink below it.
~~~~
Next Part (because LJ hates long posts)
~
Title: Part 5a: Sex, Lies and Videotape
Author: dark_orion
Pairing: Kradam
Rating: NC-17, hell to the yeah
Summary: Even from across the soundstage, Kris can tell that something is off. Part the fifth, in which we deal with Adam's martyr complex, relationship angst, and Sarver's right godly video.
Author's Notes: Um...hi? Anybody remember this little story? Sorry about the long delay, but about halfway through writing this part (which started about a month and a half ago at this point) real life went *RAWR*, and writing anything was the last thing on my mind. Anyway, finally got back on track and finished up this part, and I still have aspirations about a least one more. I've also gone back to do a little clean-up on previous parts, fixing grammar whatnots, those things that SpellCheck doesn't catch. So, hope you guys enjoy, and because at this point, maybe a refresher is required, the previous parts:
Previous Parts:
Colliding with Reality, Part 1
Colliding with Reality, Part 2: How Could You Be So...
Colliding with Reality, Part 3: Swimming with a Raincoat
Colliding with Reality, Part 4a: First Time Ever I...
Colliding with Reality, Part 4b: First Time Ever I...
But if you don't want to bother with the catch-up, this part can totally be understood unto itself, so kinda semi-standalone.
Colliding with Reality: Part 5a
Sex, Lies, and Videotape
by dark_orion
He dreams that he is a pebble on a beach, one of many, all exactly the same, only aware of how he’s nestled in amongst his brethren in the warm sand, of the slow passage of days, sun jewel-bright on an azure field giving way to the ivory and onyx of night. But the ivory moon is a traitorous thing, conspiring with the fickle ocean, bringing the tide high, higher, without relent, without remorse, and before he knows it, those pebbles with which he’s lain so long are washed away like so much flotsam, until one day he looks around and there are only thirteen left.
They are minerals unfamiliar to him, and they lie scattered along the beach, some closer than others, but still, they cling to each other because, of so many, they are all that are left, and for a time, they are allowed to remain as they are.
However, the lady goddess of the night is capricious and the ocean ever eager to do her bidding, and once more the waves come, carrying them all away, one by one.
He can’t help noticing, though, with each wave that washes over him, even as it steals away one of the others, its flow smoothes his rough edges, cleans the grit and dirt from even the smallest of his grooves, and shears away his imperfections, even if to do so it means forcing him to part with pieces of himself, the shards of what he once was scattered over the sand.
Eventually, only two of them remain, the one who has been by his side ever since an errant wave had tried to pull them out to sea, but by digging in to the sand and each other, they had held their ground, and now they are the last.
The other is pitch dark and mirror bright, as if chipped from a corner of the night sky, and surely the finest of them all, although his own image reflected back from the glassy hide of the other shows him to be more beautiful than he knows he really is, being such an ordinary pebble.
The waves continue to crash over them both, breaking harder and longer across the beach, and he knows, just knows, that they’re not going to be content with wearing him down; they’re going to crack him apart, and he envies how the water seems simply to roll off the other’s surface, the other’s sharp edges cutting the waves rather than vice versa.
As the waves crash around with ever increasing vigor, his fear grows until he says to the other, I’m afraid. The ocean will not rest until I am broken.
The other laughs gently. What have you to fear from being broken, as it is only after being broken that a geode’s true potential is realized.
And that is what I am?
That is what you have to believe you are.
~~~~
Only two days into their final week, and Kris is already a hairsbreadth away from telling Idol where they can shove it, grabbing Adam, and taking off for anywhere other than here that affords the slightest privacy, because his days have been never-ending cycles of media appearances, producer conferences, studio sessions, song rehearsals, meetings with the choreographers, and on and on, all of which Kris could stand except that all of this means that he never has any time alone with Adam-almost no time of any kind at all outside of joint press conferences and rehearsals that include the entirety of the Top 13, after which they are invariably hustled away in opposite directions because it somehow saves money or time or something to work them at opposite ends of the spectrum.
Kris hadn’t thought he’d especially miss the mansion-it had always felt too big, even when there were thirteen of them living there-but he does, God, he does, because he hasn’t spent enough time in the hotel into which they’ve been moved to remember his own room number, much less Adam’s, and anyway, it’s a little difficult to sneak into someone’s room for a little quality time when the hallway is always occupied by ever-watchful Idol security.
Kris can’t even count the number of times he’s heard the phrase “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” (but since it’s almost always been in reference to Katy, it’s really not something he wants to think about). It’s true, to an extent, but they always forget to include “and makes the body grow more hormone addled,” which helps to explain why he’d spent last night with a handful of tiny bottles of lotion stolen from the housekeeper’s cart, exploring his own body, sliding tentative fingers inside himself while thinking of Adam in that insanely hot Rock Week getup, singing about giving every inch of his love, escalating to the point Kris was thrusting into himself with as much vigor as possible, given the poor angle, wishing desperately that Adam was with him, that it was Adam’s fingers-or, God, his cock-inside him, calling out Adam’s name as he finally jerked himself to completion.
Worse, though, was waking up the following morning, alone, no warm body next to him to help stave off the prefabricated, air conditioned chill of the hotel room, irritable and tired before his eyes were fully open because even after just those two nights, Kris found it difficult to sleep without Adam.
Fortunately the weekend rolls around before Kris can completely melt down because he’s a mass of tension and nervousness, with few outlets for either, because Kris was raised to be polite and well mannered at all times, and trying to break that behavior now, even to let off some steam, would create more tension than it relieved because he knows he’d feel guilty later about snapping, and thank God it’s Sunday, which means Ford shoot, which always feels more like play than work, and which also means that Adam will be there, too, and between the inevitable lighting and set changes, they might actually get a few minutes alone, have a conversation longer than “Hi”-“Bye.”
Only, when Kris arrives, Adam is already there, and even from across the soundstage, Kris can tell that something is off. There’s something…not quite right about the set of Adam’s shoulders, movements and gestures either a little too sharp and hurried or smaller and slightly delayed, like the Adam here isn’t the real thing, merely a rough approximation.
Kris approaches Adam slowly, observing carefully the other man’s conversation with today’s director, noting that Adam’s doing a good job at covering up whatever it is, because the director hasn’t noticed anything odd-doesn’t look like anyone else has, and Kris realizes that it’s unlikely anyone (at least, anyone here) will, because none of them have lived with Adam, shared space with him, studied him as closely as Kris has, so no one will notice that the pauses in Adam’s speech are coming in the wrong places, that he’s blinking way too much, that he keeps running a finger over where his ankh ring usually lies.
Then Adam notices that Kris is there, and even those tiny signs disappear, hidden quickly behind a smile that, for all its brightness, still worries Kris, because what could have happened?
The first thought that comes to mind-inescapable, because only one thing has really changed recently, at least that Kris is aware of-is that Adam has been suffering some kind of doubts about the escalation of their relationship, but before that thought has time to settle in his gut and make it twist, it’s quickly banished, even before Adam wraps him in his arms, whispering, “God, I missed you,” and holding on long enough that more than a few eyebrows are rising, because Kris can feel the love Adam has for him like a physical force, unquestionable and unalterable.
Kris’ embrace is equally tight, and he squeezes Adam just that bit harder before he taps out of the hug because Kris has been feeling touch deprived these past couple of days, so the wealth of it in this moment threatens to shove him over into a certain embarrassing outcome which he’d rather avoid-in public, at least. Kris is still almost undone regardless because even after they’ve fallen out of their embrace, Adam’s hands seem determined to anchor on Kris’ hips, which totally would have given them away to everyone in eyesight, except that Adam is Adam and he can get away with anything, although Kris has to settle for a hand on Adam’s shoulder, because unlike Adam, he can’t get away with that shit. He’s just praying that whatever obliviousness had kept the crew from noticing Adam’s upset remains intact because his hand is clenching almost desperately in the fabric of Adam’s shirt, and he’s fighting to keep his expression from turning too lovestruck.
“I’ve missed you, too, man,” Kris says, because he hasn’t come up with an endearment for Adam that doesn’t make him feel absolutely ridiculous, squeezing Adam’s shoulder to keep from pulling him closer. “A lot. I mean, I’m actually having fond thoughts about your crap all over the bathroom.”
It is admittedly a weak attempt at humor, edging more towards truth than joke, but it makes Adam smile, and that’s all Kris wanted.
Adam quirks an eyebrow. “No one can resist the siren song of the guyliner.” He gives Kris’ hip a final pat before letting go to stroke a thumb over the delicate skin under Kris’ eye. “I’ll get it on you eventually, mark my words.”
Kris snorts indelicately, and Adam shoots him a “just see if I don’t” expression before the two make their way towards wardrobe.
In the relative privacy of the changing area, where Kris can see that Adam’s strange disquiet is eased but not vanquished, he broaches the subject that’s had him curious, and not a little worried, since he first saw Adam today. He’s blunt-“So what’s going on?”-because Adam is notoriously evasive when it comes to discussing anything that impacts him personally, as if it’s alright for others to drop their problems at his doorstep, but it’s not acceptable for him to ask the same in return, probably a symptom of Adam’s strong paternal streak, but Kris is far from a child, and he needs to know, dammit, because seeing Adam like this is freaking him out.
Adam’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers fumble slightly on the button he’s securing on his shirt, the only indication that Kris has caught him by surprise. He gives Kris a weary smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Just the same shit, different day routine. Only about ten times more of it.”
There’s no way Kris is buying that it’s that simple, because he’s seen how easily Adam can throw up the chainmail over his emotions, marching unscathed through enemy territory, which Kris has always admired, seeing as how he himself always comes away with at least a flesh wound or two, so for something to have pierced that armor, it can’t be anything approaching the “the same shit.”
He lays a hand on Adam’s arm, both supportive and insistent. “Adam.”
Adam’s sigh is short and rueful, but this time the smile he gives Kris, while still as weary as the first, is reflected in the light of his eyes, fond. He lays his own hand on top of Kris’, fingers falling into the spaces between Kris’, which somehow makes that simple touch so much more intimate. “It’s not important. I’ll deal.”
Kris opens his mouth to explain the myriad reasons why Adam shouldn’t simply have to “deal” with whatever this “nothing” is, but Adam heads him off at the pass by kissing him, lingering and passionate and oddly grateful, distracting Kris almost completely, which is totally cheating, and Kris intends to tell Adam so, as soon as he can bring himself to give up Adam’s mouth.
Before Kris can summon the necessary willpower to end the kiss-because, oh, God, tongue, and that is just fighting dirty-a sudden knock at the door startles them apart. Kris recognizes the voice of the director’s assistant, letting them know that they’re wanted on set.
Adam leans in for a last soft kiss, and then with a wink and a squeeze to Kris’ hand, he’s gone before Kris remembers that there is something he wanted to say.
The rest of the day goes by quickly. The shoot is mostly incredibly dull-it’s just the two of them singing in front of a green screen while the director gets a couple of different angles, so simplistic that they’re wrapped after only a couple hours’ work, Adam and Kris whisked away to their next obligations before Kris has a chance to press Adam further on the “nothing,” because even though they’d had a couple of moments to themselves on set, during the few lighting adjustments and camera changes, Adam had been his normal public self-even those few tells Kris had noticed earlier were gone-obviously determined to make nothing of “nothing,” so Kris is left with little choice other than to play his trump card.
When Kris finally gets back to the hotel, early for once because his rehearsal with Keith Urban that was scheduled for this evening has been pushed back, he heads straight for the phone by the bed and calls Adam’s mother.
After initial pleasantries are exchanged, Leila asking after Kris’ family-and Kris is so grateful to be able to be telling the truth when he says that Katy’s “doing just fine”-Kris making sure that Leila had received the photos he’d emailed her (since Adam doesn’t have much use for taking pictures, Leila had recruited Kris to help supply her with visual references for the backstage anecdotes that Adam loves to tell her about), Kris quickly gets to the main reason for his call.
“Leila,” because she’s admonished him enough to call her by her first name that it’s finally sunk in, “has Adam mentioned if anything, uh…out of the ordinary happened recently?”
Leila’s confusion carries clearly over the phone line. “Out of the ordinary?” She laughs a little. “Honey, I’d say that every day for you boys right now is ‘out of the ordinary.’ Can you narrow that down for me?”
Kris’ huff of laughter is a little self-conscious, because if only she knew. The moment of humor is short-lived, though, as Kris recalls today’s shoot. “Just that…we did the raws for the Ford commercial today, and there were times on set when Adam seemed…kind of…not quite right, like maybe he was…upset about something?”
The frustration in Leila’s sigh is almost tangible. For a moment Kris thinks that frustration is because of him, and he’s about to apologize for prying when she says, “He didn’t tell you?”
Now it’s Kris’ turn to be confused. “Tell me what?” and he’s surprised when he hears hurt in his voice as he asks the question, but he can’t help it. Because it does hurt, finding out that there is indeed something to the “nothing” and that Adam didn’t feel like he could share that with Kris, like Adam doesn’t trust him with that part of himself.
Apparently Leila hears that wounded undercurrent in the question, too, because she says, all sympathy and reassurance, “Oh, Kris, don’t take it personally. He didn’t actually tell me either. I swear, someday I’ll find a way to break him of that damn martyr complex he’s got. His father is the same way, never wants to talk about anything that’s bothering him because heaven forbid he should be a burden to anyone…”
Leila trails off, obviously stewing, before Kris hears a noise over the line that he thinks is Leila shaking her head. “Sorry about that. Lost the plot for a second. Anyway, my guess is the video link Neil emailed to him is the likeliest culprit. The video was originally up on Mike Sarver’s MySpace page, but it was uploaded to YouTube this morning. It’s just so… You know what? It’ll be easier if I just send you the link to the video, because just thinking about it, I get so angry I can’t see straight. I’m so glad that Neil forwarded me the email, because otherwise I never would have known that I need to come up there and bust some heads. Certainly, Adam never would have mentioned it. Do you have your laptop handy?”
Kris is caught between amusement at Leila’s motherly indignation and brewing anger, because what the hell had Sarver done? It’s an uncomfortable sensation, the tug of war of two opposing emotions, and it makes Kris’ voice sound strange to his own ears as he responds, “Yeah, I’ve got it. Just let me boot up.”
Leila forwards the email to him, and they say their goodbyes as Kris’ machine comes to life, whirring away on his bed, Leila having quickly segued from anger to concern, asking that Kris “take care of Adam for me-if he’ll let you,” before she hangs up.
Kris replaces the phone in its cradle, mentally urging his computer to hurry as he impatiently waits for the start-up procedures to conclude. Finally Windows decides to cooperate, and Kris clicks on the browser, quickly pulling up his email. There at the top is Leila’s, the subject line reading “FWD: Fwd: You’ve got a dick in your midst, and not the kind you like,” and Kris recognizes Neil’s unique humor immediately. He opens the email, reading the short message, “Just thought you should know about this. Watch your back, bro, and let me know if you want me to kick them in the balls,” mind stuttering slightly because there’s a “them” now? before clicking on the hyperlink below it.
~~~~
Next Part (because LJ hates long posts)
~